Summary: Cute quality time with Anakin. You're reading a book, and he is working on his arm.
Warnings: fluff
Word Count: 478. very short xp
"Oh please," you grumble while rubbing your temples. Anakin smiles from the couch parallel to your chair. His gaze still fixed on his arm. You both fade into silence again. It isn't broken until you read another really stupid line. "Anakin why was this written?" You ask from the other couch.
"I don't know, angel." He still is focused on his arm, and you on your book. He starts quietly rummaging through his toolbox.
"Yes, please fix this author's brain." That makes you both laugh. You throw your book to the side and stare up at the ceiling. You told yourself you were going to finish this book for your friend who told you to read it. Little did you know it would be this horrendous. It made you wonder how easy it is for books to be published, if malarky like this made it into libraries.
"Do you give up?" He asks, he closes the panel on his arm and starts flexing the hand to test it.
"I can't, I promised her. Though," you get up and walk over to him, leaving the mistake of a book on the couch. "I really wish I hadn't." You rest your head on his shoulder as he continues tests the finger flexibility. He stretches each individual finger slowly all the way up, and then down. He goes faster and faster until he reaches an inhuman speed. He fingers blur and it honestly freaks you out. And makes you wonder... but you push the thought to the side.
His hand stops whirling and rests onto your thigh gently. He looks at your lips first and then your eyes. He must not have realized how close you really were to him. It makes his eyes sparkle. "You could always read the last chapter and then guess what the rest of the book was about. To save time."
You gasp and swat his arm. "That's cheating!" He shrugs and swiftly kisses you. You were in so much amazement you almost didn't kiss him back.
"It's efficient. And would cause you less... pain." He chuckles to himself and puts his tools back in the box.
"You've never done that to me right?" You squint your eyes at him. You knew he wasn't much of a reader, but you still gave him a recommendation (forced him to read something) occasionally.
He pursues his lips and thinks of what to say. He inhales deeply and turns away from you. "Twice." You throw a pillow at his back as he walks to his work bench with his toolbox.
"Ani?!" Though you felt a bit betrayed, you appreciated the honesty.
"Could you tell the difference?" He raised his brows in expectation. He really had you fooled, because he was right, you weren't able to tell. Your mouth was agape in astonishment. He just nodded, "Give it a shot."
Summary: Anakin Skywalker, despite being your ex-boyfriend, is still deeply entwined in your family affairs, and being stuck with him during a family summer vacation can only possibly end in one way.
Genre: Smut
Word Count: 3k
Contains: Sexual Content, Fingering, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Modern AU, Summer Vacation, Degradation, Exes, Ex Sex, Female Reader, Second Person POV
18+ MDNI
Being Anakin Skywalker’s ex-girlfriend was not a task for the weak or faint of heart. Especially not when your family loved him so much. “How’s Ani doing?” “What’s Ani up to?” “When is Ani coming over to fix the AC?” These questions, each one stinging a bit more than the last, were ran by you on the daily. The breakup was messy, Anakin being smug about being loved by your family, and you cursing his name the entire time he walked from your room, through the front door, and out to his car, right up until the very moment he backed out of your driveway and left for good. You were left heartbroken and with the bad taste of nasty words in your mouth, as you had fought with him in a heated argument until he left, all the while he sat back and watched you, only contributing to the one sided fight to mutter under his breath, usually something about “you’re accusing me of doing something, yet you’re the one getting all irritated.” He would do this every time you fought, and for the first year, it worked. You’d come crawling back and be in his lap, grinding on each other, angry words turning to breathy moans, within just a few minutes of him getting his hands on you. But after the year and a half mark, it stopped being cute, and you started seeing right through his control, which was little more than smoke and mirrors. And last Friday was the last time you were going to put up with it.
At least, that’s what you thought, until your family announced that they were inviting him on the summer trip to the mountain town six hours away that they took annually. Six hours in a car, to and from, with him, would be bad enough. Nevermind five days in a cramped small cabin room, and kiss goodbye to any peaceful excursions on the itinerary. “No way, absolutely not. We-” You start, only to remember that you and Anakin, despite claiming to hate each other, made an agreement to keep the breakup secret from your family because you didn’t want to ruin their chance of having a ‘son in law experience’. With a defeated sigh, you retreat to your room, hands shaking as you dial Anakin’s number and hit the call button. After three rings, he picks up, and before he can get a single word out, you cut him off, “You’re graciously invited to the family summer trip. Are you coming or not?” You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he spoke, dripping with that toxic lilt that always made your stomach twist in on itself and your knees weaken, “Looks like I’m still wanted then, hm?” Without giving you time to object, he speaks again, “I’ll be there. See you in the morning, angel.”
For some reason, the name that used to bring you butterflies now got under your skin worse than when guys would call you ‘sweetheart’ or other honeyed terms. Packing your bags and checking off things on the list you’d written to prepare, by the time you were done, it was already 10pm. Calling it a night, you lay down in bed, letting out a deep, heaving sigh, ultimately surrendering to the comforting lull of sleep. Upon waking up, there was another heavy weight dipping the mattress beside you. “Mmgh… wha- what?” You blink the sleep from your eyes, seeing a familiar head of blond curls laying beside you, shirtless, in nothing but boxers. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess…” You groan, rolling over to the other side so you didn’t have to stare at the sight that was certainly easy on the eyes. Though you wanted to kick him off the bed and yell at him for being a creep, between your sleep-addled mind and your secret desire for him to come back, you just couldn’t work up the courage to do it. “Well good morning to you too, angel.” Anakin hums, moving an arm up to gently massage your scalp just the way you liked, nails lightly scratching at the fragile skin, deep blue eyes observing the way you fought to keep from leaning into him, even though your body was aching to do just that.
“We should get up soon, they’re gonna leave in an hour.” He mumbled slowly, right beside your ear, hot breath fanning over the outer shell. “Yeah yeah, I’m up, I’m up.” You groan, sitting up on your elbows and finally turning to face him once more. For someone you swore you hated the moment he set foot outside your door last Friday, you sure were leaning awfully close to his muscular body. “Whatcha doin’ over there?” He bites back the grin threatening to form on his face, lips twitching with the urge to pull upwards. “I’m cold. You’re warm. That’s all.” You state monotonously, wrestling with the feeling of denial and shame in your stomach. “Is that so?” he actually grins this time, “Then I could warm you up?” He offers, rolling over on top of you, pinning your hips between his knees. “No,” You whine lightly, “We have stuff to do.” You barely push on his chest, but he falls to the side with a dramatic ‘ouf’ sound, playfully acting as if he was injured, bringing a hand up to his chest where you’d touched him, “You’re right. I’ll make it up to you later.”
Within the hour, you’d gotten up, gotten dressed and ready, and attempted to carry your bags to Anakin’s car, with your parents, grandparents, and aunt all piled into the family car. “Aww, need a hand, angel?” Anakin teases, having been leaning on the doorway, watching you struggle the whole time. “You could’ve offered to help a while ago.” You cross your arms over your chest as he takes your bags from you, veins in his arms popping as his muscles flex under the strain. “But you’re so cute when you struggle. And I know you, you would’ve yelled at me for trying to help when you ‘got it’.” He clicks his tongue, delicately setting each bag of yours in the back of his car as if they weighed no more than a feather. He crosses the path to the passenger side of the car, opening your door for you with an antagonizing look in his eyes. He knew you hated that, you were raised as an independent woman who didn’t need a man for shit, as you’d told him the first time he tried as a genuine action. Since then, it was a way of taunting you, urging you to let your irritation bubble over into sexual frustration.
