#anakin Skywalker fluff

[corvoqueen]

Coddling 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒜𝓃𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃

Anakin Skywalker loves being coddled. You call him ‘baby boy,’ ‘pretty boy,’ etc. And he just melts. I mean just look as his puppy dog eyes. The amount of golden retriever energy he gives off is insane. He’s like a hyperactive puppy, desperate for attention and validation. Loves having his hair played with, his back scratched and definitely belly rubs. He’s definitely not afraid of being clingy and needy. His devotion to you is just through the roof. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has pictures of you on an altar. Absolutely worshipping you. He’s a fan girl at heart. With those blushy cheeks just begging to be squished. He’s a romantic through and through.

He’s a giver, he gives his love expecting absolutely nothing in return. But when you do return it? Boy is starstruck. He feels like he’s won the lottery. It’s no surprise that he’s affectionate. Not always in a sexual way, but I feel like physical touch is definitely one of his major love languages. Whether that be hugs, kisses, groping, etc. I feel like he’s especially partial to forehead kisses.

[chanandlersstuff]

Three times where Anakin’s jealousy was harmless, even fun, and one when it wasn't.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader/OFC.

Summary: Every time he sees her across the room and forgets to breathe, forgets that damn code that complicates his life. She knows exactly what she’s doing, she’s beauty, power, and temptation wrapped in one impossible woman, and everyone wants her, but she only burns for him. Every time he sees her with someone else, Anakin’s composure cracks a little more.

Word count: 7.141

Warnings: Anakin, a warning itself. A little bit of smut, not graphic, there, toxicity there, jealousy, a creep, violence and blood. (let me know if i miss something).

Author’s note: Hiii, two times in one day, count yourselves lucky. First time writting for our sweet beloved Ani.

This is inspired by hours and hours of clone wars and this tiktok. It goes without saying that all this is fictional, I don't want to upseat anyone, this is for fun.

With that being said, enjoy, hope you like it. Lots of love, ME.

(gif credits to the owner)

The air was thick with expensive perfume, velvet words and politics. Senators with fabricated smiles moved like currents through golden light, their laughter overlapping with the soft strings of the Nabooian quartet tucked into one corner of the ballroom. Glasses clinked. Conversations sparkled. 

Anakin felt her before she even entered the hall properly. The soft tug in his chest told him she was close, and when she stepped into view, adorned in metallic green robes that kissed the floor, hugged her curves and shimmered as she moved, he nearly forgot to breathe. 

And so did everyone else. 

She looked like a whispered sin.

Men turned. Women glanced. Senators whispered. Generals approached her. Every damn set of eyes in that room followed her. Of course they did because she looked like the brightest star of them all. 

Anakin could feel them, sense their intentions as they approached her with too-wide smiles like the itch of static across his skin. Their attention wasn’t polite, it was hungry.

His eyes saw her having polite smiles, he heard her laughter, rare but dazzling, curved through the air like sunlight on water, and it struck him, standing across the room in ceremonial Jedi robes, how damn bright she was.

And how many men wanted to bask in her glow.

She was the kind of woman people gravitated toward. A quiet sun in the middle of a storm. A cathedral in a world of shacks, commanding awe. 

He stood across the ballroom, robed in Jedi formality, a guest and a ghost. His hands stayed folded behind his back, his expression neutral. But inside, he was seething as yet another advisor leaned just a little too close, whispering something into her ear that made her smile, and his fingers curled into a fist.

For hours, she moved like light across the floor, drawn into every orbit. People hoarded her attention, called her name, asked for things, fed off her warmth. She smiled, laughed, and even joked. All while never looking at him. Not even once.

Then it happened, some Republic attaché leaned in to say something, too close, and she turned her head to hear him better, her shoulder brushing his chest. His hand hovered just behind her waist. Not touching, not quite.

But Anakin felt it, felt the heat surge like a detonation in his chest. A sharp, hot pang hit low in his gut.

He hadn’t touched her in weeks, some mission in some Outer Rim dustbowl, he couldn’t even remember the name now. All he could think about in that moment was the ghost of her skin under his callus fingers, soft, smooth, velvet-warm and seared into his memory like a brand.

And now others were close enough to smell her perfume.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, willing the fire down, but it simmered. Oh, it simmered. Another man stepped up to her side, clearly emboldened. Flirting again. Anakin’s knuckles whitened behind his back.

She plucked the flower the man offered her, twirled it between her fingers, and, finally, looked up. Across the room, past every other face. Right at him and her smile changed. Slow. Private. Not for anyone else. She knew what she was doing and she loved it. He could feel the pulse of her amusement, soft and golden behind her ribcage, glowing just for him.

And that was enough to cool the burn. For now.

She excused herself a few moments later, slipping away with the tail of her gown floating behind her, weaving through polished diplomats and oblivious senators. He waited precisely ten seconds before following, every step practiced restraint.

The cool night air of Coruscant swept over the balcony, a quiet haven away from the noise and glitter of the gala. The hum of air traffic and muffled music were distant, irrelevant things. All Anakin saw, all he ever saw, even in his dreams, was her.

She leaned against the railing like she owned the city, like the stars were her playthings. The wind caught her hair just enough to make him ache.

“You looked cozy in there,” he said, voice low, sharp at the edges. “Your... fan club seemed enthusiastic tonight.”

She didn’t turn. Just let the silence stretch, knowing it’d get to him. It always did.

“Fan club?” she echoed at last, tone light, teasing. “Sounds like jealousy, Skywalker.”

Anakin scoffed and folded his arms. “Interesting choice of company tonight. You always did like the dramatic types.”

She turned, one brow lifted. “You mean politicians?”

“I mean men who seem to forget that you are clearly out of their league.” He stepped closer, boots nearly silent, heat radiating off him in waves.

“You know,” she continued, tilting her head slightly to the side, “if I do have a fan club, I’m pretty sure you started it. That whole brooding stare-from-across-the-room thing? Very compelling.”

His jaw ticked. “Right. I’ll remember to blink next time I watch you let half the Senate fall in love with you.”

Her eyes glittered as she turned to face him. “You were watching.”

“You knew I was.”

“Practically vibrating,” she teased. “If you glared any harder, you’d have ignited the Chancellor’s carpet.”

The Force crackled faintly between them, quiet, intimate, like the brush of fingers on bare skin. He didn’t have to reach for her emotions; they poured into him like sunlight and wildfire. She was amused. Charged. Testing him.

She took a step closer. Barely there, but it was enough. “Maker, you’re jealous,” she murmured, delighted at how much tension it was in his jaw and arms. “That’s adorable.”

That did it.

In one smooth, sudden motion, Anakin pressed her back into the shadows of the balcony, out of sight. Her breath caught as the cold stone met part of her spine and his body followed, flush against hers, every line of him pressed with unrelenting intent, the warmth of his palm burning the small of her back. His metallic hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, not rough, but firm.

His eyes burned gold in the dark as the shadows wrapped them in silence, covering their secret. 

“Do you know how hard it is not to touch you when they do?” he hissed, breath hot against her cheek. “Not to shout that you’re mine?”

She smiled slowly, challenging. “You don’t need to shout.”

He growled softly, teeth clenched. “Right, because you’re the one who loves to be loud.”

She didn’t deny it. “I love to shout your name,” she purred as her fingers found his belt, tugging him even closer.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that had no business being soft. It was hot, messy, desperate, brutal in its restraint. Tongues sliding, biting, fighting for dominance, hands gripping wherever they could, pulling the other deeper, like the weeks apart hadn’t worn their restraint down to shreds.

He groaned into her mouth when she bit his lip, and she gasped when he pressed his big leg slid between hers with sinful precision, and Anakin swallowed the sound greedily.

The world outside didn’t exist. There was only this, this fire, this want, this ache they weren’t allowed to name. And the Force around them swirled, tight and humming, their shared emotions tangling like limbs in the dark. Possession. Desire. Frustration. Love, blistering and untouchable. 

They kissed like they were starving. Like they might not get the chance again. Like it wasn’t enough to be his in secret, she wanted to be his in blood, in breath, in everything.

When they finally pulled apart, panting, her lipstick smudged, his hair a mess, and her dress rumpled, he still didn’t move.

He leaned his forehead to hers, eyes closed, hand on her cheek now, softer. But the tremble in his chest hadn’t gone.

“You are mine,” Anakin whispered.

Somewhere inside, he knew this was dangerous.

But her hand running in his hair, tugging softly, her lips swollen and smirking beneath his, and the feeling of her emotions bleeding into his own, her heart thudding against his. “Always.”

It all made him reckless.

Made him Anakin.

The halls of the Jedi Temple bathed in a golden wash of sunlight that stretched through high windows. It was a sanctuary, quiet and disciplined, above any kind of distraction. 

Anakin stood with his arms crossed, flanked by a line of teen knights finishing saber drills under his supervision. The hum and clash of practice blades echoed through the open-air courtyard, mid morning sun painting golden light across the pale stone floors.

He was focused, they all were. Until he wasn’t anymore.

A tug. It started like a subtle itch in his chest. That familiar flutter of energy in the Force that only she caused. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Then came the whispers. The laughter. The telltale shift in attention that shouldn’t be happening in a Temple. 

Anakin turned and there she was. She had always made a mockery of Jedi rules just by simply existing.

She moved through the courtyard like a comet, bright, elegant, entirely out of place and somehow right there. The sun kissed her skin and made her glow. Hair swept back, face glowing, wearing that rich blue gown that fitted her like a globe and stole breaths left and right. 

Poor young Jedis, they barely stood a chance.

He watched, arms still crossed, as they began to trip over themselves for her, far too eagerly.

A taller knight stumbled forward, lightsaber already off, bowing too low. “Senator, would you care for a demonstration?”

Another, younger, grinned, straightening his robes with unnecessary flair, puffed up his chest and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut short by a third that stepped in beside her, charming and overly familiar. “Senator,” he said, smirking, offering his arm. “Perhaps I could escort you to the Grand Hall? The Temple’s layout can be disorienting, after all.” 

“Actually,” another interrupted, “I was just about to take my morning walk, can I show you the gardens?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The younger knights, barely past their trials, surrounded her like moths to flame. Soon, he was sure the entire practice floor was about to break in spontaneous combat displays.

They were all smiles and flushed cheeks, tripping over each other for a chance to impress her but all she did was smile politely, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. 

Anakin moved, dangerously calm, all coiled control and silent warning. The kind of movement that sliced through space like a saber unsheathed, needing no sound to be final. He stepped into view like a storm rolling over a bright sky. Shadows clung to his silhouette, jaw set, blue eyes hard. He towered over the young knights who were still mid-stammer and mid-swoon.

Her eyes found his instantly and a smile, bright, amused, knowing exactly what this was, appeared on her tempting lips. “General Skywalker,” she greeted, honey-smooth and just this side of smug.

“Senator,” he said, voice all clipped politeness, but there was a glint in his eye only she could read. “You’re expected elsewhere. Please—come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. Not really.

She tilted her head, clearly entertained, and followed without protest. Behind her, the poor knights stood shell-shocked and heartbroken.

Anakin took her the long way, through narrow passages and shadow-laced halls that only he would know. Hidden corridors carved into the Temple’s bones, tucked from sight and sound. No one followed. No one dared. No one ever did when he didn’t want them to.

The tension thrummed between them. Unspoken. Electric. She could feel it through the thread they never dared name. That quiet, intimate current that pulsed like a live wire between their hearts. It made her skin prickle and her mouth curl.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly, brushing his hand with hers.

“They were drooling,” he replied, jaw clenched, walking too fast.

She laughed softly. “You’re a menace.” Force humming quietly between them in familiar warmth. 

He didn’t deny it. Just opened the door to his quarters and tilted his head towards the inside. His eyes burned hotter than the twin suns. “They were idiots.”

“They were children,” she said, shrugging off her shawl. “It was flattering, sure. But harmless.”

She stepped into his space and reached for his tunic, smoothing invisible wrinkles just for the excuse to touch him.

His hands found her waist like magnets, urgent, desperate. Like his world only started spinning when she was close. Like he’d been starving for the feel of her. “You’re mine,” he muttered, voice rough, low.

The second she pressed against him, the tension snapped. His shoulders dropped and his breath hitched. She always did this to him, only she ever could.

The smile she gave him lit up every star in his chest.

“Possessive much?” she teased, lifting her gaze beneath her lashes. Her hand rested against his chest, gentle pressure just over his heart. “You’re lucky that’s sexy.”

“They don’t even see you,” he growled, lips brushing the edge of her jaw as he inhaled her. “Not really. Not like I do.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, threading through the waves of it, soft and slow. His anger began to dissolve under her touch.

“I know that,” she whispered, grounding him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Ani.” Her lips brushed his, featherlight. “I only have eyes for one Jedi Knight,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sharp breath left his lungs, forehead pressed to hers. He didn’t speak. Just stood there and felt her. Let her presence, her truth, her kiss soften all the edges. As it always did.

“You’re the only one,” she said, voice softer now, brushing her lips against his. “The only one who gets to take me home.”

He said nothing. He just clenched his jaw and looked at her like she was the entire galaxy, beautiful, untouchable, and he didn’t know how to protect her from it without claiming her. But Anakin was ready to go to the end of time to keep her safe, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

She kissed him, soft and slow, with reverence, her thumb brushed along his jaw and his hands finally moved. One slid around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, cradling her like something both sacred and dangerous.

“You were planning to come early,” he said, voice rasping low. “Just to see me.”

She smiled against his lips. “Took you long enough to figure it out, my love.”

