SYNOPSIS in which he spares you during order 66, but what now? masterlist
PAIRING sith!anakin x fem!reader
WARNINGS mention of other 66? nothing graphic, barely anything id say. rather a fluff? at some point at least. just sith anakin having a soft spot i guess?
FROM ME opinions and tips on my writing highly appreciated! im a beginner writer and english is not my first language—my first finished one shot hehe... kept y'all waiting long enough oops... but I did start few more and have some ideas so... (don't kill me this is so dry ik, it was kinda rushed)
ANAKIN HAD STEPPED inside the jedi temple, his eyes beaming orange. he had turned, chosen what path he wants to go down by in his life. and all for his love, but it felt right, didn't it?
his boots thumbed loud over the temple's tiled floor, his grip hard on his lightsaber, the blue blade hidden for now, the hood of his cloak put down over his face. he could hear faint sounds of saber swords swinging through the air, fights and children cries as the chaos upscaled around him, but he didn't back down. no, he loved it. he was the cause of this.
the doors opened in front of him, leading him into the council room, a small smirk playing on his lips as he was met with little kids looking at him fondly, thinking he's there to help them, all of them walking out of their hiding spots.
"master skywalker, there's too many of them, what are we going to do?" one of the boys asked him, hes scared but hopeful eyes looking up at anakin. but he didnt say anything, instead, he lighted up his lightsaber, scaring the younglings.
he was not there to help… not at all.
as soon as he hid his blade after done deal, the doors of the council room opened before him, making him buzz the lightsaber back to life, swirling it through the air as he suddenly turned around, taking the person behind him by surprise. he didn't kill them tho, the blue sword stopping right at their neck.
"y/n" anakin's voice resounded through the room, quiet and low. you had seen what he had done, you're one of those he should kill just now, but he didn't move his blade any further. he could see the fear in your eyes as your gaze darted between him, the blade at your neck and the bloody massacre behind him.
"you're coming with me" he said. it was an order, not a question, leaving you no room to argue even if you'd be brave enough to do so as he hid his blade, placing it swiftly in his sword belt, hooking his arms under your knees and back, picking you up bridal style and carrying you out of the council room and then out of the temple.
"cut her out of the list" he said harshly to one of the passing by troopers, knowing he better keep you save in all possible ways, including the list of who they should kill right now.
you didn't even argue, just let him do what he wants, having more sense in you than blind 'bravery' they'd call it if you tried to fight. it might not be the jedi way, but a survival way for sure.
"don't worry angel, you're safe with me" his voice was low, sexy even, yet making you melt despite being held capture by the chosen one who had just turned to the dark side. somehow it indeed made you feel safe, despite knowing well you'll have to agree with him on everything he does from now on, which equaled turning to the dark side.
he was very gentle as he stepped onto his ship, settling you down on the passager seat and buckling you up himself, before taking off somewhere you didn't know. you watched him the whole flight. his knowing smirk that curved those pretty lips up as he felt your gaze locked on him.
you were getting less and less cared of him, just… giving in to whatever plan he was having for you, and you didn't know why… but you didn't complain either. something in the way he treated you now was silencing the voices that wanted you to stay on the good side of the force.
"you're mine now, angel" anakin spoke in a dangerous tone as the shipped landed on mustafar, his head snapping to look at you "a beautiful queen to my new empire" he stepped close to where you were seated, his gloved hand grabbing your chin with surprising gentleness as his thumb traced over your bottom lip.
he unbuckles your seat belt, and you stood up, wanting to just follow after him, but he chuckled. "queens don't walk themselves, angel" he said, picking you up again and stepping off of the ship, walking through the dangerous steps of mustafar, up to a safer floor. was he… genuinely being soft right now?
"you are mine now, you understand that angel?" he said, the hand he had on your back rubbed it softly as he walked
"yes" you mumbled the response, looking up at him. yeah… you can live like this, no?
James Kelly and his girlfriend of three years are having a baby. Content: post-argument, some cursing, fluff.
Pregnant.
His ears were ringing even after the argument was long done. As soon as he heard the words coming out from her lips it was like his world stopped spinning, and he felt the urge to run... Like a typical Kelly. It irked him how that was his first instinct, like his lineage was so damn cursed that he almost followed his father's footsteps. Shame filled his chest, his heart beating loud and full with regret. His expression etched with worry and anxiety. He hates the way he spoke to her earlier, making it feel like it was all her fault, when in reality he chastised himself for not being careful enough to not knock her up.
James rests against the door frame, fingers digging into his keys in an attempt to ground himself, thinking how the fuck they're going to raise a child when they're living in a shitty neighbourhood. They can't just move away, rent is expensive everywhere, and finding a job with a criminal record is difficult. Babies grow way too fast, they need new clothes all the time, diapers, all the essentials. It's too much.
Not only does he feel guilty for the argument, but James thinks he's holding her back. She's having his baby. A woman that in his and everybody else's opinion is too good for him, a woman that has the potential to do great things in the future. Smart. Academically gifted. But he did this to her, planted his seed without even meaning to. Does she hate him now? James doesn't know if he can live with himself if she ends up resenting him. He loves her so much that a future without her seems worse than death.
But... How the fuck is he supposed to do this? To provide for a child? To become a father figure, when his own childhood had been so fucked up that he still has nightmares about it. He doesn't have any examples to go by, he doesn't know how to be a dad, he barely knows how to be a decent man! And with his brother Frankie back in town... James knows it's only a matter of time before he's dragged into something dangerous again. Something shitty. Always 'a last run', 'a last heist', 'one and done'... But it never really is. Only when one of them dies will the other stop. He wasn't even supposed to date her, he should've stayed away instead of playing house.
Things would've been much easier that way. James wasn't supposed to fall for her, but he did. Hard. Every scenario in his head included her. Every plan, every dream, every goal.
Life just wasn't the same without his girl.
Reluctantly, James heads to their room. With a heavy heart he watches her sleep, the woman he once swore so passionately to love and protect, the woman who cried herself to sleep tonight. It hurts thinking about it. They usually work out their issues before bed, but this time the argument had gotten so out of hand that James took the car keys and drove off without saying goodbye. He left her at her most vulnerable and it kills him. Not even a text, a call, he just disappeared for a couple of hours, driving around town like a mindless zombie. Like a real fucking coward.
“Damn it...” He runs a hand through his already tousled dark hair, frustrated with himself and the situation. If she only knew how much power she held over him. How easily she wrecked him and the walls he built for years, but James doesn't know if she's aware of that. He can't blame her either, it's not like he's doing a great job at showing his commitment.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he covered her with a blanket, his chest felt heavy with regret and sorrow. He sat there in silence, losing track of time.
“I'm a real fuckin' jackass, ain't I?” He spoke to no one in particular, taking a moment to just... breathe. That's the only thing he can do to calm the storm in his heart. James doesn't realize he's caressing her face until she stirs in her sleep. He stills, dreading the possibility of waking her up. He's not sure if he's ready to talk again— hell, he doesn't even know if he can face her after that little number he pulled on her.
If only he could go back in time, react differently... He would hold her tight and let her know that everything is going to be alright, that it will work.
He wishes to be the man that she deserves, but what if she's better off alone? What if she's safer without him in her life? He knows that leaving would be fucked up, but deep down he understands that her life would've been better if he never asked for her number at Lewi's Auto, three summers ago when he fixed her car. The memory brings a smile to his face, he remembers it vividly. He was having a bad day until this new client arrived with a popped tire. She was going on a date, but a pothole changed the whole trajectory of her plans that day, and that's how they met. One shy smile was all that it took for him to fall. It sorta just smacked him in the face out of nowhere, making James smile stupidly, almost drunkenly.
Not able to stand it anymore, James leans over and gently kisses her forehead, his lips lingering on her soft skin. “I'm sorry, baby.” He was careful when he kissed her, but they have this bond... They just seem to sense each other easily. Even when she's a heavy sleeper, James' touch brought her back to life in seconds.
“Hm...? Jamie?” she mumbles, opening one eye.
James flashes an apologetic smile. “Yeah, 's me. I didn't want to wake you—”
“You're back,” she interrupted, sitting up. The room is dark, but the soft light filtering through the window makes it possible to see each other's faces. Her eyes narrow, trying to focus on the digital clock that's on top of the nightstand. “What time is it? It's late... Where were you?” She asked, but her tone wasn't filled with venom how he expected, just concern. His heart shrunk even more at that. She's not angry, just worried.
His throat bobbed trying to find the right words.
“I went for a drive, stopped for a beer,” he explains softly. He wants her to understand that he didn't stray away. “Then I drove again without a destination in mind...” He looks at an empty spot on the wall, just thinking. They stay quiet for a while, trying to put their feelings into words. “I saw a couple of teenagers playing basketball, the youngest was probably twelve. My first thought was where the hell are these kid's parents, y'know? Call me paranoid but I wouldn't let a child of mine outside the house at this hour, not in this fucked up neighbourhood we live in. I grew up mostly on the streets, I know it ain't safe.” He exhales sharply through his nose, his gesture one of irony, maybe even self-deprecating. She just listens to him, wondering where he's going with this, allowing James to work out his thoughts. “It then hit me that soon it will be my reality, I'll be a father. And I don't... I... I mean, how do they do it? Maybe they know they have good kids and that's why they can stay a little longer outside. But how can they live without having their eyes on them twenty-four seven?” He shook his head, his attention momentarily caught when she takes his hand. James squeezes it lovingly as he feels his throat go dry. This is it. “I want to be there, for you and the baby— our baby. Fuck,” he took a deep breath as she now rubbed his back. His voice grows thick with emotion. “I am so... so sorry, darling. For the way that I reacted earlier, the way I raised my voice at you— I was a dick, ion even know what the fuck I was thinking.” He stares into her eyes, pleading silently. “I do want that baby, and I do want you in my life. I just— please, please stay with me. Let me make things right.” A stray tear makes its way down his cheek, but James doesn't even dare to move, waiting, hoping. Praying that he didn't do some irreparable damage to their relationship.
She never explicitly spoke of a desire to end things, but she did imply that she was growing tired of their recent issues and it worried James. He knows he can do better.
After some time she finally speaks. “You want to build a life with me?”
James nods, swallowing his pride as another tear falls, then another. “More than anything, princess. I swear, we'll make it work.”
“Then help me understand what's wrong with you, because you've been acting differently for weeks and don't tell me it's all in my head, I know my man. You've been on edge but you don't talk to me, and I can't help you if you hide things from me.”
That proud little comment made his heart flutter, hell yeah she knows her man! But the rest of her words reminded James that they're not in a good place right now. Taking her hand in his, James kisses the palm of it, all under her intense gaze.
“Frankie got out on good behavior, you were at work when he came to visit but he was here the other day, wanting a place to stay. I just gave him some money so he could book a motel, I know better than to let him stay with us.”
She rests her head against the headboard. Great... Frankie was back... She's not exactly thrilled and with good reason. James's older brother was a mess and a criminal, the dumb kind that drags people into trouble.
“You said that Frankie is back, what are you going to do about that? And before you say anything, yes, I know he's your brother. But you need to remember all the shit he made you go through.” She turned on the desk lamp, blinking her sleepiness away. “I need to know that he won't be a problem.”
James sighs, running a hand through his hair. This is why he didn't want to bring it up.
“You think I don't know that? Things are not as simple, I can't just... cut him off my life! You can't ask me to do that. It was always Frankie and me. He sacrificed so much, doll, even when we were kids. He's my blood, he's my brother.” He gave her a pained expression, the more upset he gets, the thicker his Louisiana accent. He knows Frankie is no good, but what can he do? He loves him. Feels like he's indebted to him for life. “That time he did in jail? He took the blame for something that I did, me! And then I didn't even bother to visit him which is fucked up. I can't just... I can't just turn my back to him when he's alone. You don't know what it's like, all he's got is me and I already failed him once.”
She sighs, looking away when it becomes too painful to bear. But James didn't want that, he didn't want to feel her pull away again, so he gently touched her face, coaxing her to make eye contact with him.
“Please talk to me, I can't bear it when you're quiet. It makes me feel like I disappointed you.”
“I don't know what to tell you, Jamie. Every single time that he's around bad things start to happen. I mean you told me he turned everybody against you!” She said, her voice strained in frustration. “Why is it that you can't keep your distance from him? He's not good for you, James! You can love your brother and still not want him in your life.”
James sighs, letting go of her cheek. “You can't put all the blame on him either. I'm a grown man, I make my own decisions.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Maybe, but I've heard the way he talks to you, remember? The audios you showed me, so manipulative, using the things he did for you against you. It's fucked up! He's your older brother but he doesn't have the right to treat you that way, to use your emotions against you! It's not fair, why are you always the one looking out for him when that's his job?” She hits the mattress, feeling helpless. All she wants is the opportunity to help James, but she knows it's not that easy, that he needs to put in the effort. “So why is it that you can't say no to him? You said it yourself, you're a grown man. You have dreams, you want to open your own workshop—”
“Ah, yes. I'll do that tomorrow! With a criminal record and dishonorable discharge from the military. I can't do shit!” He motioned around, growing agitated. “I've tried everything!”
“And you think going on another run with Frankie will make things better?!”
He stares at his girlfriend, carefully considering his words. When James realizes they're in the middle of another argument he lowers the tone of his voice. This time when he speaks he's more calm, more thoughtful. He doesn't want to make the same mistakes as earlier. “I haven't agreed to nothin'.”
“Yet.” She said bitterly. James flinches apologetically, because deep down he knows it's just a matter of time.
“It would bring good money, money that we can use to buy a house in a better neighborhood.” He tried to reason, even when she scoffed. “We can build a nursery...”
Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but his words weren't enough. “What good is a nursery if you're dead or locked up?”
It almost felt like a slap across the face for him, well deserved. James exhales sharply. “That's not fair.”
“No. It's not. But it can happen and you fucking know it!” She kicked the covers off and stood up, sudden enough to have a dizzy spell. Luckily, James is quick on his feet and grabbed her. Angry or not, he's not about to risk it.
“Please be careful, baby,” James sighs, moving a hand towards her growing belly. It's not noticeable yet, but the sole knowledge that his child is in there is enough to wreck him.
“I'm fine!” She scoffed but still let him have his moment. James gently caresses the soft skin of her abdomen.
“I can't believe we're having a baby it's... surreal.”
“Yeah well, we weren't exactly careful,” she rolled her eyes. James fights back a teasing smile, even when they're arguing he can't help but see her as the most beautiful woman on the planet.
Having to choose felt almost cruel.
“I'll deal with Frankie when the time comes. He's my brother, but you and the baby are what matters the most to me,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “I don't want to lose you.”
“You won't lose me...” she sighs, reluctantly seeking his warmth. James doesn't hesitate to hug her, resting a hand behind her head. “Frankie isn't your responsibility anymore. He never should've been.”
He knows.
James takes another deep breath, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Are we going to be okay, truly?”
She nods. “I think so. We always are.”
With the softest of smiles James kisses her lips tenderly, signaling that the fight is over for tonight. All that matters is their love and that precious bundle of joy that is growing inside of her.
“Let's get you back to bed, does that sound right?” James voice is even softer this time, filled with love and some exhaustion. She nods, quietly letting go just so she can get under the sheets before he does.
After kicking off his shoes and stripping down to his underwear James joins her, automatically assuming his position behind her. They both sigh happily, almost at the same time. War is over.
For now.
“I was thinking,” he starts, waiting for her to confirm that she's still awake before continuing to speak. ”Maybe we can visit some stores tomorrow, see what things we need for the baby. The most important thing is the crib, right? Oh and a car seat, a good one— do we need just one and switch it depending on which car we're using or do we need two, one for yours and one for mine?” He asked with genuine curiosity, it made her smile.
“I think one is good enough, but if we manage to afford two that would work wonderfully.”
James hums, holding her abdomen protectively. “Is that something we can thrift or do we need it new-new?”
“I... don't know?” She frowned. “I would assume we need a new one.”
“Right, of course. We don't want to use something old and dirty. Dumb.”
“Well that's not the issue per se, I just think that you can't use a car seat if it was in a car crash, but we won't know that if we bought one second hand. I think it messes with the integrity of the car seat or something, I'm not sure.” She takes a moment. “We need a stroller.”
“Ahh yes, one of those easy to close ones. But not too heavy.” James kisses the back of her neck. “We can talk about it tomorrow, when you're not half asleep.”
She lets out a soft chuckle, agreeing with him.
“Tomorrow then. I love you...”
“Took the words right out of my mouth, you little thief.” He grinned stupidly. Things between them felt lighter, easier. Just the way it has to be.
Summary: You’re new on the neighbourhood when you discover someone looking at you while you make exercise on your room.