The drive, though long, wasn’t that bad. Anakin decided to be merciful for the first time all day, as when you had started to nod off but were fighting sleep because you didn't trust his driving on the sharp twists and bends on the way to the cabin, he’d mindlessly let his right hand wander to your thigh, left hand on the wheel, rubbing your leg in slow, soothing circles, whispering to just go to sleep, and he’d keep you safe. Strangely enough, it had worked, and you had gotten one of the best car naps in your life. He’d sat in the car for two hours in the driveway of the cabin, gently rubbing your scalp and hair, waiting for you to wake up naturally as opposed to waking you abruptly. “Mm… what time is it?” You lift your head, neck aching from the angle at which you’d been sleeping. “Half past six. Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you in?” His voice was soft, genuine. It was very odd for someone who claimed he was only physically attracted to you, to be so dedicated to letting you rest that he’d stayed outside in the summer heat and humidity for two hours. “Why’d you let me sleep so long? Why did you stay out here? What about my luggage, I had stuff that could melt!” You cry, pushing yourself up from the passenger seat, which was fully reclined. His doing, not yours. “Easy, easy. I already carried everything in and got our room set up while you were sleeping. I came back to check on you about an hour ago and stayed with you until you woke up.” He soothes, those blue irises of his doing little to remind you that you were supposed to be exes.
“I can walk, I’m fine.” You assure finally, but just as you try to stand up from the seat, your legs, which were numb from being seated for so long, had buckled, nearly sending you over the gravel driveway and into the plummet downwards through the woods. Anakin is at your side within a millisecond, one arm around your shoulders and the other tucked under your leg. “Whoa, take it easy. I’ve gotcha.” He walks backwards until he’s got enough footspace to turn towards the cabin and walk you inside, laying you down on the bed in your shared room. “You just lay down and get comfortable, I’ll bring you dinner.” He exits quickly, leaving you with your thoughts. Why was he being so nice to you? Was it a facade for the family, or did he truly have a change of heart? Was he in love finally? Were you? So many questions race through your mind at lightspeed, you don’t even recognize him coming in to lay soup in your lap on a tray he’d folded for you. “Bon Appetite.” He states with a calm smile, one you hadn’t seen in a while. He was going to tell you he’d made the soup from scratch just for you, but he let it slide, reminding himself of what his therapist, with whom he’d only had two appointments since the breakup, had told him about ego death, and letting his humility bring him more joy than his pride. Humility, she’d said, rewards with happiness and experience, and ego only rewards with false confidence.
Later that night, around 8pm, the family, and subsequently you and him, had taken a trip to the amusement park themed around the local mountains. The gondola up to the top of the mountain, which was where the park was located, featured glass walls and a glass bottom, allotting the riders a full 360° view of the mountain. Your parents had taken one, grandparents and aunt on another, and you and Anakin on a third one. Your hands were shaking with nerves as you eyed the approaching incline in the cables, whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat from anxiety. “Hey,” Anakin speaks up, trying to distract you, “Hey. Look at me.” He takes your chin in one hand, forcing your gaze to meet his, “I’ve got you. We’re safe. The cables are safe and stable. Nothing is going to happen.” He tries to comfort you, but the second he stops talking, the line stops moving altogether, each gondola box stopping in its tracks and swaying back and forth, forcing you to wrench your eyes closed. “Oh my god,” You squeal, tears of fear forming in your eyes, your hands darting to Anakin’s forearms, desperate for something safe to hold onto. “Let me take your mind off of things,” He whispers softly, one hand moving slowly under the waistband of your pants. “We shouldn’t, this whole thing is glass, someone will see us.” You urge, trying to squirm away.
“Baby,” Anakin whispers affectionately, “It’s completely dark outside, and the glass is tinted from the outside. No one will see. And the ride is about four minutes, I can take care of you in half that.” He waits for just a moment, letting you decide what you want. When you slide down slightly on the leather seat, allowing his hands to go deeper, he pulls you closer to him until your knees touch. Wordlessly, two of his fingers slide inside of you, thumb teasing your clit. You’re too overwhelmed by stimulation to notice the gondola start moving again, and just as you look down and see how far off the ground you are, Anakin’s voice is low next to your ear, using his shoulder to block your view. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on me, and let me handle all your stress.” His fingers curl within your walls, forcing your back to arch and your head to tip back, jaw slackening. His free hand comes up to brace your neck and head, his other head working tirelessly to get you to climax. Just before you can, the cables stop again, and you can feel the motion of the gondola swinging to and fro, momentarily taking you out of your pleasure. “Close your eyes. Feel how deep my fingers are. We’re alright, yeah?” Anakin leans over slightly to press a kiss to your neck, fingertips ramming into your g-spot with fervor, working you towards orgasm. “Oh!” You half moan, half whine, body falling forward into his arms as you cum. Anakin removes his hand from your pants and takes his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling over them visible in his cheeks, “Yeah, just like that. Taste so good, baby.” He praises smoothly.
Just as he separates from you, your gondola docks at the mountain’s summit, allowing the two of you to get off. “We’re taking the truck down.” You state shakily, joining up with your family, putting on a brave face despite the explicit activities you and Anakin had gotten up to on the gondola. Going through the park, Anakin notices the Skywalk, a thread of rope bridges weaving through the mountaintop’s canopy of trees. “Let’s do that!” He urges excitedly, nudging your hip with his elbow. “What? Are you crazy? That looks horrifying!” You try to talk him out of it, and yet, he tugs you easily down the staircase leading to the first rope bridge. By bridge three of at least sixteen, you’re clinging to his side and power-walking towards each rest stop between bridges. “I hate this I hate this I hate this,” You whimper, both arms wrapped tightly around his right bicep. “Relax, angel. If anything happens, I’ve got military training, I can protect you.” Anakin reminds you softly. Ironically, one of the most heated topics in your frequent arguments was his flightiness due to being military. For once since being together in the first place, that military training was paying off.
With five bridges left, Anakin stops on the rest stop, gazing out across the bridges and skyline. “Let’s finish what we started. There’s no one else on the bridges and the park closes in half an hour, if we keep it down we can manage.” You stare at him, deadpan, your features riddled with anxiety. “We’re not having sex on this deathtrap.” His smugness from the day before returns to his face and he uses that buttered tone with you, the one he only uses when he’s sweet talking you into doing what he wants, “But if we die on this thing, you’re gonna go out wishing you could’ve had my dick in you one last time.” He spoke shamelessly, dirty words prevented from reaching wandering ears by the dense treetops. With a sigh of defeat, you wander into his arms. “That’s what I thought.” He mutters, turning you outwards to face the mountaintop, pinning you between his body and the railing. He lowers his pants just enough to let his cock spring outwards, moving your pants down just enough to let him in. In one quick thrust, he’s bottomed out within you. You choke on a scream, while his eyes roll back into his head and close, a moan of your name on his lips. “Fucking hell, missed you so much. Missed this pussy so much, baby.”