He kissed her, deeper, hungrier. Less about proving, more about having. Reverence disguised as hunger. Possession disguised as devotion.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not when she tugged him toward his bed. Not when his hands ran down her back like he was mapping out the constellations of her skin. Not when his mouth marked her skin like scripture. Not when she gasped his name like it anchored her. Not when he murmured her name like a prayer. And definitely not when the Force pulsed around them, holding the world at bay.

She had come early and now, thanks to him, she’d come more than once… and would definitely be late to her meeting, with love bites and traces of him in places only he could see later in the night.

But that had always been the danger, with her, time bent, it didn’t really matter. The world waited. Only she existed.

And if anyone asked, well, he was General Skywalker. And no one dared question him.

She was trying to work. Key word, trying. Because trying didn’t stand a chance when Anakin Skywalker was in the room. Her focus kept going to him.

He wasn’t even doing anything, not really. Just existing, sprawled across the soft seating like it was his throne, golden and smug. His presence filled the space like a storm fills the horizon, vast and crackling, impossible to ignore. She could feel him under her skin, behind her ribs, humming through her bloodstream even with five feet and a desk between them.

And he knew it, of course he did, he could feel the effect he had on her.

“You know,” he said casually, leaning back and resting the back of his head in his intertwined fingers, “we should go away.”

She didn’t look up from her datapad. “Go away?”

“A vacation.” He was already picturing it, voice wrapped in sunlight. “Just the two of us. There’s a place, far, far from here, remote, beautiful, where no one would recognize us.” He looked at her. “It will be like we are an actual couple instead of Senator and Jedi.”

Her fingers paused above the screen, the weight of the idea pressing into her chest like warmth. She could see it too, for a moment. Feel it like a dream she wanted to believe in.

“I would love nothing more,” she said honestly. “But I can’t, Ani.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” he sat up, affronted, like she’d personally insulted the sun. “It’s two weeks. The Senate can survive without you. Miraculously, I know.”

She sighed, still not looking at him. “I’m sure it can. But I have propositions to review, bills to finalize, votes to prepare. Important meetings—”

He stepped around her desk and popped a dramatic hip like the galaxy's most petulant god. “More important than me?”

She narrowed her eyes, slow and sharp. “You know exactly what you mean to me.”

“Do I?” he said dramatically, crossing his arms and turning around like a tragic holo actor. “Because right now it feels like my heart is being shoved to the bottom of your schedule.”

She let out a breath and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach as she studied him.

“Our love is everything to me,” she said carefully. “But my work matters too. It matters for people who don’t have the luxury of sneaking away. Our work matters, Anakin. What we do matters.”

“To me there’s nothing more important than you,” he said standing there with his back to her, arms crossed like a storm cloud, radiating disappointment in dramatic waves.

She stared at his back, lips twitching. “That better not be a pout.”

“No,” he grumbled, “it’s… noble heartbreak.”

She laughed softly, Maker help her, she adored this ridiculous man. “You’re such a menace.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, not turning around. “Still not on vacation with me.”

She stood, walked towards him and slid her hands around his waist, resting her chin between his shoulder blades. “What can I do to prove to you that you matter the most to me?”

“The damage is already done,” he said with great theatrical flair.

A laugh almost escaped her lips, but she pushed it back, and in a swift motion she stood in front of him. Her fingers found his jaw, warm, strong, and tilted his face down to hers.

“My sweet sweet Ani,” she whispered, her lips slow, hot, reverent, against his, making him melt, just a little. “If you want proof,” she murmured, “then let me show you what you mean to me.”

She kissed him, soft and deep, hands threading through his hair possessively, it silenced every protest he thought about making. 

The kiss was heated, frantic, like they’d been starving for each other and finally allowed to feast. It was instant combustion. No slow burn, no delicate teasing. Just raw need, all fire and ache and knowing. He exhaled into her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, then moved down to her waist, clutching like gravity itself had shifted and he was grounding himself. 

She tasted like stars and defiance. He kissed her like she was air and flame all at once. The fire she lit inside him was hers alone to command.

When her mouth grazed his neck, what was left of his composure unraveled like silk and his lips met hers again. He walked them back, blindly, not breaking the kiss, not once, her mouth still pressed to his, until she hit the bookshelf. He pinned her there, one hand cradling her head so she wouldn’t knock into the shelves. Books toppled behind them like falling stars as his mouth found her throat, her collarbone, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he’d been dying to say.

She gasped, breathless and burning, and he kissed her harder, like he needed to brand himself into her soul.

Then he moved again, his hands were already back on her, mapping the lines of her body like sacred territory. He knew every curve, every reaction, how she’d shiver when he kissed just below her jaw, how her breath caught when his fingers traced her spine. They collided again, lips bruising, hands insistent.

But it wasn’t just need, it was knowing. The kind of knowing that came from worship and war, from battles fought side by side and promises whispered in the dark. 

When the desk hit the backs of her thighs, he lifted her onto it, his free hand shooting out to sweep everything off the surface in one violent motion, datapads, files, a stylus, a small potted plant, all crashing to the floor as if the whole galaxy could wait while his was mouth still on hers, and she pulled him in like gravity had given up and left only them.

They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, sharp gasps, soft moans, whispered names, a symphony of want and devotion echoing off polished wood and walls that had seen too much and still not enough.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels locking at the small of his back, pulling him into her, into this, and he thrust into her, the sound she made shattered him. Her head fell back, exposing her throat, and he kissed it reverently, like a knight bent before a goddess. 

She was wrapped around him, tangled in his body like ivy on stone. Her hands were in his hair, his tunic, her voice in his ear, guiding him, worshipping him. His mouth dragged over her neck, her chest, every place that made her tremble.

His hands moved over her body like he knew every inch of her in his bones, because he did. He didn’t fumble. He didn’t guess. He knew her like he knew the hilt of his saber, like breath, like instinct. He knew what would make her gasp, what would make her moan, what would unravel her completely. And she gave herself to it, to him, because she knew him just the same.

When the desk groaned in protest, he lifted her into his arms, and she laughed breathlessly against his mouth as he carried her to the little velvet sofa, limbs tangled, breathing ragged. He continued to worship her there, whispering her name like it was a secret spell that bound the universe together. She pulled him in with her eyes, with her hands, with the soft, broken sound she only ever made for him.

Every movement, every sound, every glance between them was instinct, history, devotion. They didn’t have to speak. They knew.

And when they finally collapsed on the floor, sweaty, undone, breathless and wrecked and more whole than ever, he hovered over her, brushing damp hair from her face, his heart pounding against hers.

“You are everything to me,” she whispered, cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a crooked smile as he pressed his forehead to hers. “No,” he murmured. “We’re everything.”

The gala was crowded, loud, and glittering with too much fake gold and not enough sincerity. She floated through it like she always did, charming, gracious, intelligent. Every word laced with purpose and diplomacy. She was dazzling, magnetic. Untouchable.

Anakin had been watching her from across the room, he always is, with admiration, with love blossoming in his chest, but tonight his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter in any moment. 

Senator Vanto of Andosha was practically glued to her side, as he had seemed to be lately. He had been circling for weeks like a blood-slicked nexu. It started with a look across the Senate, followed by sugar-drenched pleasantries echoing in marble halls and smiles that lasted a second too long, then a fleeting compliment with a lingering hand on her back. Then he started to get more bold, a too-close whisper over a datapad, every time she laughed the man leaned in closer, taking every possible opportunity to have a hand on her, his eyes devouring her like a predator savoring the kill.

Anakin had seen it all, every touch, every glance from the Senator over the last few weeks, and it burned through him like acid, each and every single time, and she didn’t see it. Or worse, she refused to.

Now, in that glittering cage, every time he even breathed close to her, every time she flashed that too-perfect public smile, Anakin’s vision blurred at the edges. And when the senator started parading around with a hand on the small of her back, his filthy hand on her smooth velvety skin, fingers grazing the open back of her gown like he had the right, like he could, Anakin’s blood boiled.

And she, she laughed, not her real laugh, the one she gave him in quiet moments beneath tangled sheets, but the polite one she wore in public. It didn’t matter. It burned all the same. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel, strides clipped and purposeful. He didn’t care who saw. Let the whole damn Senate speculate. Let them whisper. He didn’t care. He launched his fighter and left.

By the time she got home, the apartment was dark. Cold. But not silent. Anakin was there, pacing like a caged animal, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury.

She didn’t even get her shoes off before the storm hit. “Something wrong Ani?” she asked, the door barely clicking shut behind her.

He turned, the heat in his eyes sparking like wildfire. “You really have to ask?”

She blinked at him, confused, tension curling at the edge of her spine. “I don’t understand.” She frowned, “If you’re upset about something, say it. Don’t just, brood,” she said, unwinding the earrings from her lobes. 

“I’m not brooding,” he snapped. “I’m trying very hard not to explode.”

She scoffed. “Well, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Just like you were at keeping Senator Vanto’s filthy hands off you,” he said, sarcasm dripping like venom. 

Her breath caught. “Are you really going to start again?” she snapped, looking at him through the mirror in the room, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it tumble over her back. “I’ve told you, he’s a colleague. That’s all.”

Anakin stood dead center in the room, arms stiff at his sides, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “A colleague who practically breathes down your neck every time you’re in the same room. And you let him!”

Her laugh was cold, sharp. “Let him? You think I let him?”

“I don’t think,” he said, voice jagged. “I saw you with my own eyes!”

“I was doing my job!” she said loudly, turning towards him. “Talking, negotiating, building rapport, which is what I’ve always done. What do you want me to do, Anakin? Be rude? Push him away in front of the entire Senate chamber just to make you feel better? Throw a drink in his face and declare I belong to you?” 

“I’m asking you to see it,” he bit out. “He touches you like he owns you.”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she yelled, sharply and coldly. 

“I thought you said you were mine,” he said, lower now, his voice breaking at the edges.

“I’m not a possession, Anakin.”

“No,” he said, quieter, rawer. “But you are mine, just as I’m yours, because we chose each other. Because what we have is real. And he’s trying to take you from me,” he said, touching his chest.

Her laugh then wasn’t cold, it was shattered. “You sound insane.”

He stepped closer, too close. “And you sound blind.”

The room froze.

Her face hardened, voice tightening like she was holding back something sharp. “Do you hear yourself right now? He’s not the problem here, Anakin. You are.”

That cracked something in him, clean through the middle, cracking his chest open.

“No,” he said, voice rising. “I’m the one who’s stuck waiting while he gets to stand beside you, hover over you, touch you. Me, the man that has loved you since the first time he saw you, who would burn the galaxy down just to keep you safe, gets crumbs behind closed doors! So excuse me if I’m sick of pretending this doesn’t bother me!”

Her heart stung like it had been slapped. “You think this is easy for me? Hiding, lying, splitting myself in two just to make this work—”

“Then maybe it’s not worth it,” he snapped.

She flinched, like he’d hit her. Her mouth opened, then closed, her voice caught behind the pressure building in her chest. 

The silence that followed was instant and total. The air turned to glass between them, fragile, sharp, suffocating, waiting to shatter.

Her voice dropped to just a whisper. “Is that really how you feel?”

He faltered. He didn’t mean it. But pride, stupid, stubborn pride, held his tongue hostage and wouldn’t let him soften. “Maybe it is.”

Her breath hitched, then turned away from him, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Then go,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, holding herself together with the last thread of her control she had before shattering.

Anakin didn’t move, said nothing. His jaw ticked, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He stared at her back for a long moment, at the way her shoulders rose and fell like she was holding it together, barely.

He wanted to take it back. Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to cross the galaxy that appeared between them and fix it, he wanted to hold her and not go.

But he didn’t, and instead turned on his heel and walked out, again. Jumping on his fighter and going away, leaving her in the quiet wreckage of their home.

The silence echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap as she stood there, still in her gown, her earrings in her hand, hair loose caressing her back, and shaking. The lights hummed softly above her. The room felt cavernous without him in it.

And all she could do was stand there, alone, tears pulling in her eyes, surrounded by the wreckage of what they’d built, and wonder, maybe this time, they’d broken something they couldn’t fix.

A full day passed.

She hadn’t moved much, buried under blankets, curtains drawn to shut out the light that mocked her with its warmth. Her datapad buzzed every few hours with messages and alerts, unanswered. The Senate could wait. The galaxy could wait. For the first time in years, she let herself unravel. The senator, the leader, the unshakable voice of reason, reduced to someone wrapped in silence and tears. There was the steady hum of sorrow beneath her skin and the raw ache of something lost, sobs coming and going in waves, breaking through moments of numb silence. She tried to hate him. Tried to hate herself. Neither feeling stuck. Only grief for what might already be gone did.

By late afternoon, the tears had run dry, replaced by something hollow. She pulled herself out of bed, her muscles aching like she had fought a war in her sleep. The shower steamed the mirror, the water was hot, steady, cleansing, grounding her just enough to feel like maybe she could start over.

Maybe.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She was wrapping her robe around her when the knock came. She frowned, confused. No one was supposed to visit. The few people who might, had the good sense not to.

When she opened the door, Senator Vanto stood there.

Concern painted across his features like a poor artist’s attempt at sincerity. “You weren’t at the Senate today,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “People were asking. I was worried that you perhaps were ill.”

She blinked, unsettled. “I... wasn’t feeling well.”

He smiled, taking a slow, familiar step toward her. “I figured as much. I thought maybe I could help. Maybe you needed someone to talk to.” His eyes dragged over her, landing on her exposed collarbone where the robe dipped. “Or just someone.”

A chill slid down her spine and she tightening the piece of clothing around her.

