manchild; pilot.
anakin skywalker!70s x reader
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
! warning: there will be a lot of sexual comments and references, just like cigarettes and alcohol
further questions, please ask me
ps: another warning... y/n is flawed and complex
next chapter: star-crossed lovers
series masterlist: manchild
summer, june 1972.
It was summer in the seventies — the kind that played like a worn vinyl, crackling under the heat of the Arizona sun. School was winding down like the last chorus of a slow-dance song at prom. One more year till college — a horizon Anakin Skywalker wasn’t ready to stare into. Not yet. Not when the sun still burned gold, the air hung heavy like incense, and the days blurred into a sleepy Technicolor haze.
He lived in a one-gas-pump desert town that looked like it’d been left behind by time — diners with flickering neon, drive-ins ghosted by tumbleweeds, and motels with signs that buzzed louder than their guests. People drifted away from here like smoke rings in the wind, but somehow, they always found their way back.
While the jukebox generation kicked off their summer-of-love dreams, Anakin’s own soundtrack had cracked mid-song. Padmé had left him at the end of spring semester — clean cut, no B-side explanation. And like a cruel twist of radio fate, two months later she was already holding hands with Rush Clovis — the kind of guy who wore poetry like cologne and probably read Kerouac for fun. The kind of guy who fit her world now.
It was golden hour — the kind of light that made everything glow like a photograph you want to live in. A breeze shuffled through the Arizona heat like a slow dance with no music. The final bell had rung, setting teenagers free with the excitement of open roads and Top 40 dreams. Talk swirled around — Bowie had a new track out, someone’s older brother just scored a new Camaro, and summer was theirs to burn.
But Anakin wasn’t thinking about any of that. He just stared off at the horizon like it might tell him something. His heart, cracked and splintered, still beat her name in every silence. Padmé walked past — glowing, laughing, alive. She wore high-waisted jeans and a lavender blouse that looked like it belonged in a Fleetwood Mac album cover. Like she was already living in a world Anakin couldn’t reach anymore.
Fives looked over at his friend — who hadn’t been the same since Padmé walked out of his life like the fadeout on a sad soul song.
“Dude… how long you gonna keep staring at her like she’s the second coming of Janis Joplin?” he asked, voice low but amused.
“Until I figure out her goddamn plan,” Anakin muttered, arms crossed over the hood of his battered ’68 Dodge Charger. The car was a wreck, always one gear-shift away from death — but it was his church, his therapist, and his war bunker. And, lately, his best spot to stake out the girl who used to be his whole universe.
Rex leaned beside him, the paper cup of cola sweating in his hand, eyes flicking to Padmé. “Her plan was a breakup, man. You still think it’s deeper than that?”
Anakin leaned back, exhaling like a tire losing air. “I know she dumped me, I do. But why, man. Why? She just woke up one day, flipped the record, and decided I didn’t belong on her playlist anymore. And now she’s with him. I mean, I still don’t understand how she just wakes up and decides to call it quits, then goes out with some guy the week after—- I mean I haven’t slept right since May. I’m running on empty and she already dates someone else.”
Fives gave him a look, pulled a cigarette from the inside pocket of his worn leather jacket — the kind of jacket that had probably seen more heartbreak than prom dates.
“Dude, you gotta let her go. I know it’s messy, and I know you really loved her — still do. But what’s your plan? Run after her until she turns around and says ‘never mind’?”
Anakin raked his fingers through his already chaotic hair. “Yeah, I know. I know. But I can’t just flip the switch. I’ve tried dating, I’ve tried letting go, but every time I do, I just keep hearing her laugh in my head or picturing how she used to look at me — and none of it compares, man. None of it.”
Fives sighed, cigarette hanging from his lips like punctuation. He lit it, took a drag, and offered one to Anakin.
“Yeah… I get it. Wasn’t easy for me and Jackie either. But eventually… it just stops mattering. Eventually, it fades. Like an old cassette left on the dashboard too long.”
Before Anakin could answer, Cal Kestis came jogging up, his ginger hair a windblown mess, eyes wide with adrenaline and teen mischief.
“Okay, okay — I scored the booze for your party, Rex,” he grinned, breathless. Then caught sight of Anakin’s stormcloud stare aimed squarely at Padmé and Clovis. “Jesus, man. You good?”
Anakin didn’t answer. Just kept watching her — like she was a dream he hadn’t woken up from yet. The kind that lingers in the morning haze and makes reality feel like a cheap knock-off.
Fives bumped his shoulder into him with brotherly force. “Peachy,” Anakin muttered, his eyes locked on Padmé and Clovis, tangled in a little sunlit world of their own.
