naps-and-lemons

[naps-and-lemons]

PRINCE!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 👑

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Prince!Anakin who was a ruthless, meticulous, arrogant.. yet somehow with a heart. For others he was simple a wise and intellectual future king

Prince!Anakin whose marriage between him and you was arranged to solidify an alliance between your two kingdoms, a necessity driven by political and military pressures. Anakin, now King after the recent death of his father, was resistant to the idea of marriage, especially one born out of duty rather than love. He had always been wary of love, having seen the toll it took on those around him, particularly his own family.

Prince!Anakin who refused to consumate your marriage at the beginning

Prince!Anakin who, at the beginning, highlighted the true reason of your marriage and put you in the other part of the castle so you two wouldn't see each other

Prince!Anakin who is known as a formidable and stern ruler, deeply dedicated to his kingdom. He built emotional walls around his heart, vowing never to let anyone close enough to hurt him. When you first arrived at court, he treated you with cold politeness, making it clear that this marriage was a political arrangement, not a romantic one. And yet, in contrast, you entered the marriage with hope, a believer in fairytales and the possibility of finding love even in an arranged union. Despite Anakin's cold demeanor, you remained kind and patient, trying to find small ways to connect with him (but after his countless cold responds you grew yourself impatient and sharp in tongue, although he was your king, so..being nice had to be in place..at least in public)

Prince!Anakin who, over time, began to notice your unwavering optimism and the light you brought into his otherwise pragmatic and calculated life. He admired your strength and the way you handled court politics with grace, but he kept his distance emotionally, afraid of what letting you in would mean.

Prince!Anakin who felt somehow attracted to you, even if he didn't plan this marriage, he didn't want to be married to you, yet there was just something about you he found unique, alluring and he couldn't help but be drawn to your presence (which was very frustrating and weird for him)

Prince!Anakin who whenever you asked for something he always came up with 'ask for anything and it'll be given to you. Even the half of my kingdom' thing

Prince!Anakin who, after your relentless asking, took you hunting;

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, are you sure this is an appropriate place for the queen?" one of the men spoke, clearly uneasy.

Anakin shot him an irritated glare, his patience wearing thin. He was acutely aware that the hunting grounds weren't exactly the safest place for the queen, especially given her delicate condition. But there was little he could do about it now. He’d much rather have her safely ensconced in the palace, yet the situation demanded otherwise.

His frustration mounted as more and more people questioned his decisions. He knew what he was doing; he didn’t need anyone else second-guessing him.

"Are you questioning my decision?" he snapped, turning his horse to face the man directly. The intensity in his eyes made it clear he wasn't in the mood for dissent.

The man visibly flinched, his face paling. "I—I’m merely pointing out that, perhaps, hunting isn't a... lady-like activity for the queen," he stuttered, his voice wavering. The courtiers around them shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping.

Anakin's hands tightened into fists around the reins of his horse. The growing annoyance was palpable in his stance. He had been patient long enough, but this was the last straw.

"Who's the king here, me or you?" he growled, his voice low and dangerously firm. His eyes narrowed, the simmering anger barely contained. He understood the risks; it was precisely why he hadn't wanted her to join. But her presence here was a necessity, and he wouldn’t tolerate any more questioning of his authority.

Anakin watched with growing concern as you struggled to ride your horse. Despite his efforts to focus on the path ahead, his gaze kept drifting to you. He saw your difficulty and felt a deep, instinctive urge to help you, to lift you onto his own horse and spare you this struggle. His grip on the reins tightened as he forced himself to look away.

"Stop that horse; you’re going to hurt yourself," he muttered, bringing his horse to a halt.

You wrestled with the reins, your legs trembling as you finally managed to bring the horse to a stop. Breathing heavily, you glanced over at him.

Anakin's eyes scanned over you with concern. You were clearly struggling, sweat glistening on your skin, the gorset clinging uncomfortably. Despite your evident distress, you still looked captivating, and it was driving him to distraction.

"Can you get down yourself, or do you need help?" he asked, his voice firm but laced with concern.

"I think I can manage," you mumbled, attempting to dismount. You nearly stumbled as you got down, and Anakin's brow furrowed, expecting you to fall. To his relief, you managed to stay upright, though he couldn't hide his frustration.

He shook his head and approached, knowing it was too risky to let you continue riding alone. Your struggle was wearing him thin, and he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.

"You can’t even get off a horse without almost falling," he said with a scoff.

You shot him a defiant glare, walking over to him "Not all of us are as skilled at riding as you are, Your Highness," you retorted with a touch of sarcasm, your voice dripping with mockery.

He helped you onto his horse, his hands steady as he guided you into the saddle. As you settled in, your hip brushed against his, sending a jolt through both of you. Your heart raced, and you had to look away, struggling to steady your breath.

The accidental touch ignited a fierce longing in Anakin. He let out a small, strained laugh, trying to remain composed. He positioned himself before you, his body pressing against your back as he mounted the horse behind you.

"Take the horse back to the castle," he instructed, his voice low and firm.

As he took the reins, his presence pressed against you, the tension between you palpable. Every movement seemed to heighten the charged atmosphere, and both of you were acutely aware of the closeness.

Your hands tightened around his waist, your body pressed firmly against his back. The sweet vanilla scent of yours filled his senses, and he could feel the warmth of your curves against him "Hold tight. This won’t be a slow ride," he said, his voice rough and low.

->

You gasped as he urged the horse into a faster pace. "I thought we were going hunting?" your breath warm against his ear.

The closeness of your voice managed to sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, he pushed those distracting thoughts aside and focused on guiding the horse through the hunting grounds.

"It’ll take a while to reach the animals," he replied curtly, the horse’s speed increasing.

"Slow down for—"

He smirked when he felt your grip tighten around his waist. Your face was buried against him, and he could almost feel your fear. It was both thrilling and maddening, and he could hardly ignore how much he enjoyed your closeness.

"Stop whining," he said, amusement lacing his voice.

Your fingers this time dug into his skin with your voice tinged with panic. "I’m not whining!" you protested, your breath hitching as the horse made another sharp turn.

He felt your fingers leaving an imprint on his muscles. The sensation only heightened his awareness of how tightly they were pressed together. He found himself wishing she would hold on even tighter.

"You’re going to leave marks on my stomach with your fingers," he said in a low, almost teasing tone, not easing the horse’s pace.

With a scoff, you dug your fingernails in a little deeper. "Good. Maybe it’ll teach you to slow down a bit."

As you arrived at the wooden hunting cabin nestled in the forest, Anakin led the way inside, with you following closely. The two courtiers stayed outside, leaving you alone.

"Do you know how to use a bow?" Anakin asked, his gaze fixed on a collection of hunting gear.

"Yes, my father taught me," you mumbled, your attention drawn to the array of stuffed animals lining the walls.

Anakin moved to the shelves, picking up various pieces of hunting equipment. He tried to stay focused, but he couldn't ignore the way your beautiful, the prettiest he had ever seen eyes wandered around the rustic cabin, intrigued by its contents. In some way, he wanted his gaze on him, only on him

"So, I assume you're quite skilled with the bow?"

"The last time I held a bow was ten years ago. We'll see," your tone light but confident.

He walked over to you, extending the bow toward you. His gaze lingered on you, noting how your hair was tousled from the wind and those eyes sparkled with curiosity. As he held out the bow, your hands brushed lightly, sending a subtle jolt through him.

"Let’s see if you haven’t forgotten how to shoot," he said, his voice carrying a playful edge.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes with your lips curling into a teasing smile. "Careful, Your Highness. I might mistake you for a doe."

Anakin’s brow arched in amusement. Your sarcasm was endearing, and he had to suppress a smirk at the thought of you aiming a bow at him. He moved a little closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Would you shoot me in the heart, my little doe?"

"Absolutely, I would."

A slow, teasing smirk spread across his lips at your response. The intensity in your voice stirred something primal within him. He found himself torn between wanting to silence you with a kiss and reveling in your boldness.

"Or would you aim right between the eyes?" he challenged, his tone a mix of amusement and desire.

"I’d not dream of anything better, Your Highness," you whispered with venom "i’d watch as crimson red liquid overwhelms your face while you beg for mercy, choking on your own blood."

Anakin shivered at your words, the mix of irritation and arousal making his control slip. You were infuriatingly charming, and your fierce spirit only made you more tempting. Yet, he wanted to shut you up, but he was equally captivated by your daring. His expression hardened a little due to your boldness

"You’re a little minx, you know that?"

"Oh, Your Highness," you replied with mock sweetness, "I’m your worst nightmare," and with a final glare, you turned and walked away, leaving him in the cabin.

Prince!Anakin who, one night, after a particularly stressful day dealing with court matters, found you in the royal gardens, talking softly to a group of children about a fairytale. Something about the way you spoke, the softness in your voice, and the way the children adored you, made him pause. For the first time, he truly saw you—not just as his queen, but as a woman who brought warmth and light into a cold, stone palace.

Prince!Anakin who slowly began to fall in love with you without even realizing it. He found himself seeking your counsel on matters of state, not just because you were his queen, but because he valued your opinion. Your presence became a comfort to him, a constant in his life that he didn’t want to lose. Yet, he struggled with these feelings, as they contradicted his vow to never love.