She moved toward the sitting area, creating distance, hoping he’d take the hint. “Thank you for your concern, but really, I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, following her, “but maybe it’s time you stop pretending you don’t need anyone.” He looked her over, the flush skin, her bare legs, her wet hair. “You need someone who can take care of you,” he reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. 

She stepped back, discomfort. Her skin prickled, but not the way it did when Anakin touched her. There was no warmth here, no tenderness. Just a creeping, nauseating wrongness.

“I said I’m fine.” Again, she rounded the sitting area and tried to put as much distance between them as she could. 

But he followed, again, too closely, too comfortably. With every inch she gave, he took more.

“You’ve always kept yourself surrounded by politics, war, rules, men who are never really there for you. Jedi who disappear when it matters most.” He said it with meaning, with venom. “But not me,” he sat and pushed her to sit with him. “I wouldn’t leave you alone, not even for a second.”

Her knees hit the cushions before her mind registered what had happened. Her stomach turned. “Vanto—”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped. “You need a man who’s strong enough to handle you. Someone who knows what to do with a woman like you.” His eyes drifted down. “Someone who knows how to touch you.” His hand landed on her thigh, firm, possessive. 

Her blood froze. The hand was not delicate, not gentle. It burned. Her skin crawled under it.

“I can give you what he never could.” His voice slithered around her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She tensed, tried to inch away, but his hand gripped tighter. “Let go of me,” she pushed his hand away. “It’s time for you to go,” she said, standing sharply.

He stood too, moving in close, cornering her. “Come on, darling,” he said with a twisted smirk on his lips. 

She backed up. Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder again, she yanked it up with trembling fingers.

“You can stop pretending now. No one’s watching.” His hand caught her arm.

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

But he didn’t stop and his grip tightened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me—”

“There’s no way I look at you,” she snapped, breath catching. “Let go of me.”

“No more playing game,” he smirked again.

“Stop it—” she twisted, trying to break free.

“No more hiding.” His other hand gripped her side, fingers digging through the thin robe like claws.

She gasped. “Please, no.”

The fear started creeping up her throat like acid.

Her skin was on fire where he touched her, not in the way Anakin lit her nerves with heat and reverence, but like poison seeping into her bones.

“You’ve got no one here but me.”

She whimpered, voice cracking. “I said no—please don’t—”

He leaned in, tried to kiss her.

She twisted, shoved against him, her voice shaking, heart in her throat. “I said no—!”

And then—The door burst open with a crash.

A wind tore through the room as if the stars themselves had followed him in.

Anakin stood there, eyes burning, jaw locked, the fury of a thousand suns radiating off of him. His voice was low, guttural, animalistic.

“Get. Away. From her.”

Vanto startled, letting go just long enough for her to stumble back. She shoved him hard, scrambling to the other side of the room.

And before she could even breathe, Anakin crossed the room in three strides. The Force lifted Vanto off the ground like he weighed nothing, like a ragdoll, choking him mid-air. His feet kicked helplessly as Anakin stalked forward.

“You dare to touch her,” Anakin growled, his voice was cold. Controlled, but barely. 

He threw him against a wall and with his free hand, took his lightsaber and ignited with a snap-hiss of blue death. “You hurt her.” His face was carved in stone, his rage blistering, terrifying, as he pointed with his saber at him.

“Try fighting like a man,” Vanto stood up, coughing. “Without your Jedi tricks.”

Anakin’s lips twitched. A slow, dangerous smile, not at all kind. “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

The saber shut off with a snap, and he launched forward.

The fight was brutal. No rules, no honor, just raw and animalistic fury unleashed in the flicker of a heartbeat. 

She stood frozen, robe clenched tightly around her trembling frame, breath caught in her chest as she watched the man she loved, her sweet Ani, unravel.

Anakin was a storm, all fire and anguish and vengeance, striking with the kind of force that only came from years of buried grief, unspoken heartbreak and possessive love in every strike. Metal met flesh with a sickening precision. Blood splattered. Vanto swung wildly and desperate, landing a few hits, but they barely registered. 

Anakin was relentless, built for combat. Designed for it. He wasn’t born like that, for war, but he was made into it. War had carved him into a weapon, he was honed by pain, but underneath the fury still lived the boy who once only wanted to protect the people he loved. And now, seeing her hurt, that boy was screaming and the man he had become answered with rage.

“Anakin, stop!” she cried, breathless, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Don’t—please, he’s not worth it!”

In the chaos, as she tried to break them apart, to stop the devastation, Vanto’s fist swung. It wasn’t meant for her. But it found her anyway. It hit her, colliding with her cheek, sharp and brutal.

The sound, sickening, wrong, echoed through the room like a thunderclap. She gasped, stumbled, a cry of pain tearing from her throat as she crashed into the side table and fell. The thud of her body hitting the floor split the air.

Everything stopped. He punched her. She was on the ground, pain flashing in her glassy eyes, blood on her hand and a cut in her porcelain skin.

The sound she made, that wounded sound, more raw than war, more real than anything he’d ever heard, broke something in him so violently that his breath left him in a single, strangled gasp. 

The world narrowed and all he saw was her, his word had fallen hurt and all his anger turned to something worse. 

She was hurt. Because he hadn’t stopped it. Because he hadn’t been fast enough. Because he had left and was almost too late, again.

That was it, he snapped. 

Anakin tackled Vanto with everything he had, not as a Jedi, but as a man who had seen the only thing that kept him sane, the source of his happiness, hurt and afraid. There was no humanity left as he charged. The punches came fast, the anger white-hot. He didn’t hear Vanto’s protests, and didn't care because all he saw was a danger to her. He threw him across the room, pinned him again, and hit him harder.

All he felt was heartbreak made flesh, striking out at the thing that dared hurt what mattered most to him.

Every hit said: You don’t touch her. Every hit said: You don’t get to make her afraid. Every hit said: She is mine to protect.

Only when Vanto was unmoving, groaning, bleeding, broken on the floor, did Anakin stop.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, fists trembling with fury. His eyes were wild, dark with something primal, something unbearable. A small whimper reached his ears and he turned around. She was still on the floor, broken and shaken.

The door opened again. Security. Too late.

Anakin rushed to her side, kneeling, hands shaking as he cupped her face. “Are you okay?” His voice cracked, desperate. “Look at me. Tell me you’re okay, please.”

He touched her cheek, gently, like she was made of light and grief and might vanish or shatter if he pressed too hard, and she whimpered at the contact. It wasn’t fear this time, nor pain. But because something in her had broken open, and he was the only one who could hold it together.

“This is all on me,” he breathed, horror and panic folding into his voice. His eyes burned, rimmed red. “Maker, forgive me—” His breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve—”

Her wide, tear-glossed eyes met his. “You came back,” she whispered, voice so small it broke him. Her trembling fingers touched his cheek, catching a tear as it slid down his face. “You came back right when I needed you.”

His face twisted with emotion, grief, relief, love that nearly broke him in two. “Of course I did,” he choked out. “I’ll always come back.”

Her lip quivered. “Don’t leave me again,” she pleaded. Her voice was broken, raw, but somehow softer.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against hers, as if that could fuse them together and keep the world from breaking them again.

“Never,” he whispered, voice raw and aching. “My love, never.”

Behind them, security restrained Vanto’s broken, barely-conscious body. There was shouting. Movement. But none of it touched her. None of it touched him. But none of it mattered.

She leaned into Anakin’s touch, into the only thing that felt real, like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. And maybe it was. 

“Just hold me,” she whispered. “Hold me like only our love matters in this world. Hold me like only you know how to.”

Even if the fire of his rage still clung to him like a second skin, he was hers, and she was his. He was the safest place she had known. 

He was home.

Without a word, Anakin gathered her into his arms, carefully, reverently, as if she were made of sacred things. He held her like she was the only truth he’d ever known, the only fight that ever mattered.

And in that moment, with her curled against his chest, with her tears soaking his tunic and his heartbeat steady against her ear…

The galaxy could’ve ended, and neither of them would have noticed.

[bruisedboys]

anakin is so boyfriend i’m so so glad you started writing for him!!

no but imagine clingy anakin after a particularly boring jedi council or smth like stroking ur hair, pressing kisses to ur temple, etc

this got me thinking so hard omg ….

anakin skywalker x fem!reader

anakin gets so clingy after his meetings, especially if they’re boring — he’s sitting there in the meeting bored to death, only thinking about you and how lovely you are and how much he’s going to smother you in kisses when he gets back. he doesn’t listen to a lick of what’s going on in the meeting, he might as well be dead with the way he stays completely silent the entire time, and he leaves so quickly nobody has time to hold him back afterwards…

when he finally gets home he’ll find you on the sofa reading and immediately plop his head into your lap like a dog. you put your book down with a soft giggle.

“hi, baby,” you say, sweet as sugar. anakin smothers his pleased grin in your thigh. you push your fingers into his hair without him having to ask, carding your fingers through his curls carefully.

“hi,” he says in a low murmur, eyelids half lidded, his chest on fire. he swears you’ve got magic in your hands. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you say back. he can hear your fond smile. his heart thumps hard in his chest. worse when you bring your other hand to dip underneath his collar and scratch gently at the top of his spine with your nails.

eventually (and if he doesn’t fall asleep on you), he’ll sit up and drag you into his lap, your thighs spread on either side of his. he’ll carefully stroke your hair away from your pretty face, lean fingers tucking it behind your ear and lingering at your jaw.

“was the meeting okay?” you ask, flushed and shy from his affections.

if he’s being honest, he can’t remember a single thing that was talked about in the meeting. it’s all a blur to him now.

he shrugs, “it was boring,” he admits. his thumb works a rough half circle into your cheek. “and I missed you.”

you hum. “yeah, you mentioned that already,” you say softly, an amused lilt to your tone.

anakin raises a brow at you. “are you teasing me, sweetheart?”

“no…” you say, though your smile gives you away.

anakin grins and presses his mouth to yours. you respond with so much warmth he feels it in his bones. your hand slides into his hair and he feels like he could downright devour you. he kisses you until you’re breathless and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and then some <3

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: dilf!ceo!anakin x f!reader

SMUT ❦

ANAKIN SKYWALKER didn’t even flinch when you climbed into his lap. His chair just creaked softly beneath both your weights, the city lights casting reflections across the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. His black tie was loosened around his neck, sleeves rolled up just enough to show those strong forearms you loved to cling to.

“—no, I said I want the numbers by noon, not excuses,” he said firmly, sharply, edge of his tone screaming in frustration, with his jaw tight, into his Bluetooth earpiece,

Yet, one hand had already slid up your thigh under the hem of your silky little dress like it was normal. Like you weren’t slowly sinking down onto his exposed, free cock (from your love making before), right where anyone could walk in, really.

You bit your lip, trying so hard to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. You were already so full of him, stuffed to the brim, and he hadn’t even moved yet. He turned his head just slightly, letting you press soft, open-mouthed kisses against the hinge of his jaw. The golden skin of his was warm, rough in all the right places, letting his veins poke against his throat. And he definitely smelled like expensive cologne yet with a hint of vanilla.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered into the mic, though his voice dipped just slightly—because you’d rolled your hips just so right, and your tight little cunt was already clenching around him. “Then figure it out. I’m not repeating myself.”

You whimpered ever so faintly against his throat, hands gripping his shoulders as you started to move—slow, teasing bounces that made your thighs tremble. He was so deep, so thick, so good it made your head spin.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered under his breath, free hand coming up to palm your tits through your dress. “You wanna be loud? Gonna make me hang up on this idiot?”

You shook your head quickly, lips brushing over his ear as you kissed down the side of his neck. You couldn’t help it—you were obsessed with him. His voice, his scent, his age, the way his skin tasted when you sucked a mark just under his collar.

“Just look at you,” he mumbled, clearly not caring if the guy on the line could hear the shift in his tone. “Riding me like a good girl… quiet as a mouse. Fuck, this little hole feels good.” you clenched at the praise, nails digging into his shoulder as you bounced a little faster, breathing ragged against his neck.

“That’s it,” he groaned lowly, finally muting the call for a second just to grab your face and make you look at him. “Gonna come for me, baby? Huh? Riding daddy’s cock like this? Look at that pretty face…”

You nodded desperately, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes from the pressure and the pleasure, as he thrusted up into you once—hard enough that you had to bite down on his neck to keep from crying out.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl @fredswrite

[lovethestarrs]

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER—

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

CONTAINS: nsfw content, smut, small age gap, virgin/naive/innocent reader, fem!reader, y/n used, mind reading kinda, begging dry humping, oral (fem receiving), not proofread (free to let me know about any spelling or grammar mistakes)

my first ani fic !!

ANAKIN SKYWALKER is your master… and you just had to share a room with him.

you’re awakened when you hear labored breathing next to you. panic sets in and you sit up, looking over to the bed next to you. “master?” your voice angelic as it floats across the room.

anakin looks over to you, his chest still rising and falling in fervor. “i’m sorry, padawan. you can go back to bed.” the moonlight shines upon his toned torso as he tries to shrug off your concern.

the tiredness quickly wears off and you pull the covers off of you and walk over to anakin’s bed. you sit on the edge of his bed, you can see his sweat drenched hair that stuck to his forehead. “you can talk to me, master. it’s better than keeping it in, it can make you unwell.”

“i cannot speak to you about this. i don’t want you to think bad of me. i am your superior, your master. i shouldn’t think about these things.” you were confused by his words. his face glowed red as he looked away in embarrassment. you just couldn’t shake the curiosity of it all. “i promise i wont think bad of you. please, tell me.” you leaned forward a bit, but there was still a gap between the both of you.

he sighed, “you promise?” you nod in response. he licks his lips before continuing. “i have dreams,” he hesitated before speaking up again, “and these dreams tempt me— tempt me against the jedi code.” he looked at you, your brows furrowed.