He took the cigarette from Fives, the way a soldier accepts his last smoke before going back to war. A slow, pensive drag — the kind that fills your lungs and lets the silence hang just a little longer.
Rex gave Cal a nod, cracking a crooked smile. “Thanks, man. Well, our lover boy’s going through it — that’s why we’re gonna throw one hell of a beach party tonight, aye?” he grinned, sipping his cola like it was bourbon.
“Yessir,” Cal shot back, grin wide, sun catching in his wild hair. “You bet your ass! End of sophomore year, which means we’re gonna get hella piss drunk… except for Ani.” He slapped Anakin on the shoulder, just hard enough to jostle him back into the moment.
Anakin exhaled a plume of smoke, shooting Cal a sarcastic look. “Definitely,” he said, voice flat, but with the ghost of a smirk.
Fives furrowed his brows, puffing thoughtfully. “Dude, you haven’t touched alcohol in months. I know Padmé didn’t like it when you drank, but—bro, you can now.”
“I dunno…” Anakin muttered, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, watching it drift like dust in the Arizona sun. “I know I can… I’m just not sure if I want to. I’ve been doing good. Staying sober, staying outta trouble.”
Rex chuckled dryly. “Yeah, but you smoke cigarettes like they’re your goddamn breakfast.”
“Yeah, but—” Anakin paused, his voice lowering, “Cigs help me concentrate. Keep me grounded. Booze… booze makes me spiral. And she hated that part of me.”
Fives leaned in, whispering like the devil on his shoulder. “But she’s goneeee, man,” he drawled with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Ani. Just a little sip tonight, a good ol’ beer, some tunes, bonfire, waves. Forget her. And I definitely know Rex invited some hot girls.”
Cal rolled his eyes and shot a look at Fives. “Fives, don’t even pretend like you’re gonna pull.”
Fives gasped dramatically. “Hey! Maybe some girls are into the bad boy with a soft heart vibe, ever think of that?”
Anakin actually chuckled — a real, worn-out laugh — as he reached for another cigarette. “I suppose you do have a point, Fives. I could… loosen up tonight. A few beers, some laughs, maybe even forget her for, like, five minutes.”
Fives clapped his hands, triumphant. “That’s my man!” he shouted, placing both hands on Anakin’s shoulders like he’d just won a football game.
Rex groaned. “Oh god,” rubbing his temple at Fives’ volume.
Anakin laughed again and shoved Fives back playfully. “All right, all right! I’ll come to your stupid party. But don’t expect me to be a full-blown drunkard, alright?”
He raised the cigarette to his lips again, a sly grin forming in the corner of his mouth.
Rex gave him a nod. “Got it, Skywalker. Alright boys, I gotta bounce and get the setup going. Also, if you see Obi-Wan, tell him I said hey.”
Anakin shook Rex’s hand, firm. “Will do, Rex.”
Then, turning to Fives, his smirk deepened. “You’re probably heading off now to ‘pick up girls’, huh?”
Fives winked, already walking backward like he was on a stage. “You know me.” He threw up his hands and, in perfect Fives fashion, backed right into a group of girls. They giggled as he spun around, arms wide. “Girls!!” And just like that, he vanished — swallowed by the scene like a Saturday night fever dream.
Anakin shook his head, grinning. “Damn dude… what a player,” he muttered under his breath, though the words tasted half like envy, half like pride.
He tossed his cigarette down, crushed it beneath his black Converse, and turned once more — instinctively — toward Padmé. She was laughing now, head tilted back, Clovis’s arm around her shoulders like she belonged there. They looked like a Polaroid of something Anakin didn’t get to be part of anymore. Too perfect. Too damn fast.
He made a face — disgusted, bitter, hurt — all tangled into one sharp look. Then he turned, walked to his Charger, and slid in with a familiar creak of old leather and old memories.
The key turned. Nothing.
“C’mon…” he whispered, already knowing how this would go.
He hit the dash. Nothing.
He cursed under his breath and kicked the clutch. The car grumbled, sputtered… and finally, with a wheezing growl, roared to life like a beast waking from sleep.
Anakin gripped the wheel and took a long, shaky breath. He looked up at the rearview mirror and there he was. Red-rimmed eyes. Messy curls. Wrinkled shirt and a face that looked like it hadn’t believed in sleep since April.
A ghost in the driver’s seat. He slammed a hand against the wheel. “Damn it all…”
Outside, the sun dipped further, turning the town into a dusty painting of goodbye. That Arizona glow—amber and honey-thick—draped everything like a fading record sleeve from a summer hit long past its prime. Inside that Charger, Anakin sat with the weight of a love lost, an engine rumbling beneath him, and a party waiting at the edge of night like a mirage.