Anakin’s hands land on either side of you on the railing, caging you in the small space created just for your body. His thrusts are quick and frantic, getting you right to the edge of orgasm relatively quickly, before he slows down, making you whine from the lack of stimulation. “Gotta work for it, angel. Look up, look at the trees. See how high up we are. See how far the drop is if we fall.” He feels your walls clench around him, eliciting a low groan from his throat, “Shit, that turns you on, huh? Pathetic little freak.” He whispers lowly from behind you, thrusts becoming sloppy as he nears his own climax, “‘M gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?” Before your mind can even comprehend the words coming out of your mouth, you moan out his name, “Ohh fuck, Anakin! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna- Cum inside, I want it inside!” You close your eyes tightly, tears of pleasure slipping from your lashline, body seizing as you orgasm, cumming hard around his dick. “Fuck, angel. I- Oh, fuck. Inside? You want me to- cum inside? Fuck, fuck!” The whine of your name that comes from his lips is beautiful, a sound you’ve never heard before, but definitely want to hear more. Anakin’s cum dribbles out of your cunt, which was still pulsating around his softening cock. He quickly tucks himself back into his pants and pulls yours up over your hips as well, giving you a cheeky smile as he prepares to step off onto the next bridge, “Hold tight, wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.”
The rest of the trip passes in a blur of green trees and brown rocky mountains. By the time you’re driving back home, you’re passed out in Anakin’s passenger seat, with a brand new promise ring on your ring finger, one that he’d forged himself from one of the shops in the local town outside of the mouth of the winding road leading to an array of cabins, including yours. Maybe he really did have a change of heart.
Written with love by @geminicubedofficial. Please do not feed to AI or use AI to reproduce.
Mmmm just love when men gonna give their 2 cents when they could have just scrolled by. Like it's a good physique to me, I don't like the burly bear type of men jj🙄, I like mine lean and fine like hayden. Even if it was someone else with the same body type and muscles like hayden had in rots would still be hot.
Lord they fucking multiplied, well buddy you probably have weirder shit than a fucking 20 year old photo. They all fucking butt hurt it's wild lmao, Ive seen literal porn on tiktok as stickers and shit
⤷ Your last year of high school was meant to be about surviving exams and preparing for the future—not developing a hopeless crush on your classmate. The more time you spend with Anakin Skywalker, the harder it becomes to ignore the butterflies, the lingering eye contact, and the possibility that maybe… he's been looking your way too.
⤷ classmate!anakin x reader
⤷ fluff heh, modern au,high school crush typeshit, not proofread, 1k words
There was an unspoken rule you had made for yourself at the beginning of your last year of high school.
No crushes.
Senior year was supposed to be about getting good grades, surviving college applications, and making the most of the little time everyone had left together. Falling for someone was the last thing you needed.
That plan lasted exactly one week.
The first day of school arrived with the usual chaos—students wandering the hallways with crumpled schedules, teachers introducing themselves for what felt like the hundredth time, and classrooms filled with strangers who would somehow become familiar by June.
That's when you noticed him.
Anakin Skywalker.
You remember reading his name off the attendance sheet before the teacher called it aloud.
Funny name, you thought.
He sat near the back of the classroom, slouched comfortably in his chair as if he'd already decided school wasn't worth taking too seriously. Messy sandy-blond hair, headphones hanging around his neck, and the kind of confidence that usually belonged to the boys teachers warned about.
Definitely a troublemaker.
Or so you assumed.
The first week passed quickly.
The awkwardness of new classes slowly disappeared as conversations grew louder, inside jokes began forming, and friend groups naturally found each other. By the second week, everyone had unofficially claimed their usual seats despite the teacher insisting they were free to sit anywhere.
From across the room, you'd occasionally catch Anakin laughing with the people around him, usually because he'd said something ridiculous enough to make half the class groan and the other half laugh anyway.
He wasn't loud for attention.
He just... had a way of making people feel included.
Which was annoying.
Because it was harder to write him off as another cocky guy when you kept seeing him help someone understand the homework or carry a teacher's stack of textbooks without being asked.
Maybe you'd judged him too quickly.
Not that it mattered.
You weren't looking for a crush.
You barely thought about him.
At least...
That's what you kept telling yourself.
It happened when you looked back while the teacher was discussing something about research.
He was looking at you.
Your heart drops, and you quickly turn your head back to the front.
Holy fuck
--
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD OHMYGODDD" You scream into your pillow at night.
Walking to class tired, you tell yourself. Never let Anakin catch you looking.
It worked. Mostly.
Until your teacher decided to rearrange the seating chart.
Your new seat?
Sitting in the front. Next to Rex.
Anakin's best friend.
Rex was nice enough, but there was one tiny problem.
Anakin practically lived at his desk.
Every morning before the bell, he'd wander over, steal Rex's headphones, lean against your shared table while complaining about homework, or sit backwards in the empty chair beside him, one arm draped over the backrest like he had nowhere else to be.
Which meant...
He was suddenly always within arm's reach.
You could feel him there, talking, laughing, making jokes with Rex while your heartbeat tried to convince you it deserved its own zip code.
You became intensely interested in your notes.
Your water bottle.
The classroom clock.
Literally anything except looking at him.
"You're gonna burn a hole through that notebook."
You blinked.
Anakin was looking directly at you.
"Huh?"
"You've been staring at the same page for like... five minutes."
"Oh."
You glanced down. You'd written the date three times.
Heat rushed to your face."I was... thinking."
"Mhm." That stupid little grin appeared. "I can tell."
Butterflies.
Every.
Single.
Time.
--
The worst part wasn't that Anakin talked to you.
It was that he talked to everyone.
Held doors open without thinking.
Asked classmates how their badminton games had gone.
Carry a teacher's boxes without being asked.
He was just... naturally warm.
Which made it impossible to tell if you were special...
...or just another person he happened to be nice to.
Some days you'd catch him looking at you during class.
Your eyes would meet.
Neither of you would look away immediately.
Then someone would say his name, and the moment would disappear.
You replayed those three seconds on the way home for the rets of the day
"Maybe he likes me."
"No... he's just friendly."
You'd gone back and forth so many times you were exhausted by your own thoughts.
One morning, Rex was absent
When you walked into class, you expected to spend the day alone.
Instead...
Anakin dropped into Rex's chair.
"You mind?"
"...Isn't your seat over there?"
He shrugged. "I like this one better."
Your heart practically exploded.
The teacher hadn't arrived yet.
The room buzzed with conversations.
"So..." Anakin spun a pen between his fingers.
"Why do you avoid looking at me?"
Your eyes widened. "I don't."
"You do."
"I really don't."
"You do."
"...I don't."
"You just looked at the ceiling instead of making eye contact."
You immediately looked at him.
"There you go."
"...Happy?"
"Very."
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "You're annoying."
"I've been told."
The teacher hadn't arrived yet. The room buzzed with conversations.
"So..." Anakin spun a pencil between his fingers.
You looked up.
"You always avoid looking at me?"