Prince!Anakin who, in time, began searching for your presence in every place, your voice in every conversation, your eyes in every crowd

Prince!Anakin who sometimes appeared in your chambers at night;

"Leave us," Anakin commanded, his voice firm, though laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

The maids exchanged quick glances but obeyed, slipping out of the room and leaving them alone in the softly lit quarters. Her room was a sanctuary, filled with warmth and quiet elegance, but the atmosphere now was thick with unspoken emotions and the heat of longing.

The moment the door clicked shut, he moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, closing the distance between them. His lips crashed against hers, the kiss searing with the force of everything he’d been holding back.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you both tumbled onto the bed, his weight pressing into you. "Your Highness—why the rush?" you teased, breathless and amused, though your heart pounded in sync with his.

He didn’t respond with words; instead, his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss more fervent than the last. The feel of your skin under his mouth was intoxicating, each soft gasp from you spurring him on. He had held back for so long, but now, he was overwhelmed by his need for you, by the depth of his desire. It was as if all the weeks and months of pent-up emotions had broken free, and he was helpless to resist.

"Can’t wait," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a raw hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved to pin you beneath him, his grip firm yet reverent, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

He looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that took your breath away. The world outside this room ceased to exist; all that mattered was the heat between you, the undeniable pull that had finally won out over duty and decorum.

"Neither can I," you whispered back, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his clothing as he leaned in, capturing your lips once more.

"Doe, what are you doing?" he murmured, his morning voice raspy and thick with sleep.

"You're in my bed and already reading papers," you mumbled, pressing soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he felt your lips on him. Your touch was one of his favorite things, a soothing balm against the constant demands of his royal duties. But then, reality intruded, and a sigh escaped his lips, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders.

"I have meetings all morning," he said, his tone carrying a hint of frustration, the thought of leaving you so soon already souring his mood.

"Just show up a little later," you whispered against his ear, her voice a playful challenge. "Aren't you the king?"

His eyes fluttering shut as he savored the feeling of your breath on his neck. The temptation to stay was overwhelming. All he wanted was to remain here, wrapped in your warmth, to forget the world outside. But the demands of the crown were relentless, and he knew he couldn’t shirk his duties, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Wish I could stay here with you all morning," he mumbled with a sigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm. His voice held a slight edge of grumpiness, the conflict between his desires and his obligations clear.

"We can make it quick," you whispered into his ear

He could practically hear the smirk in your voice, and he knew you had him exactly where you wanted. He was already running late, but with your body pressed so temptingly against his, all thoughts of duty and meetings started to fade.

In one swift motion, he turned, pinning you beneath him on the bed "How quick?" he asked, his voice a husky growl

"Ten minutes?" you grinned

He scoffed, a smirk curving his lips as he leaned in closer, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress, trapping you between his strong arms. You were a temptress, and he knew you could very well be his undoing, but right now, he didn’t care.

"Ten minutes?" he repeated, his hands sliding further up your thighs, fingers brushing against your heated skin. "Now you're just underestimating me," he murmured before capturing your lips with his, sealing his surrender.

Prince!Anakin who moved you back to his bedroom, with no care if in other places the queen has her own bed to sleep in

Prince!Anakin who had his own moment when he realized just how much he cared for you—perhaps during a crisis when you were in danger, and he found himself terrified at the thought of losing you;

Anakin sat in his dimly lit office, his mind consumed by the latest stack of documents that required his attention. The weight of ruling often bore down on him, but he carried it with the strength and resilience expected of a king. Yet, as he heard the soft but urgent footsteps approaching from behind, he felt a strange unease settle in his chest. He looked up, finding his old counselor standing before him, a grim expression etched across his face.

"What is it this time?" Anakin asked, his tone impatient as he set the papers aside.

The counselor hesitated for a moment before speaking, "It’s the queen, your highness..."

Anakin’s eyes narrowed instantly, his heart skipping a beat. The mention of you, his queen, brought an immediate sense of dread. His voice turned sharp, almost cutting. "What about her?"

The counselor’s face paled, his voice almost trembling as he replied, "Her condition has worsened."

Anakin shot up from his chair, the fear and panic he had buried deep within now clawing its way to the surface. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. He fixed his counselor with an intense gaze, the demand in his voice barely masked by his rising desperation. "What do you mean ‘worsened’? What has happened?"

"She’s been battling a high fever for the past two days," one of the maids interjected softly, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Her wounds... they’re not healing as they should. Her condition is deteriorating, your highness."

Without another word, Anakin stormed out of his office, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He moved with a speed fueled by fear, every step echoing the growing terror that he might lose you. When he reached your chambers, he pushed open the door with a force that sent a gust of air rushing into the room.

There you lay, on the grand bed that now seemed to dwarf your frail figure. Your skin was pale, marred by the angry red wounds that refused to heal, and your breaths were shallow, labored. Every whimper, every groan that escaped your lips felt like a dagger to his heart.

Anakin crossed the room in swift strides, his hand immediately finding its place on your fevered cheek. The heat of your skin burned against his fingers, and the sight of you in such agony nearly brought him to his knees. The fierce king, known for his strength and resolve, felt utterly powerless in the face of your suffering.

"Leave us," he commanded, his voice laced with authority, though his eyes never left you.

"Your highness, but—" one of the maids began to protest.

"I said leave us!" he repeated, his tone brooking no argument. The maids exchanged uneasy glances before hurriedly leaving the room, closing the door behind them.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your shallow breaths and the occasional soft moan of pain. Anakin sat down on the edge of the bed, his heart breaking as he took in your weakened state. You looked so fragile, yet even in your pain, there was a beauty about you that took his breath away.

"It’s so painful..." you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible.

Anakin felt his chest tighten, a deep sense of guilt and helplessness washing over him. He gently stroked your fevered face, his thumb tracing the contours of your cheek. "I know, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so sorry... I wish I could take this pain away from you."

He carefully pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if his embrace could shield you from the torment ravaging your body. He held you close, feeling the intense heat radiating from your fevered skin, the trembling of your weakened frame. It was as if holding you tighter could somehow anchor you to him, keep you from slipping away.

"Shh, I’ve got you," he whispered into your ear, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of pain that wracked your body. He gently caressed your hair, his touch tender and full of the love he struggled to express in words.

With a wet cloth in hand, Anakin carefully dabbed it against your wounds, the coolness providing a fleeting relief. He moved with a delicate precision, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked. The sight of your suffering was unbearable, yet he forced himself to remain calm, to be strong for you.

"I’m here," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he pressed the cloth against your fevered skin.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he closed his eyes, silently praying for your recovery. Anakin, the king who had faced countless battles, was now facing his greatest fear—losing you, the one person who had made his life worth living.

And in that moment, he would have given anything, sacrificed anything, to see you smile again.

You closed your eyes, your voice small and strained as you spoke. "You shouldn’t look at me... I’m revolting."

"Revolting?" The word was almost laughable to him. Even now, when you were so weakened by illness, you were still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. "You’re not revolting. You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful," he said with a quiet intensity, his fingers brushing tenderly against your cheek.

"Have you seen my arms?" you asked, your voice tinged with bitterness.

He glanced down at your arms, at the wounds that marred your once flawless skin. The sight of them filled him with a deep sorrow, but it didn’t change the way he felt. "Yes," he replied, his tone unwavering. His fingers gently traced the inflamed skin, his touch feather-light as if afraid to cause you more pain.

You flinched slightly, the tenderness of your wounds evident. "Does this look beautiful to you?" you muttered, disbelief coloring your words.

Anakin let out a soft, almost incredulous scoff. How could you not see what he saw? Even with the pain and the sickness, you were still the woman who had stolen his heart, the woman who made him believe in something beyond duty and power. "Yes, it does. You’re beautiful, no matter what. Sick, wounded, healthy—it doesn’t matter. I will always see you as the most beautiful woman in the world," he declared, his voice firm, eyes burning with sincerity.

He saw the doubt flicker in your eyes, and it pained him deeply. How could you be so blind to your own beauty? To the strength and grace that still radiated from you, even now?

He leaned closer, his fingers drifting down to trace the delicate line of your collarbone, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. "You have no idea how stunning you are," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for your ears. "Even like this, you take my breath away."

Prince!Anakin who's one of few hobbies was making love to you;

he loved to tease you about heirs. he brought it up often, with a playful tone, but deep down, the desire was real and intense. The thought of you carrying his child, your belly round, your breasts swollen ignited a fierce, possessive longing within him. He wanted to see you like this - pregnant and full of new life

"gonna give me heirs, hm?" he whispered with his pace quickening

your sweet, breathless moans only spurred him on. You were so beautiful beneath him, your flushed cheeks and heaving chest making you look even more irresistible, if that's possible

"you'd look so goddamn stunning with my heir inside you, sweetheart" his voice a rough murmur

his cock, all envelopted by your squishy walls, moved deeper to reach his, and yours, edge "you'd be mine, completely. Carrying my child, you'd belong to me in every way"

"am i not yours already?" you panted

his lips connected with yours, making sure to nipp on your bottom lip "you are mine, love..but having you carry my child..it's a whole other kind of mine" he groaned, his large hands moving over to your hips

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[naps-and-lemons]

When you’ve read all the stories in all the fandoms you’re apart of and are now starving for more fic content. (I’M SO BORED HEELLLP!!!!!!!!!)