Warnings: Stalking, creepy behaviour, cursing, kissing passionately, mention of masturbation, reader makes some sexual poses.
A/N: Inspired by the film disturbia that i’ve watched recently on netflix! I’m not romanticizing this type of behaviour.
Sam Monroe had messed up. Maybe punching his Italian teacher in the face hadn't been the best idea he'd had, but it wasn't the worst either. In Sam's eyes, it was justified; Mr. Philips had dared to mention his dead father, and those were the consequences.
The judge sentenced him to two months of house arrest. At first, it didn't seem so bad; in fact, he was enjoying it. He spent his days playing video games with his friends and drinking Monster Energy from a can. But then his mother cut off the internet, and his house became a veritable prison. He was so bored that he started doing anything.
Literally anything.
He took the breakfast buns, still in their wrappers, and stacked them together with glue to create a tower. He decorated his ugly plastic anklet, which beeped if he left the house, with a skull, and flipped through punk magazines, masturbating to the female models. But after a few days, nothing seemed fun anymore, so in a desperate act, he grabbed his old binoculars that he used when he went camping and started looking out the window.
It turned out that this was much more entertaining than all he had done yet. Within a few days, he had memorized his neighbors' routines. The woman across the street, Mrs. Braun, went out every day at 6 PM to walk her Maltese dog. The neighbor on the right had a plastic, blonde mistress whom he brought home every three days when his wife left with their kid to go grocery shopping. Ed Caskey, the mailman, delivered the mail every day at six in the morning and always tripped on Sam's porch step. Sam laughed every time he saw him lose his balance. Would he fall this time? Or maybe not.
Then something changed within the routine he had grown accustomed to. On the Tuesday of the fourth week of his house arrest, a moving truck appeared at the house on the left. He quickly grabbed his binoculars and saw you wearing shorts that looked too tiny to him, a short-sleeved top that hugged your torso perfectly, and your beautiful hair falling over your shoulders. You had captivated him, and he hated it. He tried to ignore you, but it was impossible. Especially when you went to your backyard in the afternoons and took a dip in the pool. The first time he saw you take off your clothes to reveal your white ‘near thong' bikini, he thought he was going to have a heart attack.
—That's it— he murmured as you dropped the dress you were wearing to the floor. Your legs looked soft and hypnotic. Then you dove into the water, swam a few laps, and lay back on the lounge, sunbathing while listening to music on your iPod. To him, it was like watching an R-rated show, but through his window.
You've never talked, and he thought it was unlikely to happen, because you seemed cool and popular, while he was under house arrest and had a Radiohead poster by his bed. But once, as he went out to pick up the newspaper within the limits of his anklet allowed, his eyes met yours. He stopped breathing at that moment.
—Hi— you said softly. Your voice sounded much sexier than he'd imagined.
He struggled to answer, «Say hi, you idiot» .
—Hi— he stammered. Fuck, he didn't stutter, especially not over a girl.
You gave him a tender smile and, with a chuckle, walked back home. He froze; he'd certainly made a fool of himself.
Later, he saw you arguing with your father through your bedroom window. He couldn't hear what you were saying, but you seemed angry, and that made him feel a strange sensation on his chest. When your father left the room slamming the door, you opened the window and climbed onto the roof. Sam knew you loved that place; you spent more time there than in your room. You read, listened to music, sunbathed, and sometimes even cried.
Another thing he loved was watching you exercise, how you'd lie on the mat on the floor and arch your back like a cat, wearing only a pink sports bra and tight leggings of the same color. It was almost pornographic. Sometimes you'd go for a run down the street, but he didn't enjoy that as much as watching you stretch and writhe on your bedroom floor. You were so elastic, and he wondered if you'd be elastic when he fucked you…
But one day while you were doing your workout, you looked at him —for a few seconds— but you looked at him. You realized he was there, with his binoculars. He immediately fell to the floor, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
If it wasn't enough that he had stuttered when you first spoke, now you'd caught him spying on you! He was an idiot. His heart was racing. He dared to look up from his desk at your window, but you were gone.
Where had you gone?
Ding-dong
He felt his stomach drop to the floor. This wasn't real, it couldn't be. With trembling hands and a racing pulse, he approached the door and looked through the peephole.
And there you were, in your pink gym clothes, looking gorgeous. He swallowed hard and opened the door.
To his surprise, you weren't angry. You greeted him politely and began to talk.
—I've noticed you don't leave the house much. Are you okay?— you said with feigned concern. He was expecting a direct confrontation, so it caught him off guard.
—Uh, yeah, well, I'm under domiciliary arrest…— You walked through the door, even though you hadn't been invited in, and with light steps but without running, you headed for the stairs.
—Hmm, wow, what did you do?— you asked, already heading upstairs. Sam followed you through the house, nervous as he was, walking quickly, and you also quickened your pace. You opened the doors to each room on the floor until you found his. When you reached the end of the hallway, Sam stood between you and the last door left to open.
—I don't recommend you go in, it's all a mess— he said, breathing heavily. You gave him a tender look that made him give up and let you in. And it was true, his room was a mess! There were clothes strewn everywhere, unfinished food containers, Lego pieces on the floor, and a very strong smell permeated the room.
—You weren't lying— you said, picking a pair of dirty underwear off a chair with your fingertips and throwing them at his chest with an amused smile. Sam grabbed all the trash he could and piled it in a corner of the room.
—I don't lie— he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.
You scanned the room, analyzing everything you saw. From the gang stickers stuck to the closet to the black binoculars resting on the windowsill. You picked them up and brought them up to your eyes at the same angle they were positioned, giving you a complete view of your room and backyard.
You turned to him with a mocking expression, binoculars in hand.
—So you won't deny that you're spying on me— He opened his mouth to apologize, but he couldn't see how. Your gaze was now stern, and it scared him. There were a few seconds of silence that seemed to drag on.
—I'm sorry— he apologized, his head down.
Then, after a few seconds of looking at him in disgust, arms crossed over your chest, you laughed, dissipating the tense atmosphere that had built up.
—It was a joke— You turned back to the window, the device in your eyes. Sam let out all the air he'd been holding and came up behind you. —So this is what you do for fun.
You turned your gaze to the house across the street, where Mrs. Braun was coming out with her little dog.
—Maybe it will comfort you to know you're not my only victim— he said. But you were his favorite one.
His eyes fixed on your tight ass in those flattering tights. You were still looking through the binoculars, unaware of anything.
—In thirteen days, I've learned a lot about the people in the neighborhood. You wouldn't believe the things people do when they think no one's looking.
He had your attention.
—Tell me.
Sam took you by the shoulders and pointed to what he wanted you to look at.
—Do you see her? Mrs. Braun?
You nodded.
—Every day she goes out at the same time to walk her dog, Gretchen— you smiled, thinking it was cute.
—So?
—And, every day she comes home happier than when she left— then he pointed to a shop at the end of the street, and you followed him. You saw Mrs. Braun leave the dog tied to the railing and go inside. —She spends more than two hours in that shop and leaves Gretchen alone outside. That 'flower shop' is a gambling den.
You gasped in surprise, making Sam smile. He watched you, spellbound; you were prettier up close than through his window.
—What about Igor Porter?— you asked, pointing at the house on your right.
—Mr. Porter is the most interesting guy in the neighborhood— he began, daring to run the ends of your hair between his fingers, twirling them.
—Do you see the red car in front of the door?
—The one with the tinted windows?
—Mhm, wait and see
Mrs. Porter came out of the house a few seconds later with seven-year-old Barry. The boy was holding his mother's hand as she pushed an empty shopping cart.
—Wait a little more…— a few minutes later, the scarlet car door opened, revealing a stunning woman with blond hair, firm breasts, and a tiny waist. Igor Porter came out of the house almost immediately, and the girl practically threw herself into his arms. Mr. Porter kissed her, and now you were genuinely shocked.
You had just discovered an infidelity.
—Oh my God— you gasped, removing the device from your eyes.
—It's strong, isn't it?— You looked at him through your eyelashes with an incredulous smile.
—It is.
You spent the following weeks going to Sam's house. After all, your parents had gone on vacation to the beach with your sister, and as punishment for your bad behavior, your father had decided to keep you at home. You cried and begged, but none of it worked to get them to take you with them. You loved the beach.
Although you liked being with Sam; he was very different from all the boys you'd ever met: direct, sarcastic, and emo.
‘I'm punk, not emo. They're totally different things,’ he'd say.
‘Sure’ you'd reply.
You liked to tease him. You knew he was spying on you, so when you wanted to be seen, you'd open the blinds and do a little show for him, stripping with your back to the window or strolling around the room in your best underwear. Sometimes you'd pretend to be asleep in provocative poses, slightly lifting your ass in the air and spreading your legs a little. You’d like to imagine him with his cock in his hand, pumping rapidly and moaning your name.
Although nothing was far from reality.
But despite the flirting, you had struck up a good friendship. You told him about your old life in the other city, and he listened attentively; it was good for him to listen to real people because of the isolation. Sam liked listening to you; he thought your voice was sexy and soothing, he believed you had a fascinating way of thinking and that he could spend hours listening to you talk about anything.
You were Sam's errand girl when his mother was too tired to go herself to buy him new CDs, Monster, or pick up his sushi orders.
You also sometimes went out for walks around the city. On one of those walks, you met Claire, a girl very similar to you, with whom you quickly became friends. One thing led to another, and you ended up giving in to having a party at your house.
—Are you hosting a party?— Sam asked you, sounding offended.
—Yes— you affirmed, grabbing your bag to go home and get ready.
—And what about me?"
—You can't leave the house, Sam— you reminded him.
—I thought you didn't have any friends here— he quoted what you said a few days ago.
—And I don't. I met Claire recently and decided to give up my house to meet more people— you explained, tying your shoes.
—It's not fair— he complained, frowning.
You went back to your house despite Sam's pleas and went straight to the shower. Then you changed—with the curtains open but with your back to him—and put on your makeup. You wore a short, sleeveless, tight beige dress that accentuated your figure. It blended with your tanned skin.
Claire arrived first, with a few familiar faces, but from then on, anyone could enter your house. After an hour, your house was full of strangers, the music was loud, and alcohol was coursing through everyone's veins. You went out to the backyard, where your friend introduced you to several guys, all very friendly and very touchy, putting their arms around your waist or gently taking your arm between their fingers.
You noticed someone staring at you and occasionally glanced toward Sam's window. You couldn't see him because of the darkness, but you knew he was there, lurking.
Then classical music, clashing with the party music playing through your speakers, began to play from the black-haired’s house. All the guests turned around in confusion, but you were angry. Really angry. Since you had moved in, you felt extremely lonely. You had many friends in your old home and were used to always being surrounded by people. You felt trapped and out of place here. That party was the perfect opportunity to fit in, and Sam was ruining it with his childish games.
You rang the doorbell, and he appeared with an unbearable grin on his face.
—What's up?— he asked mockingly, but you'd already pushed him aside and were running toward his room. Sam chased you but tripped on the steps and fell behind. You found the amplifier that was playing music, connected to the boy's phone. You ripped out the wires connecting them and opened the window. Sam appeared in the doorway and approached you cautiously, his smile gone.
—Give me that— he ordered, holding out his hand.
—No!
—Come on, please give me that— he tried to snatch the phone from your hands, but you pushed it further away and threatened to throw it out the window.
—You're ruining everything!— you said, overwhelmed.
—I don't know what you're talking about...
—Of course you know! I'm trying to fit in. I'm lonely! It's not enough for all of us to spy on our neighbors through the window— you rebuked him.
—I haven't spied on you again!— he lied to himself as she rolled her spiked bracelet onto her wrist.
—That's a lie, Sam! I saw you, and you know I saw you!
He hung his head in shame.
—How long have you been staring at me? A week? Two? Since I moved out?— you gripped the iPod tightly, anger rising. —So what is it, Sam? Huh? What else have you seen?
—What else have I seen?— he asked, approaching slowly.
—Yeah. What else?
—Okay I've seen how you always pull your kleenex from the box in groups of three. Not two, not four, always three. I've seen you're the only one in the world who eats pizza-flavored Pringles. And you never stuff the chips in, you savor each one by dividing it into four precise bites. I didn't know that was even possible. You're also the first girl I've ever seen who spends more time on her roof than in her own house. And what do you do out there? You don't talk on the phone, you don't paint your nails, you read books. Now one would think with the whole numbers thing you've got going on that you'd put them on your shelf alphabetically, but you don't. Your system's much more perfect. The ones you like go on the bottom, the ones you love go in the middle, and the ones you need, the ones you keep. going back to... well they go straight to the top next to the dream encyclopedia. You know what all this tells me? You know how things should be. The world according to you. And guess what? It's a very entertaining and beautiful thing. Even when it takes a hit. When you end up in a place like this... when your parents dump their baggage on you, or just... when it seems like those curveballs are never gonna stop you know It sucks, but just so I get it. And even if no one else has, I've noticed that. And I ain't sorry. The only thing I'll even consider apologizing for is... not dropping the binoculars and telling you this a lot sooner…
A long beat as you peered into Sam's eyes. You slowly stepped closer to him.
—That was either the creepiest... or the sweetest thing I've ever heard— you said a few centimeters of his face.
Sam leans in and kisses you. His tongue intertwines with yours deliciously. You feel the piercing in his lower lip and catch it between your teeth, making him moan. His arms wrap around your waist and you walk together until he gently lays you down on the bed. Your hands clasp either side of his head and your legs intertwine around his hips as he climbs on top of you.
—You're going to drive me crazy— he says between kisses.
— Synopsis: It’s harder to pretend you don’t feel hurt than it is to hide your relationship with Anakin
Word count: 845
angst/fluff? I love forbidden romances and the title is inspired by the song Never Enough
It’s getting harder to pretend. Here you sit with Anakin, on top of a building in Coruscant, far away from the eyes of the Jedi. You can see it on his face too. The look he gives you during council meetings, during missions, during the moments you two are alone. That look that goes unseen by everyone, everyone but you.
He could stare all he wanted, admire your beauty. He could adore you, but only at a distance. He even opted to stand on the opposite side of the room when among other people, scared that his urges to hold your hand, or to profess his love you would take over.
You’re aware of this too, aware that you both can’t act on how you truly feel for each other. It was already frowned upon on how the Jedi noticed you two were “close friends” and often spent an alarming amount of time together.
Your loyalty lies to the Jedi order. However, there’s a small part of you that wishes it could lie to Anakin instead. His devotion and willingness to you made you aware that his loyalty — and heart — only belonged to you.
It seemed like the only thing that kept you and Anakin apart was your commitment to the Jedi order.
The night sky on Coruscant looked artificial, bustling cars and towering buildings littered the city down below. But not for you and Anakin. You both sat atop the tallest viewpoint you could find. Stargazing became a pastime for the two. Even when one was on a mission, light years away, it brought a sense of familiarity and comfort to your relationship which consisted of risks and secrecy.
You turned to look at him, he looked so beautiful, so angelic and carefree. Yet you knew about the storms in his mind. You wish you could help, to provide him with some sense of closure or security. Anything would be enough.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked, leaning onto his shoulder. He broke his stoic gaze and turned to you. “You.” He spoke. Flutters erupted in your stomach at his response. Even with all the ups and downs in your relationship over the years, he’s always said things that make you weak in your knees and head over heels for him, whether he even realizes it or not.
“What about me?” You asked, not expecting much of an answer. “About how I love you. And how everyone deserves to know.” He broke his gaze from yours, turning his head down.
He had such passion, such devotion, that it almost looked like torture when he couldn’t hold your hand in public, or say I love you in passing. “Yeah..” you trailed off, unaware of how to respond.
You took his hand and intertwined it with yours. His eyes met yours, “I know what it feels like. I sometimes wish we could just… leave it all behind and start a new life somewhere. Somewhere where we aren’t heroic Jedi Knights.” You confessed to him.
His eyes softened and gripped your hand. He paused before he spoke, almost like he was hesitant to speak. “You know I would do anything you asked me to, right?” He asked. You nodded, unsure of what he was going to propose.
He shifted his body to where he completely faced you. He grabbed hold of your other hand in his before he spoke. “Then let’s do it. Let’s leave and never come back. We can change our names, we can move to a planet we’ve never even heard of. We can properly get married, have a family. Live a life no Jedi can.” He confessed, holding your hands in a tight grip.
You knew he was blinded by his love, he even knew it too. You both knew that he had obligations and responsibilities, that a life like that is just a dream. “Anakin,” you sighed. “You know we can’t.” You avoided his eyes.
“I know” was all he said. Almost as if he didn’t want to accept that truth.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, “We always have right now.” You separated your hands from his and cupped his face with them. “Yeah,” he said. “We do.” A weak smile spread on his face.