“tempt you how?” you continue to quiz. he thought you would’ve understood by now, but still you were oblivious. “romantically and sexually. both of those are against the jedi code. if i give in— it’ll affect me.” you gasp as it finally clicks.

“oh,” was all you could mutter out, your hands clutching the fabric of your nightgown as you felt a strange warmth in your stomach.

“and now you think i’m horrible.” anakin seethed. “no, master. i just— i’ve never spoken about those things.” you look away embarrassed.

you were so naive and sweet. it was intoxicating just to be by you and anakin was starting to feel those effects. the heat rising in his thighs, to his throbbing cock. anakin leaned towards you, a foot or two separating you.

“never?” his voice was a whisper but it was tainted with lust. you shake your head, “no.” he laughed lowly, his adam’s apple bobbing. “c’mere.” he gestured you to come next to him. you crawled over next to him, now closer than ever. “you wanna know what i think about? what i think about when i’m dreaming at night?” his bright eyes now seemed so dark with lust.

you nod, so badly wanting to know. “i think about you.” your eyes widen slightly, “me?” you look over his face for any signs he was lying or just joking, but nothing. you could feel he wasn’t lying. he hums, “mhm.” he pushes a strand of hair out of your face.

“i think about you. your sweet voice. your sweet face. that sweet mouth. everything about you. it’s intoxicating. so tempting.” he began to close the gap between the both of you, his hot breath against your cheek as he held your jaw between his fingers. your brain was fuzzy by how close he was.

he then closed the gap with a kiss to your lips. softly at first and then it became feverish as he pulled you in closer. you let out small whines as his tongue explored your mouth. you stomach churned with excitement from the thrill of it all. he pulls away as if he snapped out of a trance. “oh no, oh no. i’m sorry, i don’t want to scare you, or make you uncomfortable.” he was feeling the guilt creep upon him. if anyone found out his title would get taken away.

“master,” you take his hand into yours, “it’s okay. please. don’t stop.” you reassure. “y/n, this can affect you too. don’t let me damage that for you.” his gaze softened. you shake your head. “i don’t care, master. please i need you.” you started to become desperate, clenching around nothing.

anakin was a very good and powerful jedi. every movement of yours, he was painfully aware of. he gulps at the sound of your pleading voice. his hands reach to your waist, kneading the flesh. “please.” you say breathlessly. he pulls you in for another kiss, softer than before, careful.

his strong grip pulled you onto his lap, not breaking the kiss. you squirmed against him. instinctively, he gripped you tighter and groaned. “fuck, baby. yeah, keep doing that.” he sounded almost pathetic while he begged for the friction of your cunt. his hands now gripped you hips as he groaned.

you clit was all puffy from stimulation. “oh, master.” you dropped your head into his shoulder. “keep going, baby. keep rubbing against me like that.” his cock had already been painfully hard from his dream but now he thought it would genuinely explode.

“oh my stars.” he was panting and groaning and whining. a complete mess. a beautiful disaster underneath you. “i’m cumming, baby, oh my gosh.” he squeezed onto your hips so tight you were most likely to have formed bruises.

he dipped down from his high and held you in his arms for a moment. “your turn now, baby.” he lifted you off of him and laid you down next to him. you were still needy from your previous exercise.

he moved down to your thighs, kissing and sucking on them. he moved upwards to your hips and peppering his love onto you. he pulled your nightgown up over your belly and continue his kisses. he creeped back down over your clothed mound and licked a stripe over it. “so fuckin’ wet. my good girl.” he hooked his fingers onto your panties and pulled them down your legs discarding them somewhere in the room.

you were embarrassed as he was so close to your pussy and he could tell. “now don’t get all shy on me, pretty.” he smiled at you, calming you a bit to see his fresh gaze. he kissed your slick lips and those kisses turn into him devouring you. your poor sensitive cunt was being bullied by his tongue.

“ani!” you shriek when his tongue strikes your clit. he doesn’t stop, just continuing to eat you like a man starved. your hands thread through his gold locks as he shoves his tongue into you. he moans in delight has he tastes you.

his head was buried between your legs as you moan and whine, your hand going over your mouth to silence yourself. you’ll be dead if anyone caught you like this. a moaning mess with your masters head between your thighs, eating you like a animal.

“oh, master!” you whine as his tongue envelops your cunt. you could feel your lower tummy getting tight, the familiar feeling you felt when you rubbed yourself against your pillow at night, thinking about him. your couldn’t help but grind yourself against his mouth, craving him desperately.

“cum for me baby.” anakin spoke under his breath before continuing. his words melted your brain. right then and there your hips stuttered and you let out an exciting moan, bouncing off the walls and into anakins ears. he ate you through your orgasm. your thighs lightly shaking from the pleasure.

your chest heaved as you rode back onto the shore of your orgasm. you could hear your masters pants. it reminded you of how he sounded after lightsaber practice. “you’re so gorgeous when you cum.” he smiled as he rose up from between your legs. you could see the glisten of your slick on his nose and chin which caused you to blush.

when you two were face to face he places a delicate kiss to your lips, tasting yourself on him. “thank you.” you muttered out. “anytime.. anytime.” he kissed you on his neck, chuckles leaving both of your mouths.

“i think it’s time to get to bed now.” he spoke. you nodded and sat up, expecting to go back to your bed. he stops you by grabbing you. “no, no. you stay here. don’t want you falling on your way back.” he said with a dirty grin. you smiled and laid back down, your master next to you.

he took you into his arms, you on his broad chest. “i’m never going to have to dream again.” he admitted. you placed a kiss to his chest in response. you both soon drifted to sleep, tired from your ‘training’.

you were just glad that you had to share a room with your master.

[anisangeldust]

Thinking about girl!dad Anakin

“That comfy babygirl? M’kay. Your mamas gonna be back with some food soon and we’re gonna have a picnic..” he settled on a blanket behind your year and a half year old daughter as she busied herself fisting at grass chunks of the soft Naboo flower fields.

It was the late afternoon in lake country, the gentle aroma of wildflowers bursting in the wind and infiltrating the senses of your young daughter. The sun was less harsh, beating rays now only whispering over the pinky horizon. Anakin gently carded his real hand through the soft curls of your daughter’s hair while she giggled and babbled at nothing in particular.

“Babwa! Rahhh vwwa!” Anakin chuckled as her chunky arms flailed in telling - what he can only presume - was the greatest re-telling her little mind had ever cooked up. “Uh huh. And how did that make you feel?” Anakin nodded along to her nonsense. Ever since she had found the ability to produce sound, he’d been obsessed with her every noise, listening intently to words he didn’t understand, having conversations that went nowhere.

Even losing arguments he wasn’t aware he instigated.

Turning her attention away from the plush meadow, her big eyes locked on her most favorite thing in the galaxy, his durasteel hand. “Dada! Bawpa? Nana!” She squealed in delight as her fat fingers tried to take off the heavy leather glove. Above all toys you’d been prepared to get when she was born, Anakins hand was the only toy on or off the list she truly cared about. Like mother like daughter.

“Sweetheart we’ve been over this. Daddy needs this. It’s not a teether. Would you like your binki?” Anakin takes her hands off his glove and reaches for the small bag you’d packed. Before he could look away, her eyes got glossy and her lip quivered like she’d been betrayed to the worst extent. “Da.. da.?” Her tiny voice cooed.

Anakin was a soft man at heart. Your daughter (who had oh so conveniently inherited your eyes) knew how to tug at his soul better than anyone, and she knew it too. He was weak for her teary wants. “Okay sweetpea. How about my glove? No hand but glove?” He offers while unclasping the buttons, and immediately the tears vanish “Dadaa!”

“She plays you like a fiddle and you fall for it every time.” You giggle as you come up to your husband and daughter with all the proper picnic accoutrements.

Anakin beams as you approach, no longer paying attention to how your daughter is, in fact, gnawing on his cybernetic finger. “What can I say? She’s my favorite little lady in the universe. You both are..” he mumbles as he leans in for a kiss.

[padmespetal]

kiss me — anakin skywalker

synopsis: Behind closed doors, love defies duty—soft whispers, stolen touches, and a longing the galaxy can never know.

word count: 962

warnings: none <3

note: just a cute small piece I wrote hope you enjoy 🤍

“Senator.”

Anakin’s voice was soft but laced with mischief, his presence a warm, forbidden secret in the dimly lit sanctuary of your quarters.

You barely had time to process the moment before the door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you away from the world outside—the Senate halls buzzing with political tension, the looming obligations that pulled you apart more often than they brought you together.

“Anakin, you shouldn’t be here,” you scolded in a whisper, hands pressing lightly against his chest as if to push him away, though you both knew you wouldn’t. It was impossible.

He only smiled, that boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know,” he admitted, utterly unrepentant. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

His words curled around your heart, warm and intoxicating. You wanted to be angry—truly, you did—but how could you when he was standing there, looking at you as though you were the entire galaxy wrapped in silk and moonlight?

“Our visit to Alderaan was postponed, so the Council gave us the afternoon off.” He explained it so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to slip away from duty just to see you. “So, I decided to come see you.”

His voice dropped to something softer, something intimate, as he took a careful step forward. It was always like this—stolen time, fleeting moments, a love that existed in the spaces where duty dared not tread.

Your heart ached with longing, a feeling that had settled deep in your bones after too many days apart, too many nights spent pretending not to search for his face in a crowded Senate hall.

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but the way you leaned into his touch betrayed you. His hands found your face, fingertips ghosting over your skin with all the tenderness in the universe.

“Oh, Ani,” you whispered, voice trembling with the weight of unspoken emotions.

His breath was warm against your lips, his forehead resting against yours as if he needed to feel you close just to remind himself this was real.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, desperate to hold onto something solid as the room around you blurred into insignificance. The galaxy could crumble and burn, and it wouldn’t matter—not here, not now, not with him.

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed, and you knew—without a doubt, without hesitation—that every word he spoke was the truest thing in the world.

“Kiss me.”

The words left you in a whisper, almost a plea, as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. You saw it—the shift in his expression, the darkening of his pupils, the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly as his restraint wavered. His thumb traced the shape of your lips, slow and deliberate, sending shivers down your spine.

“Please,” you added, breathless.

That was all it took. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you forward as his lips crashed into yours. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you had been missing, everything you had been forced to suppress in the name of duty.

Love, longing, desperation—they poured into the way his lips moved against yours, how his hands traced the curves of your waist as if committing you to memory.

Anakin pulled you closer, as close as humanly possible, as if he could mold you into him, as if proximity alone could fuse your souls together.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, mirroring his own, and when the need for air became unbearable, you broke apart just enough to breathe.

But Anakin wasn’t finished. He pressed soft, fleeting kisses along your cheek, down to your jaw, along the column of your throat. Each one sent a spark of warmth through your veins, and you giggled, the sound light and breathless.

“Anakin, stop,” you teased, though you made no real effort to move away.

He grinned against your skin, his lips lingering just below your ear. “You torture me by denying me,” he murmured, his voice laced with faux dramatics, though the truth of it burned beneath his words.

You were about to respond—something playful, something light—but a sudden knock at the door shattered the moment into pieces.

“Senator Y/L/N, your presence will soon be needed,” a voice called from the other side.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Anakin’s shoulders tensed, the playful spark in his eyes dimming as reality reared its ugly head.

You let out a quiet sigh, smoothing down the wrinkles in your robes as you prepared to face the world beyond this room.

“I’m sorry, Ani…” you whispered, reaching for his hand. Your fingers laced together effortlessly, grounding you, anchoring you.

“It’s not your fault,” he reassured you, but his voice was quieter now, touched with something somber.

You squeezed his hand one last time before pulling away. “I’ll see you tonight?”

His nod was small, but the longing in his gaze spoke volumes. “Tonight.”

You took a deep breath and stepped toward the door, but just as your fingers grazed the handle, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“I love you.”

You froze, the three words sinking deep into your heart, filling the spaces left hollow by distance and duty. Slowly, you turned back, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, time stilled.

A smile—soft, genuine, filled with every unspoken promise—curved your lips. “I love you too,” you whispered, voice steady, unwavering. “Always.”

And with that, you stepped beyond the door, back into the world that would never truly understand what existed behind it. But as long as Anakin was waiting for you on the other side, none of it mattered.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : angst (a lot), light fighting, slapping, mentions of pregnancy, weapons.

A/N : tbh filler chapter bcs I’m struggling to write guys 😭 I had a blank plot and I’m not really satisfied with this chapter. But I figured out a plot for the next chapter so it should be easier to write. Enjoy 🫶🏻

• | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪ: ʀᴏᴍᴇ’ꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ |•

Anakin is falling.

The darkness wraps around him like the arms of the underworld, weightless and infinite. He cannot feel his body, cannot tell if he still has one. He does not know if he is breathing.

All he knows is the falling.

The air is thick with whispers. They slip through the void like snakes, curling around him, voices both familiar and foreign. They speak in tongues he does not recognize, in languages that have been buried beneath the dust of centuries. Some are cries, others are murmurs. Some speak his name.

But what is his name?

"Anakin."

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Anakin, wake up."

Yours.

It is faint—just a thread of sound in the vast blackness—but it is real. He reaches for it, desperate, straining, trying to hold on. But his fingers grasp at nothing. You are slipping away.

And then—

The world shifts.

The darkness shatters like glass, and suddenly, he is not falling. He is standing.

No—he is someone else.