[naps-and-lemons]

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

anakin skywalker x f!naberrie!reader word count: 10.4k (my longest yet... i'm so sorry) warnings: two idiots pining, pining, reader is padme's younger sister (whether biological or adopted is up to you), first time having sex, soft smut, angst synopsis: a life spent in padmé amidala's shadow and never once did she ever think she'd be envious of her sister. that is, until anakin skywalker walks his way into her life and she finds herself praying that one day, he'd look at her the way he does at padmé, that she'll be given a place in the sea of stars, that her destiny will include him.

read on ao3

 It came as no surprise that Anakin Skywalker would be enamored with her second-to-oldest sister.

 After a life spent behind Padmé Amidala’s shadow, she’d grown accustomed to it— being overlooked. But for once, just this once, she wished history wouldn’t repeat itself, wished the prophecy could be rewritten and for once, let it be her who was chosen, who was noticed. 

 But of course, it’s futile. 

 You can sink to your knees and pray to whatever higher being is in the sky but at the end of the day, there are millions of lost souls just like you doing the same. You can have faith, you can believe that someday you’ll be heard but with each silent day that passes, your voice still falls on deaf ears. 

 She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble. 

 She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead. 

 She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door. 

 She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame. 

 Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment. 

 She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds. 

 She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand. 

 “Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat. 

 “It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room. 

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

 And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest. 

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

 She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers. 

 It was typical. 

 It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count. 

 And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense. 

 But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds. 

 So she prayed. 

 Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry. 

 “Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

 She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that. 

 Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her. 

 He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.  

 They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire. 

 So, she prayed again. 

 “Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

 She doesn’t see him again for another two years. 

 But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky. 

 She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer. 

 His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real. 

 Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer. 

 “Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. 

 She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that. 

 But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her. 

 His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

 Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long. 

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

 When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries. 

 Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age. 

 Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis. 

 She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories. 

 She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing. 

 She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now. 

 She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different. 

 It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom. 

 It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him. 

 It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

 She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides. 

 She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans. 

 “What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone. 

 “Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

 She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

 Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

 She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. 

 “Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

 Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years. 

 She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone. 

 Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand. 

 She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s. 

 “Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way. 

 “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason. 

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

 Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister. 

 “Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own. 

 She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong. 

 “I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

 And there it is. 

 She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways. 

 “I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

 Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on. 

 “But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

 Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot. 

 She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress. 

 “Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

 She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

 She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker. 

 Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

 The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows. 

 The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same. 

 She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind. 

 Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night. 

 The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new. 

 But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard. 

 Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

 She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted. 

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

 She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long. 

 With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost. 

 Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him. 

 She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

 Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape. 

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

 She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears.  The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion. 

 The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving. 

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

 She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin. 

 “Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

 Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came. 

 And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides. 

 She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her. 

 A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier. 

 “Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

 She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile. 

 “I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe. 

 But even that is momentary. 

 “You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

 Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it. 

 Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

 How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground. 

 “Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right? 

 She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name. 

 Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them. 

 Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

 It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away. 

 Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

 She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter. 

 She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work. 

 “I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 And then, she bolts. 

 She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating. 

 With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead. 

 She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. 

 She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze. 

 She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why. 

 “Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

 The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body. 

 She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name. 

 It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real. 

 Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing. 

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing. 

 “Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye. 

 She does not move. 

 “I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

 She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

 Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

 It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow. 

 Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years. 

 She knows what is right. She knows what she should do. 

 But she’s frozen. 

 She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away. 

 She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was. 

 “Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt. 

 “Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows. 

 “Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features. 

 “This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

 Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement. 

 She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake. 

 He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

 “Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him. 

 This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out. 

 She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

 She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over. 

 Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away. 

 “Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?” 

 It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb. 

 And her time to detonate has come. 

 He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh. 

 “Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

 “My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

 Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now. 

 But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below. 

 Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her. 

 “Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears. 

 She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry. 

 “And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

 She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs. 

 She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has. 

 But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes. 

 “And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

 Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers. 

 “I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

 Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous. 

 “Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

 Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes. 

 She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire. 

 But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before. 

 He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be. 

 Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true. 

 Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution. 

 He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers. 

 “I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

 She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring. 

 “It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

 Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth. 

 “Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

 She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too. 

 She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows. 

 “I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

 Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady. 

 Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him. 

 His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one. 

 Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls. 

 Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

 Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right. 

 But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

 Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

 The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples. 

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

 His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more. 

 “Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground. 

 “Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

 Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green. 

 “Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm. 

 Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth. 

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

 She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other. 

 Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him. 

 Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it. 

 Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down. 

 “Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

 She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her. 

 A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center. 

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

 Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow. 

 “Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll. 

 “Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment. 

 So he doesn’t. 

 He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now. 

 She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again. 

 “No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

 He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit. 

 He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline. 

 Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 “Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

 His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind. 

 “Another finger. Please.”

 Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt. 

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

 So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips. 

 Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more. 

 It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new. 

 The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves. 

 “What is it?” He asks, searching her face. 

 She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

 She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

 She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

 Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it. 

 She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better. 

 Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece. 

 He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next. 

 Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

 She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside. 

 For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation. 

 And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

[naps-and-lemons]

Dating Anakin Skywalker would include;

Warnings: jealousy, descriptions of smut, smut, fluff, angst, kinks, swearing, more badly written headcanons

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

➪First things first; this man is jealous 99% of the time, let’s be real here.

➪Your relationship is forbidden, so Anakin isn’t able to show you off in all the ways he wants to.

➪All he’s allowed to do is train with you and sometimes is able to get away with pulling your back against his chest as he guides your saber down in a quick slash, but that is really it.

➪It’s nowhere near enough for him, but he puts up with it since he still gets to end most of his days with you in your secret shared room.

➪With that being said, even though he is a very jealous person, he is also very sweet.

➪When he wants to be.

➪But only with you.

➪You are the only person who gets to see his soft side.

➪You train together often since it’s really the only time you get to interact outside of your room, and he shamelessly admitted once that seeing you like that turns him on a lot.

➪Since you are a Jedi yourself, you and Anakin get to go on missions together and protect one another since you don’t really trust anyone else to do it.

➪It also allows for you to be around each other 24/7 without any suspicion being drawn to you.

➪And it usually allows Anakin to be all over you in the privacy of his ship/and or a separate room from the one at the temple.

➪Now....everyone says that he is a massive sub..not me.

➪I don’t buy it.

➪While he’s not a full blown dom (at least not until he turns to the dark side and then later becomes Vader), he’s also not a whiney sub who is just there for you to use.

➪He, of course, cares more about your pleasure than his own, but he also doesn’t act like he’s only a fucktoy for you.

➪Let’s be real, he is a lover, and therefore makes love to you in all the ways that leave you flustered and red in the face.

➪Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t have his full on dom moments.

➪When he gets super jealous, he’ll take you by the hand - and usually doesn’t care who sees, which is something he has to spend time later explaining - and take you back to his room to have his way with you.

➪He’ll say things like, “What were you doing with him, baby? Hm?” or “You think he can make you feel as good as I can? Does he really think that you’d let him?” while he’s railing you into an early grave.

➪With one hand gripping the headboard and the other covering your mouth so you’re not overheard, he is just completely letting out his jealousy and frustration of not being able to show you off like he wants to.

➪That being said, he’s not very quiet himself.

➪He usually has a swollen bottom lip by the time you’re both spent since he had to bite down on it hard to keep himself at least somewhat quiet.

➪His kinks are simple; marking, hair pulling and, you guessed it, choking.

➪He’s very careful with the way marks you, scattering love bites along your shoulders that are always covered by your robes, or on your inner thighs.

➪You’ve been with him for a long time, and saw the departure of his beloved braid, and when he decided to grow out his hair...oh boy.

➪His head had never been more sore.

➪You pull on it every time he takes you to bed, tugging the curls between your fingers with each thrust of his hips.

➪The headache he’d have afterwards was so worth it since he had been a bit nervous that you’d hate the new way he had begun styling his hair, and he was happy he couldn’t have been more wrong.

➪Choking....that should explain itself.

➪But the man loves wrapping his metal fingers gently around your throat, not nearly with enough pressure to block your airways but enough for you to feel it.

➪When he began to turn to the dark side, he definitely applied a bit more pressure, but still not enough to hurt you.

➪After all, you are the reason he lives and breathes, and he would never dream of causing you any type of harm.

➪His names for you are; sweet girl, angel, star and the occasional baby - but he usually saves that one for the bedroom.

➪You two eventually get married in the most lowkey wedding in the history of lowkey weddings, and exchange lightsabers as a way of showing your love.

➪Afterwards he took you away from Coruscant on a special mission - which was really just a fancy name for your honeymoon.

➪While it didn’t last long, Anakin did manage to get you pregnant, and that came with many problems.

➪Hiding it was a challenge, and hiding your son after giving birth was even harder, but you managed to do it for a while until you were able to get your own place in the city, where you and Anakin were able to raise him in peace and privacy.