He leaned back, elbow against the window frame, letting the warm wind tangle his curls. As the car coasted through the town’s familiar arteries, time seemed to drip slow like molasses on vinyl. The neon flicker of the old drive-in. The rust-flaked grocery sign spinning in lazy circles. The diner where his uncle played old Motown records in the back and always smelled like fry oil and sunburnt coffee. All of it passed by like ghosts waving from a moving train.
Eventually, he pulled into the gravel drive of his two-story house—paint peeling, porch swing swaying with no one in it. Home, for whatever that word meant anymore.
And later, down at the beach, the world had shifted. The sun was gone now, tucked beneath the horizon like an old photograph sliding back into its envelope. Stars blinked alive above them, scattered across the sky like dust from a shattered disco ball.
The beach pulsed with life—Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” spun from someone’s truck radio, Stevie Nicks’ voice haunting the salt-heavy air with that silk-and-fire sadness that always knew how to dig into the bruised parts of a heart.
The bonfire cracked and cast golden glows across laughing faces. Boys and girls tangled together—some kissed like they’d never get another chance, others drowned themselves in lukewarm beer and the feeling of now.
Anakin lingered on the outskirts of it all, his converse sinking into the cool sand. He sipped slowly from his beer, its taste dull and heavy on his tongue. That’s when she stumbled up—Cordé, tipsy and sun-kissed, wrapped in a pink bikini and cutoff shorts. Her brown hair curled wild over her shoulders, catching the firelight like it had been dipped in bronze.
“Heeey, Skywalker,” she purred, brushing her fingers along his arm with a confidence borrowed from booze and fleeting nights.
Anakin looked up with a small nod. Recognized her from school, vaguely. Padmé’s orbit. A satellite girl. “Sup,” he muttered with a half-smile, lifting the bottle to his lips again.
She leaned in close, her words slurring like a song caught in a warped tape. “You know I always liked you, right??? Like, Padmé didn’t deserve you…” At the sound of her name, Anakin’s smile cracked a little, like the first fracture in windshield glass. But he shook it off, forcing a shrug.
“Yeah, I know,” he said dryly. “You’re not the first one to tell me that.”
Cordé leaned more into him, fingers trailing over the rings on his hand—old silver, worn and nicked from too many nights punching through walls of emotion. “You deserve waaay better… I could m—”
Anakin pulled back, too fast, his body rejecting the contact before his mind could even process it.
“Look, Cordé,” he said, more tired than angry, “you’re a nice girl. Really. But I’m just here to try and forget…”
He looked over then, and of course, there she was—Padmé. Laughing like the ocean had whispered something sweet into her ear. Tucked under Clovis’ arm like she’d been there forever. Like she’d never belonged to him.
He stood up suddenly, the sand resisting his converse. His voice cut low. “Sorry, but I gotta go.”
Cordé blinked, confused. “Wait—where you going?” she called out, her words dissolving in the breeze.
“Doesn’t matter.” He said it sharp, like a closing door.
He walked away—storm-eyed and stiff-jawed—past the bonfire, past the haze of liquor and perfume, past all of it. Rex and Hunter spotted him, their relaxed posture shifting when they caught the flicker of fury in his silhouette. “Anakin, hey,” Rex called out, standing up. “Where you going, man?”
But Anakin didn’t stop. The tide was pulling him somewhere else—somewhere colder. Rex reached for his arm, and this time, it worked. Anakin turned, eyes dark and jaw tight. “Yeah—Rex, I gotta go.”
“No, you’re not going anywhere.” Rex’s voice rose, more from worry than command. Hunter stood behind him, arms folded, unreadable as always.
“What’s the matter with you, Anakin?” Hunter asked, stern and grounded like thunder. “You’ve been acting like a jerk all night.”
Anakin laughed bitterly, eyes wild and distant. “Sorry I’m not into sucking tits of girls tonight,” he said, sharp like broken glass.
But Rex saw through it. He always did. Saw the raw ache swimming just beneath the sarcasm.
Rex’s grip loosened, his voice softening. “Dude, this isn’t about girls, and you know it. This is about Padmé.”
Anakin didn’t speak. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that looked too much like heartbreak.
“Look—- I didn’t know she was coming tonight,” Rex added gently. “I’m sorry, man. I think it was Sabé who brought her.” “It’s fine,” Anakin muttered, jaw working again. He stared out at the crowd, at them. “I should’ve known better than to come here anyway.”