Your cheeks warmed instantly. "I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
He laughed softly. "You just did it again."
You looked anywhere but his face.
The floor. The window. Your shoes.
"...See?" He smiled to himself.
"I was starting to think you didn't like me."
Your head snapped up so quickly you almost gave yourself whiplash.
"I don't not like you."
His grin grew.
"...Good."
Before you could think of something clever to say, the teacher walked in.
--
That night, you lay awake staring at your ceiling.
You still couldn't tell if Anakin Skywalker liked you...
Maybe...
Just maybe...
You weren't the only one stealing glances after all.
INSPIRED BY MY CURRENT LIFE. well,, the eye contact part heheh. So there's this guy in my class who is looking too gah dam good in my eyes, plus he's such a sweetheart too ughh. TSK ANYWAY. Life has been kicking me in the ass, so that's why I couldn't post last week, so so sorry about that. I was debating if I should make this a Hayden or anakin fic, but I settled with ani since ppl have been liking him or the characters that hayden played. I might post tomorrow though! I already have a plot in mind hehe. But then again, ani or hayden? idkkk.
edit: the guy has a girl.. so most likey I will not write a part 2 on this bruuhhh
where it truly lies. | a star wars tale
chapter xix - drive
motions speak what words could not.
full work
[Anakin Skywalker x Reader]
Not many things brought comfort to your restless mind like working in a hangar did.
It was a place you could not yet call home, for that was reserved for where the twin suns shone and where sand once clung tight onto your skin, but it certainly did come close.
But, it was an environment you could, more or less, predict - though the ones you had been granted the luxury of working in often proved you wrong.
The hangars that shaped you had been riddled with mechanics from all around the galaxy, with hands that never ceased holding a hydrospanner and fingers that chased dented metal as if salvation could be found behind a loosened panel.
They had reeked of ozone, of spillover engine fuel, sometimes of the fresh smoke from a burnt cockpit with the pilot still being dragged out from the ashes. Screams often evaporated through the sparks. Eyes burnt under the thick air, callouses bled against the blunt edges of tools as bent, bruised, rusted panels were forced back into function.
Yet, they taught you just how to survive, through the grime and dust and dirt. Through the familiar language of machines that refused to die against all odds.
A hangar nestled in the heart of a cutting edge Republic warship should have given you the comfort that you had needed, with every amenity offered almost carelessly.
The floor was a pristine gray durasteel beneath your boots, polished so thoroughly that even the half-dimmed overhead lights created long, sharp lines of light. The repair stations, the sheer quantity of them, would make one think no ship ever took off limping.
No tool in here was traded with the hopelessness of last credits on the line.
No ship here had their converters acquired from a wandering survivor willing to trade ration packs. No mechanic under these ceilings suffered from the blatant stealing, from the coercion concealed with smooth barter that eventually created rumbling machines.
No one, you had assumed, had to work around freshly spilled blood on the floor mixing in fast with the motor oil, until it was eventually worn off on scuffed boots.
It should have brought ease.
And, yet, as you crouched against the pristine durasteel in the spotless hangar, your face reflected everything but.
Perhaps, above all, it was the sheer quiet that got under your skin the most.
At half-cycle, when the chrono struck couple hours before the scheduled departure, the grand space almost swallowed your presence, with rows of cruisers and fighters illuminated gently by the hyperspace haze through extensive viewports.
In the calmness of it all, it spoke of order. It echoed brooding discipline, rendering clones, machinery, and anything that did not belong to the hangar, silent.
You were not used to silent.
Chaos, be it organized or completely unintentional, coursed through your veins as if it was a need. Your mind, body and soul, in agreement for once, seemed to crave noise after the years spent under constant amounts of it.
Noise meant you were alive, still kicking boots against the odds of the galaxy. Movement around you, whether human or machine, meant your body registered a sense other than silence which often gave way to thoughts, and thoughts, inevitably, through one way or another, led to a planet you had so tried to leave behind but never could.
And, somewhere between the years, your hands had learned to suppress the voices when they held a hydrospanner.
Unlike the dreams coating the untouched corners of your mind, or the nightmares that specialized in waking you up with utter gasps, your hands knew how to calm your soul, when they touched familiar metal - for you had known metal never lied. Bolts fit into cracks without complaining, cables wrapped themselves around coils to conduct for many cycles without failing. Metal bent and resisted, against the heat and sound and speed, even when pushed to the limits.
Metal, above all, kept its promises.
Under the blue hues of the hangar, you had spent the better part of the early cycle learning the corvette the way you tried to learn every ship - yet, most of the times, you had not been presented with the luxury of exploration before the handler screamed at you to take pilot of a vessel still unknown to your hands. As such, you reveled in the pleasure of savoring the moment as you ran your bare fingers along the many panels, through the conduit lines, and their patterns spoke of a hand that had once laid them with a mechanical patience, looping each one into the next without waste.
Your fingers then found the panel controlling the manual override before you had thought to look for it, almost instinctively, tucked under a wing where no schematic would ever place it, for it did not resemble standard Republic procedure.
It resembled, faintly yet somewhat surely according to the pulse in your chest, the work of someone who trusted their instincts instead of blindly following a manual.
It felt akin to something you had constructed with your own hands before, when they were smaller, yet no less able, stuck in a world far away with nothing but the dream of freedom.
The silence around you, the one you had gotten dangerously engulfed in, shifted lightly as boots on durasteel echoed an even, unhurried gait.
Against the warmth of recognition threatening to ignite, your eyes dragged upwards to the source of the sound.
A clone, an important one by the markings on his armor, approached from a few paces away, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, his white and blue armor catching whatever the half-dimmed hangar lights offered. His face was constructed in that same familiar way most clones had been created, yet, his eyes glinted a different kind of spark. It seemed, in the quiet signature he carried, that he held the discipline of a man who had survived more than his face was built to show.
Surprise did not coat his expression as his gaze followed your hands, from the exposed panel of the corvette, slowly settling on your face - as if he had expected the sight of you long before he had stepped foot into the hangar.
“You are early,” he simply commented, his voice distinctly low and full, echoing easily through the space.
With a slow tilt of your head, you began to straighten from your crouch, a hand wiping the grit of circuitry against the worn synleather of your pants as he took a couple more steps to close the distance, his unoccupied hand already half-extended in offering.
“I believe we have not been formally introduced. Captain Rex.”
“A pleasure,” you returned, hand meeting his without hesitation, for your judgment against clones in the galactic Republic was a sense that has not yet had a chance to develop in the Outer Rim, for there were only two kinds of living - free or enslaved.
It appeared, even in the very first moments of meeting the man, that he was slave to no one but the allegiance he chose to pledge - and, that was to the Republic, as his stance was a proud one with shoulders rolled back and with the iron grip of his handshake.
His hand released yours without lingering too long, as the soft mechanical breath of the hangar surrounded you both for a moment.
"Eat anything yet?"
The words left his mouth with a slight knowing curl lingering - a question so simple, undoubtedly posed many times to his own, even though the answer would always be evident to him.
However, it was one that hit you in a wave of surprise, the sheer mundane nature of it reaching a part of your soul that had long been filed away beneath the constant ache brought by having an owner. You could not count on one hand, even if you had so wanted, the times you had been asked that with an expectation other than transaction, with the slightest hint of concern - for you, in the eyes of handlers, had been no more than a machine that needed fuel to make them credits.