➪Pick an AU; Anakin never turns to the dark side and gets to experience what it’s like to be a dad, or he does and you give up your son in order to protect him (and to keep him safe from his Sith father).

➪Either way, his love for you never falters and lives on through the memories you share together, whether or not he remains the loyal Jedi he was always meant to be.

[naps-and-lemons]

Hi Millie 😊 Hope you're doing okay 😊

I'm sure you have lots of things to write so it's okay if you're not interested in this, but if you want to I would love to read your thoughts on timetraveler!reader and Billy?

Like, she's from our era but accidentally travels to the past. I think he would be so amazed and amused by her at the same time, observing her behaviour and realising she's so different but in a fascinating way... idk I would love to read your thoughts on it or whatever you decide to write related to this idea, but only if you want to 😊❤

⋆౨ৎ𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮-𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓵 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂'𝓼 𝓮𝓻𝓪⋆౨ৎ 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭

It had been a day as ordinary as any other.

You were relaxing in the clean expanse of a field near where you lived, soaking up the sunshine beaming down upon the earth that created shadows you laid just at the edges of. The day was new, and you were determined to get some Vitamin D in before the air became sticky with heat.

Lying flat against the cool grass with your eyes closed, feeling yourself warm as the rays kissed your skin. It was simple pleasures like these that propelled you through the week's mundane tasks. You were a daydreamer by nature, and sometimes you thought that if you weren't, the banalities of life would have turned your spirit grey by now.

Endless fantasies filled your head now as you basked in the fingers of sunlight, their romantic nature making you glad you were secret. It was a shameful thing to you- the things you wanted in terms of love. In this day and age, women were supposed to secretly want things, supposed to meet men who teased the notion out of them and thrust them into a supernova storybook love. It confused you to your core, and so you avoided it outright.

Romanticism was your friend in everyday life. You had no one person to give love to, and so you found it everywhere you went, from the way you dressed to the books you read. And lying stretched out in a meadow a ten-minute walk from home, kissed by wildflowers, you felt the earth was loving you in return.

You'd discarded your top, bra the only thing covering your upper half. The little shorts you wore were cotton and clean, comfortable for a day of leisure. Here you were safe from the prying eyes of single-minded men, free from the demands of being a young person in this world. This is where you were at your happiest.

The heat slunk over you like an embrace, and you felt the siren song of sleep overcome you. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to slip into such a vulnerable state when you were alone like this, but it had been such a long week, and you were wholly exhausted.

Humming to yourself, you folded your arms under your head. Though the threat of a sunburn loomed, you didn't move, feeling the shade of a nearby tree begin to cover your legs like a blanket. As the sun continued its charted course, you'd be fully covered by the shadow when you woke up. Your shirt, a cute white thing with tiny bows at the base of lace edged thin straps, was bunched between your fingers, nearly a comfort object as the callings of sleep drifted over you.

There was a rustling nearby. Your eyes flew open, head turning frantically as you searched for the source. This area was secluded, you were sure of it. After all, this wasn't the first time you'd come out here to relax, at one with nature.

The crackly noise stopped for a moment, but before you could breathe a sigh of relief, it started up again, and then the head of a horse appeared from the bushes. Perplexed, you tilted your head, eyes going full as the moon when the rest of the creature appeared, a man sitting atop it.

You were stunned by the sight of him. Though a hat was perched on his head jauntily, his dark hair peeked out of it, curling at his neck. His clothes were awfully strange, a long-sleeved blue shirt with suspenders pulled up over his shoulders. When you saw the belt around his waist, gun sheathed in it, you froze, heart pounding in your ears.

Mind scurrying like a squirrel, your eyes darted from side to side, trying to grasp for a way to get out of here. The stranger's intentions were unknown, and it frightened you. Did he come up here to kidnap defenseless young women who sunbathed all by themselves? You never brought your phone up here since there was no service anyways, and right now you cursed the habit. At least if you ran down the hill you'd have hope of calling for help.

In your muddled tangle of worries, you hadn't noticed the man ride closer, and your body gave an involuntary jolt when he called out to you. "You alright miss?"

You were hardly able to tear your eyes away from him as he came closer. Now you could see him more clearly, see how handsome he was. Brows dark, drawn up in what appeared to be concern, hat shading his eyes, but you could see clearly the piercing blue of them. They seemed to reach inside your soul and grasp something in them, wholly disarming you before you remembered your fear. Lots of serial killers are good-looking.

He crouched before you, eyes roving over your figure and seeming to catch at your midsection, before they hastily skirted to the side. You were suddenly aware of your state of undress, hands holding your top flying to your chest and covering it. "I'm alright."

"Are...are ya sure?" Now he was looking into your eyes, and right then you had the oddest feeling that he wasn't going to hurt you. Softening before you could question it, you nodded.

"I come out here all the time...really, I'm okay," you assured him, offering a little smile. It was a challenge to tear your eyes away from his face, and you found you didn't want to. There was something magnetic about this man that filled something in you like a missing puzzle piece, now slid into its place.

"Where's your horse? I can escortcha back to town if you want," the man offered, his wrist adjusting where he was bent on one knee. "Ain't safe for a woman to be out here by her lonesome."

Your brow furrowed at the comment. He was talking like everybody had a horse. "I walked here."

Now it was his turn to frown. "Must've been quite a journey. Nearest town ain't for miles."

"No, I live-" you cut yourself off. Something wasn't right. Looking at the man, the way he dressed and spoke, then to his horse, equipped with a saddle and bags, and then to the gun at his hip, carried so casually, something seemed to dawn on you, the sun rising on a new mindset. It was impossible. Truly impossible. But the thought probed the corner of your mind, imagination run wild.

Taking in a shaky breath, you stared at him, the inconceivable notion invading your mind like an army. He was your only lifeline now if it was true. Seeming to notice the change, the man's lips parted. "You okay? Looks like you saw a ghost."

"What year is it?" The words burst forth from your lips like water from a crack in a dam, panic washing over you for an entirely different reason.

"Eighteen seventy-eight."

Your heart stopped, frozen as ice as the information hit you. A look of horror crossed your face before you could stop it, and you nearly dropped your shirt as your body grew taut with worry. It was pointless to wonder how this had happened- your mind couldn't even comprehend the science behind it.

But what were you going to do now? You had no money, no family, no friends. For the first time in your life you were truly, utterly helpless and there was nothing to do about it.

A warm hand found a place on your shoulder, and you looked back up at him, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes. He wouldn't believe you if you told him. Nobody from your time would believe you if you told them.

Your distress must have been palpable, because the man's lips pulled down, a troubled spark in his eye. Oh how kind his eyes were. It was a look you weren't at all used to seeing in men. His roughened thumb smoothed over your skin. "You were robbed, weren'tcha? Took your horse 'n everything?"

Lips parting slightly, you saw a lifeline. Here he had provided you with an out. Slowly nodding, you whispered, "Yes." The lie was bitter on your tongue, but you didn't have a choice. If you spoke of unwilling time-travel who knew what he'd do? Would he leave you here, sure too much sun had inspired your ravings? Or drop you off at the nearest asylum? You didn't want either to happen, and he was the only soul around here for miles, likely, and a kind one at that. "I don't have anything."

"Lemme help you out." He stood, offering you a hand. "I can take you into town, we'll getcha situated...it'll be okay. You got any family round these parts?"

"Not anymore." At least that wasn't a lie.

"Hm." His lips bunched to the side as he thought. "Well...that's alright. We'll figure somethin' out. You're gonna be okay."

He re-extended his hand, and you hesitantly put yours in his, getting to your feet. Remembering your state of dress, you quickly turned to the side, pulling your top over your head and pushing your hair backwards. It wasn't much in the way of dress, especially for this time, you gathered. But it was something.

His eyes seemed to linger on you, but it wasn't in a way that had you shrinking back. You took his outstretched hand again, the warmth of his palm a comforting thing as he led you over to his horse. Shyly, you looked up at your rescuer. "What's your name?"

"William H. Bonney, ma'am." He stopped briefly, tipping his hat at you in a way that spread a smile across your cheeks. "Billy."

"Billy." You tried it out and found it suited him.

He almost seemed amused. "What's yours?" When you told him, he nodded. "Pretty."

A tiny blush colored your cheeks, and you looked at your feet. The sandals you wore probably weren't great for horseback riding, but they were better than going barefoot. At the saddle, he held out a hand to help you up, but you were already hoisting a foot over, swinging the opposite leg to sit on the other side. A surprised smile crossed him, and he quickly did the same. Now your back was snug against his broad chest, and you bit your cheek at the feeling.

"Hope you don't mind we're ridin' like this," he commented, grasping the reins in front of you with one hand, securing the other around your waist. "It'll be faster 'n walkin'. Figured you've been out here long enough."

"It's okay," you managed, ignoring the flutter in your heart at the placement of his hand. It was obvious he was trying to be a gentleman, but still trying to keep you steady on the horse, which you found gentlemanly in its own way.

You had no sense of how long the ride was because of how lost you were in Billy's touch. He grasped your waist, careful not to touch any of your skin that was uncovered. You were fascinated by all that surrounded you, by the same world you resided in, ripened by another time. It was more lush, fuller. This was the way you'd seen the world in your head before, now come to life.