Not Anakin. Remus.

The sun is bright, the air thick with the scent of earth and stone. His hands are calloused, dirt under his fingernails, sweat dripping down his back. He turns his head, and beside him stands his brother.

Romulus. Obi-Wan.

They are not wearing armor, nor are they warriors yet. They are young men with fire in their veins, standing before the land they have claimed. Before them, Rome is nothing but an idea—a dream made of stone and sweat and blood.

He knows this. He remembers it.

"We will build something eternal."

Romulus speaks with certainty, eyes alight with purpose.

Remus—Anakin—does not answer. His gaze drifts, searching, drawn toward something else.

Drawn toward you.

You are there, standing among the workers, the sun catching in your hair. His brother’s betrothed. You wear the marks of nobility, of the divine, and yet—you look at him as if he is the one who commands your heart.

The air is heavy between you. He does not know what he feels, not yet. But he knows he is drawn to you, and that it is dangerous.

The memory fractures. Time bends.

The scenes flash too fast—like a storm of moments he cannot control.

He sees you at night, in the gardens, when the moon is the only witness to your crime. Your hands touch his face, his chest, tracing him like he is something holy. He grips your wrists, voice low with warning. "You cannot keep coming to me."

"Then tell me to leave."

He does not.

He never does.

Your lips find his, and the world ceases to exist.

Another flash.

An argument.

"I am tired of hiding!" His voice is raw with frustration. "Why must I be your secret? Do you love him?"

"Do not ask me that."

"Why? Because you are afraid of the answer?"

"Because if I say it out loud, the gods will hear me."

“I don’t care !”

“Don’t tell me to say it out loud when every pulse of my heart scream it to the world, every pumps, every breaths in body screams that I belong to you and only you.”

He remembers the way you touched his face then, as if memorizing it—as if you knew you would not be able to touch it for much longer.

And then—

Romulus.

Watching.

He knew.

The memories slow, sharpen, become something unbearable.

Rome stands, its foundations laid, its people celebrating.

Remus stands before his brother, sword in hand. His heart is pounding, but he does not know if it is from anger or heartbreak.

"Why?" his voice is hoarse, pleading like a little boy. "Why do you seek to cast me aside?"

Romulus is calm. Too calm.

"Only one of us can rule."

"We built this together." He looked at his brother hurt, betrayal seeping through his veins like a venomous snake’s bite. His eyes widens and his heart breaks for his other half, for he has been poisoned at the root of their bond. The strand linking him to his brother breaks. 

"No. You built it on weakness. On your love for an impure."

The air turns cold. Remus grips his sword tighter. He should have seen this coming.

"She is not impure."

"She is not meant for mortals. And neither are you."

He sees it then, in his brother’s eyes—the decision has already been made.

The sword slashes through him.

The pain is instant, a fire in his chest. He gasps, staggers, the ground rushing up to meet him.

He falls into the mud, like a pig, his blood seeping into the soil that will become Rome.

He reaches out.

You are screaming.

He tries to hold on. Tries to touch you one last time.

But it is too late.

The world is gone.

There is only darkness again.

But this time, he does not fall.

He floats—somewhere beyond life, beyond death. He is Remus. He is Anakin. He is both and neither.

And then—

A voice.

Deep. Cold. Ancient.

"You have always been Remus."

The words coil around him, suffocating.

"You have always died, only to rise again."

The voice is not kind. It is not forgiving. It is a sentence, a curse.

"This is your destiny."

"No." He fights—he does not want this, he does not want to be a ghost of the past.

"You cannot escape what you are."

Blood. Betrayal. Death.

“The creator”

His skull split.

"You are Rome’s first king."

"And its first sacrifice."

The darkness pulls him under again.

He drowns.

And then—

Nothing.

The first thing Anakin feels is pain.

It is deep, aching, lodged in his very bones. His body is heavy, sluggish, as though he has been dragging it through centuries of time. His head throbs. His chest feels hollow, emptied of something vital.

And yet, he is awake.

His eyes blink open. The world is dim, flickering with candlelight. The scent of herbs lingers in the air, mixed with the faint trace of something familiar—you.

You are there, sitting beside him, carefully unwrapping the bloodied bandages from his wounds. Your fingers are gentle, precise, but there is something hesitant in your movements. As though you fear waking him.

Too late.

He exhales sharply. The sound makes you freeze.

Slowly, your eyes lift to his.

For a long moment, there is silence.

Then—

"How long ?" His voice is raw, deeper than before, filled with something old.

You blink. "You’ve been unconscious for six days."

"That’s not what I meant."

You look away. He watches your throat bob as you swallow, your fingers tightening around the bandages. You know exactly what he means.

"How long have you known?"

Silence again.

Anakin’s jaw clenches. The memories are there, burning behind his eyes like an open wound. The past. The truth. The betrayal.

"You should not be alive." His voice is low, edged with something dangerous. "I remember everything now."

His past life. His death. You.

You shift uncomfortably, resuming your work, carefully pressing fresh cloth against his wound. "I thought you might."

"You thought?" He laughs, but there is no humor in it. It is hollow. Bitter. "So it was only a matter of time before the great Remus remembered how his brother murdered him?"

Your hands still.

He watches you, gaze sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He sees you. Not just as the woman before him, but as something more. As something ancient.

"What are you?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "You bled ichor. You are not mortal. Were you ever?"

You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you do not look away.

"Yes."

His stomach turns. He should have known. He should have realized it long ago. The way you moved, the way your presence wrapped around him like a force beyond human comprehension. He loved you before he even knew your name.

Just like before.

Just like always.

"So it was all a lie."

"No." Your voice sharpens, firm, but there is something fragile beneath it. "Nothing was a lie, Anakin."

He scoffs. "You let me fall for you. Again."

You flinch. Because it’s true.

His hands curl into fists. "Tell me, did you know from the beginning?"

"Yes."

He exhales sharply, chest rising and falling with the force of it. Anger coils in his veins, but beneath it—something else.

"And you said nothing?"

"Would you have believed me?"

He wants to say yes. But he cannot. Because he knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have.

Because the truth is too cruel.

Because he was never meant to live.

"This is my curse," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "To die and rise again. To be nothing but a shadow of what should have been."

"No." Your hand is on his now, gripping his fingers tightly. "You are more than that."

He stares at your hands, at the way his calloused fingers fit between yours. His breathing is heavy, uneven. His heart pounds—too fast, too alive.

"Then tell me what I am."

The silence stretches between you like an open wound.

Anakin waits, his blue eyes sharp, unrelenting. His breath is uneven, chest rising and falling beneath your touch. He wants an answer—demands one.

You exhale softly, your fingers still gripping his. And then, finally, you tell him the truth.

"You are my love."

His expression shifts—something flickers in his eyes, something raw, something that nearly undoes him. But he does not recoil. He does not scoff, nor sneer, nor push you away.

Instead, he only stares.

"That’s what I am?" he murmurs, voice hoarse.

"Yes."

A shaky breath escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if the weight of your words is something he cannot yet bear.

When he looks at you again, his hands tighten around yours.

"Then tell me how to end it."

You frown. "End what?"

"This." His voice hardens. "This curse. This fate. How do I break free from it?"

You hesitate.

His fingers twitch—he notices your pause, your silence, the way your throat bobs as you struggle for words. He knows. He already knows.

"The only way out," you whisper, "is through the gods themselves."

His grip tightens.

"You’re saying I must confront them."

"Yes."

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "And if I don’t?"

"Then you will die again, and again, and again." Your voice does not waver. "They will never let you rest, Anakin."

His jaw clenches. Anger flashes behind his eyes—not just at the gods, not just at you, but at the entire order of the world. At Rome, at fate, at history itself.

"So that’s it." His voice is low, edged with something dark. "The gods will never let me go unless I take the fight to them."

You nod.

Anakin exhales slowly. When he speaks again, his voice is steel.

"Then let them try to stop me."

Anakin’s breath is shallow, his body still weak, but his mind—his mind burns.

The truth unfurls inside him like a sword being unsheathed, like an altar stained with the blood of a slaughtered lamb. Except he was never the lamb. He was the sacrifice.

He grips the sheets beneath him, fingers curling into the fabric as the revelation strikes him—hard, merciless.

"I’m Rome’s first king," he whispers, half to himself, half to you. His voice is distant, as if speaking it aloud makes it real.

But then his expression darkens, his eyes shadowed by something deeper, something furious.

"But I am also her first offering."

He sees it now. How his blood was the foundation upon which Rome was built. How his name was torn from the mouths of men, how his brother stood over his broken body, sword dripping with the life they once shared.

"Rome was never his." His voice is hoarse, laced with something almost unbearable. "It was mine. It was always mine."

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face, pressing his palm into his temple as if trying to silence the echoes of his past.

"And now I walk her streets like a ghost, wearing another man’s name."

His gaze finds yours. A terrible understanding settles between you.

You reach for him, your fingers gentle as they trace over his arm, over the bandages wrapped around his wounds. "You were never just a man, Anakin. You were a myth before you were even born."

He swallows, his throat working around the weight of his thoughts.

"I don’t want to be a myth," he mutters, voice low, almost resentful. "I just wanted—"

He stops himself.

You wait. But he does not finish.

Because he knows the truth: it does not matter what he wanted. It never did. The gods shaped his path long before he had the chance to carve his own.

But maybe—just maybe—he can carve it now.

The months pass in a blur of steel and whispers, of restless nights and long days spent preparing for a war no mortal army has ever waged.

Anakin trains relentlessly, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. He sharpens his blade, over and over, as if he could carve his own fate into the steel. He learns everything he can—of the old gods, of their weaknesses, of the wars they have waged before. He gathers men, allies, those who have suffered under divine cruelty and wish to see the old order crumble.

And you—

You carry a secret heavier than any sword.

It was the Fates who told you. Three months ago, in the quiet of the night, when the world was caught between dusk and dawn. You had gone to them, seeking guidance, demanding to know if there was another way. A way to break Anakin free from his fate without waging war on the heavens.

They had given you no comfort.

"The threads are woven, child. But another now weaves beside them."

You had not understood—until they had placed a hand over your stomach, their touch like ice, like eternity itself.

"You carry the son of Remus."

The words had struck like lightning, burning through you with the weight of what they meant.

"His destiny is not yet fulfilled. But the one you bear—"

Their pale, lifeless eyes had stared into yours, unblinking.

"He is destined for great things. He will rise where others have fallen. He will reshape the world in ways even the gods cannot predict."

Your hands had trembled over your abdomen. You had not known—not yet. But now you did, and there was no undoing that knowledge.

The Fates had disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone with the truth.

You had told no one. Not yet.

Not even Anakin.

Because how could you? How could you look into his eyes, knowing that he had already been condemned by prophecy, and tell him that another fate had already been written in the blood of his unborn child?

So you said nothing.

Instead, you fought. You planned. You prepared. You stood at Anakin’s side as he gathered his strength, as he gathered his army. You watched him transform into something more than a man, into something both mortal and divine, a warrior who carried the weight of history on his back.

And all the while, life grew inside you. Silent. Waiting.

Anakin watches you more closely than ever.

At first, he doesn’t know what it is. There’s something in the way you move—your steps a little slower, your hand lingering over your stomach when you think no one is looking. He catches the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way you sometimes stare at him as if you want to say something, but never do.

He’s always been good at reading you. Too good.

And now, as the war drums beat in the distance, as the weight of destiny presses down on both of you, he finally speaks.

It happens in the dead of night, in the quiet of his chambers. He stands by the window, sharpening his gladius with slow, methodical strokes, but his gaze keeps flickering to you. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped together, shoulders tense.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

His voice is low, measured. But there is something beneath it—something sharp.

You stiffen but don’t look at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the blade down, turning fully to face you. “You think I haven’t noticed? You’re different. You’re holding something back.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, Anakin. You’re imagining things.”

He scoffs, unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me.”

His words slice through the air, cutting too close. You try to stand, to move away, but he catches your wrist before you can. His grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm—demanding.

“Tell me.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you see it—the storm in his eyes, the desperation hidden beneath the anger. He doesn’t just want to know. He needs to.

You swallow hard.

“It’s not important right now,” you whisper.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching. “Not important? We are preparing for war against the gods, and you’re keeping secrets from me?” He shakes his head. “No. I won’t allow it. I won’t let you carry something alone when it’s our battle to fight.”

Your chest tightens.

This is Anakin—stubborn, relentless, yours. And he will not let this go.

So you take a breath.

And you tell him.

Anakin stares at you, unblinking.

For a moment, the words don’t sink in. They hang in the air between you, heavy, unspoken truths finally given shape.

His son.

His hands tremble. His breath falters. He almost doesn’t dare to believe it.

And then—

“What did you just say?”

His voice is quiet, but it carries a terrible weight.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening in your lap. “I saw the Fates,” you whisper. “They told me—I’m pregnant. With your child.”

Silence.

A moment stretched so thin it feels like it might snap.

But then his expression shifts. His brows furrow, his eyes darkening—not with shock, not with joy, but with rage.

“And his fate?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge creeping into it. “What did they say about his fate?”

Your hands shake. “They said he was destined for something great.”

His laugh is sharp, bitter. “Destined?” He paces away from you, hands in his hair. “Just like I was? Just like you were?” He turns on you, fury radiating from every inch of him. “You mean to tell me that the gods have already claimed him? That before he’s even taken his first breath, they’ve woven chains around his future?”

His fury is wildfire—hot, all-consuming.

“They have no right,” he growls, his fists clenched. “No right to condemn him the way they condemned me.”

You flinch at the storm in his voice, at the way his body trembles with barely restrained wrath.