It sat deep within your stomach, settling against your will, your answer echoed in the form of an excuse, one you gave while lowering yourself to your crouch, leveled to the panel left open.
"Not hungry."
Rex nodded with the habitual ease of a captain, and did not press further but, simply, shifted his weight onto his other leg.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, the corner of his mouth curled in understanding. “You most likely won't be, until you're back. Pilots never are.”
His eyes, then, drifted past you only to settle on the machinery that threatened to come alive beneath your palms, the experimental, temperamental vessel that no one else in the squadron had seemed eager to claim during the briefing, and something within his gaze told you he had already heard enough stories about it to cause worry.
“Though, I must admit, I would have assumed most pilots tasked to fly, well, this,” his unoccupied hand gesturing towards the corvette standing unapologetically present in the blue hues, “-would want the mission briefing twice before they left the bay.”
A shrug shook your shoulders ever so gently, for you had not been most pilots, for you had been something far worse.
Most pilots, especially ones under the Republic’s comfort and safety, learned a ship from a simulator, with detailed manuals and schematics to accompany their every move. Most pilots were careful products of sheer, sometimes blind trust, since someone above them, usually, had already paid for the mistakes made in the past.
But, you - you had paid for your own mistakes, every single one of them, until it came to a point where you could not afford to make more.
No one had briefed you towards the illusion of safety save for yelled out threats in case the cargo never made it.
“A route is a route,” you returned, a reflex of deflection, lips pursing for a moment as your fingers gently popped open a conduit box, inspecting the maze of wiring waiting beneath.
“Figured I would find out enough anyway when the blaster fire starts."
The soft, breathy laugh that left him told you, through ways you could not discern, through the sheer sharpness of it, that he had heard that before.
“Return in one piece, yeah?”
A small yet somewhat grateful smile found your lips, and it even surprised you - considering the circumstances leading up to an unknown mission in an experiment of a ship that could, very well, be the very end of you.
You looked up to meet his before you spoke.
“I’ll try my best, Captain.”
Captain Rex, then, gave you a soldier’s sendoff with his hand rising in a gesture akin to a salute, clipped and practiced thousands of times, yet his dark eyes remained steady on you, and his gaze almost mirrored the muscle movement in the weight that it carried.
“It’s all the war can ask for.”
When you finally positioned yourself in the left seat, the unused, clean synleather pressing through the worn flightsuit at your back, the contrast ran deeper than you had anticipated, for the seats you had known had been split at the seams, if you had been lucky enough to be granted one.
The machinery in front of you, stretching out wide against the clean transparisteel viewport had not been touched by any other, with gleaming controls that put the grimy ones you had mastered to shame.
You did not let it get to you.
It was just another job to complete, just another objective to achieve, just another reason to push a vessel to its limits and revel in getting away with it - for smugglers, trained in the fiery hell of Nar Shaddaa, even to the best of them, regardless of the feelings of accomplishment and belonging, it came as easy as just another day at work.
There were many reasons that you had ensured to take your place in the cockpit long before the scheduled takeoff, and one of them was to get used to the space before his inevitable proximity would be added into the equation.
In the midst of the hangar waking up and loading up right outside the confinements of the vessel, in an attempt to find work for your hands to do, you had spent the quarter-hour learning the console the only way you knew how - with your bare hands, trailing the rows of switches under the dimmed cabin lights, a silent guide, a whisper of the Force guiding your findings.
Your fingers guided you to the cloaking lever, one that no schematic spoke of, tucked beneath the throttle housing as if it had been hidden on purpose.
Your palm overlaid itself on the coolant bypass rerouting through the secondary line, a clever yet non-traditional way of enabling machinery to be pushed to their limits.
Your hands opened the panel by your left knee, only to reveal the manual override, undoubtedly placed there by a hand that had trusted itself more than they did the rules.
And, your instinct proved you correct yet another time, as the thread, humming in a slow frequency mere seconds prior, began to elevate its pulse.
The hatch a couple steps behind opened with a low hiss, boots landing onto the durasteel in an even gait you would have recognized in any world, any planet, in any dark, as it matched the beat of the thread thumping beneath your bones.
You did not turn your whole body, but instead craned your neck, letting your gaze climb to him as he ducked the low frame and filled the narrow cockpit almost entirely with the breadth of his shoulders - for he had become a man too large for a ship meant to go unseen.
The mission called for formality, yet addressing him by rank was as much as you could muster without an ounce of formal training - a wall you had long decided to lay in between, leaving your lips in a sharp greeting.
“General.”
A sigh escaped his lips, edging around a shudder of surrender, one that would be imperceptible across a distance, but one that you could never avoid in this closeness.
Anakin Skywalker, the man who clearly did not possess the habit of being second in command for quite some time, did a slight double take once he saw his usual seat was already occupied.
The captain’s seat.
And, the look in your eyes indicated, perhaps with more stubbornness you dared show, told him plainly that you would have liked to see him try and move you from it.
Much to your surprise, and much to the satisfaction of the thread that now decided to roar within your chest, he merely accepted his fate, lowering the long lines of his body into the seat beside you without a word.
It was tight.
You were used to tighter, and you had flown in worse, but not with a man whose blue eyes you had carried into the darkness of every single night for a decade sitting a hair away from you. Not when his knee beneath the tactical robe almost touched yours.
The heat of him reached you before anything else did, a sliver of twin suns burning across the horizon in a cold cabin that had nothing to do with the planet you had left behind, a proximity you had once known the vague shape of, yet one that your mind could not refuse to feel.
Against your thumping heartbeat, against the demanding pull in your chest, you kept your eyes focused on the board and let your hands move the way they always did against controls, dragging your thumb down the readout panel for the stealth cloak’s power draw.
It would not be long until you noticed the number read higher than the preflight checks had promised, and your voice rang in the air before the tense silence became a sentient thing that threatened to torture you both.
“Cloak’s drawing more current than I anticipated.”
It was a pilot’s observation, flat, calculated, yet it echoed softly against the sound of his gloved hand working in unison with the bare one to get himself situated.
It was at that moment you would notice the lack of accessory, as his fingers moved through his half of the start sequence with an accustomed ease, but instead of commenting, you continued on - for the job at hand did not call for personal weaknesses.
“It should hold. As long as we do not overheat this thing.”
“Then, we make sure it does not - ” his answer came, a low and rough sound, cut short by trailing into an action his mind had undoubtedly told him before the words had left his lips, his eyes already on the coolant line, finding the switch already triggered - and something worked against his jaw.
“Already done,” you muttered, a soft curl to your lips, eyes never leaving the viewport, the hangar doors signaled to part for your departure.
“We lift off soon, General.”
Anakin gave no answer to that, but rather chose to furrow his brows ever so slightly, as if he had been facing a puzzle he did not yet know what to make of - yet, his hands moved across his half of the console, unhurried and with the confidence of a man who had done this more than he could count.
"Hangar control, this is General Skywalker, reporting from the corvette."
The change into the voice of command was immediate, almost tangible in the air you shared, his low register echoing through your headset.