You pulled him in for a kiss, your lips met in a fit of passion and yearning. Every time you kissed, you treated like it was your last, like the world around turns into a blur and all that matters is holding onto this sweet moment.
When you pulled away, he stared lovingly into your eyes. He started to brush his fingers through your hair, and you laid against his chest. “I love you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I love you too.” You said, fully meaning it. Each time you say it, you get closer and closer to satisfying the urges of running away with him and leaving the order behind.
Maybe this time you’ll finally give in.
See how good I am when I don’t rush myself to put out something? Ahaha, I’m lying, this was good in theory.
ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER
BEFORE
CHAPTER FIVE
SYNOPSIS: After losing his hand, Anakin struggles to adapt to the cold precision of a machine where warmth once lived. Haunted by self-loathing, he forgets he's more than the sum of his scars, until you remind him.
WARNING: little bit of angst, the rest is just fluff
WORDS: 1k
A/N: hello my dears, how are you? This chapter is probably the shortest I've written, it doesn't have much plot, I just wanted to explore what I imagine it was like for Anakin to adapt to his robotic hand, cuz whether you like it or not, there's that grief of losing a limb and trying to start over. Anyway, I hope you like it, comments, opinions and suggestions are always welcome ;) dividers by @/enchanthings
Anakin still hadn’t adjusted to the feeling of his robotic hand. It worked, of course, more than worked. It was fast, responsive, and precise. He could catch himself from a fall or stop a speeder bike mid-flight with it. It wielded a lightsaber with lethal elegance, performed all the flourishes and maneuvers he was known for. It never ached, never bruised, never bled.
But it also didn’t feel. Not really.
It was nothing where it should’ve been warm. It didn’t carry the current of the Force the way his natural hand had. It didn’t register the softness of your skin, the shape of your fingers when they threaded through his, or the subtle, loving pressure of your thumb against his knuckles.
And that... affected him more than he ever admitted aloud.
He’d tried, once or twice, to talk about it with Obi-Wan or other Jedi, only to be quickly dismissed with stoic Jedi platitudes. The Force is within you. Attachment clouds the mind. Accept, let go, move forward. But none of it lessened the sting. None of it gave him you back, the feeling of you, through his fingertips.
Anakin hated how small his grief made him feel in the face of a galaxy unraveling: war on every front, thousands dying, the Republic fracturing. How could he complain about a hand, when the galaxy was collapsing?
But the truth was, that pain, that dull ache in his phantom limb, the agonizing, phantom twist of nerves, was real. And you saw it before anyone else did.
The night you were rescued from Geonosis, he thought he’d hidden it well. The pain, the shame. But you’d found him curled into himself in the dark, a quiet whimper giving him away. At that time, there was no prosthetic yet. Just the raw, bandaged stump of what had once been.
You hadn’t looked at him with pity. You hadn’t flinched. In fact, you’d managed to make him laugh by giving Master Windu the middle finger in silent rebellion the moment the Council member left the medbay, after all the Jedi master scolded Anakin for losing his hand, so, it’s kinda worth it. He’d been mortified, but your whispered jokes were like balm over open wounds.
You visited him every day after that, bringing warmth and laughter to a place that had never been designed for either. Jedi Healers frowned at you, you weren’t a Jedi, and you certainly weren’t subtle, but they couldn’t argue with the effect you had on Anakin, how it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders whenever you were around.
You sat with him through every round of physical therapy, your fingers curled around his when he struggled. Even when he sulked, grumbling that squeezing a ball was useless, you stayed. Through it all.
And even after his release, when Obi-Wan returned him to training and your time together grew scarce, you found ways to be near him. You still reached for his mechanical hand like it was no different. You still laced your fingers through his metal ones and brought them to your lips, pressing kisses to cool joints and golden plating. He always tried to play it off, stoic, unbothered, but it stirred something deep inside him every time. You loved all of him, even the parts he could barely face himself.
That morning, the Senate building buzzed with anticipation. Padmé was scheduled to give a welcome speech, open to the public, with new citizens and representatives in attendance. You and Anakin stood just outside her office, where she was deep in a meeting with senators who shared her political ideals. You’d been politely, but firmly, dismissed by Bail as he assured only senators are allowed inside.
Anakin drifted to the tall windows, his gaze focused on the skyline beyond. Coruscant was nothing like Naboo. The golden haze of sunrise struggled to pierce through the smog, the silhouettes of high-rises stretching like sentinels above the chaos of the Republic's capital. Beautiful, in its own way. But colder, harder.
And yet… no sunrise could compare to you.
You stood in that light, radiant and still, the glow wrapping around your features like a halo. The soft warmth of the sun painted your skin, your cheeks tinged with a blush that seemed half light, half smile.
“What?” you asked softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. Your eyes met his, eyes he could never stop drowning in, and Anakin felt the breath catch in his throat.
“Nothing,” he murmured. “I’m just looking at you.”
He reached out, his mechanical hand brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness. But then, a lock of your hair caught in the seam of the plating. His breath stilled, panic flickering across his face. He froze, unsure, too afraid to pull, too ashamed to move.
“I’m sorry, this thing—” he stammered, cheeks flushing.
“It’s okay, Ani,” you murmured, brushing the strand free yourself. Your smile never wavered as you keep your voice calm, loving and tender.
He looked away, the shame creeping back into his expression. “I hate this,” he muttered, voice low. “It’s not just in the way. It’s me. It’s part of me now. And it’s not… right.”
Gently, you took his mechanical hand in both of yours. You lifted it, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the metal knuckles, letting your lips linger there for a moment longer.
“Why do you still love me,” Anakin whispered, his voice fraying at the edges, “even though I’m not whole anymore?”
“Anakin,” you said his name with quiet strength, guiding his gaze back to yours. Your hand rested flat against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He blinked, caught in the intensity of your eyes.
“I love you,” you continued, voice like sweet honey, “for what’s here. For who you are, not what your hand looks like.”
And then, with a teasing little grin, you added, “And for the record… your mechanical hand kind of makes you hotter.”
That earned a breathy laugh from him, the blush on his cheeks deepening as the tips of his ears turned red. You saw it, the way his soul softened in that moment, the way the weight of doubt slipped off his shoulders, just for a little while.
And in your arms, metal and all, he finally allowed himself to believe that maybe he really could be loved like this.
ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER - PART 4
BEFORE
CHAPTER FOUR
SYNOPSIS: Anakin wakes to more than just the morning light, he must now face the weight of last night with you and the quiet turmoil stirring in his heart.
WARNING: a little anguish.
WORDS: 2.8k
A/N: Hello my dears, it took me a long time, but I'm finally back. College kept me pretty busy, the end of semester and internships, ugh, it was awesome but crazy, and I even started a new job. But anyway, I hope the wait was worth it. Sorry for the grammatical errors, I'm finishing it on my lunch break😭😘 Feel free to comment what you think, suggestions and criticisms are also welcome, good reading ;) dividers by @/enchanthings
High on a hill, you called
Two lovers regret their time
Once in a blue moon, I forget you
And once in your life, you'll be mine
The stars shimmered in the night sky over Tatooine, streaks of purple and pink stretching across the horizon. Unlike Naboo’s velvet darkness dotted with twinkling stars, Tatooine’s night was vast and sharp, painted in hues of dusk that never quite faded into black. The twin suns had long set, leaving behind a chill that gnawed at your skin, nothing like the warm breeze of your home. The desert was bone-deep cold, the kind of cold that made you instinctively burrow closer into Anakin’s chest for warmth.
He held you without a word, his thoughts still tangled in grief and guilt, his mother’s loss hanging heavy in the air around you. So you offered him your silence, your stillness, your steady heartbeat, letting him find peace in your presence. Together, you curled up on the roof of the Lars’ homestead, wrapped in one of Shmi’s handmade blankets, its soft fibers still holding the warmth of a woman who’d loved fiercely, and lost everything.
The quiet stretched between you, filled only by the hiss of sand shifting across stone and the soft whistle of wind. Anakin’s hand found yours beneath the blanket, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of your palm in slow, calming circles. You let him, if it helped ease even a fraction of the weight he carried, you would have let him trace your entire soul.
“I wouldn’t have guessed a planet that burns like fire during the day could freeze like this at night,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the blanket.
Anakin’s arm tightened around you, tugging the fabric up to your chin. “It’s just desert physics, baby,” he replied softly, the tease in his tone making your heart flutter. There he was, your Anakin, returning to you piece by piece.
“I’ve never been in a desert before,” you pouted playfully, and he chuckled, turning to watch the sand whirl into tiny storms below.
“You’re not missing much,” he muttered. “I don’t like sand. It’s coarse, rough, irritating… and it gets everywhere.” His voice faded, like the memory of something bitter lingering on his tongue. His gaze was fixed far away, anchored in the past.
You glanced at him, watching the flicker of emotion in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, like he was biting down on something too painful to speak. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he added, “It’s nothing like Naboo. Everything there is soft… smooth.”
As if drawn by gravity, his hand slipped to your bare shoulder, his thumb moved with the kind of reverence that broke your breath. That simple touch carried more intimacy than any words ever could, it was quiet devotion, unspoken longing. It was Anakin, stripped of his titles and trauma, being held steady by your presence.
“We can go back,” you whispered. “Swim, dive, explore the forest around the palace… just the two of us.”
He turned his head to look at you, and in his smile was something sad, something tender. A look that said he wanted to believe you, to live inside that hope, but didn’t dare.
“I’m a Jedi,” he said quietly, as though reciting a mantra he no longer believed. “We’re not allowed to follow desire.”
You tilted your head. “But do Jedi stop dreaming?”
He didn’t answer. So you took his silence and filled it with a dream of your own. “Let’s pretend... just for tonigh, let me dream about you.”
He watched you lie back on the blanket, your eyes fluttering closed, and he followed, almost instinctively, leaning beside you until his shoulder brushed yours.
“Close your eyes,” you whispered. “Picture the warmth of the sun on your face, the tickle of grass on your cheek when we roll down the hills… Imagine the scent of wildflowers, butterflies circling us, and the sound of laughter carried on the wind. Imagine our hearts finding the same rhythm, soft, steady, completely at peace.”
And Anakin, for the first time in too long, allowed himself to imagine a life not ruled by fear, duty, or war. In the canvas of your words, he painted a world where you were his and he was yours. He imagined your arms around him, the feel of your body curled into his, your lips brushing his in a kiss that rewrote the stars. He imagined a galaxy where he could stay.
And when sleep came, it found him smiling, with you in his arms, his head against yours, Anakin finally dreamed of something beautiful.
┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .
Anakin stood at the ship’s console, fingers moving with practiced precision as he prepared for your return to Naboo. But just as the engines hummed to life, the holoprojector blinked, casting Obi-Wan’s flickering image into the air. His voice was strained, urgent, he had been captured by the Separatists on Geonosis.
Anakin froze, his mind reeling. The logical course of action was clear: transmit the coordinates to the Jedi Council and wait. But it was Obi-Wan, his master, his brother, his anchor. Waiting wasn’t an option. Reckless and desperate, he turned to Senator Amidala and begged for permission to go after him. And of course, Padmé, with the good soul that she was, gave permission to go on this mission.
The ship touched down in the jagged shadow of a crater carved into the red cliffs of Geonosis, tucked away from enemy eyes. Anakin powered down the engines and activated the locator beacon for the Jedi, in case the worst happened and they needed a way out. Tension hung thick in the air as he turned to where you and Padmé stood at the entrance, ready to disembark, but before you could step forward, Anakin’s arm shot out in front of you, blocking your path.
“Excuse me?” you blinked, arching an eyebrow.
“You should stay here,” he said, his voice softer than you expected, his blue eyes were pleading. “It’s dangerous out there.”
You crossed your arms, unwavering. “Anakin, if you lock me in here, I’ll find a way to get out. So how about we just go together, take care of all this mess, and deal with the arguing later?”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. You were stubborn, beautifully, exasperatingly stubborn. With a defeated sigh, he lowered his arm.
“Stay close to me, okay?” he murmured, his hand instinctively resting on your back as you stepped into the dry, suffocating heat of the canyon.
The three of you made your way toward the towering arena in the distance, but your mission didn’t last long. The Separatists were already waiting, you didn’t even have time to shout a warning before the Geonosians descended like insects, separating and capturing you. Padmé, was a senator, the important figure, so she was carted off alone, while you and Anakin found yourselves bound in the back of a second transport, headed for the arena.
You sat together, wrists cuffed, the vibration of the carriage rattling your bones. Your heart hammered with fear, but more than anything, with regret.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have insisted on coming. If I had stayed”
“Stop,” Anakin interrupted gently, lifting his chained hands to brush your chin, turning your gaze to him. “This was going to happen anyway. We were doomed the moment we came without a plan.”
He paused, his eyes softening. “But if I’m going to die today… then I want the last thing I see to be your pretty face.”
A breath hitched in your throat.
“It’s not over,” you whispered fiercely, blinking back the sting of tears. “But if this is where it ends, then let’s not waste another second. Let’s stop hiding. Let’s do what we’re always so afraid to do.”
You inhaled sharply, willing your courage not to fail you. “I love you, Anakin. I know I shouldn’t. I know this all happened so fast. And I know your heart belongs to my sister, but…” your voice cracked, “I couldn’t die without telling you the truth.”
Anakin froze, your words hit him like a starfighter blast to the chest, his heart pounded, his mind raced, a thousand thoughts crashing at once. But all he could see was you. You, with tears in your eyes and love in your voice.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, stunned. “Padmé? What does she?”
You gave him a wounded look, lips trembling. “I saw you two kiss. You don’t have to lie to protect me. I can take it.”
And then, he laughed. Not mockingly, but with a rush of relief that made your cheeks flush with confusion.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes wide with apology. “It’s just, Padmé kissed me, yes. But it meant nothing. I loved her once, maybe, I thought I did. But when she kissed me, all I could think about was you. Wishing it was your lips. Your hands. Your heart.”
Your heart jump in your chest.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he continued, voice low, urgent, “but that kiss made everything clear. I don’t love her, not like that. She’s a friend, maybe always will be. But you… You’ve captured me, completely. My thoughts, my heart… they’re already yours.”
His words wrapped around you like a forcefield, shielding you from the chaos beyond the carriage.
“If you want me,” he whispered, “say the word. I’ll be yours, now, always, till forever falls apart. Because even if I tried, I couldn't stop loving you. My heart only beats for you.”
Tears slipped silently down your cheeks, but they were tears of wonder, of disbelief, of joy. “I love you too,” you whispered.
The air between you shimmered with tension and yearning, and when he leaned in, you met him halfway. The kiss wasn’t rushed, it was reverent. The soft press of his lips against yours sent a thrill through your soul, as if the galaxy had paused for your moment.
His touch was shaky, tender, the warmth of his mouth melting into yours, and for a moment, just one, you forgot about the arena, the war, the cuffs. There was only the gravity of his love pulling you in, grounding you, anchoring you to him.
The chains clinked as he cupped your cheek with both hands, desperate to touch you, even if only a little. Your fingers curled around his sleeves, holding him close. When you finally broke apart, your foreheads touched, eyes half-lidded with quiet awe. The carriage jolted. The arena was near.
“You make me want to survive this,” Anakin whispered, his voice shaking with quiet resolve. “Just to have one more kiss.”
You smiled, wiping your tears. “Then let’s survive it.”
And as the doors began to open, revealing the roar of the arena beyond, you didn’t let go. Not yet, not until the last second. Because in this cruel, war-torn galaxy, love like yours was rare and worth fighting for.
*''
The image of Obi-Wan, shackled with his arms bound high above his head to one of the arena’s towering rock pillars, was more than unsettling, it was devastating. You’d known what to expect, but seeing him like that, stripped of his defenses, battle-worn and surrounded, struck a cruel chord against everything you believed about Jedi invincibility. The stories, the legends… none had prepared you for this.
“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan demanded, eyebrows furrowed as Anakin was dragged forward, bound in the same manner beside him.
“We came to rescue you, Master,” Anakin muttered, a mix of frustration and guilt simmering in his voice as he futilely pulled against his restraints. The metal bit cruelly into his skin, his wrists already red from the friction.
Obi-Wan arched a brow, ginger hair falling into his eyes. “And you're doing a magnificent job.”
“Don’t be like that, Master” Anakin started, but stopped himself when Obi-Wan flicked his gaze toward Padmé, who had already freed herself and was expertly scaling the pillar with agility that defied her senatorial grace.
“Clips,” you breathed with sudden realization. “Oh, sis, you’re a genius.”
You mimicked Padmé’s cleverness, yanking one of the decorative clips from your hair and working quickly at the cuffs. And then everything exploded into motion.