Rex stepped forward, about to speak again, but Hunter’s hand landed on his shoulder like a warning bell. “Rex—if he doesn’t want to be here, we can’t force him.”
Rex clenched his jaw, frustrated. “But we invited him. He agreed. We can’t just let him leave like this.” He turned back to Anakin, voice quieter now—earnest. “Anakin, come on, dude. Just… please stay a bit longer, okay? We’ll keep you distracted. I promise.”
Anakin sighed, shoulders sagging like a wave had just passed through him. His fingers played absentmindedly with the rings on his hand—twisting them, like turning old regrets. “Not tonight, Rex…” His voice was quieter now, softened around the edges. “But I promise you, I’ll come to your next party. That’s a promise.”
And somehow, the way he said it made Rex believe him. The kind of promise that still sounded like Rumors spinning on a turntable—fleeting, maybe, but real in that moment.
Rex gave him a look—half proud, half broken. “Alright, man,” he said, stepping aside.
Anakin nodded and turned away, the sand cool under his feet, the sky too wide, the night too heavy.
Anakin walked back to his car, the ocean sounds dimming behind him as if the night itself was moving in slow motion. He’d had a few beers, sure—but his head was still clear enough to drive. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. The weight pressing down on his chest wasn’t the alcohol. It was something heavier, slower—something like regret soaked in gasoline.
He slipped into the driver’s seat with a sigh, the leather cold against his back. The cigarette found its home between his lips like it belonged there, and he lit it with a flick that had muscle memory behind it. The engine coughed, groaned, then roared to life—old and temperamental like some broken-down warhorse. The radio crackled on just as the cigarette’s cherry began to glow.
Nirvana buzzed through the static like a voice from inside his ribs. He tapped the wheel in rhythm, eyes narrowed, the wind threading through his hair like phantom fingers. Smoke curled around his face as the Charger hummed down the empty desert road. The stars above him were endless—flickering reminders that the universe didn’t care whether Padmé still loved him or not.
Then, there it was. That old gas station neon burning softly in the distance, glowing like a memory someone forgot to turn off. A familiar landmark on the map of his boyhood. He smirked a little—blue raspberry slushie, the unofficial cure for heartbreak since ’08. He flicked his cigarette out the window with a casual snap, embers scattering like fireflies in the wind, and pulled into the station with the kind of parking job that said, I’ve had a night.
Didn’t matter.
The bell above the door jingled as he walked in, the smell of oil, sugar, and faded linoleum wrapping around him like an old denim jacket. The place looked like it had been untouched since 1956—chrome stools, jukebox in the corner playing a half-slowed Elvis song, and faded pinup posters curled at the edges.
“Hey Dex,” he said, voice low and worn.
Behind the counter, the old man turned—grease-stained apron, hands thick like they’d held a thousand engines. His face broke into a grin, warm and wide. “Well, look who it is! Skywalker, my boy! Haven’t seen you around in a while. What brings you in tonight?”
Anakin chuckled softly, the sound more air than joy, and reached over the counter for a handshake. Dex’s hand was firm, familiar. The kind of grip that reminded Anakin there were still people in this world who remembered who he was before the heartbreak, before the detachment.
“Ah, just… craving a slushie and a pack of cigarettes,” he said, flicking his hair back with the edge of his hand.
Dex’s eyes twinkled with the kind of knowing that came from years of watching lost boys pretend they weren’t. “Ah, I get that. Sometimes you just need a little something to quiet the noise.”
He reached under the counter and slid a pack of cigarettes forward like it was an offering.
“And I remember you always loved my slushies. The blueberry one, wasn’t it?”
Anakin smirked, that rare kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He reached for his wallet inside his leather jacket. “It astonishes me more that you still remember.”
Dex waved him off with a slow shake of the head. “Please, my boy. It’s on the house. Call it a friendship tax write-off.”
He turned and began working on the slushie—one scoop, two, slow and methodical, as if even sadness deserved ceremony. Anakin leaned on the counter, letting himself breathe for the first time that night.
And then it happened.
The screech of tires outside shattered the stillness like a cymbal crash in a love song. Anakin’s eyes snapped to the window just in time to see a modern Mustang lurch to a stop—gleaming, expensive, arrogant. The passenger door burst open and a girl stumbled out, her voice cutting through the quiet like glass. “Fucking stupid manchild!” she yelled, full of venom and fire.
She slammed her heel against the door with all the force of a woman who’d had enough, then raised a middle finger as the Mustang peeled away in a scream of rubber and cowardice. She stood there, fists clenched, hair wild, silhouetted in the neon glow of the station like a fallen angel still burning from the fall.