Once you got to town, your fascination doubled. All the women were in long dresses, the men in similar dress to Billy, though his remained slightly different. You were suddenly self-conscious of your clothes. They were certainly attracting strange looks, and you slid your arms around yourself.

Noticing this, Billy patted your side. "I'll find ya somethin', don't worry. If they knew what you'd been through they'd understand." That caused another twinge of guilt deep in your being, but you shook it off. This is necessary to survive.

He helped you off the horse, carefully setting you on the ground. You closed in on yourself, eyes roving over the space, avoiding the gazes of passerby. It was funny. A while ago in your time you wouldn't have a problem being out and about in your current clothing. But the stipulations of the time had worn in on you within only minutes.

There was a shuffling behind you, and then Billy was pressing fabric into your hands, putting a careful hand on your shoulder. "Wear this for now. It's okay." His words comforted you, and when you looked up, there wasn't even a trace of judgement in his oceanic eyes. Your shoulders relaxed, and you realized he'd given you a man's shirt. One of his. It was more touching now than anything anybody had done for you. You certainly weren't used to men doing such things.

Sliding the fabric over your shoulders, you pushed your arms through the sleeves, feeling better about your coverage now. The shirt fell to your upper thighs, still not covering enough, but it was better than before by far.

He guided you into the shop with an arm around your shoulders, helping you through the doors. Calling out to the shopkeeper, Billy greeted her with a smile. "We need a dress. Hers has...gotten lost."

Eyeing you, the shopkeeper nodded, beckoning with a hand. "We have a few options already made here."

You flushed a little at the way she looked at you, aware that your appearance must be rather odd. Making sure to smile plentifully and be enthusiastic about her assistance, you selected a blue dress, wanting to make the process as quick as possible. She ushered you to the back to change into it, giving you proper undergarments and shoes as well. Kindly, she laced up the back of your half-stay and left, gifting you some privacy.

The buttons on the dress were thankfully situated in the front, and you were able to do them up in a timely manner, slipping your new shoes on as well. You were unsure to do with your old things and Billy's shirt, as you didn't know when or if at all you would be returning to your time.

The shopkeeper solved that when she gave you a canvas bag for your things, a brief smile crossing her face. You returned it, happy she'd warmed up.

Billy was waiting at the front, hands folded behind his back, eyes trained on the ground. When he heard your footsteps his head lifted, an expression of pleasant surprise crossing his face as he took you in. You demurely smoothed your skirts, tucking hair behind your ear. "Does it look alright?"

"Yeah," he breathed, a slow smile entering the planes of his face. Something in his eyes lightened, and he held out a hand for you. "You're...it's pretty."

Truly, you hadn't been one to blush so easily before meeting Billy, but now you seemed to redden with every look he gave you. It was a new thing, though not entirely unwelcome.

As he led you out of the store, your arm hand nestled in his arm, you felt brand new. Leaning up, you kissed Billy's cheek, the scratch of his stubble a pleasant sensation. "Thank you for the dress. That was lovely of you to do."

"'s no problem," he grinned, looking down at you. "A lady needs a dress, hm?"

"Oh!" you smiled brightly, leaning on him. Already you were growing comfortable. There was just such an easy way about Billy that made you feel safe. This was strange for you in a way. Never before had you met a man who'd given you such a sense.

Everything outside was bustling, a low hum of chatter filling the air like music. You found yourself turning your head excitedly, entranced by the life of it all.

When you turned your head to Billy, you discovered an expression of endearment on his face, as he watched you watch everything. It hadn't even been a day since you'd met him, and already there was something there. A connection, a hint of a feeling. It was brand new as you explored the old world.

Arm in arm with your guide, you felt your heart come alive for the first time in ages. Everything was bright and new and you could feel yourself stitching into the lines of it all like embroidery. Maybe you weren't a mismatched piece here.

Maybe with Billy you could fit perfectly.

[naps-and-lemons]

billy asking you to marry him please

⋆౨ৎ𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓼𝓴𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓱𝓲𝓶⋆౨ৎ 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭

The ring was gold. It had been stowed safely on his mother's finger on the journey by ship to Ireland. Billy had fuzzy memories of her leaning on the railing, salt spray in her eyes, stroking the band and murmuring a prayer for their safe arrival.

Now it was sitting in the palm of his hand, looped on a ribbon so he wouldn't lose it. Tossing and turning in the throes of a fever, his mother had pressed the circlet into his hand, wearily telling him to save it for a special girl.

He liked to think that up in heaven she'd pulled strings to send you his way. She would have loved you, with your easy smile, cheerful nature, and warm eyes. Billy could hardly believe you were real most days, let alone that he got to hold you. It was nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that got him believing in a higher power again.

For all he had suffered, he'd hoped there'd be a good thing at the end of the road to comfort him and tell him what a wonderful job he'd done, that all the misery was over. He found it in your arms, or when you were in his, pressed up against him in the later hours of the day, eyes closed, breathing soft as you slept. The fact that you could find safety in him, a man people fled from when they heard his name, was nearly unbelievable.

You'd taken one step into his life and brightened it beyond what he thought was possible. The world was more beautiful with the knowledge that you were in it. He'd thought people like you were a myth, like the folk tales his mother used to put him to bed with. But here you were, lively and breathing, putting your heart in his hands as though you trusted him not to break it.

It was only logical that he take this next step. As far as he was concerned, there would never be another one for him. Love had burst into him like a firework, colored his vision in an impossible way. Billy didn't know much, but he did know that a woman like you only came around once in a lifetime. And he wanted to grab on and hold you tight while he could.

With this in mind he was walking hand in hand with you, a little bounce in his step as the two of you trekked through tall grass into the nearby forest. You were curiously giddy, wide-eyed as you looked around. "Where're you taking me, Billy?"

"'s a surprise, sweetheart," he chuckled, noting your excitement. His girl was happy no matter the circumstances, and he hoped he'd be adding to it now. Squeezing your hand, he made sure you didn't trip over any rocks studding the dirt, or any sneakily placed tree roots.

Once he saw his landmark, he stopped turning to you. with a smile that made you tilt your head. "Close your eyes, honey."

You did, a little hesitantly. He was touched by the simple act of it. The way you trusted him warmed his heart more than anything else. In a clean motion, Billy swept you up into his arms, one hand bracing under your knees, the other at your waist. Giggling, you said, "Billy-"

"Keep 'em closed!" he insisted, spinning around once to make you laugh again. Billy chuckled too, brightened by your sunshine presence as always. He carried you steadily, ducking under branches to get to where he was going.

Arriving at the spot, Billy carefully helped you stand on your feet, making sure your eyes were still closed. He slid his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, not wanting to let go of you for even a moment. "Open."

Your gasp was gift enough for him as you realized where you were. A blanket of wildflowers bloomed before your feet, as if they'd been planted in anticipation of this very moment. A rainbow of color was laid across the field, fresh with springtime. Bouncing on your heels, you exclaimed, "It's so beautiful!"

"Pretty flowers for my pretty girl." He nosed against your cheek, pressing a kiss there. "Knew you'd love it."

"I do. Oh, I do." Turning around, you threw your arms around his neck. "You found this spot just for me?"

"Just for you, baby," he grinned as though he'd planted every bloom himself. "C'mere. Got somethin' else to give ya."

Smiling excitedly, you let him pull you deeper into the field as he said, "Just over here baby-woah-!"

You tripped over a stray rock, tumbling into Billy and sending him to the ground. He'd been caught off guard or he would have made sure to hold fast and steady the both of you. Instead, he was sent backwards to the ground, sprawled on his back. Despite his surprise, he made sure to fall under you, so you had a place to land that wasn't the hard earth.

"Oomph," Billy grunted, lifting his head with a wince. He looked down at you, lying sideways across his chest. "You okay, baby?'

Giggling, you nodded, and he couldn't help his smile. Only you would laugh at falling facefirst to the ground. Billy was sure when he looked over you later you'd have a bruise or two. Before he could ask, your eyes widened, and you reached for something on the ground. "Billy...what's this?"

He had to do a double take. Between your fingers was the ring, previously stowed in his pants pocket. It must have fallen out when he fell. Billy cringed at the sight, knowing his grand plan was ruined. When you turned to him for an explanation, he squinted, exhaling through his nose. "It's...you weren't s'posed to see that yet."

"Yet?" Then your face lightened, lips parting slightly. "Oh!"

"Oh," he teased, sitting up and bringing you with him. Billy couldn't help the brief laugh that escaped him at your expression. "Was gonna do it all proper 'n everything."

Your eyes were wide as the centers of daisies. Quickly, you shoved the ring into his hand, covering your eyes with your hands. "I can pretend I didn't see it!"

Laughing again, he reached for your hands. "Don't be hidin', sweetheart. C'mere." Prying your hands from your face, he found a guilty expression.

You pressed your lips together. "I ruined it, I'm sorry."

"Didn't ruin a damn thing," he insisted, pulling you close so you were sitting sideways across his lap. Giving you a reassuring smile, he kissed the side of your head. "This feels more like us anyways, huh?"

"Yeah," you giggled, leaning into his kiss.