Anakin and Obi-Wan recovered their lightsabers with near-simultaneous precision, slicing through their bindings and leaping into action. The beasts released into the arena roared as the Jedi danced around them with graceful brutality, their lightsabers painting arcs of brilliant color across the dusty battlefield. You and Padmé seized stolen blasters from fallen Geonosians and fired with deadly precision.
Anakin was radiant in the chaos, his strength, his resolve, the way he moved like a storm unleashed. When he leapt onto the back of a wild reek, his robes flaring and lightsaber flashing, your heart caught in your throat. He reached down for you, and without hesitation, you took his hand.
You slid up behind him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, your cheek brushing the rough fabric of his tunic as the creature charged. You held on as he steered the beast with reckless control, and while one hand gripped his waist, your other was steady, firing blasts into the swarm of droids and Geonosians alike. The two of you moved like one, intuitive, seamless, bound by something stronger than adrenaline.
But the battle escalated beyond anything you could control.
Separatist droids multiplied like shadows, swarming the arena floor, victory seemed out of reach. Then, piercing the haze of dust and chaos, the Republic gunships descended from the sky like avenging angels, their shining hulls splitting through the atmosphere. White-armored clones poured from them, their numbers turning the tide.
And yet… Anakin was already gone.
You turned in time to see him vault from the beast and sprint across the arena toward Count Dooku’s escape route, his lightsaber blazing.
“ANAKIN!” you screamed, panic tearing from your chest. Obi-Wan shouted after him too, voice sharp with warning, but Anakin was already gone, driven by something stronger than reason.
Fueled by grief and vengeance, Anakin couldn’t hear anything over the roar in his blood. Dooku wasn’t just the enemy, he was the architect of everything. The war. The attacks. The death of Shmi Skywalker. All of it.
If Anakin could end him here, now, it would all mean something.
He charged, raw and untamed, reckless in his fury, and Dooku struck. The red saber carved through the air with brutal elegance, slicing clean through Anakin’s arm. Time stopped.
His scream tore through the cavernous arena, a sound so primal it didn’t sound human. You were already running.
By the time he collapsed, you were on your knees beside him, arms outstretched to catch what his strength could no longer carry. His weight sagged into your embrace, his head falling against your chest, and you cradled him as though the Force itself had shattered inside you.
“Ani,” you choked, cupping his face, brushing sweat-dampened curls away. His eyes were wild with pain, his breath ragged. Blood soaked his robes, and his trembling body spasmed as the agony surged through him.
“It’s okay, Ani. I’ve got you,” you whispered, voice cracking, pressing your lips to his temple, as if you could anchor him to this world. “Stay with me. Just stay with me.”
He groaned, unintelligible, but your arms never let go. Your touch was the only thing grounding him as his soul screamed in rage and anguish. Because it wasn’t just his hand, it was everything. The pain of failure, the helplessness of loss, the brutal truth that no amount of power had saved the one person who meant the most to him.
Around you, the battle continued to roar. You barely noticed Master Yoda’s arrival, nor the way he ignited his saber and faced Dooku. Your entire universe was wrapped around the boy in your arms, and his pain became your own.
Clones moved in quickly, guiding him to a stretcher. You refused to let go, even as Jedi frowned at you with questioning glances, didn't understanding why Padmé’s sister was overly concerned for the Padawan, you clung to him, your fingers entwined with his remaining hand, your voice a steady whisper of comfort in his ear.
Onboard the cruiser, in the medbay, you knelt at his bedside as droids worked to stabilize him. His face was pale, drawn tight with exhaustion and loss. You clutched his good hand to your heart.
"Please," you whispered into the stillness, your voice cracking with a desperation that eclipsed your pride, you begged for anything higher to save him, hurried and whiny prayers escaping your lips without stopping. "Please don’t take him from me."
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the war. Not the Jedi. Not even the stars scattered beyond the cruiser’s viewport.
Because your heart belonged to the boy with pain in his soul and fire in his eyes, and you would walk through hell to keep him safe.
ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER
BEFORE
CHAPTER THREE
SYNOPSIS: As Anakin waits for you under the setting sun, a misunderstanding shatters the moment and sets a storm in motion.
WARNING: angst, character death
WORDS: 3.6K
A/N: hi, my loves, how are you? as always, college is killing me, even with too much work drowning me, i couldn't help but write another chapter for this fic that i love💖, and that made me feel so much like i belong to the fandom. anyway, enjoy reading, comments, likes, suggestions are welcome, and if you want to ask for a request, don't be shy. 🥰💖 dividers by @/enchanthings
With each passing day, the feelings between you and Anakin seemed to bloom, quietly and inevitably. It began with small things, fleeting comments, shared glances, the way your laughter lingered after you'd gone. Like seeds scattered in fertile soil, these moments were subtle, almost unnoticeable at first. But every time you spoke, every time you whisked him away on one of your whimsical adventures, where duty didn’t hang like a shadow over his shoulder, where he could breathe, laugh, live without restraint, those seeds were watered, nurtured, fed by freedom and connection.
Until suddenly, it was impossible not to notice the garden growing between you. Feelings had taken root. Blossoms unfolded, vibrant and uncontainable.
To Anakin, you were sunlight. A bright, golden warmth that cut through the clouds of his world. No matter how heavy his heart felt, crushed beneath the weight of the Jedi Order’s expectations, the relentless pressure of being the Chosen One, the swirl of others' hopes or the imagined weight of them, your presence had a way of making it all fade. You were a reason to feel human again. To be someone who deserved joy. Who deserved to be loved, especially by someone like you.
That was why he stood now on the deck of the lake house, arms folded on the stone railing, staring out across the still, glassy expanse of water. The lake shimmered with the last golden light of afternoon, wrapped in the lush emerald cradle of Naboo’s forests. The soft hush of breeze moved through trees and flowers, everything calm and perfect, the kind of beauty that demanded reverence.
It had been here, just hours earlier, where he’d let himself laugh freely, falling into the water with you, letting go of everything. He had felt light. Real. But now, with the words he needed caught in the back of his throat, nerves pressing against his chest like armor he couldn’t shed, Anakin was once again tangled in doubt. He rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over, tripping through his thoughts, feeling ridiculous, like a boy pretending to be a man. Which, in truth, was how he often felt when it came to you.
He was so lost in it, in his overthinking and hesitation, that he didn’t even hear the footsteps at first. Only when the soft sound of silk brushing over stone met his ears did he stir slightly.
"I always liked to stay here and watch the way the lake kisses the sun when it sets," Padmé’s voice came gently, melodic and wistful as she stepped beside him. She didn’t look at him right away, only out at the horizon, her eyes tracing the edge where water met light. "I like to think of them as two hopeless lovers — always reaching for one another, knowing they can never really stay, but still stealing what time they can, again and again."
Her words cut through the moment like the softest kind of blade. Anakin blinked, finally turning to her. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.
“It’s, uhm... an interesting thought,” Anakin replied hesitantly, his fingers drifting to the back of his neck in a familiar gesture of nervousness. His blue eyes, always so expressive, couldn’t help but flick toward the woman standing beside him.
How many nights had he dreamed of her? How many times had he whispered to the stars, asking the universe to bring her back to him? To see his angel again, to have her look at him like this? And now here she was, golden in the sunset light. But the tangle of emotions inside him, he couldn’t even begin to unravel it. It was too much.
“Have you ever imagined yourself doing something else?” Padmé asked softly, her voice carrying that soothing cadence that always made people feel safe. Her brown eyes met his with warmth, inviting him to share a part of himself. “I mean… if you weren’t a Jedi, what would you be?”
The question caught Anakin off guard. He said nothing. He had never let himself think about the answer, maybe because the truth was too painful. If the Jedi hadn’t taken him in… if he hadn’t been declared the Chosen One… then what? He would probably still be a slave, slowly wasting away in Watto’s shop, dying from the wear of poverty or mistreatment.
Maybe, if luck had shone on him, he could’ve bought his freedom. Maybe he and his mother would’ve managed to own a tiny piece of land, raise what livestock the desert allowed. Maybe, just maybe, he would have had something that was truly his.
Padmé mistook his silence for hesitation and filled it with her own dreams. “I think I’d choose a life in the countryside,” she said gently. “Waking up to the sound of birds, watching the sun rise and set… those little things that feel ordinary, but I never get to enjoy.”
She turned to face him fully, her brown eyes softening as they met his. A faint smile curved her lips. She rose on her toes, and before he could say a word, she whispered, “Falling in love… that would be nice,” and pressed her lips tenderly to his.
Anakin froze. His mind blanked. Padmé was kissing him. And he was awake. For ten years, he had built this moment in his head, sculpted it from longing and devotion, playing it out in silent fantasies, believing that if it ever came true, it would be the peak of his happiness. The woman he had idealized since boyhood was here, choosing him.
He should’ve felt fireworks, but he didn’t. There was a part of him that swelled with pride, that the unattainable angel would lower herself to kiss him, to return his feelings. And yet, it didn’t feel like triumph. The kiss was soft, sure. Her touch was real. But it didn’t bring warmth or light. It brought… nothing. No breathless rush. No spark of euphoria. No desperate need to fall deeper. Just pressure. A silence where he had expected music. It hit him like a wave: this wasn’t the love he was meant for.
Maybe, if you hadn’t come into his life, he would’ve clung to this moment, convinced himself that this was everything he ever wanted. But you had. You, with your wild laugh, your fearless spirit, the way you saw him not as a Jedi, not as a legend in the making, but as Anakin. Just Anakin.
You had carved your name into his heart so effortlessly that now, standing here with Padmé, he realized there was no more space for romantic illusions. He had outgrown that version of love, bright and distant and untouchable.
Padmé would always be important. His first love. A symbol of innocence and hope. A friend, perhaps. A memory. But what he felt now… it wasn’t love. Not the kind that grew roots. Not the kind that made him feel alive. It was time he stopped chasing ghosts and started following the sun.
However, the universe seemed to be playing a cruel trick on you. Because just as Anakin was having a revelation, finally understanding that he was deeply, unmistakably in love with you, you were walking toward the lake, heart light with anticipation… only to witness the boy you loved pressing his lips to your sister’s.
At first, your mind refused to process it. It didn’t make sense. Why would Anakin invite you to meet him if he was going to kiss Padmé? He wouldn’t be so heartless… would he? He wouldn’t ask you to talk, to come see him at the lake, just to rub his happiness in your face.
At least, that’s what you had believed, but your belief shattered in the silence between blinks. Your vision blurred, your throat tightening painfully. Tears welled and spilled freely down your cheeks as your heart cracked open in quiet, stunned betrayal. You didn’t wait for explanations. You couldn’t. You turned away, not just from the lake, but from Anakin, from Padmé, from the fragile hope that something real might bloom between you and the Jedi boy with the sky in his eyes.
Once again, you were swallowed by your sister’s shadow. No matter how far you tried to run, it always managed to find you.
Back by the lake, Padmé and Anakin stood in stillness, their kiss already fading into discomfort. They said nothing at first, letting the tension stretch between them like a pulled thread about to snap. Neither knew what to make of it.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Padmé said finally, her voice low and uncertain. She kept her eyes on her hands, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her dress.
“No,” Anakin agreed, just as softly. “I should’ve stopped you.”
There was no anger in his tone, only clarity. The realization settled over him like the cooling dusk air: he had spent so many years chasing an idea. But now, in the presence of the real thing, he understood that his heart had already moved on. It belonged to someone else.
Padmé studied him briefly, reading the truth in his face. Then, smoothing the folds of her dress, she said, “Well… I’ll be in my office. When you’re done, whatever it is you’re doing.”
She turned and walked away.
Anakin remained where he was, staring out at the shimmering surface of the lake, the wind moving gently through the trees, the sunset painting the world in gold and rose. It was beautiful, peaceful in a way he rarely felt. A moment meant to be shared. And you… you would have loved it, but you didn’t come.
He checked the chrono on his wrist again. Then again. He waited long past the time you had agreed on, unwilling to give up in case you were just running late. But when the sun disappeared completely and the first sliver of the moon peeked through the drifting clouds, he finally sighed, defeated.
You weren’t coming. He walked back to the palace in silence, returning to his assigned role as Jedi protector. But his mind wasn’t on his duty. He couldn’t understand it. You had seemed so connected the day before, so in tune, like your hearts beat in the same rhythm. Had he misread everything? Had he imagined the warmth in your eyes, the way your hand lingered just a little longer in his?
Maybe he was wrong.
Maybe you only saw him as a friend.
Maybe this was exactly why Jedi were told not to form attachments, because now, the absence of your smile was enough to plunge him into confusion, self-doubt, and longing. You were his light, and without you… his world dimmed into shadows.
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Later that night, Anakin jolted awake, breath ragged and skin slick with sweat. His forehead, hair, and shirt were damp, clinging to him like the weight of the dream that had just gripped him. Another vision. Another tormenting flicker of his mother. Shmi.
Though the Jedi had taken him away from her years ago, she never truly left him. Through the Force, she was always there, a comforting presence in quieter moments, a piercing ache in the painful ones. Tonight, her presence was agony. He hadn’t seen her clearly, but he had heard her. The screams. The sobs. Her voice calling his name, pleading for him to find her, to save her from something unspeakable. The pain in her voice made his stomach twist. He could feel it in his bones, the way you feel the pull of a planet you can’t quite reach.
His heart thundered in his chest, each beat harder than the last. He tried to slow his breathing, to will himself calm, but the Force pulsed with too much intensity. He couldn’t stay in bed, not after that. He knew the teachings, attachment clouded judgment. Obi-Wan had tried to guide him to let go. But how could he?
He felt too much. He always had.
Barefoot and tense, Anakin padded through the dim hallway toward the lake house’s sitting room, dragging his fingers through his damp curls. He moved silently, careful not to wake Padmé or her family. But as he passed the archway near the kitchen, a soft glow caught his eye.
The stove light was on.
You stood near it, wrapped in a long cardigan, tending to a green kettle gently hissing with steam. The sharp, earthy scent of herbs floated through the air, calming in contrast to the storm churning inside him. You didn’t speak or turn your head, but you must have sensed him there. With quiet care, you poured the tea into two mugs and added a spoonful of honey to each.
Without a word, you crossed the room and offered him one. Anakin was still frozen near the threshold, shoulders tense, his mind clearly somewhere far away, somewhere painful. You didn’t press him. You simply placed the mug into his hand and gently guided him to the couch, settling beside him in silence.
The mug was warm in his hands, grounding. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed that. Two steaming cups. One quiet night. And the kind of comfort that didn’t need words to be felt.
“Did you lose sleep?” he asked quietly.
You didn’t answer right away. Your eyes stayed fixed on the wall across from you, tracing the edges of the old decorations that had lined it since your childhood. You knew every detail by heart, the soft cracks in the paint, the faded color of the wooden trim, but suddenly, it was the only thing you could look at.
You shook your head silently.
The air between you grew still, stretched thin by the weight of unspoken thoughts. Anakin could feel it, you wanted to say something, but the words clung stubbornly to your throat. He understood too well. He was sitting with his own silence, his own turmoil barely caged beneath the surface. He wanted to speak, to pour out everything, to tell you how much your presence soothed him, but he didn’t want to burden you. He couldn’t bear the idea of you stepping away from him too.
“What happened?” you asked, your voice soft, barely above a whisper. Your smaller hand reached for his, resting gently over his trembling knuckles. Your thumb brushed slow, steady circles over his skin.
He opened his mouth, instinctively ready to say nothing, to deny everything, but you stopped him with a single look. Gentle. Patient. Certain. “What’s in your heart?” you murmured.
And just like that, the dam cracked. His carefully maintained facade, the Jedi calm he tried so hard to wear, it all crumbled. He couldn’t hold it anymore. The fear, the confusion, the guilt, they poured out in fragmented sentences.
He told you about his dreams. The ones that kept clawing at him night after night, visions of his mother calling for help, her voice raw and pleading. He described how he could see her crumpling into his arms, fragile and slipping away, yet somehow still hoping he would find her. Still trusting in him, even in her final moments.
“Where is she?” you asked quietly.
Anakin blinked at you, caught off guard. That wasn’t the question he expected. He thought you’d reassure him, or worse, tell him it was just a dream. But you didn’t.
“Can you tell from the dream?” you pressed gently. “Where is she?”
“…Tatooine,” he murmured at last. His voice sounded far away. His eyes were heavier than usual, carrying a sadness as deep as the desert sands that raised him.
You nodded once, firmly. “So, what are you waiting for?”
Anakin looked at you, stunned. You took the mug from his hands with calm precision and stood, your tone steady but kind.
“Go prepare the ship,” you said. “I’ll talk to Padmé. If she says she wants to go to Tatooine…” You offered him a soft smile, the kind that made something inside him ache in the best way. “Well, your duty is to follow her, isn’t it?”