Dex glanced out the window, brow raised. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Youngsters. Always so much anger and haste in their hearts."”
Anakin didn’t say anything. Just watched her, eyes fixed, a straw slowly finding its way back between his lips. anakin didn’t say anything, just looked blankly at the girl.
The girl was none other than Y/N Y/L/N—chaotic, sun-kissed, and burning like a fire left untended too long. Her presence was like a breeze laced with gasoline: beautiful, dangerous, and full of promise. She strutted into the station like she owned the damn place, her curls bouncing wildly with every furious step, catching in the neon glow. Her knotted white shirt clung to her chest like a forgotten summer memory. Her jean cut-offs were frayed and faded, high on her thighs like the edge of a secret.
Anakin watched her with that stunned, quiet look—like she was a ghost from a song he hadn’t played in years.
They had history, buried beneath layers of time, heat, and unspoken things.
Back then, they were kids on rusted bikes, daring each other to steal fire from the gods—or at least a Snickers bar from Dex’s. She always dared. He always followed. Summer nights filled with match flames, soda fizz, and laughter that echoed off the hollow skeletons of empty houses. He was wide-eyed, trying to be brave. She was barefoot with chalk on her palms and paint under her nails, already wild with the grief she didn’t yet know was coming.
Then time shifted. Like all things do. When her mom died, she disappeared from the inside out.
And Anakin? He went the other direction—louder, sharper, faster. Grease on his hands, silver rings on his fingers, anger he never named. She watched him from across the school halls. He never looked back.
Until now.
She walked in, barefaced and defiant, lips glossed cherry red like rebellion in a tube. She looked at the two men inside—one old, one made of shadows—and offered a sugar-slick “Evening, men,” like she hadn’t just been screaming outside like a thunderstorm in heels.
Dex raised his hand, smiling warmly. “Evening to you too, Miss Y/L/N.”
Anakin didn’t smile. He just gave her a nod. That Skywalker kind—part greeting, part warning, all unresolved memory. He felt something twist in his chest at the sight of her.
“What brings you here so late?” Dex asked, leaning onto the counter, eyes kind but shrewd.
Y/N shrugged, grabbing a pack of gum like it mattered, then turned on her heel—heels click click like gunshots across linoleum—and went to the fridge. The beer clinked softly as she grabbed one.“Eh, just getting something to drink,” she said, breezy as a summer lie.
Dex raised an eyebrow, his smile never quite leaving. “Just something to drink, huh? Are you sure you’re not running from something, kid?”
She walked back, the fridge door sighing shut behind her, and she set her things down beside Anakin’s slushie. Y/N looked like a movie character or like a hippie but with much femininity and risqué. but her personality was somehow, casual and free minded. chaotic even. She had rings on nearly every knuckle, mismatched like her moods. “Dex,” she said with a smirk, eyes gleaming, “if I were running from something, it wouldn’t be in these heels.”
Dex laughed, full and amused. “Touché. But you’re still full of it.”
Anakin stayed quiet. He was leaning on the counter, taking slow sips from his slushie, but his gaze had barely left her. She had that kind of gravity. Always did. A chaos that pulled without asking permission.
Y/N slid some money out from her bra with the same confidence as someone lighting a match. Casual. Intimate. Unapologetic.“Trust me,” she said, placing the money down beside her beer and gum, “this is the best option I’ve got right now.”
Then her eyes flicked to Anakin’s drink, lips curling into that familiar smirk. “Damn,” she said, voice dipped in dry sarcasm. “They let sad boys buy slushies now?”
Anakin’s jaw clenched slightly. He met her gaze without flinching, slushie straw still between his fingers. “You’re one to talk, princess. Last I heard, you were breaking hearts left and right.”
Y/N chuckled. Low, amused. She bent slightly, resting her elbow on the counter and chin in her hand like a cat playing with a bird. “Who said these rumors?” she said.
Everyone in school knew the real stories. Padmé had left Anakin. Then started to date Clovis. And Y/N? She was the girl who never stayed. Summer flings like cigarettes—quick, intoxicating, and over before the pack ran out.
But between her smirk and his quiet intensity, something hung in the air that neither beer nor slushie could cool.
Maybe it was the ghosts of bike rides and stolen candy. Maybe it was the fact that they never really said goodbye. Maybe it was just that they were both tired of pretending the past didn’t exist.
Dex, ever the oracle behind the counter, just watched them in silence.