"Requesting clearance for departure."
The response came eager and steady, the flat yet somehow enthusiastic voice of a clone behind the communications, as the confirmation rang true through your headset.
“Cleared, sir. The lanes to Christophsis are as open as they are going to get.”
A small, mechanical pause came through before the voice echoed yet another time.
“May the Force be with you."
The blessing was one thrown out of habit, something the clone must have said oftentimes without questioning further, and yet, it was still one that hit the soft place beneath your sternum, and pulled.
As the bay doors fully parted, the corvette slipping through without much of a sound save for the engine, the sight landed in front of your eyes with a grand force.
This was no Smuggler’s Moon, with its crevices and tight corners of concrete and rust, with decay coating each surface and each ship it ever touched.
This was vast, and unimaginably imposing - the darkness stretched out into oblivion with the chaos of ships scattered, debris and vessel alike coating the forgotten corners of the system, yet, it was almost overpowered by the beautiful disaster of the planet’s façade.
Christophsis was an orb of pale green and glass almost hung within the stark contrast of the endless dark that surrounded it. The crystalline surface caught the stray lights of the conflict around and reflected fractured blues, greens and reds, exuding a brightness that did not belong in this war.
Yet, the galaxy would then promptly remind you that it so did - with clusters of ships gathered above its surface, with the unrelenting Separatist blockade that flattened across the upper atmosphere in a tight line, with their angular hulls and bulky weapons responsible for the debris that coated the surrounding horizon.
Broken wings, pieces of transparisteel and stray metal, gently floated in the black, mere reminders of attempts at survival.
You did not have time for more reminders, for your conscience had already taken over, as you began to thread the wreckage the way you had once threaded the starless sky above a different moon, the way the mission holofeeds had never once suggested - close enough to taste the danger, yet, so far, as you let the marred hulls and shells of ships swallow the silhouette of the corvette until it, slowly, became one with the ruin.
“Cloak ready - on your mark,” you spoke, your thumb settling over the lever no blueprint had ever named, that no instruction from his lips had pointed to.
“Mark.”
Within a second, you obliged, and the stealth cloak took over, with a gentle rattle that only you both could sense.
It made the bolt beneath your flightsuit shake ever so slightly, letting you know of its phantom weight even in the darkness.
It left the cabin dark with only a dull red light that reflected both occupants onto the viewport. The readouts and switches and levers dimmed, hyperdrives pulled down to a murmur too cold for any Separatist sensor to notice at first glance.
Only then you could take the sight all in, properly, the sheer complexity of the warzone approaching, your heartbeat quickened with the added stress that stealth often brought, which did not go unnoticed by Skywalker as a short glance was thrown your way.
The comm crackled low against your ear, a welcome divide into your thoughts, as the voice of command from the Resolute rang in your ears once more.
“General, you are dark on our scopes. Confirming we have lost your signature.”
A small nod of acknowledgment reflected on both of your faces, unintentionally, just the mere reflex of a pilot digesting information that mattered. Yet, Anakin did not speak, and let his hands on the console tighten, the dull red light carved his jaw into even sharper lines, casting the blue hue of his eyes to a shade much, much darker, one akin to a brewing storm - as, the corvette, directed by the quiet agreement of hands that had not yet touched, by the unspoken understanding of minds that had not yet opened, by the sheer unison of two threads not yet fully explored, continued its route towards the blockade.
Then, the console woke in alarm, lighting the cockpit with a dimmed ray of yellow.
“Contact,” Anakin breathed out, his grainy voice a grounding force against the sharp alarm. His gaze snapped to the scope immediately, and you watched recognition seep into his features as your hands worked to keep the yoke steady against the gravitational pulls.
“Trench,” he hissed beneath his breath, the name vibrating through the thick air like an unwanted pest. His gloved hand curled tight against the edge of the console, as it chimed yet once more, but with the dull static of transmission this time - uninvited, as if it had to force its way through the silence of your cloak.
“Attention, Republic vessel,” came the nearly patient words, slicing through the noise of machinery.
“You must have a lot of faith in that little cloak of yours. Clever - but, not enough.”
The daunting echoes of the voice curled through the cabin like a predator, ready and waiting, as if it had never once had to run.
“Withdraw now, and maybe, you will live to see your fleet again.”
You gave it nothing, as the tick of Anakin’s jaw did the talking for him.
Instead, your eyes lifted from the controls to face the blockade that sharpened into detail as you closed in, the center housing the flagship vessel, a dreadnought that appeared to be almost miles long.
You had seen many a vessel in your runs across the hyperspace lanes and the gutted tunnels of Nar Shaddaa, yet, the scale of what stood in front managed to elicit a spark of nervousness - one that faded as quickly as it came as your gaze trailed along the blockade in the only way you, the prized smuggler, had been taught how to, the way they had moved across every checkpoint and every patrol lane and every interceptor on your tail.
“He is not bluffing,” Anakin spoke in that low hue, in the decided nature of a man who had learned to read between the lines, yet had never managed to figure out where yours stood.
“He can see us.”
“Not clearly. Not yet, at least,” he trailed on, as his gloved hand reached almost decisively to cloak controls, his bare one on the yoke.
The overheating measure he had wired into the ship still had not been enough, and a hint of frustration showed in his furrowed brows, the same way the desert heat had furrowed them when his scrappy droids did not function immediately.
“He can track the magnetic signature, the heat of the cloak. He listens for an engine that is not supposed to exist.”
As you took in his assessment formed within seconds, spoken in the tactical certainty of a general who had seen this before, your eyes stayed focused on the behemoth of a vessel through your viewport.
There had to be a gap - a crack, a seam that was falling apart just enough for you to seep in, and finding where unwanted visitors could enter through was what had kept you alive.
In a split second, your hands obeyed your mind before words could, eyes defiant as you banked the corvette hard onto a line through the debris field, dropping her low into the drifting remnants, down through a shell of a hull that swallowed your ship whole - in the hopes of buying you the seconds you needed.
You felt him shift beside you, peripheral vision catching the sharp profile of his face, his throat working tightly as his hands hovered over the console.
"If he is hunting for heat, then we give him nothing to find," you said, your hand already drifting toward the master bus before the plan, or the lack thereof, was fully communicated, instinct moving faster than thought as it always had.
"We let him believe we already retreated."
And, at that moment, with your finger hovering over the panel, the quiet force that inhabited your chest tugged onto the very fabric of your soul with a strength that you did not recognize, as warmth burnt through the cold of the cabin.
Your head turned to him, only to find out he had already been looking.
Anakin went still.
The look in his eyes spoke of only one truth, one that the stormy hues told you he had yet to face, one that extended to make his whole body go still for a second.
He looked at you, unbelievingly, yet, at the same time, almost knowingly, as if someone had read his thoughts without permission and, simply, voiced them back into his face.
“We shut off the power. All of it.”
It was the kind of reckless that only someone who learned under the fire and pressure could ever dare perform.
And, for the fastest of seconds, in a flash of a memory long lost, you did not command a Republic-class stealth corvette.
Instead, it was the unfinished podracer in your hands, just as whimsical, just as stubborn, and just as hungry for victory. Much unlike the last time, now, behind the console of a temperamental corvette, there was no finish line in sight, no crowd cheering names, no wagers exchanging hands.