For a second, he just stared at you, wondering how you could see him so clearly. And then, without another word, he stood. Because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel lost, he felt seen. And that changed everything.
When you met again, Anakin already had everything prepared, the hyperspace coordinates programmed, the ship ready for takeoff. All he needed was the signal. Padmé stepped inside the cockpit with you, a solemn look in her eyes as she gave a small nod. That was all the permission he needed.
Time blurred after that.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, the ship emerged from hyperspace and touched down on the coarse, sunbaked surface of Tatooine. The desert wind howled as you made your way to the Lars homestead, following the thin thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, Anakin's mother was still waiting for him.
But reality was cruel.
Shmi Skywalker was no longer with Watto. She’d been sold, married, then taken. Lars and his son Owen tried to rescue her, but failed. Cliegg paid the price with the loss of his mobility, now confined to a wheelchair. The hopelessness in their voices was heartbreaking.
Anakin barely spoke. The moment he confirmed what had happened, he left. No hesitation. He made sure you and Padmé were safe, then vanished into the desert alone, swallowed by the sands that raised him.
While your sister walked with Beru, listening to the soft-spoken girl talk about the farm, about Shmi, and the helplessness that hung over the family, you stayed behind, waiting, worrying.
When Anakin finally returned, night had already fallen. The twin suns of Tatooine were gone, leaving behind a dusky, starless sky. He stepped off the speeder, a worn cloth bundle cradled in his arms. Your breath caught.
You didn’t need anyone to tell you what it was.
Owen and Cliegg rushed to meet him, their faces crumpling with shared grief. The family moved quickly to prepare a modest burial site in the backyard, an act of love and finality for the woman who had bound them all in different ways.
You stood beside Anakin as he laid his mother to rest.
He didn’t speak, but the anguish in his eyes said everything. His jaw was clenched tight, his shoulders tense as stone. You could feel the storm inside him: grief turning to guilt, guilt festering into rage. He blamed himself for not coming sooner. He blamed the Jedi for not trusting his instincts. He blamed the Sand People. He blamed Watto. He blamed the Force itself.
And even in her last breath, Shmi had told him she loved him. That she was proud.
That broke him more than anything else.
How could she be proud? He couldn’t save her. If he couldn’t protect his own mother, what kind of Jedi was he supposed to be?
The burial ended with no words, just silence and dust. And then, he vanished again.
While everyone else lingered, mourning in quiet pockets of the yard, you noticed Anakin was gone. Slipping away unnoticed, like he wanted to be alone with the weight he carried. You followed him.
Inside the Lars home, tucked into a small back room carved into the sand-colored walls, you found him. He stood at a table, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were pale. His head was bowed, shoulders stiff with grief and fury.
The air around him buzzed with tension. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of grief pressing in from every direction. You didn’t speak, not yet. You just stood in the doorway, your presence steady, waiting for him to let you in.
You approached him slowly, each step soft and careful. You didn’t want to startle him. You didn’t want to be shut out. But more than anything, you wanted to respect his silence, to honor whatever storm was building behind those clenched fists and shadowed eyes.
You stopped beside him, close but not touching. Your body still, open. Waiting. Gently, you tilted your head, trying to meet his gaze.
He didn’t look away. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with grief, and beneath the redness, a fire raged, flickering with guilt, with fury, with something darker that didn’t yet have a name.
“Anakin,” you murmured, his name slipping from your lips like a balm, like a prayer. Your smile was soft, comforting, though your heart ached just looking at him.
His voice came next, hoarse, hollow. “I killed them all.”
Your brow knit in confusion.
“Not just the men…” he choked, his throat raw from holding it in for too long. “But the women. And the children too.”
The words hit like cold wind. The devastation in his tone was palpable, he spoke not with pride, not with vengeance, but with pain. The weight of what he had done was crushing him.
“Oh, Anakin…” you whispered, arms opening instinctively, offering him a place to fall apart.
And he did. He sank to his knees before you, burying his face in your stomach as though trying to hide from the world, and from himself. His arms wrapped around your waist, clinging tightly, desperately, as thick, hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
He tried to speak again, but no words came. Just a broken sob. You held him, fingers slipping into his sandy blond hair, brushing gently as you murmured soft breaths into the air. You said nothing more, just existed with him at that moment. Steady. Solid. Safe.
Your touch grounded him. Your presence brought him back from the edge. It anchored him to the now, to something real. To someone who saw him not as a Jedi, or a weapon, or a failure, but as a man in pain.
In that moment, as his arms clung tighter around your waist and his tears soaked your clothes, Anakin made a promise. He would never let someone he loved die again. He didn’t know how, only that he would fight, tooth and bone, fate and galaxy, to keep you alive and beside him. Until his very last breath.
ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER
NEXT
CHAPTER TWO
SYNOPSIS: Anakin wakes to more than just the morning light: he must now face the weight of last night with you and the quiet turmoil stirring in his heart.
WARNING: none, just fluffy
WORDS: 3.5K
A/N: Hello my dears, I can't even thank you enough for all the love this fic has received. Honestly, I wasn't expecting it, so it was a pleasant surprise. I don't know if you'll like the second chapter as much, but now I'm full of ideas, I thought of five chapters more or less. Feel free to comment what you think, suggestions and criticisms are also welcome, good reading ;) dividers by @/enchanthings
The sun crept over the Naboo horizon, golden light spilling across the field in slow, deliberate waves. It touched Anakin’s face first — a gentle warmth that coaxed his lashes into a twitch, his brow furrowing as he stirred. A tickling sensation brushed the bridge of his nose, soft as a whisper. He mumbled incoherently and turned his face away.
But then it came again, a teasing flutter, and this time, a laugh followed. His eyes blinked open, still hazy from sleep, only to find you kneeling beside him, holding a delicate flower to his cheek with an expression far too innocent to be trusted.
You grinned when you met his gaze. "Good morning," you murmured sweetly, the flower dancing between your fingers. The chaos in your curls and the faint imprint of sleep still on your features made you look all the more ethereal.
Anakin smiled back, drowsy and charmed. “Good morning,” he replied, voice rough with sleep. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the dull ache from a night spent lying on uneven ground. It wasn’t exactly the best sleep of his life—but stars, it was worth it. Having you curled against him, your heartbeat lulling him to sleep on his chest, made everything else feel like it didn’t matter.
Until it did. His eyes widened as the realization returned like a jolt to his spine.
“Force, we need to get back,” he muttered, suddenly rushing to his feet. “Padmé. I’m supposed to be guarding her. I’m supposed to be protecting her, not” He stopped himself, guilt threading into his voice, heat rising in his cheeks. He had let his feelings cloud his judgment, again.
“It’s okay,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “I know a shortcut.”
You took the hand he offered, your smaller fingers enveloped easily in his. His thumb instinctively traced along your knuckles, a quiet gesture of affection that lingered even as you both dashed toward the speeder.
Anakin had barely settled onto the seat when your foot hit the accelerator, the vehicle surging forward with a suddenness that made his heart stutter. You weaved through the trees with an ease that was as daring as it was reckless. He couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or terrified.
He leaned closer than necessary, under the guise of balancing, but in reality, it was just to feel the way your shoulder pressed into his chest with each sharp turn. The adrenaline sang through him, but it was nothing compared to the way your presence tugged at something buried deep inside.
By the time you skidded to a stop outside the lake house, both of you were breathless, trying to straighten your clothes, picking flowers and grass from your hair. It was a lost cause, you still looked like you’d rolled through a meadow together. Which… wasn’t far from the truth.
Padmé was already waiting, her expression unreadable, though Captain Typho’s disapproval was written clearly across his face as he stood beside her, arms crossed, jaw set tight. Anakin’s stomach dropped. He knew that look. The captain didn’t take lightly to negligence, especially when it came to the safety of the senator. And he was right to be upset. Anakin had let his heart lead him astray.
He stood taller, swallowing hard. The shame hit fast, not because of what happened, but because of how easy it had been to forget everything else when he was with you. Jedi discipline felt like an old, distant promise compared to how he felt in your orbit.
“What was your mission, Skywalker?” Captain Typho’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade, his arms crossed and jaw locked tight. His tone left no room for misunderstanding.
Anakin’s shoulders slumped, the heat of embarrassment prickling up the back of his neck. “To guard Senator Amidala’s room,” he muttered, jaw tight.
“And why weren’t you doing that?” Typho snapped, voice rising. “What could possibly be more important than the duties assigned to you? Do you think you’re above the mission? Should I call the Jedi Council and ask for someone more committed?”
Anakin opened his mouth, shame and panic warring in his chest but before he could speak, you stepped in. You moved to stand in front of him, your body slipping between the captain’s sharp words and the padawan’s stiff frame.
“It was my fault,” you said, raising your chin despite the quiver in your voice. “I, I snuck out last night. I just needed to get away for a while and ended up in more trouble than I meant to. Anakin wasn’t shirking his duty. He was helping me.”
You turned toward Padmé, eyes pleading. “I lost control of the speeder bike. I could’ve crashed, if he hadn’t been there…” you trailed off, breath catching. “If he hadn’t been there, I don’t know if I’d have made it back. Please don’t blame him, he only did what anyone else would’ve done. I’ll take all the blame.”
Padmé’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and there was a long, unreadable pause. Her eyes softened, just slightly, before she turned toward Typho.
“That’s enough, Captain. There’s no need to involve the Jedi,” she said calmly. “I think we’ve all learned something valuable today.”
Typho didn’t look convinced, but he bowed his head and stepped back. Padmé waited until he’d walked away before turning to you with a tired sigh.
“Why am I not surprised that you were involved in the trouble?” she muttered, though her tone lacked real bite. She took your arm and gently guided you inside.
Once in her room, she sat you down at the vanity without another word. You stayed quiet, watching your sister through the mirror as she began carefully removing the crushed flowers and leaves tangled in your hair.
“Why?” she finally asked, fingers working gently through a knot. “Why do you keep doing this. taking risks, putting yourself in danger?”
You blinked, confused. “I don’t understand…”
Padmé met your eyes in the mirror. “You have the luxury of choice. Of freedom. You don’t have to bear the weight of the Senate or the Republic. You get to choose your path. So why are you always looking for ways to make it harder on yourself?”
The words stung. A tightness formed in your throat as your chest began to ache. You looked down, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.
How could you possibly explain to her, the poised, unshakable senator who bore the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, what it felt like to live in her shadow? To want to matter in a world where she already filled every room with grace and purpose?
Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I was reckless and irresponsible. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
Padmé paused her hands and stepped around to face you.
Your voice cracked, and the tears spilled anyway. “I just... I just—” You didn’t say it aloud, but it was there, in the air between you. The feeling of being invisible in her shadow. Of never being the one anyone looked to, listened to, or needed.
But before you could finish, Padmé wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her embrace. The warmth of her hug unraveled the guilt in your chest. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. She just held you, the way only an older sister could.
You stayed like that for a while, just the two of you, breathing in time.
Eventually, your voice broke the silence, needing to improve that strange atmosphere, needing to fix the situation that you yourself created. “Why don’t we spend the day in the garden? Near the lake.” you murmured against her shoulder. It’s beautiful out today. “You could use a break and I want to spend time with my sister.”
Padmé hesitated for a second, then smiled faintly, brushing your hair once more before rising. “Alright. I’ll ask the staff to prepare everything.”
Padmé went to inform the staff to prepare everything, and you took a deep breath, standing to head to your room and change. The tears were still there, but your heart felt just a little lighter.
Outside, you knew Anakin was probably still standing where you’d left him. And despite everything… a part of you hoped he’d still be looking for you when you came back.
When Padmé returned to the garden, her gaze immediately found you standing beside Anakin, two towels in your arms, animatedly saying something that she couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made Anakin laugh, a real, unguarded laugh. His blue eyes sparkled with that boyish glint, and he shook his head as if you’d just said something outrageous.
“Senator Amidala,” Anakin said, attempting to compose himself the moment he noticed her. “I want to apologize for my”
Padmé raised a hand, gently cutting him off. “Water under the bridge, Ani,” she said with a small smile. “Why don’t you help carry the picnic basket?”
She slipped her arm through yours, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “My sister suggested we go swimming. I hope you brought wetsuits.” Anakin’s ears turned red, and he quickly averted his gaze, falling in step behind the two of you.
Out in the garden, the afternoon sun cast warm glows over the lake’s edge. You and Padmé started a game of “don’t let the ball hit the ground,” laughing as the breeze threatened to steal the ball mid-air. Soon, you dragged Anakin and one of the palace guards into the chaos, splitting into teams. You threw down the towels to mark the makeshift line in the grass—Padmé and Anakin on one side, you and the guard on the other.
It didn't take long for the friendly game to turn into a whirlwind of competitiveness. You and Anakin became the fiercest pair, diving, spinning, and tumbling dramatically just to keep the ball from falling. His focus blurred—not because of the match, but because of your laughter, your joy, the way the sunlight caught your smile like a secret meant only for him. You teased him ruthlessly, lobbing tricky throws that forced him to dive with Jedi precision.
Not to be outdone, Anakin narrowed his eyes and sent the ball arcing high above your head. He grinned, thinking he’d finally won the round, but he underestimated you. You bolted backward, determined to catch it, but your foot slid over the damp edge of the grass, and with a splash, you disappeared into the lake.
“Y/N!” Anakin shouted, his heart stopping.
Without a second thought, he sprinted into the water, plunging into the depths to find you. Panic choked his thoughts as he swam, his heart hammering wildly. He cursed himself for being careless, for not watching you more closely, for letting things go too far.
Then, through the water’s shimmer, he saw you.
He scooped you into his arms, surfacing with a gasp and rushing back to the shore, both of you soaked and breathless. He laid you gently on the shore, dripping and panicked, placing his ear to your chest, just in time for you to sputter, cough, and burst into laughter. “You little” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face in relief. “You were pretending?!”
You grinned guiltily. “It was supposed to be funny.”
“You scared me out of my mind,” he muttered, heart still racing. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes sincere. “I didn’t mean to”
But Anakin didn’t answer. Instead, he picked you up without a word and ran right back into the lake. You shrieked as he jumped in with you, both of you plunging under the surface.
Padmé, from a distance, looked up from her holobook and shook her head with a fond smile. Watching her sister and Anakin splash around like unruly teenagers, a strange tightness crept into her chest. You two were a good match, she thought, but the realization sat oddly in her stomach, a feeling she chose not to examine.
Back in the water, Anakin hoisted you onto his shoulders, your hands instinctively clutching at his hair. “No, Anakin, put me down!” you cried, half-laughing, half-panicked.
“What? You giving up already?” he teased. “I thought you were the fun one!”
With a wicked grin, he flipped you off his shoulders, sending a wave of water crashing around you. You surfaced, gasping and laughing.
“You’ll be back,” you warned, narrowing your eyes in mock vengeance.
Anakin only smirked wider, until something grabbed his ankle under the surface. He yelped as he lost balance and toppled into the shallows. He resurfaced with a laugh, coughing and splashing wildly. The lake echoed with your laughter, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Anakin Skywalker felt light.
Not like a Jedi. Not like a soldier.
Just like a boy, falling fast for a girl who made him forget all the rules.
You spent long, sun-drenched moments with Anakin in the lake—swimming, splashing, laughing until your cheeks hurt. It was pure, unfiltered joy, a kind of freedom neither of you was used to. When the water finally started to cool and the scent of food wafted from the garden, you both made your way back to the grass, clothes dripping and clinging to your bodies, leaving wet footprints and little puddles in your wake.
As you approached the picnic setup where Padmé sat, surrounded by an inviting spread of fruit, bread, and fresh Naboo delicacies, you reached for the zipper of your blue frilly dress. With a soft tug, you peeled it away, revealing the white silk slip beneath—lightweight and now partially translucent from the water, it clung delicately to your form.
Anakin swallowed hard. His eyes darted to your exposed shoulders, the elegant curve of your neck, the delicate dip of your collarbone. Droplets of water trailed over your skin, sliding down your chest and disappearing into the folds of fabric he could not see past—but his imagination filled in the rest with a speed and clarity that made his cheeks burn.
He gave his head a sharp shake, sending water flying from his hair, and forced his gaze away, cursing himself for losing control.
You elbowed him playfully, catching his flushed expression. “Don’t do that,” you said, pouting a little as you pulled a stool over and plopped down across from Padmé. You reached for the breadbasket, slicing a piece and handing it wordlessly to Anakin. He blinked, a little caught off guard by the gesture, but took it with a sheepish smile before sitting beside you.
Padmé, watching the quiet exchange, shook her head with a breathy laugh. “Children,” she teased, half to herself.
“I’m eighteen,” you and Anakin answered in unison, then turned to look at each other and grinned.