“Anakin—”

“No.” He cuts you off, his chest heaving. His blue eyes burn with something primal, something feral. “I won’t let them do this. I won’t let them take my son the way they took me.”

You watch him, your own heart pounding.

You understand his fury. Because it is yours, too.

But fate is not so easily broken.

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. "You can’t defeat the gods, Anakin."

His head snaps toward you, eyes blazing, jaw tightening. The room feels too small, the air charged with something volatile.

His voice is sharp as a blade. "I can’t?"

You swallow, standing your ground. "No one can."

His expression twists into something dark, something wounded. "Is that what you think?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "That I’ll fail? That I’ll kneel like every mortal before me and accept the chains they’ve forged?"

"Anakin—"

"No." His voice cracks like thunder, his anger unfurling like a storm. "You don’t believe in me. You never did."

"That’s not—"

"Then say it." He takes a step closer, his fury searing. "Say you believe I can end this. Say you believe I can kill the gods."

You can’t.

Because you know the truth. The gods are not men. They are not beasts of flesh and bone, bound by the same rules. They are eternal. Unyielding.

And yet—so are you.

He sees it in your silence. The flicker of doubt in your eyes. And then—

He laughs. A bitter, humorless thing. "You think I can’t win because you are one of them."

"Anakin—"

"You are a goddess." His voice is hoarse, seething. "And if I can beat you, then I can destroy all of them."

You barely see it coming. The moment his words strike, something inside you snaps.

Your hand flies before you can stop it—

A sharp crack echoes through the chamber as your palm connects with his cheek.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Just stands there, breathing hard, his head slightly turned from the force of the blow.

You stare at him, your own hand trembling.

And then you run.

You don’t wait for him to call you back. You don’t look back. You just run, the lump in your throat unbearable, the world spinning around you.

Because you knew this day would come. The moment he realized plainly what you were.

You just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

Your feet pound against the earth, breath ragged as you push yourself forward. The wind whips through your hair, but you don’t feel it—you feel nothing but the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest. You just run.

You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. You just need to be away. Away from the fury in his voice, the betrayal in his eyes, the terrible, undeniable truth that he will never stop fighting—not even for you.

But you hear him behind you.

"Wait!" Anakin’s voice is raw, desperate. "Damn it, stop!"

You don’t.

You don’t want to hear the remorse in his voice, don’t want to turn around and see him reaching for you like he always does—because you’ll let him. You always let him. And if you let him, you’ll forgive him. You’ll let yourself believe that this love is enough to stop the war that’s coming.

But it isn’t.

"I didn’t mean it!" he shouts, his voice breaking. "Please, just—just stop running!"

He’s gaining on you. Even weak from his wounds, even after all these months of healing, he is still Anakin. A warrior. A force of nature.

You push yourself harder, faster—your heartbeat a drum in your ears.

And then—

A hand grabs your wrist.

He yanks you back, and you collide into him with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

You struggle, twisting in his grip, but he won’t let go. His arms come around you, holding you close, holding you too tightly—like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

"Let me go!" you cry, voice hoarse, but his fingers only dig deeper into you.

"No!" he snaps, voice trembling. "No—I won’t. Not again."

You shove at him, but he won’t move. "Damn you, Anakin—"

"I know." His forehead drops against yours, breath ragged, uneven. "I know, I know, I know. Just—just stop running from me."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "You don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand." His voice is desperate, his hands trembling where they clutch you. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to fight them without losing you in the process."

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing into you.

There is no answer.

And the worst part is—you think he knows that, too.

Anakin’s hands clench into fists at his sides. "You’re younger than me," he says, his voice rough, barely contained. "You don’t understand what you’re up against."

You glare at him, fury boiling under your skin. "Don’t patronize me, Anakin."

"It’s not patronizing—"

"Yes, it is!" You take a step closer, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. "I may look young, but I have lived for decades, for centuries! Do you think I don’t know war? That I don’t know suffering?"

His nostrils flare, his jaw tight as he stares you down. "You’re carrying our child," he grits out. "This fight is no longer just about us."

"And you think that makes me weak?" you snap. "That I should just sit back and watch you throw yourself at the gods alone?"

Anakin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It’s not about weakness. It’s about—"

"You think I can’t fight?" You step forward, shoving against his chest. "That I won’t fight?"

His breath is ragged, his shoulders heaving as he looks at you. "I think you shouldn’t have to."

That stop you.

Anakin grips your shoulders, his eyes wide with desperation. "You can’t fight," he pleads. "Not now. Not like this."

You shake your head, chest heaving, but he tightens his hold, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I won’t risk you. I won’t risk our child."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your child. His child. A life caught between fate and war, a soul not yet born but already marked by the gods.

"Anakin—"

"They’ll come for you," he cuts in, voice thick with fear. "You know they will. If you fight them, they won’t just punish me—they’ll punish both of you. I won’t let that happen."

His hands lower, one sliding to press gently against your stomach. A protective touch, a silent promise. "If I fight, I fight alone."

A chill skates down your spine. "You can’t."

"I have to." His jaw tightens. "I’d burn the whole world down before I let them take you from me."

"And what about you?" Your voice cracks. "You think I can just stand back and watch them destroy you?"

His lips part, but before he can answer—

The world shifts.

A sudden sharpness in the air, as if the sky itself is gasping. The wind dies. The ground beneath you turns wrong, like something hollow and ancient is stirring beneath your feet.

Then—

Blackness.

It erupts around you, thick and endless. Not just darkness—something alive, something hungry. It curls around your legs, your arms, slithering up your body like living shadow.

"No—!" Anakin lunges for you, but the darkness surges between you like a tidal wave, throwing him back.

"Anakin!" You reach for him, but the shadows coil tighter, devouring you, dragging you into the abyss.

His scream is the last thing you hear before everything disappears.

Consciousness returns like a tide, slow and inexorable.

Your body is light, weightless, as if it does not belong to you. The air around you hums, thick with something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension. The scent of aged parchment and burning incense fills your lungs as you slowly open your eyes.

You are no longer in the temple.

Before you, seated at a loom that stretches beyond sight, are the Moirae. The three sisters of fate, weavers of destiny, the arbiters of life and death.

Clotho, the Spinner, her delicate fingers guiding the spindle as she spins the raw essence of existence into form. Lachesis, the Measurer, gliding her hands over golden threads, feeling their weight, calculating their course. And Atropos, the Unavoidable, her shears gleaming in the dim light, poised over the fabric of eternity.

They are waiting for you to speak.

"Where am I?" Your voice is hoarse, as though you have not used it in years.

"Beyond the reach of men," Clotho answers without looking up, her hands never ceasing their delicate work.

"Beyond the reach of gods," Lachesis murmurs, running a finger along a silken thread.

"For now," Atropos finishes, lifting her gaze to meet yours.

You push yourself up, your limbs unsteady. "Why am I here?"

"Because you were dying," Clotho says simply. "And your child cannot be allowed to die with you."

Your breath catches. Instinctively, your hands fly to your stomach. "The child…"

"Lives," Lachesis confirms, her expression unreadable. "For now."

You swallow, trying to steady your pulse. "What happened?"

"The Cult of Romulus," Atropos states, as if the name itself is a blade. "They came for you. For him."

Memories slam into you like a tidal wave—the argument, Anakin’s voice raised in frustration, the blackness that swallowed you whole. But before that…

"Anakin—" You push to your feet, panic rising. "Where is he?"

Clotho’s gaze remains on her spinning. "Still fighting."

Lachesis watches you carefully. "Still breathing."

Atropos tilts her head. "For now."

Your heart pounds. "You saved me but left him there?"

"We did not save you," Clotho corrects. "We saved what grows within you."

Lachesis gestures to the loom, where a new thread glows faintly amidst the others. "A fate has been woven that must not be unraveled."

"Your child is more than a son," Atropos says, eyes gleaming. "He is an axis upon which the future turns."

A chill runs down your spine. "What does that mean?"

Lachesis leans forward. "It means we did not pull you from death out of kindness."

"We did it because your son must live," Atropos finishes. "No matter the cost."

The weight of their words settles on you like iron shackles. The fate of your unborn child is already written in their tapestry, and the gods themselves have taken notice.

But what of Anakin? What of the war that now rages in your absence?

You clench your fists. "Send me back."

The Moirae exchange glances.

Clotho sighs, as if already knowing the outcome.

"So eager to return to ruin," Lachesis muses.

"So desperate to fight what has already been decided," Atropos says.

But you do not care.

Anakin is still fighting. You will not leave him behind.

Whatever the Moirae’s plans are, whatever destiny they have carved into stone, you will not let them dictate your future.

Your child’s future.

"Send me back," you repeat, voice steady. "Now."

Clotho does not stop spinning. Lachesis does not stop measuring. Atropos does not lift her shears.

They do not budge.

"Send me back," you demand again, louder this time, stepping closer to them. "Now."

But the Moirae are as immovable as the fates they weave.

"You ask for what cannot be given," Clotho murmurs, her fingers never faltering as she spins another strand of silk into existence.

"What cannot be changed," Lachesis adds.

"What has already been decided," Atropos finishes.

Frustration claws at your throat. "I do not care what has been decided." You shake your head. "I will not let them take everything from me."

"They have already taken everything from you," Atropos says simply. "And still, you have not learned."

The words are a curse, a prophecy, a cruel truth.

But before you can argue, the loom shifts, the threads part, and suddenly—

You see him.

Anakin.

He stands at the heart of the battle, a storm of steel and fire, cutting through men like a force of nature. Blood splatters across his skin, his golden hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving.

He is wounded, but he does not stop.

You built this together—these three months of secrecy, of careful planning, of whispered oaths in the dark. And now it is all burning before your eyes.

The Cult of Romulus is relentless. They come in waves, clad in crimson and gold, their banners snapping in the wind. They are fighting for a god that was never theirs, for a history built on a lie.

And Anakin is alone against them.

Your hands shake as you reach toward the image, as if you could tear through the veil, as if you could touch him, help him.

But there is nothing.

You are stranded here, in the timeless void of the Moirae’s domain, forced to watch.

"Let me go," you whisper, voice breaking. "Please."

Lachesis watches you with something almost like pity. "You do not understand yet, do you?"

"What am I supposed to understand?" you snap, eyes still locked on the battle, on Anakin as he swings his blade in a deadly arc, his enemies falling at his feet. "That you have already decided how this ends?"

"That there is no victory in war," Clotho murmurs. "Only survival."

"And survival is never without a cost," Atropos finishes, her shears glinting.

You shake your head violently. "No."

Anakin stumbles. His left knee buckles, just for a second. The opening is small—but enough.

A spear is thrust forward.

"No!"

Your scream echoes in the endless chamber.

But the Moirae do not react.

They do not save him.

And neither can you.

For the first time in your long existence, something inside you shatters.

Power surges through your veins, raw and untamed, a force beyond your understanding. The Moirae’s loom trembles, the threads quivering as if they sense the shift in fate. The three sisters look up in unison, their expressions unreadable, but you do not stop to decipher their meaning.

Time slows. No—time stops.

The battlefield freezes before your eyes. Anakin is caught mid-motion, his muscles taut, the spear mere inches from his side. The Cult of Romulus is suspended like statues, their mouths open in silent war cries, blood droplets hanging in the air like shattered rubies. The wind itself has halted, the smoke of burning banners curling in unnatural stillness.

You do not hesitate.

The void collapses around you, and in the next breath, you are there.

The scent of iron and death fills your lungs. The air is thick with the remnants of war, and though the world remains frozen, you can still feel the heat of battle radiating from Anakin’s skin. He is alive—but only because you have bent the rules of existence to make it so.

Your hand clasps his wrist, fingers digging into his pulse point, anchoring him to you.

And then—

Time crashes back into motion.

The spear drives forward, but it finds only empty air. Anakin is no longer there. Neither are you.

In a blink, you are far from the battlefield, the two of you collapsing onto the cold marble of an abandoned temple. Your breath is ragged, your body trembling from the force of what you have done.

Anakin gasps, gripping his chest, his wide eyes darting around in confusion before locking onto you. His gaze is wild, furious, disoriented.

“What—” His voice is hoarse. “What just happened?”

You swallow, still struggling to catch your breath. “I saved you.”

His hands find your shoulders, shaking you, demanding answers. “How?” His eyes search yours, his fury barely contained. “What happened ?”

The power is still humming beneath your skin, a new force you do not fully understand.

But one thing is clear.

The Moirae were wrong. Fate can be changed.

The realization settles over you like a tidal wave, crashing into the very foundation of your existence.

You have always been powerful. You were born of myth, shaped by destiny itself. You are the goddess of legends—your words have breathed life into heroes, your whispers have shaped empires. But for centuries, your power has been shackled, caged by the will of the gods who feared what you could become.

Until now.

Your hands tremble as you press them against your stomach. The power that surged through you, that allowed you to stop time, to tear yourself from the Moirae’s grasp—it is not foreign. It is yours. But for the first time in your long, endless existence, it is unleashed. And it is because of him.

Anakin is watching you, his breathing still uneven from battle. “What is it?” His voice is gruff, but beneath it, there is something softer. Concern.

You look up at him, your lips parting, but the words take a moment to come. “My power,” you murmur. “It’s been locked away for so long. The gods—they sealed it.” You exhale shakily. “But now… I can feel it. Flowing through me. Through him.”

Anakin’s gaze flickers downward, toward your stomach. A shadow passes over his face. “You’re saying—”

“He’s letting me channel it,” you whisper. “I am powerful, but he makes me whole.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with meaning.