There was only the sheer brutality of war, of combat, the uncertainty of hyperspace, and the unforgiving nature of lives at risk.
And, you had no doubt that no one alive understood it better than the man beside you.
“Do it.”
It was all he had to say, for your hands had already begun moving, for the move was already unfolding in your mind, yet the simplicity of his trust only added coal into the fire within your sternum.
Your hand finally came down onto the master bus, and the corvette died beneath you with a whirring sound - engines falling silent, the readouts switching to pure black, yet, the low hum that lived beneath your bones began thumping.
Shallow, combined breathing echoed in the otherwise silent cabin, as your vessel drifted, silent and without a singular light, as if it had been one more dead scrap among the wreckage.
And, you watched Anakin match your gaze on the last dying lights of the scope, flickering dots of two torpedoes the Admiral had already fired off, slowly lose track of you as they were left simply circling.
A sigh escaped the general, his voice following shortly.
“That won’t hold them for long,” he exclaimed lowly, his eyes on the drifting lights of the scope.
“They are still armed. The second we come alive - ”
A thought settled into your face, quiet and final, and it was the look of a decision already made, and when you spoke, it was as if it had been the most obvious thing.
“We’ll let them.”
A chuckle then came to his lips, an almost boyish, breathy sound that reminded you of a scrap shop under the suns, as the shape of the bait revealed itself.
It was exactly the stunt he would attempt to pull on a planet with two suns, that would have, without a doubt, earned him your glare had it been a different time.
“That’s insane,” he let on, yet no further protest left his mouth.
And, both of you reached for the same control in the same instant, with the same intent, the way you had all mission, as if your minds had been wired to feel, think and do the same.
The synleather of his gloves met your knuckles in an accidental graze, and it was enough to send that familiar heat running through your veins.
And, before the lightest of touches could get a chance to erupt the thread within, your reflexes withdrew yours away to land on the throttle, in the practiced retreat of someone who had once learned warmth usually meant a price to pay.
“Hold on," you muttered, your jaw tightening.
You then woke the vessel all at once, rumbles of the engine and chimes of diagnostics slamming back into the cockpit, and the torpedoes, as expected, caught the heat of you almost instantly, the scope blaring in alarm as they began screaming after your tail.
Yet, you did not run from them, but instead, ran directly into the blockade, driving the corvette straight down the throat of the flagship, as they kept on their relentless chase - close now, even closer, until the dreadnought’s hull had stretched over your entire viewport.
At the very last breath that could have become both of your graves, you yanked the ship hard onto the side and cleared the path for the angry weapons to shoot and slam into the belly of the beast that had fired them.
After a beat of silence that stretched far longer than your patience allowed, blasts of violent fire tore through the bones of the vessel - a soundless explosion, a final dying scream that split open the blockade that had choked the skies of the crystal planet for weeks.
The dreadnought caved in around the fatal wound, whole decks wrenching loose to burn out into the black, condemned to share the same as the ships and lives it had once destroyed.
Anakin’s eyes found yours in the sudden light as the green glow of the planet emanated, faces illuminated by the rays of chaos erupting through the transparisteel - his pupils were blown wide, with a certain youthful delight that years of war and training and violence could not manage to bury, and you felt your own breath yield into your excitement.
His voice left his body before he could control it, in a tone that led you to believe he had known the answer before the question even spilled out to fill the void in the cockpit.
It was the curiosity of the boy stranded in the desert.
It was the disbelief of a child when the suns yielded to darkness too early.
It was the fear of the slave who had wished for change, only to find the stars moving faster than he could hold.
It was the soft plea of a man who was forced to find out fragments of who you had become, instead of witnessing them firsthand.
“How - how, where did you learn to fly like that?”
A soft chuckle escaped your lips then, a genuine laugh drawn from the pieces of yourself you were forced to hide for years, the first unguarded hint of who once was just a girl in the desert, and you felt the instant stutter in his pulse deep down in your own chest.
this is kind of specific but still take ur lovely creative libertiessss TOTALLY PICK AND CHOOSE WHAT U WANT IF IT DOESNT ALL SPEAK TO U :)
anakin x reader in which reader is being terribly overworked by the council (they’re both jedi) and literally like. COLLAPSES ON THE BATTLEFIELD one day. ani is MAD mad, but he stays by their side bc reader > giving council piece of his mind. maybe like reader actuslly ends up comforting ani so it’s the other way around which is ironic and kinda funny.
ILY AND UR WRITINGGGG
Nothing Left to Give I clone wars!anakin skywalker x jedi!reader
summary: you almost die on the battlefield, and Anakin Skywalker decides he is officially done following orders.
warnings: whump, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, severe physical exhaustion, battlefield collapse/fainting, medical emergency, panic attacks/shock response, protective!Anakin, angry!Anakin, possessive undertones, heavy angst, dark/unhealthy coping mechanisms
A/N: sorry i couldn't help myself, i love a darker side of ani :)
For the past three months, the Jedi Council had treated you less like a Knight and more like an infinite resource. If there was a diplomatic breakdown in the Mid Rim, you were sent. If a supply line was ambushed, you were redirected. Sleep had become a luxury you could only afford in twenty-minute increments aboard shaking dropships.
Anakin had warned you. He’d argued with Obi-Wan, paced circles in your quarters, and practically begged you to refuse the last deployment to this nameless, dust-choked Outer Rim rock. But the Council’s word was absolute, and you had thought you could handle it.
You were wrong.
The Separatist droid line was advancing through the canyon. Beside you, Anakin was a blur of blue light, his lightsaber deflecting a barrage of blaster fire with practiced, lethal precision.
"Keep pushing toward the ridge!" Anakin shouted over the din of explosions, his voice cutting through the chaos. "If we take the high ground, we—"
Your lightsaber felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Your vision didn't just blur; it fragmented. The red blaster bolts streaking through the air multiplied into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Your knees didn't buckle so much as they simply ceased to exist.
The hum of your blade died as it slipped from your numb fingers. The hard, unforgiving earth rushed up to meet you.
"Hey—hey!"
Anakin didn't just run; he moved with a terrifying, Force-assisted speed that blurred reality. Before your torso could even hit the dirt, his flesh-and-blood arm caught you, dragging your limp body behind a crumbling rock outcrop.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping into a register you had never heard before—low, vibrating with a raw, dangerous panic. He deflected a stray bolt with his robotic hand, not even looking at the threat, his eyes entirely locked on your pale face. "Open your eyes. That’s an order. Open them."
You tried. Your eyelids felt like lead. "Ani..." you breathed, the sound barely clearing your lips. "I'm... just tired."
"No. No, don't do that," he snarled, though the anger wasn't meant for you. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you flush against his chest. Through the fabric of his tunics, you could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird. "Rex! Cover us! Now!"
"Sir?" Rex’s voice crackled over the comms, laced with sudden urgency.
"Secure the perimeter! We’re holding position!" Anakin roared into his wrist-comm, his jaw clenched so tightly you heard his teeth grind.