After lunch, Padmé left, and Anakin followed like a shadow, resuming his Jedi duties. Yet no matter how many diplomatic briefings or serene walks through royal gardens he endured, his mind stayed tangled in you. Even when Padmé stumbled and fell laughing into a bed of wildflowers, just like the vision he’d dreamed of for years, he couldn’t stop the image of how those blooms would’ve looked tangled in your curls instead.
When he finally escorted Padmé back to her room, standing dutifully outside, she turned to him with a knowing look. “Go,” she said, gentle but firm. “Just promise me you’ll be back before dawn.”
He hesitated, offering a weak protest about Jedi responsibilities, but Padmé only raised a brow. It was enough. He understood her permission was given and her understanding went deeper than words.
This time, Anakin was the one waiting at the window.
His breath caught the moment he saw you step into the moonlight. You were wearing a blue floral dress that clung to your frame in all the right ways, the fabric catching the silver glow of the night and casting soft highlights along your skin. The delicate tone of the dress deepened the warmth of your complexion, every detail from the curve of your shoulder to the line of your waist etched into his memory in a single, reverent glance.
Your hair was down tonight, the breeze gently lifting the loose strands while a braid ran like a crown across the top of your head, tiny white flowers woven between the curls like stars caught in the galaxy of you. To Anakin, you didn’t look real. You looked like something dreamt up in one of the few peaceful corners of his restless mind.
"Waiting for me, Skywalker?" you teased, your voice warm, your smile tugging mischievously at your lips.
Anakin stood there, speechless, his lips parted as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t remember how to speak. You were breathtaking. And in that moment, nothing in his vocabulary, not even the hundreds of words he'd once used to describe a planet or a battlefield, felt worthy enough to describe you.
"You look... pretty today," he said finally, then stumbled over himself, his hand flying to scratch the back of his neck. "Not that you’re not pretty on other days, I mean, you’re beautiful. Always.”
You smiled gently, charmed by his awkward honesty. “You’re a cutie too,” you said with a wink, stepping closer. “Now how about we go for a walk?”
And just like that, the night unfolded before you.
Together, you explored the quiet edges of the city, letting the silence between you settle not with awkwardness but with ease. With every step, the weight of your lives , his Jedi code, your family name, fell away, leaving behind two people who just wanted to feel free for a little while. No rules. No expectations. Just heartbeats and curiosity and the pull of something new.
When you arrived at your destination, Anakin helped you off the speeder bike, his hand warm and sure as he guided you to the ground. Music drifted on the air, soft, rhythmic, unfamiliar. A bonfire crackled in the center of the clearing ahead, casting golden shadows over the gathering of people. Gungans played instruments crafted from wood and string, filling the night with a melody that felt both ancient and celebratory. Flowers of every color hung in garlands, draped from trees and woven into the crowd’s hair and clothes.
It felt like a hidden sanctuary. A little piece of joy carved out of the galaxy’s chaos.
“Dance with me?” you asked, reaching out your hand.
Anakin hesitated. “I don’t know how.”
“Then let’s learn together,” you whispered, pulling him into the crowd.
As a Jedi, Anakin was never taught how to dance. There were no lessons in joy, no teachings in how to laugh without purpose, or to move simply for the pleasure of movement. Leisure had never been encouraged in the Temple, only discipline, control, and obedience. Hobbies were considered distractions. Joy was something to be observed, not indulged in. So now, with your hands in his and music swirling around him like stardust, he was utterly, beautifully lost.
You led the dance with a freedom he didn’t know how to replicate. Your hips swayed to the rhythm, feet moving easily over the soft ground, a radiant smile tugging at your lips. When you tried to spin under his arm, Anakin misunderstood the cue and spun with you, causing you both to lose balance, stumbling into each other in a tangled mess of laughter. You caught yourselves, barely, and the sound of your giggle lit something in his chest that felt far too close to longing.
Still, you kept dancing, your movements light and confident, guiding him with every step. And somehow, through the chaos and the clumsy rhythm, it became less about getting it right and more about how it felt. How it felt to be alive, to be seen, to be here.
Then your eyes met. Blue locked onto yours, and for a breathless second, the world faded into nothing but the shared pulse of your hearts. There was a spark, no, more than a spark. It was a quiet explosion of recognition, of something deep and stirring that neither of you had asked for, but now couldn’t deny.
Anakin had only known you for two days, and yet, it didn’t feel new. It felt ancient, like something buried in his bones was waking up. As your foreheads gently touched, he closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just to let himself pretend.
He imagined a galaxy where he wasn’t a Jedi. Where there were no missions or codes or rules to obey. Where there was only this: you, and the night air, and the music. Where his arms could be your home and not a transgression.
He didn’t know what to call what he felt. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel it at all. For years, his heart had belonged to Padmé or so he thought. But every glance, every smile, every heartbeat spent near you was unraveling that certainty. You weren’t replacing what he had felt. You were redefining it.
And that terrified him.
Because what if this wasn’t fleeting? What if you were becoming the gravity that held his entire world together? And what if, in choosing you… he was choosing himself?
ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER
CHAPTER ONE
NEXT
SYNOPSIS: Anakin Skywalker has loved Padmé Amidala since he was ten years old — a crush that grew into something deeper over time. But everything shifts when he meets you, her younger sister.
WARNINGS: None yet. Anidala also here, don't if need a warning for them ;)
WORDS: 3.3k
A/N: hii, babes! sooo this little ideia I had while I was listening to “How Bad Do You Want It” by Lady Gaga. hope you enjoy! comments, reblogs & chaos always welcome — and requests are open as always! dividers by @/enchanthings
With attempts on Senator Amidala’s life becoming alarmingly routine, the Jedi Council had ruled that she remain under Jedi protection, not just for her safety, but to ensure the Separatists couldn’t silence her before she brought her motion before the Senate. Padmé Amidala was well-known across the galaxy for her unwavering principles. A fierce advocate for diplomacy, her voice carried weight and those who feared it knew it could shift the tides of war.
The growing tension with the Separatists had stirred chaos on Coruscant. It wouldn’t be long before that chaos would ripple outward, spreading like wildfire across the galaxy. Any hope for truce by democratic means was dwindling, but if there was one voice still strong enough to challenge the storm, it was hers.
Anakin Skywalker could hardly contain the anticipation of seeing her again.
His feelings for the senator hadn’t faded over the years. If anything, time apart had only made them sharper, more vivid, more impossible to ignore. From the moment he first saw her, he believed she was an angel, and nothing he’d learned about her since had proven him wrong. Whether it was in the holonews, Temple rumors, or stories exchanged in quiet corridors, Padmé Amidala’s compassion and courage only made her seem more unreal. More unreachable.
She wasn’t like the others. Not like the hollow politicians he’d overheard growing up. Padmé cared. She saw the galaxy not in star systems and senate seats, but in people, in those who suffered, those forgotten beneath the shining towers of Coruscant’s upper levels. She fought to pull justice upward from the shadows, to remind the Republic of its duty. And that, Anakin thought, made her the only kind of leader worth following.
“I’m sure Senator Amidala hasn’t forgotten about you,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the whirl of thoughts in his padawan’s head, calm and amused.
Anakin blinked, heat rushing to his face. He turned away from the elevator’s glass wall, willing the blush not to show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master,” he muttered, voice stiff and unconvincing.
Obi-Wan only shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smile. He didn’t need the Force to sense how Anakin practically came undone the second the elevator doors slid open. And there she was.
Senator Amidala stood before them, her presence as composed and radiant as ever. She smiled politely as her eyes landed on Obi-Wan.
“Master Kenobi,” she greeted warmly.
But then her gaze fell on Anakin. And it lingered.
Just long enough for his breath to catch and his pulse to roar in his ears.
“Ani,” she said softly, her eyes warming. “How you’ve grown…”
Anakin scratched the back of his neck, cheeks burning. “You haven’t changed at all,” he blurted, then stumbled on his words. “I mean—you’ve just gotten… prettier.”
Smooth, he thought, cursing himself silently.
But Padmé only smiled, gracious and unbothered by his awkwardness, and motioned for them to sit in the sunken living room of her Coruscant apartment. Captain Typho, the ever-watchful head of Naboo’s royal security, stood nearby with his arms crossed, his lone eye scanning the room with practiced precision. It was clear he was already running through contingency plans, ready to bend reality if that’s what it took to protect the senator.
The conversation was brief, or at least, it felt that way to Anakin. If he was honest, he barely registered the words being exchanged. His mind was far too busy spinning up fantasies where he and Senator Amidala were alone together, in a field of wildflowers, on Naboo, on Coruscant, anywhere she would allow him to exist in her orbit.
By the time it was over, he was already standing beside Obi-Wan, halfway into the elevator, still chasing the imaginary sound of her laugh in his head, when his master reminded him of the arrangement: He would be the one escorting Padmé back to Naboo, where she’d spend time with her family while the Separatist crisis was being contained.
And just like that, they were off, the two of them, together. Anakin felt like he was walking on air, grateful beyond measure that the Force had aligned to give him this opportunity. He could barely keep still. To have an excuse to be near her, speak to her, breathe the same air, it was more than he could bear. It was a dream, one he hoped wouldn’t end.
They traveled on a freighter, blending in with the other passengers, keeping a low profile to avoid tipping off anyone who might want to harm her. Even then, in worn robes and modest surroundings, she shone like starlight. The journey was a whirlwind of feelings. Every time she looked at him, spoke to him, asked him something, anything, his heart felt like it might burst from his chest.
Padmé asked him about his life. About his Jedi training. About the man he was becoming.
And gathering a courage he didn’t fully possess, Anakin answered, painting vivid pictures of daring missions and wild adventures. He spoke of triumphs, of narrow escapes, of battles fought alongside Obi-Wan. Of course, with Obi-Wan not there, Anakin took a little liberty with the storytelling. Maybe just slightly exaggerated his own role. Maybe omitted the times things hadn’t gone quite to plan.
But in her eyes, he wanted to be impressive. He wanted to be more than the boy she used to know. He wanted to be the man she could one day love.
When they landed on Naboo, a welcoming party from the Queen’s court was already waiting by the dock. Anakin stepped out first, helping Padmé into the little lake skiff. Her delicate hand lingered against his palm, warm and featherlight, and even after she’d taken her seat to speak with one of the guards, he couldn’t help but glance down at his hand, tracing the ghost of her touch with his thumb and smiling to himself like a fool.
Barely ten minutes later, the boat glided across the still water and docked along the curved wooden pier that wrapped around the Amidala family’s lake house. The soft creak of wood under his boots echoed as Anakin stepped off, stretching out his hand to help the senator once again. But before he could savor the feel of her fingers in his, Padmé was already swept into her parents’ arms, their reunion saturated with long-held emotion and relief.
“Sis!”
An unfamiliar voice called from the doorway of the house, light, melodic, and filled with giddy affection. Anakin’s gaze snapped up, instinctively alert, his stance shifting until he saw you.
Your smile was pure sunlight as you darted forward, lifting your long silk skirt to hurry toward your sister, arms already reaching out for a hug. But as Anakin had instinctively anticipated, your steps faltered, your foot catching on one of the many airy layers of your gown. You teetered forward, wide-eyed, arms flailing. You were a second from tumbling off the dock and into the water.
Until he caught you.
One strong arm wrapped around your back, the other gripping your forearm just before you went under. Your breath hitched, your chest pressed to his, your heart pounding as the world slowed for a moment too long.
You looked up, startled and slightly breathless, straight into the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. The kind of blue that made you forget what you were about to say.
“Oh,” you murmured, blinking. “Wait—are you that little boy Padmé said she met on Tatooine?”
Anakin blinked, like your words had snapped him out of a trance. He carefully set you back on your feet, stepping away as soon as he was sure you were steady.
“I’m a Jedi,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Anakin Skywalker.”
There was a quiet defiance in the way he said it, like he needed to cast off whatever image you’d just conjured. Not a boy from a desert planet. Not a slave. But a warrior. A protector. A Jedi.
Your smile only grew, excitement flaring in your expression. “I’ve never met a Jedi before,” you said, eyes bright with curiosity. “You can, like... move stuff with your mind? Or even better — do you actually carry one of those glowing laser swords?”
“Lightsaber,” Anakin corrected gently, but his lips tugged into a smile, soft and a little cocky, like he couldn’t quite help it. You made him feel seen. Not as a mission or an obligation. But as something... more.
He straightened slightly, his tone slipping into something halfway between duty and pride. “A Jedi’s lightsaber is his life. We’re taught to protect it, to never lose it.”
You leaned in a little closer, not missing the flicker of pride in his voice. “Can I see it?” you asked, like you were asking to see a hidden treasure. “Please? Just for a second?”
There was a sparkle in your eyes, like this was all a grand adventure. You weren't impressed by titles or legacy. You were just curious, joyful, and so effortlessly magnetic it almost made his chest ache.
Anakin hesitated, a quiet grin blooming at the edge of his lips. He knew he shouldn’t. But he also knew he wanted to.
And Force help him — he wanted to impress you.
“Y/N, Padawan Skywalker didn’t come here to play,” Padmé said gently, her tone laced with older-sister patience as she gave you a pointed look.
You pouted but obeyed, not without rolling your eyes like a bratty teenager who'd been caught mid-fun. Anakin noticed, catching the shift in your expression just as you stuck your tongue out at him. He blinked in surprise, clearly unsure whether he should be amused or annoyed. You, of course, took that as a win.
You and Padmé couldn’t have been more different.
Where she was graceful, composed, and precise, a woman who wielded diplomacy the way some wielded weapons, you were all impulse, confidence, and fire. Padmé had always been the one to weigh every word, to calculate every step. You, on the other hand, didn’t stop until you got what you wanted, no matter how messy the path there was. If she was the cool voice of reason, you were the one kicking down the door.
You both carried the same iron courage, the same unwavering hope in people, but yours showed up in sharper, more unpredictable ways. Maybe it was the age gap. Maybe it was her responsibilities as a senator. Or maybe it was simply the weight of her legacy, the fact that you’d spent your life under the shadow of the galaxy’s role model, and your only choice was to walk a different path entirely.
Anakin’s official duty was to protect Padmé, shadow her, guard her, ensure no further attempts on her life succeeded. But the reality was far more boring than it sounded. She spent long hours behind closed doors in tense meetings, writing briefs, and trading coded messages with other senators. And because he wasn’t allowed in the room when classified matters were discussed, he spent much of his time pacing the hallways like a restless hound.
Which meant you quickly became his favorite distraction.
You’d appear with a mischievous smile and a bounce in your step, tossing him a piece of fruit or a cupcake as you passed by, laughing when he fumbled the catch. Other times, you’d simply sit beside him, chattering about anything and everything, sometimes just to make him laugh. It became a rhythm, a quiet, unspoken habit. He found himself waiting for the sound of your footsteps. For that light in your eyes.
Once and only once he let you hold his lightsaber.
He’d meant it as a small gesture, maybe even a show of trust. A way to impress you. But within moments, you’d accidentally activated it, and before either of you could react, you’d sliced your mother’s antique vase clean in two.
You both stared at the destruction in stunned silence, the hum of the blade still vibrating in the air. Then you looked at him, wide-eyed but shameless.
“Oops.”
Anakin groaned, hand over his face. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”
You just grinned, handing the weapon back carefully like it was no big deal. “Relax, Skywalker. I’ll blame it on the wind.”
And in that moment, he knew exactly what kind of trouble you were, and that he liked it far more than he should.
On one of his nightly rounds, Anakin noticed a window left ajar, the curtains swaying lazily in the cool night breeze. He moved toward it cautiously, one hand already brushing the hilt of his lightsaber, prepared for danger, for disruption.
What he found instead was you.
You were perched in the open window, dressed in black pants and a jacket that blended into the night, your silhouette cut from the same cloth as the stars. Your legs dangled freely, swaying just over the edge, as if you were moments away from slipping into the moonlit air and vanishing.
His heart skipped, not from fear, but from the jolt of seeing you there, wild and untamed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and sharp, his brow furrowed as his hand closed firmly around your arm. The contact was meant to stop you, but his fingers lingered.
You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You don’t know how to have fun, do you, Anakin?” you teased, your smile pulling at the corner of your mouth, sly and impossible to ignore. “I suppose fun isn’t in the Jedi vocabulary.”
He didn’t answer. His jaw was set, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm.
“Y/N, go back to your room,” he said, trying to summon that disciplined tone Obi-Wan always used. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
“Then come with me,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Protect me, Jedi.”
There was something in your voice, a melody laced with danger, invitation, and the kind of rebellion Anakin recognized too well in himself. You weren’t just tempting him to leave his post, you were tempting him to abandon the safety of his walls. To choose want over duty.