"Alright then." Billy gave you a pointed look. "I'm still gonna ask you."

"Ask away," you lifted your chin, smile beaming.

Holding the ring between his fingers, Billy wrapped the other arm around your waist, holding you steady. "I've wanted to marry you for a long time. Ain't nobody who brightens my world just by bein' in it the way you do. I wanna build a life with you at the center. I-" he swallowed. "I want to call you my wife."

You looked as though he'd stripped every star from the sky and strung them on a necklace for you to wear. He smiled, bouncing you once on his thigh playfully. "Will you marry me-?"

"Yes!" You threw your arms around him, sending him backwards into the flowers again. He hugged you tight around the waist, kissing your hair.

"That ain't everythin' I wanted to say," he murmured into your head, and you laughed, watching him slide the ring onto your finger.

Lifting your head and shifting so you laid directly atop his chest, chin resting on your folded arms so you could see your new ring, you murmured, "You've got a long time to tell me."

Leaning in, you kissed him softly, and he muttered against your lips. "Yes I do, Mrs. Bonney."

[naps-and-lemons]

╰┈ 𝓲 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ┈➤

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : as billy is running from town to town, he hears singing along the stream. he soon discovers the west's best kept secret, you.

𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : tooth-rotting fluff, billy taking a shower, love at first sight, yearning

𝓪/𝓷 : i love sleeping beauty and this was inspired by prince phillip and aurora's meeting. this will also have another part so hope you enjoy!

Billy was exhausted. 

He had been riding for hours on end, running from town to town once he saw those damned posters of his face. Everywhere he went the posters haunted him, reminding him of the corrupt justice system in New Mexico. Endless sun beamed down on him as he rode as fast as he could away from town after town. The sheriffs were all under the thumb of men like Thomas Catron and the Santa-Fe Ring. So of course, he had to flee with his noble steed whenever he saw the slips of paper with an exceptionally unflattering depiction of him.

But everyone had their limits and Billy had just about reached his. Even his horse had reached his limit. Of course, Billy cared deeply for his steed so he set off, slowly, riding away from the town into the bordering forest.

He finally found salvation when he found a darling little thicket right by a cool stream, a deliverance from the never ending heat and exhaustion that hounded Billy. He started to clear an area, setting down his saddle and guns to let his horse drink the cool, fresh water of the stream. He looked around, listened carefully for even the tiniest sound of hooves galloping. Then, he quickly took off his clothes and stepped into the water, silently praying that no one was downstream. The cool water flowed slowly against his form, the cool water relaxing his aching muscles. 

Still, Billy was restless, nervous. By the time that he had finished showering, hunting, feeding his horse, even cooking and eating his dinner, the sun still was high in the sky. He decided to scout out the area, leaving everything behind besides his trusty revolver.

Whenever your aunts rode into town, often a week at a time, you had the time of your life. No aunts nagging at you to learn how to embroider, no aunts 'asking' you to fetch eggs from the chicken coop outside when they know that you'll never say no to the women who raised you, and especially no aunts telling you off about walking downstream. Of course, as your aunts had raised you, you were careful. You made sure you locked the doors, closed all the windows, and even watered the plants before you left. 

You had put on the new dress you had sewn that week in hopes that if anyone spotted you, they wouldn't question it and walk, or ride, away. As you walked downstream, you had started humming as the birds around you started to tweet. You had started to dance and sing, even stopping to pick flowers whenever you found pretty ones. You then had found a lovely little clearing filled with beautiful flowers which you started to pick as you sang.

"I wonder, I wonder," you had sung when Billy heard you. And he could’ve sworn that the entire world stopped.

He walked closer upstream, closer to where you were piling flowers into your basket. His hand drifted to his holster yet for some odd reason, his hand stopped at the handle of his gun. His eyes trailing at your hair, your hair. It looked magical underneath the golden glowing sun. And your dress had looked princess-like, or at least as princess-like it could to a man who's never seen a princess before. You had stood up, and spinned in a circle, continuing to sing that sweet melody that flooded Billy's ears. 

"I wonder why each little bird has someone,” you paused.

“To sing to, sweet things to," your voice held out the note. Perfectly, two birds had landed next to you, turning their heads towards each other. And Billy could've sworn that you had chuckled lightly. "A gay little love melody."

Billy had committed the sweet tune to memory, afraid to forget the moment he had met an angel. The sunlight illuminated the birds and gave your hair a halo. It screamed innocent, fragile, and beautiful, everything Billy wasn't. He was rough, desolate, a murderer. Yet, you were so entrancing, he couldn’t help but stare at you as you hummed more, inviting the birds into your hands.

"If my heart keeps singing, will my song go winging," You turned your head slightly, eyes closed as your voice was steeped in emotions. Coincidently, that was when Billy had fallen in love. 

He had finally seen you, and he was wrong. You weren’t an angel, you were a goddess. Your hair which framed your face perfectly, accentuating your beauty. Your innocent beauty. Your eyes were magical, gleaming bright with curiosity and love. Love Billy wanted all to himself selfishly. Your hair framed your face perfectly, the soft strands accentuating your face, your lips. Lips Billy wanted to taste, to savor. He was a hungry man, and you had graced his life with a feast. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment forever, never forgetting the light you had brought to his blood-soaked and muddy life.

“To someone who'll find me, and bring back a love song to me." You slowly finished the song to the birds in your hands, completely unaware of the outlaw hiding behind the bushes not even ten feet away from you, hand at his very lethal gun. You smiled sweetly to the birds, letting them fly off together, standing up and cleaning yourself. You turned to grab your basket full of flowers when you saw Billy.

 Your eyes had glanced over him before doubling back. Your breath had hitched, you had thought that no one ever came into the forest, so what was he doing here? Your aunts had warned you of the town and its inhabitants. Cruel and vicious people who wouldn't think twice about shooting you down the minute they saw you. Yet, this man hadn’t even drawn his gun, much less shot you. How long had he been there watching you anyway? 

You smiled brightly at Billy, hoping he would step into the small clearing so that you could look at this cruel, dangerous man. You tilted your head, like an owl, Billy had noticed, before you had truly done him in.

“Why, hello there.”

Three words from your mouth and Billy found himself falling further in love.

Billy finally came to when you spoke sweetly and gently to him. You were polite and darling, something Billy never thought he could find again after his endless life of darkness. He slowly stood up and made his way over to you, hand clenching as his nerves got the best of him. His hand was now no longer at his holster now, just tensing as he finally walked up to you.

As Billy stepped into the golden light, you finally got a good look at the first human you’ve ever seen besides your aunts. You noted his dark chocolate hair that was messy and damp, his clothes which were dusty and blue like the water flowing through the stream. But it was his eyes that held you there, staring at him with your head turned, mouth slightly opened. You felt like you were drawing. His eyes were magnificent sapphires, so deep and hurt? You could see the pain in his eyes, it was like no other. 

You wondered who had hurt him, wondering if this was fate and love like in the books your aunts brought you back from the town. Would he be the one to return your love song?

Billy watched you with a fascination that mirrored yours. Even then, nothing could stop the onslaught of worry he felt while you stared at him, at his face. All Billy could do was pray you wouldn’t recognize him. You slowly took steps towards him, slowly and carefully as if you were nervous to startle him like a bunny. He took a step forward, meeting you in the middle.

“Howdy ma’am.” His voice softly responded. Your eyes widened, taking a step back.

You were startled, his voice was so deep. It was smooth yet rugged like the feel of the amber drink your aunts had hidden in the kitchen when you thought you weren’t looking. Your aunt's voices were all airy and scratchy, while his was dreamy and prince-like. You pleaded that he would choose you as his princess. 

“Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Your voice was small and sweet. 

Billy was confused, you surely have seen those infernal wanted posters of his, right?

“Am I supposed to know who you are, cause you sure are staring at me like I should.” You chuckled.

“Sorry, the names William H. Bonney, ma’am.” He smiled, holding his hands in front of himself, still near his gun just in case.

“William H. Bonney,” you smiled, “nice to meet you Mr.Bonney.” You told him your name in return, holding your hand out. Your books had taught you as much but seeing as Billy had looked at you endearingly, it was safe to assume those books were a little dated.

Yet he still took your hand, shaking it. When you thought he was going to let go, he brought your knuckles up to his lips, kissing them gently. Your hands were tiny compared to Billy’s rough and calloused hands. His hands were weathered to the rough feel of rope and the work of a cowboy. Your hands were soft and pillowy in his own. Billy swore then and there that he would do anything to keep it that way.

“Please, I’m no Mister, just call me BIlly.” He let go of your hand and you mourned the feel of his hands against your skin.

“Then It is only fair that you don’t address me as ma’am, I ain’t that old yet,” you giggled. Billy looked at you, the urge to keep talking to him bubbling up inside of you.

“Well then, what’s a darlin’ like you doin’ out here in the woods?” He drawled, shifting his weight.

“Well I just happened to be out on a stroll when I stumbled upon this lovely clearing filled with the most wonderful flowers. I decided to stop and bring home some flowers when I felt a tune bubbling up my throat so of course I just had to sing!” You started to hum the song again, swaying to the sound. Billy chuckled, stepping closer to be near you.