Anakin takes a step closer, his eyes dark and stormy. “So this is their plan.” His jaw tightens. “They didn’t just curse me with this fate. They bound you. And now they’re trying to use our son as a vessel for something greater than us both.”

You shake your head. “No, Anakin. This is our power. Not theirs.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, as if restraining himself. “Then why does it feel like a trap?” His voice is low, dangerous. “They let you have your power back, but only because of him. Because they need him.” He swallows hard. “They want our son for something, don’t they?”

You hesitate.

And that hesitation is enough.

Anakin’s face twists in fury, in heartbreak. “They want to make him another sacrifice,” he growls. “Just like me.”

The words cut deep.

Because you know he is right.

The sobs wrack through you violently, your body trembling under the weight of your grief. It spills out in broken, rambling whispers—words of failure, of weakness, of the unbearable truth that no matter how powerful you are, you cannot even protect your own child.

"I'm a useless goddess," you choke out, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "I—I was meant to shape legends, to guide heroes, but I can't even keep my own child safe. What kind of mother am I? What kind of god am I?"

Anakin doesn't say anything at first.

But then, strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground, cradling you as if you weigh nothing at all. His warmth is overwhelming, his hold steady and unyielding. You bury your face against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his tunic, gripping onto him like he is the only thing anchoring you to this world.

"Stop," he murmurs, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Don't say that."

His hands—those hands, rough and scarred from war, yet so heartbreakingly gentle with you—stroke the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising care. He holds you tighter, as if trying to press his strength into you, as if willing his own resolve into your trembling body.

"You’re not useless," he says. His voice is firm, almost stubborn. "You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’ve spent centuries defying the gods. You’ve built something real, something worth fighting for." He pulls back just enough to tip your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And you sure as hell aren’t weak because you’re scared for our son. That makes you his mother."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"I know I’m not good at—at this," he mutters, glancing away as if embarrassed. "Comforting people. Saying the right things. But I know one thing." His fingers tighten on your waist. "I won’t let them take him from us. I won’t let them take you from me."

His words settle deep in your chest, pushing back the crushing weight of helplessness. You sniffle, gripping his tunic tighter, pressing yourself against him.

"You promise?" you whisper, your voice small.

Anakin exhales, pressing his forehead against yours. "I swear it," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

And for the first time since you learned the truth, you believe him.

Vesta appears before you, her presence like the steady warmth of a hearth in the dead of winter. She does not arrive with thunder or blinding light—there is no grand display of power, only the quiet radiance of something eternal, something that has never once flickered out.

You step back instinctively, still raw from your breakdown, from Anakin’s fierce promises and the lingering tremble in your hands. But Vesta merely watches you with knowing eyes, the firelight in them dancing like the embers of an ancient flame.

“I have something for you,” she says, and when she raises her hand, a gladius materializes in her grasp.

It is unlike any weapon you have ever seen. The blade is dark, forged from something older than Olympus itself, the hilt bound in leather that looks worn with age. It hums in her hands, as if alive, as if it recognizes you. As if it wants to be wielded by you.

You stare at it, then at her, suspicion creeping into your voice. “This can wound a god, can’t it?”

Vesta inclines her head. “It can do more than that.”

Your fingers twitch. You want to take it. You need to take it. But something holds you back—logic, or perhaps distrust. She is a goddess. She is one of them.

Your jaw tightens. “Why are you helping me?”

Vesta’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her gaze. “Because I have no place in war,” she says, voice soft but steady. “I am the flame that warms, not the one that destroys. But my siblings—they are cruel, and they will not stop. They do not tolerate defiance.”

Her eyes land on your stomach, where life stirs within you, fate woven into the very fabric of your unborn child’s existence.

“I have seen what is to come,” she continues. “The gods will not allow this child to live. They will see it as a threat. You must be ready.” She extends the gladius toward you. “And you must be willing to strike first.”

You hesitate. “You would betray them?”

“I would see the world change,” Vesta says simply. “I have watched mankind build and burn, rise and fall. I have kept my fires lit through it all. But you—he—” her gaze shifts briefly to Anakin, resting just beyond the threshold, unaware of the conversation unfolding “—are different. He was always meant to shape the world, but the gods never expected you to fight alongside him.”

She steps forward, pressing the gladius into your hands. “So fight.”

The weapon is cold, impossibly so, but as your fingers curl around the hilt, heat surges through your veins. The gladius hums again, this time in recognition, in acceptance. It is yours now.

Vesta watches you carefully. “The gods will not be merciful,” she warns. “Not even to one of their own.”

You lift the blade, feeling its weight, feeling the shift of destiny in your grip.

“Neither will I.”

Vesta watches as you test the weight of the gladius in your hand, but she does not look reassured. If anything, there is something grave in her expression, something unfinished.

"You will need more than a blade," she says at last.

You frown. "What do you mean?"

Her gaze drifts past you, toward where Anakin stands outside, arms crossed, his face hardened by war, by fate. By the inevitable battle that will come.

"He is mortal," Vesta murmurs. "And mortals break."

Your grip tightens around the hilt of the gladius. "I won’t let him die."

"Not by will alone," she counters. "The gods will strike at him first. He is their greatest threat. You may have the blade that can wound them, but he needs something that can withstand them."

She raises her hands, and suddenly the air crackles with something ancient, something powerful. The flames around her shift, dancing wildly, and in the flickering light, a vision forms—a shield, battered but unyielding, its surface marked with symbols older than Rome itself.

Your breath catches. "Where is it?"

Vesta’s eyes burn as she recites:

"Neither sky nor soil cradle its weight, Not in the hands of the just nor the grip of the damned.

Taken by shadows, bound by debt, Where the past weeps in silent lament,

And the future spills in crimson tides. The unbending shall not wield it,

The unworthy shall not find it. Only the forsaken, May call it by name and claim its fate."

The vision fades, the fire settling back into a quiet glow.

You stare at her. 

Vesta only offers a small, knowing smile. "I have given you what I can. The rest is yours to uncover."

You exhale sharply, mind racing. "And this shield—"

"—can withstand even the wrath of Olympus," she finishes. "If you can claim it. The Flectere"

Your heart pounds. A shield bathed in the blood of gods. A relic lost to time, waiting beneath the bones of the first wolf.

Anakin's only chance.

Vesta turns, already fading into the light.

"Find it," she says, her voice echoing in the quiet. "Before the gods find you."

Anakin grips the gladius, testing its weight in his palm. The blade hums with an eerie resonance, as if it knows it was forged for something greater—something beyond mortal hands. He swings it once, a sharp, clean arc through the air, and the edge glows faintly as it slices through the space before him.

You watch him, your arms wrapped around yourself, as if holding yourself together. The past days have been a storm, an unraveling of everything you once knew, yet here he stands—solid, unshaken, the only thing that feels real in this chaos.

He catches you staring and smirks, lowering the blade. "What?" His voice is softer than usual, teasing, but with an edge of something deeper.

You shake your head, stepping closer. "Nothing. Just... you."

His brow furrows, his expression unreadable for a moment before he exhales, setting the gladius down. "Come here," he murmurs, reaching for you.

You don’t hesitate. You step into his arms, pressing yourself against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, cradling the back of your head as if you might slip away from him.

“I hate that they did this to you,” you whisper against his skin, your fingers curling into his tunic. "That they wrote your fate in blood before you even had a chance to live it."

His lips press against your temple, a lingering warmth. "They didn’t," he mutters. "Not really." He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I’m still here. I still choose."

Your throat tightens, a storm of emotions rising in your chest. "And what do you choose?"

A pause. Then, his lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk, something softer. "This," he says simply, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. "You."

You close your eyes, feeling his breath mingle with yours. For a moment, there is no war, no gods, no fate—just the two of you, caught in a fleeting, fragile moment of peace.

You can break a man's body, shatter his bones, steal his future—but the fire in his soul will burn through the darkness.

[hearts4sammonroe]

needy anakin coming back from a mission and just wanting to cuddle with his secret wife?? like start of rots type shit xx

pairing: rots!needy!ani x secret-wife!reader

contains: fluff, needy ani, secret relationship, lots of pet names, bathing together but nothing sexual.

a/n: thanks for requesting!! :) I added some more things to the request lolz but I hope you like it!!

divider credit: @saradika

Anakin Skywalker, your secret Jedi husband, just got back from his mission. The second his eyes landed on you he was jogging over with a giddy grin on his face.

“Hello, my love.” He says, picking you up and smothering your face in kisses.

“I missed you, Ani.” You say, hugging him tight.

“I missed you so much more. Words can not explain.” He murmurs.

“Come on, let’s go to my apartment, love.” You say, nodding your head towards that direction. “Can’t let anyone see us, right?”

The second the door clicked behind you, Anakin grabbed your waist and kissed you. “Missed you so much.” He repeats.

“I know.” You giggle against his lips. It took a few tries before you could pull away and you lead him to the couch.

You sit down on the couch but Anakin snuggles his head into your neck. “Love?”

“Hm?”

“Can you… can you hold me? I want to cuddle but I want you to hold me this time.”

“Of course I can hold you, Ani.”

With that you lay back on the couch and Anakin snuggles in, lying his head on your chest and wrapping his large arms around your waist.

“Mm.” Anakin hums happily as you stroke his hair. “My gorgeous, beautiful, lovely wife.”

He probably called you every pet name and compliment under the sun while you lay there for an hour.

Anakin started the bath while you undressed. This was normal for you two to take a bath together but tonight it felt different. More intimate. More romantic. And it was always that way but tonight it was another level. The atmosphere was just pure love.

“Come here, rest back on me.” Anakin murmurs as you step into the tub after him.

You sit back against him and he wraps one arm around your waist and the other tracing circles on your arm.

“I love you so much.” Anakin whispers softly, kissing all over your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“I love you too.” You smile, breathing in the calming scent from the soap and Anakin’s natural scent.

Anakin may be serious during his missions, or his meetings with the council, but with you he’s completely different. Needy, so affectionate, always has an arm around you or his lips somewhere on your skin.

He washed your body even though you were clearly capable of doing it yourself, then washed your hair ever so kindly before you did the same to him.

After the bath, you were out on your balcony brushing your hair in your nightclothes.

Anakin walked up behind you in his dark sweatpants and robe, taking the brush out of your hand and brushing your hair himself.

“Ani, you don’t have to do everything for me. I’m able to myself.” You chuckle but don’t pull away from him.

“I missed you. I want to do everything for you.” Anakin smiles, brushing through your tangles gently. “Your hair is so beautiful. Always been one of my favorite things.”

“Thank you, love.”

After Anakin finished brushing through your hair he set the brush down and wrapped his arms around your waist, just embracing the moment and the night air.

At bedtime, you crawled into your (sometimes) shared bed. You pulled the blanket over your waist then turned to the nightstand to look over your book.

Anakin, being needy as ever, panicked slightly, thinking you were rolling on your side away from him. “Love, cuddle with me. Please.” He nearly whined.

“I am, Ani. Just grabbing my book.” You laugh softly. “You’re so needy tonight.” You laugh once more before turning back and pecking his lips.

“I know, ‘m sorry. I just want you in my arms.” Anakin murmurs, wrapping an arm around you and resting his head on your shoulder while you open your book.

“Don’t be sorry.”

You open your book to where you left off last and read aloud until Anakin falls asleep.

You look over at him, smiling softly and pushing his bangs away from his eyes gently. You set your book back onto the nightstand and peck his cheek lightly enough to keep from waking him and settle into bed.

Your precious, sweet, loving, but very very needy Anakin. Annoying at times but you love it.

taglist: @anakinstwinklebunny @haydenismyman @anisangeldust @cassielunaaa @madsluvsdilfs @mvst4far

[altieris]

anakin skywalker is the kind of partner who cries when you cry. whether it be due to a loved one passing, a conflict between you and a friend, a sad movie, or just because. the moment he hears a choked sob escape your throat, your glossy eyes adamantly avoid his, and your sniffling between words, his heart shatters. he feels his own throat closing up, and he's already driven close to tears himself. he's quick to scoop you in his arms. and when you break down, he tries to contain himself, he really does. and he doesn't realize that tears have started streaming down his face until you look up at him and cup his cheeks. he doesn't let go of you, not even when the sobs stop racking your body. his grip on your figure is like that of a vice's, his face buried in your hair. he's so compassionate, responsive, only when it comes to you.

[corvoqueen]

After care with Ani? Please

𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒜𝓃𝒾

Pairings: Anakin Skywalker x fem reader

Spice: fluff

Summary: After a wild night you and Ani wind down in the bath.

Author Notes: I'm so sorry this took so long! Writers block is such a bitch. I might make a part two.

Anakin panted above you, collapsing on top of you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, exhaling. His warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Planting soft kisses along your sensitive skin. You wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back soothing. In a back and forth motion. “How’re you feeling?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, brushing the backs of his fingers along your cheek. 

“I’m okay,” you reply. Your soft voice meeting his ears. He props himself up on his elbows, forehead pressed against yours. Kissing you slow and passionately, his tongue lapping lazily at your bottom lip. He slowly sits up, guiding you with him without parting your lips. Scooping his large hands under your thighs, picking you up. Walking you to the bathroom, meanwhile peppering your cheeks with soft kisses.

Pushing open the bathroom door with his foot, gently setting you down on the counter. Slowly withdrawing his cock from your spent pussy, watching your combined juices drip out of you. Brushing the loose strands of your hair from your face, carefully. Slowly pulling back to turn on the tap, watching the steam form. As the hot water fills up the bath. He pours in some epsom salts, glancing over his shoulder at you to check on you. Running the smooth palm of his hand along your calf, as he adds some bath oils into the warm water. The aroma filling the room, wrapping around you two like a warm embrace.