He glanced at the hallway behind him, at the door to Padmé’s quarters, the room he was assigned to guard. That was where he should be. The Jedi Code echoed in the back of his mind like a warning bell. But the fire in your eyes drowned it out.
“Come on, Anakin,” you whispered, fingers sliding down his wrist and lacing with his. “Almost all of Naboo’s guard is stationed here. No one’s going to get past them tonight.”
His resolve crumbled the moment you pulled him closer.
“Fine,” he said, quiet and breathless.
You grinned, not a sweet smile, but something electric. And without another word, you leapt out of the window, tugging him with you. Anakin barely had time to react before he landed behind you on the back of a speeder bike, the one you have parked discreetly at the edge of the estate.
Your hands took the controls. The engine purred to life, and then you were flying, your hair whipping back into his face, your body warm and solid against his. He wrapped his arms around your waist, to keep balance, he told himself. But he didn’t let go.
You flew like you lived, fast, chaotic, alive. The speeder dove and climbed with reckless abandon, your laughter carried on the wind. More than once, he swore you were about to hit a tree, only for you to swerve with perfect, impossible timing.
The world blurred around you, stars above, lake below and still, all Anakin could think of was the warmth of your body beneath his hands, the rush of danger and desire tangling in his chest. You weren’t just a thrill. You were a spark. A question he’d never dared ask, what would it feel like to be free?
The lake shimmered below as you leaned them toward the water, close enough for him to dip his hand into the cool surface. His fingers broke through the glass-like stillness, trailing through glowing fish that darted away in flashes of silver and blue.
For once, there were no rules. No titles. No expectations. He isn't the choosen one. He was just Anakin.
Just you and him, flying too fast through the night, hearts pounding, hands tangled, somewhere between duty and something far more dangerous.
You smiled softly, glancing over your shoulder at him. That carefree grin on his face suited him, bright, unburdened, almost boyish. Anakin was too young to carry the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. He shouldn’t have had to bear so much so soon. Tonight, you just wanted to give him something simple, a night with no duties, no burdens, no destiny waiting to devour him.
A moment of distraction, a curve too fast and you nearly clipped a tree. Anakin acted on instinct, grabbing the steering handles and forcing the speeder into a sharp turn. The vehicle skidded, tore through a field of wildflowers, and finally came to a halt in a shower of petals and torn grass. The two of you tumbled off the bench, landing in the tangled bloom of crushed blossoms and laughter.
You braced for a lecture. You’d nearly killed them both. He had every right to scold you, but instead, he laughed.
Anakin tipped his head back and let go, laughing so hard he clutched his stomach, his whole body shaking with it. And that was it, you cracked too, letting the tension dissolve into giggles and gasps for breath, tears of joy slipping down your cheeks as you collapsed into the flowers beside him.
“Thank you,” Anakin murmured when the laughter faded into silence. His palm found your back, warm and grounding as he pulled you closer. Your head came to rest on his chest, rising and falling with each quiet breath. “I needed that.”
You smiled softly, tracing the seams of his Jedi uniform with idle fingers. “A near-death experience?”
He chuckled. “Yeah… that too.”
His eyes drifted up to the sky endless and star-drenched. So different from Tatooine. On Naboo, the air wasn’t thick with fear or survival. Here, everything felt softer. Lighter. Free.
“I think,” he said slowly, “I needed to be happy… without feeling guilty about it.”
You looked up at him, gaze gentle, then reached for his hand. Your fingers found his and squeezed, grounding him again.
“Good,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips. “cause I don’t plan on letting you go until we’ve squeezed every bit of fun Naboo has to offer.”
“Oh?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your skin just long enough to make your breath catch. The moonlight painted your features like something from a dream, soft, glowing, unreal. “And I don’t get a choice?”
You shook your head, playful but sincere. “You always have a choice, Anakin. You just have to remember that it’s yours to make.”
Your eyes turned skyward again, catching the shimmer of a shooting star as it cut through the dark. “Quick, quick, make a wish.”
He watched you close your eyes, the smallest smile curving your lips as you whispered your hope to the stars. You were radiant like this, not just beautiful, but whole, alive in a way that seemed untouched by everything that weighed on him.
He closed his eyes too.
He didn’t believe in those myths, in childish stories. But if a wish could keep you close, if it could carve out more nights like this, where he wasn’t a Jedi, or a soldier, or a ticking time bomb, then he would wish harder than he ever had.
Because this? This soft happiness? He hadn’t known how badly he needed it. And now that he had… he wasn’t sure he could live without it.
You reminded him that he had choices. That he was still human, still his own. That maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to walk the path that others carved for him.
He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But under that star-filled sky, your hand still wrapped in his, he decided he was ready to find out.
pairing: anakin skywalker x reader
genre: fluff
content/warnings: use of y/n, use of nicknames
summary: anakin still gets chills on coruscant
a/n: I rewatched tpm, and it reminded me that ani gets cold on some planets or in space due to his body being used to tatooine. I think it'd probably be a lot less frequent after a few years, but it may still affect him occasionally, so I wrote a little blurb for it!
I woke to the bed shaking. It was still dark outside, and the room was practically silent. Except for Anakin, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
I rolled over to face him. He was shirtless, the blanket pushed down below his abs, and he was violently shivering, his body convulsing. I moved closer to him, placing a hand on his neck. He was ice cold.
"Ani," I mumbled.
He softly groaned, still shaking profusely. I pulled myself on top of him, nestling into his neck as I covered us up with the blanket. His arms wrapped around me as he groaned again, his teeth chattering.
"Honey, wake up," I said, kissing his neck.
"Y/N?" he whispered, voice wavering as he shivered. "W-Why's it so—so cold?"
"It's just you, Ani. You're on Coruscant." He tightened his grip, hugging me to his chest. "You're okay, you'll warm up soon."
I covered as much of his body as I could, mindlessly running my fingers through his hair. His shaking began to slow, until it was almost non-existent, his breathing now calm and quiet. I placed another kiss on his shoulder before drifting off with him.
Additional Characters: Senates (Mentioned), other typical random SW people (Mentioned)
WC: 1,260
Warnings: Slightly obsessive Anakin, forbidden love/romance, italics, Jedi Knight Anakin, Jedi Reader, kind of possessive, dark-ish, slight angst, and fluff
The galaxy doesn’t stop for you.
It doesn’t pause when your eyes meet his from across the grand halls of the Jedi Temple, sunlight reflecting in the impossible, hypnotic blue of his gaze. It doesn’t still when he brushes past you, dark robes trailing behind him, fingers ghosting across the soft skin of your hand; like a secret. And it certainly doesn’t hold its breath as the galaxy folds its hopes and fears into the myth of the Chosen One.
But he does.
He always stops for you.
In the quiet of your quarters you stood at the window, clutching a warm cup of spiced tea, the color of dusk, untouched. The city below glittered like stars. Ships moved like fireflies through Coruscant’s veins. Rain tapped gently at the crystal glass, a slow, rhythmic sound that filled the space between your thoughts. The sky above shimmered with lightning every few moments. You remembered loving storms as a child, running through gardens on your homeworld of Monunia, laughter caught in the wind. If it were any other night, maybe those memories would soothe the ache in your chest. But tonight was different.
You heard the door slide open behind you, then close with a soft hiss. No announcement, no words. Anakin never made a dramatic entrance for you. Not like he did in front of the Senate, or the war room, or on the battlefield. Only others. For you, he always slipped in, sometimes unnoticed. You knew it was only a matter of time before his arms would slip around your waist. You felt his fingers first, brushing along the fabric of your pastel yellow silk robe before wrapping around you, and pulling you close. His touch was warm, grounding. Possessive.
“You didn’t wait for me,” He murmured near your ear, his voice low and velvet-soft. His lips brushed the curve of your neck, his breath warm, and his hands splayed across your stomach, anchoring you to him like the very galaxy might try and pull you away.
Ah. The meeting with the Council.
He had asked you to stay, to wait, to be patient. But you had grown restless and you could only pace around the hallway for so long before getting odd looks. So, you left for your room. At least there you could change out of your usual robes and into your silk pajamas. As the storm began to stir in the swirly clouds, you made yourself some tea. You didn't bother to alert Anakin to leaving, knowing that this was the first place he'd look; second to the Temple’s extensive library.
You didn’t explain yourself, only leaned further into his hold. He already knew anyway. His grip tightened, leaning back in slowly, his lips only barely brushing your neck - a ghost of a touch that lingered just long enough for a shaky sigh to leave your parted lips.
Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight. War hero. The Chosen One. To the galaxy, he was a symbol. A soldier. A prophecy. But with you, he was something else entirely. Something beautiful.
Loving you had never been simple for him. Of course it was with the Code and the Order breathing down his neck. But it wasn’t gentle, it was all-consuming. It was the way his arms pulled you back against him when you'd leave the bed far too early for his liking. It was in the flicker of jealousy in his eyes when your attention wandered for far too long, whether that be to a book or a Senator. It was in the gifts, the rooms filled with flowers, trinkets from his far-away missions, and even, sometimes, new gowns he insisted looked “devastatingly stunning” on you.
And it was in the fear. Not yours. His.
Because for all his power, all his command of the Force, Anakin feared only one thing. Losing you.
Outside, the storm rolled closer, lightning casting shadows across the room. Inside, he buried his face into your shoulder, breathing the perfect scent of you in, filling and coating his lungs like silk. You placed your hand over one of his. His fingers closed around yours instantly. After a breath, he lifted his head, pressing his lips to your temple, his voice barely a whisper. “I’d burn it all for you.” A confession meant only for you. Heavy. Honest. And terrifying in its sincerity.
You closed your eyes. Because you knew he meant it. In the way only Anakin Skywalker could.
There was danger everywhere. The war raged on across systems. Whispers of the Sith slithered through the halls of the Senate. The Jedi Council was fracturing beneath its silence and rules. And Anakin, he was the storm they couldn’t see coming. But when he held you like this, you knew. He wouldn’t let anything touch you. Not politics. Not war. Nothing. If he could, he would fight destiny itself to keep you safe and by his side forevermore.
You could only hope that when everything came crashing down, he’d take your hand and run, because losing him, truly losing him - to the Sith, to the Order, or to death… It would destroy you.
He spoke again, barely audible above the distant thunder. “You know you’re mine… Don’t you?”
And you did. It wasn’t ‘I love you’. Not in the way most people would say it. But from Anakin, it was more than enough. It wasn’t that he didn’t say it - he did, almost constantly, in whispered confessions and breathless murmurs - but this… This was different. However, you didn’t always need the words. You sometimes needed the fire. And he burned for you. You believed him. In his love. In its danger. In its beauty. You felt it in the strength of his hold, the soft tremor in his breath when you pulled away for too long, in the fierce devotion written across his every glance.
He may have belonged to the Republic. To the Jedi. To prophecy. But you… You were his gravity. His tether. His weakness. His everything. And he would lie, fight, betray, and burn…
You turned in his arms, silently setting your teacup down on the small circular table close to you. Your hands rose to rest gently on his chest, fingers tracing the edges of the layered fabrics of his Jedi Knight robes, brushing over them as if memorizing its every thread. Your touch lingered, fingertips drifting, feeling the slight warmth beneath the wool and cotton.
Your gaze met his - storm blue and star-bright, filled with longing and passion and something terrifyingly tender.
You searched his face, one of your hands rose to his cheek, brushing the edge of a scar, your fingers curling gently into his curls. He leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering shut, breath uneven, shaky as he inhaled and exhaled. For a long moment, nothing else existed. The world around you both had narrowed to the soft brush of skin and the steady thrum of two hearts beating out of sync.
Then, slowly, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a soft, searing kiss - tentative at first, then deepening as he tangled a gloved hand in your hair, pulling you closer with deliberate urgency. His other hand tightened on your waist, fingers digging into the soft folds of your silk robe, anchoring you as he took full control of the kiss, making you melt into his embrace.
And in that moment, with thunder echoing through the skyline and the Force heavy, you both knew - together, you would fight, fall, and burn for each other.
The baby monitor crackled to life just as the sun started bleeding through the blinds.
Sam groaned beside me, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Tell her to sleep five more minutes.”
“She’s four,” I said, already sliding out of bed, “not a snooze button.”
“Same difference.”
I pulled on his hoodie from the floor and padded down the hall. Mila was sitting up in bed, blanket half-on, hair sticking up in every direction like she’d fought a thunderstorm in her sleep.
“Morning, my sweet girl,” I whispered, scooping her up.
She yawned dramatically and flopped her head on my shoulder. “Mama… Daddy said I could have pancakes.”
“Did he now?”
I walked back into the bedroom with Mila in my arms. Sam had faceplanted into the mattress, one leg hanging off the bed, boxers low on his hips.
“Hey, pancake promiser,” I said, nudging his back with my foot. “You made a deal.”
He grunted. “I didn’t think she’d remember.”
Mila squealed, wriggling out of my arms and belly-flopping onto him. “PANCAKES!”
Sam groaned louder, muffled by the pillow.
He rolled over eventually, shirtless and scruffy, lifting Mila onto his chest like a human teddy bear. She immediately nestled there, her little fingers tracing his chest.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching. The way her curls melted into his chest. The way his arm instinctively cradled her back. The way his eyes softened, even half-asleep.
It was stupid, how much I loved them. Eventually, Sam opened one eye. “What?”
“You look like a dad.”
“A hot dad?”
“The hottest,” I said, climbing back into bed beside them.
He leaned over and kissed me, lazy and soft. Mila wriggled between us, completely unbothered, then whispered loudly, “I want chocky chips in mine.”
“Babe,” I said to Sam, “go make the baby her pancakes.”
He smiled, hair a mess, eyes still heavy. “Anything for my girls.”
Summary : You and James are divorced with a daughter named Mila, but the tension still lingers between you two when you both drop Mila off at one another’s house. You go to talk it out but it only ends in James’s bed.
Contains : James as a girl dad, slight angst, smut.
The rain had stopped just before I pulled into James’s driveway.
It left the pavement damp and shining, like the whole street had been freshly scrubbed. Mila was asleep in the back seat, one hand clutching her purple stuffed bunny, head tilted at that impossible toddler angle that always made me want to gently fix it and never quite dare.
I sat there for a second, engine ticking, the hum of the radio low.
I could see James through the window.
He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair messy — not the kind of messy you style on purpose, but the kind that comes from real life. There was something soft about him like this. Something painfully familiar.
He didn’t see me at first.
Then he did.
Our eyes met through the glass, and he didn’t look away.
Not immediately. Not like he used to.
I stepped out, rounding the car and opening the back door gently. Mila stirred, blinked up at me with that dazed, half-asleep face only kids could pull off. I brushed her hair back, whispering, “We’re at Daddy’s, sweetheart.”
She blinked again. “Daddy’s?”
“Yeah, baby.”
She sat up, clutching her bunny tighter, and I lifted her into my arms like I always did, even though she was getting too big for it. Her weight felt different lately — not heavy, just grown. Just not my little baby anymore.
James opened the door right as I reached the steps. He leaned against the frame, looking at her, not me.
“There she is,” he said, voice warm.
“Hi Daddy,” Mila mumbled, still clinging to my shoulder.
“Hi, beautiful.”
He reached for her and she went willingly — melting into his arms like it was the safest place in the world. He smelled like cedar and soap and something vaguely burnt, which probably meant he’d tried to cook again.
She buried her face in his neck.
I tried not to look too long.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes finally flicking to mine. “For bringing her. I know Sunday’s not usually—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in.
We stood there for a beat too long, Mila between us, a very real and very loved reminder of everything we’d been. Everything we still were, even now. Even after the lawyers and the division of books and the fight about who kept the cast iron skillet.
James shifted his weight, bounced Mila a little. “She said you guys made pancakes this morning.”
“She poured the batter herself.”
He smiled — the real one. The crooked one that used to undo me. “That’s my girl.”
Another silence. Another beat.
I looked away. “You should probably get her inside. She’s still half-asleep.”
“Yeah. I just—” He hesitated, glancing at me. “Can we talk later? After she’s down?”
My chest tightened, but I didn’t let it show.
“Depends what about.”
He gave a small shrug. “Nothing huge. Just… stuff.”
“Stuff,” I repeated.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He nodded, then turned to carry Mila inside, her little arm slung lazily over his shoulder, her bunny dangling from one hand. I stood on the porch a second longer than I meant to, watching her disappear into his chest, into the house, into the life that used to be ours.
The door didn’t shut.
Not all the way.
He left it ajar, like he was still deciding if he wanted me to follow.
Or maybe he already knew I wouldn’t.
I stayed in my car for twenty minutes.
Tried to talk myself out of it. Tried to convince myself that whatever James had to say could wait until next week. That it wasn’t worth stirring things that had finally started to settle.