You truly were intoxicating, Billy found himself addicted to you. Your voice, your smile, even the clothes you wore. He loved it, reveled in your presence.

“What a lovely song for a lovely girl.” He smiled, actually smiled. BIlly hadn’t done that in a long time.

“Now, the real question is, when did you happen to stumble on lil ol’ me?” 

“When you were singing. It was a truly lovely song darlin’.” He smiled again, starting to hum along with you. The two of you harmonizing, fully in sync. It was as if you two had known each other forever and not just strangers who had a chance meeting in the forest. He held his hand out to you, urging you with his ocean eyes to take it and dance with him. 

Of course, how could you ever say no to a prince like Billy.

You both started to hum, sing, and sway, laughing as you two danced the rest of the day away. The sky had turned dark by the time you two started to walk back upstream. You had continued to hum as you led Billy back to the cottage that was your whole world.

As your wooden cottage came into view, you turned to Billy to see his reaction. Everything about Billy entranced you, from the way his lips moved when he hummed and spoke to the movement of his hands as he moved.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” 

“And, what a lovely abode it is, princess.” Billy smiled, looking down. He knew what this meant, you were going to go inside and this whole dream would end. He’d never see you again and he would continue his life on the run like nothing had ever happened.

You noticed his eyes stewing, like he was biting his tongue. You aunts always did so when they were hiding something from you. You didn’t want this dream to end either. You didn’t want Billy to leave, leaving you alone in an empty cottage and an even emptier heart. Which is why as you slowly approached the door, you also slowly grew the courage to finally ask him….

“Well, wanna come in?”

thank you for reading!

and stay tuned for part two because there is just so much i have planned for this

[naps-and-lemons]

001 and eleven be like

Art by me lmao

[naps-and-lemons]

big thank you to eddie munson and steve harrington living in our minds rent free.

[naps-and-lemons]

finn: “b…i…t..ch”

michael: “what does that spell?”

finn: “piano” *grins proudly*

arthur:…

john: *tries to hide laugh*

tommy: *gets up and leaves*

[naps-and-lemons]

you: if two plus two equals four…

tom: yes

you: and five plus five equals ten…

tom: uh huh

you: then wtf is this?

tom: a horcrux

[naps-and-lemons]

t.m.r.—imagine action duo tom and y/n…

Tom struggled against the hold of the two hooded death eaters on either side of him. his usual perfect front curls were damp, and stuck to his forehead. he bit down on his teeth as he stopped his fighting, accepting that he could not escape. it hurt to see him like this.

the snake-like man picked up Tom’s wand that slipped out of his hand during the capture and clicked his tongue.

“tsk tsk tsk…i am disappointed to hear that you don’t like what the future holds for you mr. riddle…” voldemort inspects the familiar wand in his hand, taking a step in toms direction. your breath caught in your throat as the inhuman looking figure stood toe to toe with his past self. the death eaters tightened their grip on you.

“you of all people should know i am not one to anger,” tom seethed, holding his head higher. their noses were nearly touching now—well, toms nose and voldemort’s…face.

“i have years of experiences lived on you riddle. i am powerful. i have an army. i am immortal and soon will have the elderly wand, and i won’t let the teenage version of myself stop me.” the soulless man boasted, barring his rotting teeth. “what would little, orphaned tom riddle do?”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, eyes darting to tom. his head only lifted higher, staring through the man.

“i will eat that ass.”

….um what?

your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. the hooded figures on your right nearly broke his neck, turning to the death eater holding onto tom, who only shrugged in just as much lost.

“what?” voldemort retreated his face from toms and leaned back. but the young man’s look was unwavering. “you heard me”

“beat, you mean beat that ass.” you coughed.

“oh, right…i will beat that ass.” tom grinned. within milliseconds, he used the window of opportunity to headbutt his captive in the face. an elbow came flying to the his companions groin, both of them releasing their hold.

distracted, the man on your right cried out as you pulled his fingers back. pivoting off the ball of your left foot, you sent a round house to the other death eater’s stunned face with just enough momentum for him to fall unconscious.

the other three men groaned in agony, as they struggled to find their wands on the wet pavement. priorities shifted as soon as the sight at the edge of the skyscraper caught your attention. your partner, tom riddle had voldemort cornered, backing into what seemed like a 20 story drop.

[naps-and-lemons]

this is so gooddd what—

‘you all over me’ Michael Gray x Reader

PAIRING: Michael Gray x Reader

WARNING: Michael Gray being a complete dick, then making up for it in the end, swearing, and drinking

SUMMARY: you were childhood friends turned lovers, but as the boy you once knew became unfamiliar with each visit to the countryside, you reached a breaking point. until you find yourself entrapped by him, all over again. 

Keep reading

[naps-and-lemons]

#lovehardtommy #yettthhh

Nothing More // T.M.R.

This is for @crazytwentythrees​​​ because you wanted a 200 word flash fic and this idea was kicking around my head recently. Not a full post/fic per se but hey this is where I’m at tonight 😘💖💖💖

“I’d kill for you,” he promises one night.

This is the sort of untethered, unbridled, almost juvenile passion you’ve come to expect from him. He’ll be calm and quiet and gentle like this, his fingers trailing lightly down your waist and back up again, your head resting on his shoulder, your arms bundled against his chest, and then he’ll just say these things with dark, steady eyes like he’s speaking some natural truth into the world that he needs you to know, something fundamental and unyielding that works on him the same way gravity sinks him into the bed beside you. Immutable.

“I don’t want you to kill for me, Tom,” you smile patiently, taking a drowsy breath and settling closer into him. He’s unimaginably comfortable and your leg slides up his to rest on his hip, it’s hopelessly addicting to sleep pressed up against him like this.

“But I would,” Tom says quietly, his fingers brushing your hair.

“Don’t,” you murmur, sleep coming fast. “There’s about a billion better things you could do.”

“Like what?”

“Just live.”

There’s a second where, even with your eyes shut, you can tell that his brow furrows. “What?”

“Just live. Just you and me living. It’s enough.”

His head dips, his mouth presses to the slope of your shoulder, and when he takes in a long, slow breath you sink with his chest as he exhales. “I’d like to do more than that.”

“There’s nothing more than that,” you mumble.

Tom’s lips appear gentle against your cheek and you’re slipping into sleep, his hand glides up your thigh and he draws you closer against him, stomach to stomach, heart to heart.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

Keep reading

[naps-and-lemons]

im not even gonna cap the silas-syphilis line is what inspired this whole fic 😂

instant family (t.m.r.)

parent figure tom? pretty short with a lil sum sum at the end. there’s not enough dad!tom content so I tried to make my own. dad!tom makes me think of two people– edward father cullen (first part) and Klaus daddy michaelson (second part). anyway…

“hand me the child.” you would have happily obliged if the crying baby wasn’t already seized from your arms. you were about to go off on him, but the site in front of you softened the crease in between your eyebrows. strong forearms cradling the length of the baby’s body, and a hand impressively supporting the neck and head. you have never seen tom so delicate, yet protective. it was almost funny seeing tom and his tall ass self with such a small little thing.

“you do small bounces,” tom demonstrated, the infants cries lowering to heavy breaths of sniffles.

your pride usually would’ve gotten the best of you, pushing you to say something along the lines of not needing toms help. the first two days he avoided the child like it had the plague. he didn’t even want to take in silas in the first place.

“please tom, walburga is my friend, and you know how her family is. the Black family won’t have a scandal. the baby has nowhere to go!” he finally agreed, but made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby. you knew what you were getting into. tom not being the biggest fan of children was never news. he didn’t hate them, but he didn’t seem like one to volunteer at a nursery either. maybe it was because he was forced to be around them growing up at Wool’s…that’s what you figured.

“and white noise, they like that,” he added, voice no louder than a whisper, eyes focused on silas’ face the whole time. you stood there mouth gaping like a fish. the baby had been bawling for hours. you tried feeding him, shaking his one toy left from his mother, and nothing seemed to satisfy him for more than two minutes. he did seem to have fun pulling on your hair until he nearly scalped you, forcing you to open his little hand. that’s what really upset him. and here comes tom riddle who apparently not only talks to snakes but also speaks baby.

“how are you so good at this?” you spoke softly, mimicking toms tone. you gently placed a hand on his shoulder to take a peek at the baby who was fighting sleep as if he had other places to be.

“at the orphanage, there was a newborn named gabriel.” the words came out of toms mouth effortlessly. the few times he talked about his time in london were not of detail. and he was usually much more guarded and careful with his delivery. “because of the war, the orphanage didn’t have the staff to take in another child, especially an infant. so i looked after him,” silas coo’d and stretched his small arms, twisting in toms arms. he settled down soon after, sleep winning.

you were lost at words. tom didn’t like sympathy he saw it as pity. you didn’t want to push more questions either. his vulnerability to talk about Wools was enough really.

“thank you for sharing that with me my love,” the best you could do, as you leaned into his arm watching the baby’s sleeping form. tension released from toms shoulders.

“rest now, syphilis,” he whispered, running a hand over the infants small head. you smiled at his affection, then lifted your head abruptly to look at your partner.