Anakin looked at the crumpled bills in her hand, his gaze lingering a moment too long over the lines of her wrist, the chipped polish, the rings she always wore like armor. Then his eyes flicked back to her face—calm, unreadable. He rolled his eyes with the same nonchalance he’d perfected over the years.
“You know how gossip spreads in this town,” he said, voice low and flat. “But let’s not pretend, Y/L/N—you’ve always had your fair share of flings.”
Y/N grabbed her beer and gum, her eyes soft but casual—those doe eyes that always masked sharp thoughts. “Lord,” she said, arching a brow, “because it’s a crime to have a bit of fun in life, right?”
Anakin shook his head, a dry laugh undercutting the tension. But there was a flicker of something—irritation, maybe. Or something less honest.
“I never said it was a crime,” he said, his voice a little tighter. “But there’s a difference between having fun and using people. Or are you too busy having fun to care about that?”
Y/N said nothing at first. Just placed a fingertip—ringed and casual—on the top of her beer. She twisted it with one smooth motion, the cap popping off with a small hiss of rebellion.
“Oh, come on, Skywalker,” she said, voice cool, amused. “I don’t break hearts. That’s not really my thing.”
And it was true. Her reputation wasn’t for destruction. It was detachment. No false promises, no lingering stares in the hallway the next morning. Just soft lips, tangled sheets, and the unspoken agreement that some people weren’t meant to stay.
Anakin snorted. He had that same half-smirk now, the one he wore like a defense mechanism.
“Right,” he said, a little bitter. “No-strings-attached, that’s your thing, isn’t it? Just in it for your own pleasure.”
Y/N stepped closer, pressing the cold beer can lightly against his chest. Her voice didn’t rise, her gaze didn’t waver.
“Hey, man,” she said, flat and honest. “I’m not the one who broke your heart, alright? So don’t throw your sad-boy lectures at me. Save it for that chick who actually hurt you.”
The smirk dropped off his face for half a second. Just long enough for the honesty to cut through.
He looked down at the beer, then up again. “And why do you care?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Shouldn’t you be off with one of your flings—having fun, not giving a damn about anyone else?”
Y/N gave a crooked grin, taking a long sip from the bottle. “I wanted to,” she said with a shrug. “But my fling turned out to be an asshole.”
And with that, she turned back to Dex, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Thanks, Dex!” she called, stepping backward, her shoulders still squared.
Then she pushed open the door with the curve of her back, and the desert air swallowed her whole. The door closed with a soft thud, and Anakin stood there, slushie in hand, heart pacing like a slow drum against his ribs. Anger. Confusion. A strange, magnetic ache that never really left when it came to her.
Dex had been watching all along. Like he always did. Quiet eyes, kind mouth. The man had seen more heartbreak in his diner than a whole town’s worth of country songs. “You and Miss Y/L/N, huh?” Dex said, wiping the counter down with a rag. “Some tense there?”
Anakin scoffed lightly, stirring the bottom of his slushie with the straw. “A bit,” he said. Then shook his head. He didn’t think. He just moved.
The door creaked again as he stepped out, gravel crunching beneath his converse. The night was cooler now, the neon lights from the gas station flickering in lazy hues—blue, gold, red—like a half-forgotten dream trying to stay alive.
She was standing just outside, beer on the ground, a cigarette perched between her lips like a worn-in habit. The breeze pushed her curls back slightly, the smoke curling up toward the stars like a prayer no one meant to say out loud.
She didn’t look surprised to see him. “Oh,” Y/N said with a smirk, eyes flicking to him sidelong. “Missed me already?”
Anakin didn’t answer. He just walked over and stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the dark horizon.
Y/N picked up her beer again and took a sip, letting the cigarette rest between her fingers. The music inside the station buzzed faintly through the door—Fleetwood Mac still crooning out into the night.
Anakin finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “You still smoke menthols?”
Y/N gave a soft laugh through her nose. “Only when I’m mad,” she said. “Or nostalgic.”
Anakin nodded once, watching the smoke disappear into the desert sky.
“Well,” he said, his voice half-joking, half-sincere, “you always did mix chaos with charm.”
Y/N smoked slow and steady, arms crossed over her chest like armor, the cigarette dancing between her fingers as she extended the pack toward him. “Definitely,” she said, voice lazy like a cat in the sun. “You changed though.”
Anakin took the pack, their fingers brushing—just enough to short-circuit something in him for half a second. He struck a match against his boot heel and lit up, the flare of orange flickering in his eyes.
“Changed, huh?” he asked, exhaling the first drag like a sigh. “In what way?”
Y/N walked toward the curb, cigarette hanging from her lips, her hair catching the breeze like wildfire. The white of her shirt glowed under the low light, and those jean shorts did nothing to help his already scattered thoughts.