But the porch light was still on. And the front door was still cracked.
So I got out.
The house hadn’t changed much. A few more plants. Mila’s artwork taped to the fridge. A new coffee table that didn’t match the rest of the furniture. The same smell — detergent and wood and something warm. Something that used to mean home.
James was in the kitchen when I stepped in, leaning over the sink, a glass of water in his hand, back turned.
“She asleep?” I asked softly.
He nodded without looking. “Out cold. Barely made it to the pillow.”
I stepped further in. Closed the door behind me. That familiar click echoed louder than it should’ve.
He turned finally, leaned against the counter. Tired eyes. Soft jaw. That old James — the one from late nights and grocery runs and baby monitors at 3 a.m. — peeked through all the quiet hurt.
“You really came back,” he said, like he wasn’t sure I would.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“You used to say that when you already knew.”
I smiled faintly. “Still do.”
He gestured to the table. “Want to sit?”
“I’ll stand.”
He nodded like he expected that. Set his glass down. Rested both hands on the edge of the counter like it was the only thing holding him up.
Silence stretched again.
And then he said, “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend it doesn’t still hurt when you leave.”
My chest tightened.
“You wanted the space,” I said carefully.
“I know. And I don’t regret asking for it. We were miserable. We fought all the time. Mila was hearing things she shouldn’t have heard.”
I nodded. “We were both angry.”
“But now it’s like…” He trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair. “You’re still here, but not here. It’s like a ghost version of us walks around every time we see each other.”
I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Because what we had was real. That doesn’t just go away, James.”
He looked at me, eyes fierce and quiet. “Then why did we let it go?”
That question landed like a punch. I didn’t answer right away.
“Because love stopped being enough,” I said finally. “Because we were exhausted, neither of us wanted to be the one to fix it anymore.”
He closed his eyes like he didn’t want to hear it, even though he knew it was true.
“I didn’t stop loving you,” he said.
“You stopped showing it.”
That cut through him. I saw it — in the way he shifted, in the way his jaw clenched like he wanted to argue and couldn’t.
“And I stopped asking for it,” I added, softer now.
The air in the room felt too still.
“You know I’m still in love with you, right?” he said suddenly.
My heart dropped.
“That’s not fair,” I whispered.
“It’s the truth.”
I swallowed hard, my throat thick. “You can’t just drop that on me like it means nothing.”
“I’m not. It means everything.”
He crossed the room slowly — not sure of his footing, like I might flinch if he got too close. He stopped just in front of me, inches away.
“I think about us all the time,” he said. “Not the bad fights. Not the walking on eggshells. I think about you in the kitchen at midnight, singing to yourself. I think about the way you used to wake up first and bring me coffee even though you hated the smell. I think about the first time you let me hold Mila, and you looked at me like I wasn’t broken anymore.”
“James…”
“I never stopped wanting you.”
My eyes burned. My mouth parted but nothing came out.
He reached up, thumb brushing the side of my face, gentle. Familiar.
“I know we’re not supposed to go back,” he said, quieter now. “But for just one night… I don’t want to feel like strangers anymore.”
The smart thing would’ve been to walk away. The safe thing.
But I’d never been safe with James. I’d only ever been real.
So I closed the distance.
He kissed me like he’d missed every inch of me. Not rushed — reverent. Like he wanted to relearn my taste, my rhythm, the way my hands curved around his shoulders. His mouth moved against mine with the same weight it always had — intention layered with grief, love, and want.
My fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as his hands slid to my waist, grounding me in the moment. He backed me into the wall gently, his hips flush against mine, our breath shared, shallow.
We moved together like people who knew every detail — every sound, every tell, every way the other fell apart.
His hand slipped beneath my shirt, fingertips brushing over familiar skin with aching caution. He paused, breath ragged against my neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
I didn’t.
I kissed him harder instead.
And then we were stumbling toward the couch — not frantic, not clumsy, but like gravity kept pulling us back into each other. Clothes slid away in slow, quiet layers. Fingers mapped skin like rediscovery. Everything familiar felt new again.
He kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. He took his time, memorizing instead of rushing, as if this might be the last time.
I arched into him, hands tangled in his hair, hearts pressed too close.
His fingers explored places that had been untouched for too long. Soft whimpers escaped my lips, arching up into his touch like I might not survive without it.
He pulled his fingers away from me, sucking the wetness we collected off them. My eyes nearly rolled back at the familiar sight.
Then his body came down over me, hands gripping my waist firmly as he lined himself up. My eyes were hooded, lips parted like I knew what to expect next.
The fire crackled in his living room, warming our intertwined bodies. His breath was heavy against my skin as he lined himself at my entrance like he was hesitating. Like he knew that he wouldn’t come back from this.
He pushed into me in one quick thrust and our bodies shuddered at the sudden sensation. My back arched into him, nails clawing his back muscles. His face contorted into something so handsome I almost came undone at the sight.
His fingers wrapped around my waist and brought me towards his thrusts, my breasts bouncing at each collide. He hovered over me, groaning like an animal. His cross necklace swung back and forth in front of my face like a filthy reminder of what we were doing.
“So beautiful…” he muttered into my neck, enticing a moan out of me. He shouldn’t be saying things like that. Things that make me feel like we were back to square one.
The sound of our love making filled the room, nasty and beautiful.
And when we came together, it wasn’t wild or rushed or messy. It was slow and aching.
It was us — complicated, beautiful, broken. Afterward, we lay in silence. His arm draped across my stomach. My head on his chest. Neither of us said what we both knew.
That this didn’t fix anything. That it didn’t mean we were back together.
That it only meant we still felt everything, too much, too deeply, too permanently.
His fingers grazed mine. “She looks more like you every day,” he said quietly, referring to Mila.
“She’s got your stubbornness though.”
He smiled, eyes closed. I stared at the ceiling.
And for a few minutes, I let myself believe that maybe, love wasn’t gone.
Just resting. Waiting. Still there, under everything we couldn’t say.
this was very vague so i just did a simple drabble, lol
warnings/tags: fluff, anakin is jealous, senator!reader, you and anakin are married
“How come every time we’re on Coruscant, you have to visit the Senator?” Ahsoka asked, walking alongside Anakin in the Senate halls.
Anakin didn’t look at her. "She has important intel. The Council wants updates."
"You sure it’s not you who wants updates?" Ahsoka smirked.
He exhaled through his nose. "Drop it, Snips."
Ahsoka grinned wider. "I’m just saying. You never rush to see Bail Organa."
"I don’t rush."
"You literally left Rex mid-sentence."
"He was rambling."
"About the plan you gave him."
Anakin stopped walking. "Why are you still talking?"
"Because it’s funny watching you pretend this isn’t obvious."
"I’m a Jedi, she's a senator. That’s it."
"Right. So if I round this corner and she’s laughing with another senator—say, that guy from Chandrila—you’re not gonna lose your mind?"
They turned the corner. You were standing in front of your office, chatting with Senator Mon Mothma and a tall, clean-cut senator with a blinding smile. He leaned a little too close when he laughed at something you said.
Anakin’s jaw tightened. "Who the hell is that?"
Ahsoka looked at him with a raised brow. "I thought it was just intel?"
He didn’t answer. Just walked faster.
You spotted him before he reached you, and your eyes lit up in a way you really shouldn’t if you were just discussing legislation. The tall senator noticed, turned slightly to follow your gaze, and his smile faltered when he saw Anakin approaching.
"General Skywalker," the man greeted.
Anakin barely glanced at him. "Senator."
You stepped in, trying to diffuse. "You're early."
"You look busy." He didn’t look at you, he just continued staring at the other senator.
Mon Mothma cleared her throat. "We should head to the chamber. Session starts in ten."
The tall senator nodded and gave you a polite smile. "Always good to see you, Y/N."
You smiled back. "You too."
Anakin watched him walk away like he was deciding if it would be considered a war crime to Force-choke a politician in public.
"Anakin." He looked at you finally. "You’re glaring," you said under your breath, stepping slightly in front of him. "And clenching your jaw."
"Didn’t notice."
"That was Senator Cassian Vallas. He helped push through relief funds for Naboo. He’s harmless."
"He was practically breathing your air."
"He talks close."
"He talks like he wants to get punched."
You folded your arms. "You’re being ridiculous."
"He called you by your first name."
You raised a brow. "You call me worse when we’re alone."
Ahsoka, lingering way too close, snorted.
Anakin turned his head sharply. "Don’t you have somewhere to be?"
"Not really. This is better than the war." She grinned. "But I’ll let you two lovebirds talk."
"Ahsoka—"
She was already walking off.
You turned to Anakin, voice lower. "You’re jealous."
"No, I’m—"
"You are. You’re jealous. Because I had a polite conversation with a senator."
"He looked at you like he wanted more than a polite conversation."
You stepped closer, lips barely moving. "And if I remind you you’re the only one who gets more, does that help?"
He blinked. Briefly. Then, "no."
You tried not to smile. "You’re impossible."
"Is he coming to dinner with you tonight?"
"Stop it."
"I’ll sit next to you just to make a point."
"Anakin."
"What?"
"You’re already my husband."
He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at you with a look that made it clear he’d forgotten you were in public. Then, under his breath, "wish I could kiss you right now."
You leaned in slightly, voice soft. "Wish you would calm down."
He smirked. "Not gonna happen."
You rolled your eyes and opened the office door. "Come on. You can brief me while I change for session." He followed, no hesitation. "You're staying outside the dressing room this time," you warned, pointing a finger at him.
He smirked. "No promises."
You shot Anakin a look over your shoulder as you moved behind the changing screen. "Seriously, stay there."
He huffed, sitting on the couch across the room. "You act like I've never seen you change."
"Yeah, but last time, you almost got caught."
"I was quiet."
"You were the opposite of quiet."
He smiled to himself, leaning back casually. "Can we focus on why Senator Vallas felt comfortable enough to practically stand in your robes?"
You groaned softly behind the screen, fabric rustling. "He wasn't."
"He definitely was."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
You peeked out from behind the screen, holding your gown in place with one hand. "Do you remember who you're married to?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "A very attractive senator, apparently."
"Apparently?"
Anakin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze intense. "You're mine."
"You realize saying things like that doesn't help your jealousy issues, right?"
"I'm not jealous."
"Anakin."
"I'm protective."
"That's a very Jedi-like way to phrase it."
He shrugged. "Call it what you want."
You stepped out from behind the screen, adjusting the drape of your elegant gown. His eyes swept appreciatively over you.
"I should probably be offended that this is what makes you finally stop scowling," you teased.
He stood, stepping closer. "I'm still scowling. Internally."
You reached up, straightening the edge of his robes. "At least try to pretend you're calm in public."
"I do."
"You don't."
His lips quirked into a faint smirk. "Fine. I'll try harder."
You laughed softly, gently touching his cheek. "Do you have any idea how distracting you are when you act like this?"
He placed his hand over yours, holding your palm against his skin. "Maybe that's the point."
You gave a playful shove to his chest, pulling away reluctantly. "Come on. I have a senate session, and you have Jedi business. Try not to intimidate any more senators today."
"No promises."
You opened your office door to find Ahsoka leaning casually against the wall, tapping her fingers impatiently. She grinned when she saw you both. "You two done whispering sweet nothings, or should I come back later?"
Anakin sighed. "We're done."
"Good, because Rex commed. Twice. Says you better get back before Obi-Wan notices you've disappeared."
You smiled sweetly at Anakin. "Go. Before you cause an intergalactic incident."
He shot you one last meaningful look. "We'll finish this later."
"Looking forward to it."
You watched Anakin stride away, shoulders tense but eyes softening whenever they flickered back to you. Ahsoka waited until he was out of earshot before leaning toward you conspiratorially.
"He really hates Senator Vallas, huh?"
You sighed, shaking your head in amusement. "You have no idea."
Sam stood frozen at the changing table, staring down at the tiny wriggling baby like she was made of glass and explosives.
“She’s glaring at me,” he muttered, eyes wide.
“She’s not glaring,” I said, biting back a laugh as I leaned against the doorway. “She’s pooping.”
His face paled. “Even worse.”
He slowly unfastened the diaper like he was defusing a bomb. The baby, Mila, let out a soft coo, unbothered. Sam, on the other hand, looked like he was sweating.
“This isn’t natural,” he whispered. “This feels like some kind of test. Like karma or something.”
“Welcome to fatherhood,” I smirked, handing him a wipe.
He took it like it was a weapon, then paused. “Wait… does this go… here?”
I nodded, watching him struggle with a deadly mix of horror and tenderness. When he finally managed to secure the clean diaper, he let out a breath like he’d just completed an Olympic marathon.
Then Mila farted.
Sam blinked. “She’s mocking me.”
— Late night cries
The clock read 3:12 AM. The only light in the room came from the dim hallway glow, and the sound of Mila’s tiny whimpers filled the air.
I rolled over, about to get up, but Sam was already moving. Hoodie half-zipped, one sock missing, and a unicorn sticker somehow stuck to his hair.
“I got her,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
I watched from the bed as he picked her up gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead before settling into the rocking chair.
He cradled her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.
“Hey, baby girl” he whispered. “What are we doin’ awake again, huh? You miss us that bad?”
She quieted almost instantly, little fingers curling around one of his hoodie strings. He smiled.
“Me too,” he said softly.
I don’t think he even realized I was still watching. But in that moment, all I could think was God, I love him.
— Fashion struggle
Sam stood in front of the closet holding up two tiny onesies like he was trying to pick between life paths.
“One has bats on it. That feels like it aligns with our aesthetic,” he said seriously. “But this one says I Love My Daddy and… I mean, come on.”
I walked in, brushing past him. “You’re actually overthinking baby fashion?”
“Her look matters,” he said. “First impressions are important.”
“She’s four months old. Her audience is mostly stuffed animals.”
Sam held up the I Love My Daddy onesie again. “Okay but look at this and tell me it’s not illegal levels of cute.”
I gave him a look. “You just want her to wear it so you can post a photo.”
He grinned. “Yeah. And I’m gonna cry about it later.”
— Afternoon naps
It was late afternoon and Mila had finally fallen asleep on Sam’s chest. He was lying on the couch, head tipped back, a quiet song playing from the old speaker near the window.
I walked in to find him completely still, hand gently covering her back, eyes closed.
“You sleeping?” I whispered.
He peeked one eye open. “Almost. She’s warm.”
I sat on the arm of the couch, watching the way his fingers unconsciously rubbed slow circles on her tiny back. His hair was messy, his face soft.
“You’re really good at this,” I said.
He blinked at me. “At… what? Accidentally getting spit on my shirt?”
I smiled. “At being her dad.”
He looked at her, then at me. “It’s scary,” he admitted quietly. “But I want to be good. For her. For us.”
And that right there, that’s what made me fall in love with him all over again.
We don’t talk about Vader’s mommy issues enough, and TBH that’s my favourite part about a man. (And yes I’m talking about post ROTS anakin cuz I like my man crispy)
He’s a hard headed, often irrational, violent, evil man. He doesn’t listen to many people because he sees very few as worthy of his attention beyond his usual tolerance of others.
But you’re his second in command, he can’t just throw you out if you irritate him — you’re too much of a liability by this point — so one night when he’s on the verge of doing something (which you see as stupid) the two of you get into somewhat of a… debate.
Debate is a… less than satisfactory way to put it but the word argument doesn’t quite fit either. It’s more of a violent altercation of the mouth — yelling talking that is. Get your mind out of the gutter.
And right as he raises his hand to force choke you, you say it. His name. Not his Sith name — no. His real name. And it’s not just that, but the tone. A tone scarily familiar to him.
“Anakin.”
In that same tone. A tone of voice he hadn’t heard in years. The same tone that scolded him for being reckless as he played with his friends, after coming home with a grazed knee and a cut on his hand. The same tone that grumbled its way out when he’d forgotten to clean his room for the third time that week. The same tone he’d once found annoying as an adolescent, yet deep down craved to hear once again. Not shouting, yet stern. Not angry, yet firm.
You sounded like her. Just enough like her to make him freeze. To make Darth Vader — a Sith Lord — hesitate.
He dropped his hand back down to his side.
You both stood, staring at each-other.
His laboured, mechanical breathing the only sound breaking the cold, dead silence between you. You weren’t sure if you were about to die or already had. Was this some weird level of purgatory? No. Because right as that thought crossed your mind, he spoke.
“I think… upon further reflection, your plan is… the more optimal option.”
Holy fuck?
“I will see to it that the instructions given to those involved are… updated.”
Holy fuck.
Did you just scold a Sith Lord into listening to you like a toddler? Yes. Somehow you managed to scold a Sith Lord into listening to you like a toddler. And you were definitely keeping that in your back pocket.