“tom, his name is silas…”

“oh.”

bonus headcannon 

in another life where tom is not so experienced and has a son

tom as a new parent was interesting. he may have read every book in the library on parenting, but let’s be real, nothing could ever fully prepare one for a baby. “oh no, no stop crying. y-y/n! come here! it’s crying!” he panicked, relief crossing his face the moment you walked in.“it??”

but seeing tom not being perfectly good at something was amusing. well, maybe not for him though…“it’s not going on,” tom says says in between grunts. he was currently trying to twist the baby’s foot into the shoe. his son just sat there like a sack of potato’s staring down at his father helplessly. “and he’s not even helping!”

although he did get frustrated at times, tom riddle discovered that parenthood is not a task, but rather a journey. and there were definitely rewards in addition to being a dad. “you should’ve seen it, he was crawling!” you dropped your bag onto the couch and walked toward him. “really?! where i wanna see!” tom grinned excitedly. “right over…oh no where did he go…” tom whipped his head around looking for the toddler. the familiar mop of curly black hair was spotted near the staircase, crawling at superhero speed. “no no no stairs is next week’s lesson!”

of course, what is a riddle heir without a father that wishes nothing but success for their child? “my son, one day you will rule the masses…” he spoke softly to the one year old passed out in his arms. “tom…” you warned.

[naps-and-lemons]

ahh i love you queen !! papa tom for da win 😩

instant family (t.m.r.)

parent figure tom? pretty short with a lil sum sum at the end. there’s not enough dad!tom content so I tried to make my own. dad!tom makes me think of two people– edward father cullen (first part) and Klaus daddy michaelson (second part). anyway…

“hand me the child.” you would have happily obliged if the crying baby wasn’t already seized from your arms. you were about to go off on him, but the site in front of you softened the crease in between your eyebrows. strong forearms cradling the length of the baby’s body, and a hand impressively supporting the neck and head. you have never seen tom so delicate, yet protective. it was almost funny seeing tom and his tall ass self with such a small little thing.

“you do small bounces,” tom demonstrated, the infants cries lowering to heavy breaths of sniffles.

your pride usually would’ve gotten the best of you, pushing you to say something along the lines of not needing toms help. the first two days he avoided the child like it had the plague. he didn’t even want to take in silas in the first place.

“please tom, walburga is my friend, and you know how her family is. the Black family won’t have a scandal. the baby has nowhere to go!” he finally agreed, but made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby. you knew what you were getting into. tom not being the biggest fan of children was never news. he didn’t hate them, but he didn’t seem like one to volunteer at a nursery either. maybe it was because he was forced to be around them growing up at Wool’s…that’s what you figured.

“and white noise, they like that,” he added, voice no louder than a whisper, eyes focused on silas’ face the whole time. you stood there mouth gaping like a fish. the baby had been bawling for hours. you tried feeding him, shaking his one toy left from his mother, and nothing seemed to satisfy him for more than two minutes. he did seem to have fun pulling on your hair until he nearly scalped you, forcing you to open his little hand. that’s what really upset him. and here comes tom riddle who apparently not only talks to snakes but also speaks baby.

“how are you so good at this?” you spoke softly, mimicking toms tone. you gently placed a hand on his shoulder to take a peek at the baby who was fighting sleep as if he had other places to be.

“at the orphanage, there was a newborn named gabriel.” the words came out of toms mouth effortlessly. the few times he talked about his time in london were not of detail. and he was usually much more guarded and careful with his delivery. “because of the war, the orphanage didn’t have the staff to take in another child, especially an infant. so i looked after him,” silas coo’d and stretched his small arms, twisting in toms arms. he settled down soon after, sleep winning.

you were lost at words. tom didn’t like sympathy he saw it as pity. you didn’t want to push more questions either. his vulnerability to talk about Wools was enough really.

“thank you for sharing that with me my love,” the best you could do, as you leaned into his arm watching the baby’s sleeping form. tension released from toms shoulders.

“rest now, syphilis,” he whispered, running a hand over the infants small head. you smiled at his affection, then lifted your head abruptly to look at your partner.

“tom, his name is silas…”

“oh.”

bonus headcannon 

in another life where tom is not so experienced and has a son

tom as a new parent was interesting. he may have read every book in the library on parenting, but let’s be real, nothing could ever fully prepare one for a baby. “oh no, no stop crying. y-y/n! come here! it’s crying!” he panicked, relief crossing his face the moment you walked in.“it??”

but seeing tom not being perfectly good at something was amusing. well, maybe not for him though…“it’s not going on,” tom says says in between grunts. he was currently trying to twist the baby’s foot into the shoe. his son just sat there like a sack of potato’s staring down at his father helplessly. “and he’s not even helping!”

although he did get frustrated at times, tom riddle discovered that parenthood is not a task, but rather a journey. and there were definitely rewards in addition to being a dad. “you should’ve seen it, he was crawling!” you dropped your bag onto the couch and walked toward him. “really?! where i wanna see!” tom grinned excitedly. “right over…oh no where did he go…” tom whipped his head around looking for the toddler. the familiar mop of curly black hair was spotted near the staircase, crawling at superhero speed. “no no no stairs is next week’s lesson!”

of course, what is a riddle heir without a father that wishes nothing but success for their child? “my son, one day you will rule the masses…” he spoke softly to the one year old passed out in his arms. “tom…” you warned.

[naps-and-lemons]

instant family (t.m.r.)

parent figure tom? pretty short with a lil sum sum at the end. there’s not enough dad!tom content so I tried to make my own. dad!tom makes me think of two people-- edward father cullen (first part) and Klaus daddy michaelson (second part). anyway...

“hand me the child.” you would have happily obliged if the crying baby wasn’t already seized from your arms. you were about to go off on him, but the site in front of you softened the crease in between your eyebrows. strong forearms cradling the length of the baby’s body, and a hand impressively supporting the neck and head. you have never seen tom so delicate, yet protective. it was almost funny seeing tom and his tall ass self with such a small little thing.

“you do small bounces,” tom demonstrated, the infants cries lowering to heavy breaths of sniffles.

your pride usually would’ve gotten the best of you, pushing you to say something along the lines of not needing toms help. the first two days he avoided the child like it had the plague. he didn’t even want to take in silas in the first place.

“please tom, walburga is my friend, and you know how her family is. the Black family won’t have a scandal. the baby has nowhere to go!” he finally agreed, but made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby. you knew what you were getting into. tom not being the biggest fan of children was never news. he didn’t hate them, but he didn’t seem like one to volunteer at a nursery either. maybe it was because he was forced to be around them growing up at Wool’s…that’s what you figured.

“and white noise, they like that,” he added, voice no louder than a whisper, eyes focused on silas’ face the whole time. you stood there mouth gaping like a fish. the baby had been bawling for hours. you tried feeding him, shaking his one toy left from his mother, and nothing seemed to satisfy him for more than two minutes. he did seem to have fun pulling on your hair until he nearly scalped you, forcing you to open his little hand. that’s what really upset him. and here comes tom riddle who apparently not only talks to snakes but also speaks baby.

“how are you so good at this?” you spoke softly, mimicking toms tone. you gently placed a hand on his shoulder to take a peek at the baby who was fighting sleep as if he had other places to be.

“at the orphanage, there was a newborn named gabriel.” the words came out of toms mouth effortlessly. the few times he talked about his time in london were not of detail. and he was usually much more guarded and careful with his delivery. “because of the war, the orphanage didn’t have the staff to take in another child, especially an infant. so i looked after him,” silas coo’d and stretched his small arms, twisting in toms arms. he settled down soon after, sleep winning.

you were lost at words. tom didn’t like sympathy he saw it as pity. you didn’t want to push more questions either. his vulnerability to talk about Wools was enough really.

“thank you for sharing that with me my love,” the best you could do, as you leaned into his arm watching the baby’s sleeping form. tension released from toms shoulders.

“rest now, syphilis,” he whispered, running a hand over the infants small head. you smiled at his affection, then lifted your head abruptly to look at your partner.

“tom, his name is silas…”

“oh.”

bonus headcannon 

in another life where tom is not so experienced and has a son

tom as a new parent was interesting. he may have read every book in the library on parenting, but let’s be real, nothing could ever fully prepare one for a baby. “oh no, no stop crying. y-y/n! come here! it’s crying!” he panicked, relief crossing his face the moment you walked in.“it??”

but seeing tom not being perfectly good at something was amusing. well, maybe not for him though...“it’s not going on,” tom says says in between grunts. he was currently trying to twist the baby’s foot into the shoe. his son just sat there like a sack of potato’s staring down at his father helplessly. “and he’s not even helping!”

although he did get frustrated at times, tom riddle discovered that parenthood is not a task, but rather a journey. and there were definitely rewards in addition to being a dad. “you should’ve seen it, he was crawling!” you dropped your bag onto the couch and walked toward him. “really?! where i wanna see!” tom grinned excitedly. “right over…oh no where did he go…” tom whipped his head around looking for the toddler. the familiar mop of curly black hair was spotted near the staircase, crawling at superhero speed. “no no no stairs is next week’s lesson!”

of course, what is a riddle heir without a father that wishes nothing but success for their child? “my son, one day you will rule the masses…” he spoke softly to the one year old passed out in his arms. “tom…” you warned.