She didn’t look back when she answered. “This super-wannabe-greaser version of you,” she said plainly, dropping down onto the curb, legs crossed. She didn’t say it cruel—just the kind of honest only she could get away with.
Anakin followed, slower, quieter. Watched the way she sat like she owned the sidewalk, the stars, the whole damn desert if she wanted to.
He sat beside her, elbows resting on his knees. “So…Skywalker,” she said after a beat, taking a sip of her beer, “why are you really here? Sippin’ that heartbroken slushie like a sad movie extra?”
Anakin chuckled, surprised she remembered what he always ordered. “What can I say? Sometimes a man just needs frozen blueberry to deal with a broken heart.”
Y/N popped a piece of gum into her mouth and grinned. “Ah, now we’re admitting we’re heartbroken.” She tilted her head at him, half-smirk playing at her glossed lips. “That slushie’s turning your cold heart into a sweet one.”
He laughed, the sound loose for the first time in weeks. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You’re just jealous my slushie’s better than your beer.”
She sipped it defiantly. “Nope. My beer relaxes me. Your slushie’s just brain freeze in a cup.”
She set the bottle down, turned toward him slightly. “So, why aren’t you at your homies’ party?”
Anakin leaned back, fingers splayed across the pavement. “Just needed a breather. Couldn’t deal with all the noise and drunken idiots.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. Liar.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “What makes you think that?”
She chewed her gum slowly, tapping ash from her cigarette like it was punctuation.
“Because I know when someone’s lying. And you? You left because Padmé was there.”
Anakin’s expression darkened. His jaw tensed like old reflex. He looked away, letting the smoke drift from his lips instead of answering. “So what if I did?” he muttered. “Why do you care?”
Y/N lifted her hands like a peace sign. “Chill, I’m not here to clown on your heartbreak.”
She crossed her bare legs, cool as ever.
Anakin sighed, the weight dropping out of his chest a little. He looked over at her, and this time there was something raw behind his eyes. “I just… I can’t seem to escape her. Even when I try.”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. She watched him—really watched him—but kept her face still. The same face that used to laugh until it ached on hot summer nights. It was weird, talking to him again. But then again, her night was already shot. Her so-called fling turned out to be a first-class jerk with zero rhythm.
She sipped her beer again, then wrinkled her nose like she remembered something sour.
“Yeah, well, let me tell you—Clovis? Not good in bed.”
Anakin choked on a laugh, head whipping toward her. “Nice to know I’m not the only one with a vendetta.” His smirk was back now, crooked and dangerous, but warmer than it had been in days.
Y/N shot him a sly grin, but her eyes stayed out on the highway. “Why’d she dump you anyway?”
Anakin exhaled hard. His cigarette burned low between his fingers. “She said she wanted to focus on herself. Her ambitions. Said we were holding each other back.”
Y/N clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “Damn. That’s some Hallmark movie excuse right there.”
He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re preaching to the choir. Clovis is a total ass.”
He took one last drag, flicked the bud out into the dark, watching the ember fizzle against the gravel.
Y/N looked up at the sky, eyes glassy under the haze of citylight and desert stars. “Yeah—I slept with him twice. Only ‘cause I needed his homework.” She said it like it was no big deal, like it was just another Tuesday.
Anakin stared at her, half-shocked. “Wait. You slept with him for homework?”
Y/N grinned, wicked and proud. “I’m a genius.” She sipped her beer, gum snapping softly. “Besides, I hated Mrs. Jocasta. And Clovis kept bragging about his grades, so I figured—might as well get something out of it.”
Anakin was still recovering from that bombshell when she turned the conversation again, voice soft but cutting.
“Anyway—listen, Skywalker. She’s not worth it.” She met his eyes now, fully. No smirks. No gum popping. “I mean it. Padmé’s like every other girl in this high school. Polished on the outside, but not a clue how to love someone who doesn’t fit in a pretty little box.”
Anakin’s stare held hers, long and unreadable. Something in him wanted to argue, maybe even defend Padmé. But more of him was tired. Tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of playing it cool when all he wanted was something real. “I just… I don’t know. Thought she was different, ya know?”
Y/N turned to him, softer now. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the wind, maybe it was just old muscle memory kicking in from nights long gone. She wanted to understand—maybe not to heal him, but at least to hear him. “What did you even like about her?” she asked, not judgmental. Just curious. Like trying to understand a song someone kept on repeat.
Anakin leaned back, shoulders folding in like a wilted paperback. “Everything, I guess. She was smart. Kind. Beautiful—like she stepped out of a dream I wasn’t supposed to have. She just… got me. Saw through all my bullshit and still wanted me anyway.”