He looked down at you, his thumb frantically brushing dirt off your cheek. Your skin was ice-cold and slick with sweat, despite the searing heat of the battlefield. The Force around you wasn't flowing; it was stagnant, drained to the absolute dregs.
They did this, the thought poisoned his mind, a sudden, blinding flash of pure, unadulterated fury. The Council. Yoda, Windu, all of them. Sitting in their comfortable chairs while they bleed you dry.
The anger rolled off him in waves so potent you could feel it even through your haze. The air around him grew heavy, oppressive. For a split second, the dust swirling around the rock outcrop seemed to freeze in mid-air, bowing to the sheer pressure of his rage.
"Anakin," you whispered, trying to reach for his hand, but your arm wouldn't obey. "Don't... don't be mad."
"I am mad," he choked out, his grip tightening around you, pulling you so close you could feel the trembling in his chest. His eyes were dark, a storm brewing behind them that terrified and comforted you all at once. "I told them you needed rest. I told them."
A mortar shell exploded fifty yards away, showering the outcrop with debris. Anakin didn't even flinch. He simply shifted his body, using his own back as a shield to protect you from the falling rocks.
"You're going to be fine," he muttered, his voice dropping into a desperate, fierce vow. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "Do you hear me? I’m not letting you go. Squeeze my hand. Come on, use the Force, do whatever you have to do, just stay with me."
You managed the faintest twitch of your fingers against his gauntlet.
It was barely anything, but it was enough to keep him from completely tearing the battlefield apart. Anakin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breathing out a shaky, fractured breath, before his gaze snapped back to the canyon, burning with a lethal promise.
"Rex!" he barked into the comm, his voice dropping all Jedi restraint. "Get the gunship down here now, or I will bring it down myself."
"General, the airspace is crawling with vulture droids! Bringing a gunship into the canyon right now is suicide!"
"I don't care!" Anakin roared, the sound tearing from his throat. The sheer force of his voice caused the dust at his feet to ripple outward in a perfect circle. "You get that ship down here, Captain, or you won't have a General left to command!"
He didn't wait for a reply. He clicked the comm off, his full attention snapping back down to you.
Your head rolled weakly against his shoulder. Your eyes were half-open, glazed over, staring blankly at the smoke-choked sky. The faint, rhythmic pulse of your life force felt like a dying ember in his mind, flickering precariously against the dark.
"Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice cracking, losing all of its terrifying edge and reverting to something fragile, almost childlike. He pressed his gloved hand firmly against your sternum, trying—desperately, clumsily—to push his own boundless, swirling Force energy into your depleted reserves. "Take it. Come on, take it from me. I have plenty."
A harsh gasp escaped your lips as the sudden jolt of his raw power hit your system. It didn't heal you—it couldn't fix the profound, systemic exhaustion the Council had inflicted upon you—but it forced your heart to keep beating. Your fingers twitched, feebly clutching at the dark fabric of his tunic.
"Ani..." you breathed, a tear cutting a clean path through the grime on your face. "It hurts. Everything hurts."
"I know. I know, angel," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours again. The proximity was dangerous, entirely un-Jedi but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Above you, the sky screamed.
A Republic gunship roared over the lip of the canyon, its laser turrets firing blindly into the smog to clear a path. Vulture droids swarmed it like angry insects, sparks flying as a heavy bolt clipped the ship’s left wing. It descended rapidly, tail sliding in the loose dirt, slamming into the ground a mere ten yards from your outcrop.
The blast doors slid open. "Sir! Move, move!" Rex yelled, leaning out of the hold, his DC-17 blasters laying down a wall of cover fire.
Anakin didn't hesitate. He scooped you up in one fluid, powerful motion, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all. He didn't use a stretcher; he wouldn't let anyone else touch you.
As he stepped out from behind the rock, a battle droid managed to bypass the clones' line, aiming its blaster rifle directly at your limp form.
Anakin didn't even draw his lightsaber.
With a brutal flick of his mechanical wrist, a wave of pure, concentrated telekinetic fury slammed into the droid. The metal chassis didn't just fly backward; it imploded, collapsing in on itself before shattering into a hundred jagged pieces against the canyon wall.
He vaulted into the gunship, his boots hitting the metal deck with a heavy thud. "Get us out of here! Now!" he bellowed at the pilots.
The doors slammed shut, cutting off the deafening roar of the battlefield, replacing it with the high-pitched whine of the ship's engines as it pulled into a steep, vertical climb. The sudden G-force made your head swim, and a soft groan escaped your lips.
Anakin immediately slid down the wall of the gunship, keeping you securely locked in his lap. He ignored Rex, ignored the medic clone rushing forward with a scanner, ignored everything but the ghost of a pulse fluttering beneath your jaw.
"General Skywalker, I need to check their vitals—" the medic started, reaching out.
"Give me the oxygen mask," the General snapped, his eyes flashing a warning so severe the clone instantly froze, dropping his hands. "And prepare sedatives."
"No, Anakin no—" you weakly rasped but he interrupted you.
"Shhh. it's going to be okay. You don't have to worry about anything right now, they're going to help you." his gloved finger traced small circles on your cheek.
The medic quickly handed over the equipment and stepped back, exchanging a wary look with Rex.
With surprisingly gentle hands, Anakin fitted the mask over your face. He watched the plastic cloud up with your shallow breaths, his own chest heaving in tandem.
"Ani..." you breathed, the sound muffled by the mask. "Too... loud. Stop."
He knew what you meant. He knew his emotions were bleeding into the Force, battering against your already fractured mind. He tried to pull his presence back, tried to build the walls the Jedi masters always preached about, but the anger was too vast. It tasted like ash in his mouth.
The gunship suddenly banked hard to the left, a violent explosion rocking the hull. Sparks showered from the ceiling.
You gasped, your body tensing in Anakin’s arms as a spike of pure, unadulterated pain shot through your nervous system. Your eyes flew open, but they were unfocused, wild with panic. You didn't see the gunship; you were still back in the mud, under the blaster fire, drowning in the endless, suffocating weight of your duties.
"I can't," you choked out, your hands clawing blindly at Anakin's chest, tearing at his tunics. "I have to... the ridge... the Council said we have to hold the ridge... I can't fail them..."
"Shh, shh, look at me, you're not there," Anakin pleaded, his voice breaking as he caught your flailing hands, forcing your fingers to intertwine with his. He pressed his lips to your sweat-dampened forehead, his heart shattering at the absolute terror in your voice. "You didn't fail anyone. You hear me? Screw the ridge. Screw the Council."
"They'll... they'll be disappointed..." you whispered, your vision beginning to tunnel into blackness again. "I have to get up..."
"No. You're staying right here," he said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute authority, laced with a terrifying undercurrent of dark promise. He poured his own vital energy into you through your joined hands, a burning, desperate tide to keep your consciousness from slipping into the dark. "Let them be disappointed. Let them judge us. I don't care anymore."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a fierce, possessive whisper that the clones couldn't hear over the roaring engines.
Your eyes drifted shut again, the warmth of his power finally overriding the panic in your chest, pulling you down into a deep, healing sleep. Anakin didn't let go. He held you tighter, his gaze fixed on the closed blast doors, waiting for the ship to land, his mind already burning the bridges that connected him to the Jedi Order.