Y/N gave a slow nod, cigarette balanced between her fingers like an afterthought. “Huh—sounds romantic. How long were you two doing that heartbreak waltz?”
He looked away, the horizon smearing into amber and shadows. “Not as long as I wanted. Off and on for a while. But… two years, officially.”
Y/N let out a theatrical gasp, almost offended on his behalf. “Damn.” Her voice carried down the street like a thrown match. “That’s, like—- okay you know, It’s okay to cry about her,—two years is a lot.”
Anakin chuckled, low and rough. “Nah, I won’t cry about her. She doesn’t deserve my tears.”
But even as he said it, the ache behind his eyes told on him.
Y/N raised a skeptical brow, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, that nonchalant look? Doesn’t work on you.” She pointed a polished nail at his face. “The evidence is here, dumbass.” Her finger hovered near the tired smudges under his eyes.
Anakin sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. The weight sat heavy in his bones. “I guess I can’t fool you.”
“Never could,” she said, lips curled into that signature crooked grin. “And also—come on, you’re too pretty to pout for free.”
Anakin rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his lips. “You really know how to boost a guy’s ego, don’t you? First I’ve got heartbreaker eyes, now I’m too pretty to pout?”
Y/N shrugged, dramatic as ever, pouting for emphasis. “And it worked. I know men more than you realize.” She stood up with a theatrical sigh, brushing off imaginary dust from her shorts. Her beer clinked lightly against the curb as she stepped out onto the street to glance around.
Anakin watched her with amusement. “Oh really? And what exactly do you know about men?” he asked, lifting a brow.
She raised her hand, thumb pointing out, eyes scanning the road. “That if I do this,” she said, smirking, “someone will stop.”
Anakin blinked. “You think just sticking your thumb out is enough?”
“It’s worked a couple times,” she said with a smirk and a shrug.
Anakin raised his brow, mildly impressed despite himself. “Well, look at you. Hitchhiking queen.”
Y/N nodded, hair catching the breeze like something out of an old photograph. “Man, I wish I could show you my trick—but it’s too late to catch a ride now.” She glanced down at him, still sitting curbside like some brooding James Dean knockoff.
Anakin smirked, letting the moment stretch. “Oh no, now I feel like I’m missing out. What’s this magical trick of yours?”
Y/N fidgeted with her shirt—tying the knot a bit tighter beneath her chest. It left her collarbones bare, skin sun-kissed and glowing under the flickering streetlamp. A very 70s look—half western, half rebellion. “To catch a ride home,” she said, matter-of-fact. “’Cause these heels? They’re not made to walk a mile.”
Anakin’s gaze flickered down—lingered a second too long. Her skin, the curve of her ribs, the exposed midriff. He looked away quickly, lips twitching. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “if you’re looking for a ride, I guess I can’t let a damsel in distress walk home in those heels.”
Y/N turned, faking a scandalized frown. “Wow. Damsel? Really? You just called me a helpless maiden?” But the corner of her mouth curled into a grin anyway. “…but I’ll take the offer though.”
She walked toward his car. Anakin stood slowly, brushing dust from his jeans, arms crossed as he watched her. “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time deal.”
She tugged the door handle—stuck. Of course it was. “Yeah, don’t worry,” she said dryly, yanking harder. “Your car’s a piece of junk.”
Anakin walked up beside her, laughing under his breath. “It’s vintage, thank you very much.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s rust with wheels.” He popped the lock with a practiced hand and opened it for her. “Ladies first.” She gave him a side glance, dramatic as hell, then slid into the seat with an exaggerated groan.
“So,” she said as he circled the hood and got in, “where’s the playlist? Or are we driving in depressing silence like a sad film?”
Anakin grinned, key turning in the ignition, engine sputtering to life. “You think I drive around without Fleetwood Mac ready to go?”
Her laugh cracked the night open like a bottle. “Skywalker, you softie.”
The desert swallowed them as the music started, tires rolling into the dusk like they belonged to it.
📀 HELLLOOOOO, i am back! I am super excited to release the first pilot to my new series. I loved the story so much, I had to share it. so this is the first glance to a summer love with flaws and cigarettes. have fun with it, and fell in love with y/n as I do, cause we love complex girls!
📀taglist: @blackynsupremacy @speaknow-sw @alelo23 @collywobblvs @newnewtheicon @angelsgalore @tvdelrey @girldisaster2007 @tinainaction @mariswxt @crazycaoticsimp @star-wars-stuff-1