He stands back up, approaching you. Sliding his hands under your thighs, picking you up. As he steps into the bath, hissing softly at the warm water. He puts his other foot in, squatting. Lowering the both of you, till you were submerged in the warm water. Your pussy pressing against his slightly hardened cock. He tips his head back from the contact, letting out a sigh of relief. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. Tucking your head under his chin. 

He lathers the soap in his hands, before running them down your back. Massaging the emulsified soap into your flesh, making you let out a pleasured sigh. His long fingers roaming the expanse of your shoulder blades, digging in slightly. Causing your muscles to tense for a moment, before slowly relaxing. At his slow circular rubbing motion. He leans forward, guiding your hair out of the way. Before planting slow, gentle kisses along your shoulder blade. Trailing across to your other one, taking his time. Before finally letting up, “you’re so beautiful…” He whispers, the words filled with pure love and adoration. 

A soft chuckle escaped your slightly parted lips, “mmm… is that right?” He rests his forehead against your shoulder, wiping off the soap bubbles. 

Nodding, with a soft smile adorning his lips. “It is,” he mumbled. Taking a deep breath, inhaling your natural scent mixed with the scent of the soap. “My sweet girl,” he nuzzles his nose against your soft. Precious skin, before resting his chin on your shoulder. Leaning into you, “how are you feeling? You sore?” He questions lightly, his smooth lips grazing ever so slightly against the shell of your ear. 

After his words sink in, you shake your head in response. “No… well a little, but m’okay.” You lean your head back, taking solace on his shoulder. Exposing your throat, Anakin uses the opportunity to start planting kisses. Along the column of your throat. 

“That’s good baby,” he hums against your sensitive skin. The vibrations sending shivers down your spine. Running his hands down your sides, to your hips. Drawing soft circles into your hips with his thumbs. “You ready to get out?” He murmurs against the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you murmur in reply.

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Okay pretty girl, whatever you want.” He pulls the plug out, letting the bubbly water drain. Before scooping you up in his arms carefully, bridal style. Stepping out of the tub, onto the bathmat. The water droplets cascading down your bodies. As he slowly guides you to your feet, for a moment to wrap your towel around you. Gently patting you dry, before drying himself off. Grabbing your robes, first wrapping yours around you. Bundling you in the soft, fluffy fabric. Before he tied his own around himself. Scooping you back up, making you let out a soft giggle. He chuckled at your reaction, pressing a gentle kiss to your cute nose. Before carrying you out of the bathroom and back to your messy bed, smoothing out the sheets before laying you on top of the covers. Leaning on you, placing a soft kiss to your lips. Taking his time, before parting reluctantly. “So… movie?”

(dividers by starovis)

[dracowars]

can you write about anakin skywalker x fem!reader. anakin started having nightmares about disappointing you like he did his mom. and recently hes insecure about everything mainly his scars and his cybernetic arm. and one night he gets a nightmare again and goes outside on the balcony to get fresh air. and you wake up and follow him. and you reach out for his hand but he pulls away, them he moves away when you try to kiss him. and you get worried and at first he doesnt tell you whats wrong, but then he tells you. you hug him like snuggle into his chest and you want his hand in yours again and when he pulls away stubbornly saying that its not even him. and you pout because you love him so much. you start playfully stabbing at his cybernetic arm with your finger and you're like you feel this? then it is you❤️🥺

only human | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x reader

word count: 1,0k

summary: where anakin feels insecure

a/n: i love this man SO much ugh watching revenge of the sith in cinema was amazing

warnings: angst, mentions of war

universe: star wars

An uneasy feeling that you can't quite describe washes over you in the middle of the night, your dreams turning blurry and hasty. When a light breeze meets your face, you wrinkle your nose and change your position, the sheets rustling. You lie there for no longer than a minute before you open your eyes slightly. Quickly, you understand the reason for the weird feeling you've been experiencing: the other side of the bed is empty, the sheets pushed aside where another body should be.

Moonlight illuminates the room as you sit up, frowning when you look around the room and discover that the door to the balcony at the other end of the room is open. The curtains flutter in the gentle night breeze, sending a shudder through your entire body at once. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stand up and cautiously walk toward the balcony door.

As you step outside, you're greeted not only by the bright moonlight, but also by the numerous twinkling lights of Coruscant, as well as the muffled sounds of spaceships passing by. And Anakin, leaning against the parapet, his face buried in his hands.

"Ani?", you ask timidly, afraid of frightening him, even though it's highly unlikely he hasn't already sensed your presence through the Force. Nevertheless, he flinches almost imperceptibly and turns to you. As soon as your eyes meet and you get a good look at his face, your heart sinks in your chest, painfully contracting.

Traces of tears already shed are visible on his cheeks, his eyes red, almost bloodshot. Anakin immediately lowers his face when he sees the concern on yours, turning his body away from you in the process. Despite his defensive posture, you quickly move to his side anyway and gently place your hand on his arm. He flinches and your heart cracks.

"Another nightmare?", you ask quietly, trying to get a look at him and knowing far too well how much he hates showing himself so vulnerable and insecure in front of you, which is why he still hasn't turned his face.

A pang of guilt overcomes you that this time you didn't notice him struggling with his worst nightmares right next to you. Usually, you can already tell by his breathing becoming uneven when it's going to be another one of those sleepless nights. But this time, you weren't there to calm him down immediately.

At your words, Anakin raises his head, but his gaze and his body are still directed towards the city, the light of the never-sleeping planet illuminating his face. You see that he is struggling, that his thoughts are piling up.

"Talk to me", you whisper and reach for his hand, but as soon as you touch it even slightly, he pulls it away as if you had burned him. Startled, you take a step back.

"Don't." His voice breaks when he says this, bringing tears to your own eyes. "I hate when you look at me like that."

"L-Like what?"

"With so much pity in your eyes", he huffs, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. His words feel like he's stabbed a lightsaber right through your gut and you find it difficult to respond.

"Ani, I don't pity you. I worry about you", you finally manage to say, trying to stay strong for the both of you because you know him. You know that he gets defensive when he is overwhelmed. He simply doesn't know and never learned how to control his feelings.

"I worry about you because I love you", you add, hoping the message gets through to him. Anakin has always had to deal with a lot of insecurities, but he usually knows how to hide them behind his cocky attitude. But they often overwhelm him precisely when he's most unprepared and vulnerable. And Anakin Skywalker hates being vulnerable and weak.

"How can you love something like this?!", he asks you in a loud voice as he finally turns to you, pointing his cybernatic hand to his face, which is marked by a scar inflicted in battle. The way he asks you this leaves you speechless. He feels so much anger and hatred for himself that it hurts you. Anakin has been through so much in his short life and has never received the affection and love he deserves.

"Because that's you, Anakin", you answer clearly, your voice not even wavering, even though you feel like crying. You place your hand on his cheek, and this time he lets you. You look deep into his eyes and see all the sadness and pain he's experienced. "That's why I love you."

Gently, you run your thumb over the scar by his eye as he breaks eye contact, but when you come even closer, he turns away from you again and removes your hand so that it now lies in his mechanical one.

"I truly love everything about you", you say to him, trying to catch his eye, but it's fixed on your hand holding his. Again, he tries to pull it away, but this time you don't let him and hold on tight.

"That's not even me", Anakin murmurs, flexing the cybernetic parts that constitute his hand. His words and the self loathe he expresses them with really hurts you deep inside and you just can't wrap your head around it. How he can't see himself the way you see him: as the most beautiful and wonderful person in the entire galaxy.

With a sigh, you squeeze his hand tightly and, with both of your gazes fixed on it, you ask: "You feel that?"

"I do."

"Then it is you", you smile gently and encouragingly up at him, but you can't hide the single tear running down your cheek as your eyes meet. Within seconds, Anakin pulls you into his arms and holds you tight, as if you could disappear at any moment. He sobs into the crook of your neck, his body shaking as you gently stroke his back and hair, giving him the time he needs.

"You are perfect the way you are, Ani. All of this is a part of you and tells your story", you tell him as you continue to listen to his heart wrenching sobs. "I know your nightmares try to convince you of the worst, but you're only human. You get overwhelmed by your emotions every now and then. There's no fault in that."

[seraphrelic]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ WHAT HE COULDN’T SAVE — Anakin Skywalker x reader.

SUMMARY: He didn’t mean to knock on your door that night. But something about you always made the guilt feel a little easier to carry.

A/N: this is super late but omg,, being able to see rots on the big screen in theatres was life changing, even though i cried at the end </3 reblogs appreciated!

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, unspoken feelings, implied slowburn, female!reader, vulnerable ani

──────────────────────

“Ani, is it you?” Her soft voice spoke, quite weak from the tired state of her body, gazing into her reunited son’s eyes.

“I’m here, Mom,” Anakin remarked, holding his mother’s limp form wrapped in his arms, feeling nothing but helpless eyeing what she had to endure during his absence.

Schmi reached out with difficulty to touch his face, a subtle tug at her lips making itself evident. Even in her weakest moment, she was still as happy to see her baby. “You look so handsome,”

Weakly tracing over Anakin’s features, Anakin, still in his padawan attire, could only swallow the lump in his throat, a whirlwind of emotions stirring inside him as he observed his mother’s haggard face.

The moment Anakin sensed something was wrong - it was already too late, his mother’s words became slurred, her vision foggy as he could only clutch her against his chest, his hands shaky.

“Stay with me, mom!” He pleaded, with no avail. She was only able to trace over his features with her fingers before her hand finally dropped as Anakin was forced to watch his own mother die within his arms.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Anakin shot up almost immediately, his chest heaving heavily, his unruly, damp curls adhered to his forehead, the sweat glistening in the dim light.

It wasn’t the first time he’s had a nightmare, especially about his late mother’s passing, but nonetheless, it caused him unimaginable pain, one he wouldn’t be able to describe without feeling guilty.

Sitting by the edge of his bed, he could only attempt to catch his breathe and be forced into listening to the busy nightlife of Coruscant.

Perhaps it was just his foggy mind, but a voice - rather, an impulse, was telling him, no, forcing him to get up and head towards a specific direction.

With no further hesitation, Anakin stood up from his bed, followed by a few steps towards his closet, slipping on a loose, flowing tunic that hung open, revealing the expanse of his chest.

Shortly, he was heading towards a trajectory location, one he was far too familiar with already. It was a subconscious choice.

But the moment he regained his consciousness back, he couldn’t help but stand still for a few moments, his gaze not averting from your door.

Force, what was he doing? He could’ve just, forgot about his nightly terrors and went back to sleep, just as any other person would.

Yet, he still somehow managed to muster up the courage to leave a few gentle knocks against the door, the soft sound echoing in the quiet of the night. His heart raced, every nerve in his body screaming for him to retreat, to leave this behind, but his hand stayed on the door, waiting for a response that he wasn’t sure he even deserved.

You weren’t necessarily asleep, just simply staring into the darkness of the ceiling of your room, not being able to let sleep overtake you.

So, it was definitely quite the surprise to hear subtle knocking against your door, especially at this hour, but somehow, you had a feeling you already knew whose presence was there.

Whilst still being in your nightgown, you got up rather quickly and took a few, quiet steps, preparing for what was about to be revealed. And just as you suspected.

There he was, standing within your doorframe, a vulnerable look plastered all across his pretty face. His curls were stuck against his forehead, the only thing keeping him warm was a barely-there tunic, the material softly draping over his form, leaving his chest exposed.

“Anakin?” Your tone was gentle as your eyes scanned his expression for any answers about his rather unexpected nocturnal visit, leaning against the doorframe.

“I couldn’t sleep,” He muttered, breaking eye contact with you for just a mere second. It was quite obvious something was bothering him, but you figured you wouldn’t press on it.

Instead, you took a step back and made some space for him to step into, to which he happily obliged. With a simple click, you shut the door behind yourself.

“I’m sorry if I awoke you, I just-“ Anakin suddenly bit his tongue, unsure if he could share what exactly caused him to be restless. His eyes flickered to the ground, as if the weight of his thoughts were too heavy to voice. He could feel the uncertainty in the air, and for a moment, he wondered if he should’ve just stayed in his room.

But there was something about the quiet comfort of your presence that made him forget his fears, if only for a fleeting moment.

"Anakin, you don't have to explain," you said gently, stepping closer to him, your voice soft yet reassuring. "I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone."

Anakin appreciated your kind, understanding response. Whatever kind of issue he could be facing, you’d always be there for him. It even made him question if there was just a Jedi relation between the both of you.

With a sigh, there was no point in hiding it anymore, not that he needed to when he was with you, anyway.

“It was my mother-her death,” His gaze faced the ground for a moment, explaining more than enough, the concerned look in his face giving him away completely.

Of course, it was no mystery what has happened to Shmi Skywalker. Everyone knew, and Anakin had always carried that burden. But hearing him admit it out loud, his voice laced with that raw vulnerability, struck you harder than you expected.

It wasn’t just the loss that haunted him; it was the helplessness, the feeling that he couldn’t save her.

You stepped closer, your hand hovering near his, unsure whether to offer comfort or space. His eyes met yours again, and for a fleeting second, you saw the storm within him, the guilt and the grief that never truly left.

“Ani, you really shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened, it wasn’t your fault,” Looking intently into his eyes, a storm of emotion, flickered with conflict. You hated seeing him in such a state, so vulnerable and full of guilt.

Without thinking too much of it, you suddenly pulled him into a warm embrace, trying to offer comfort to the Jedi. Even if it wouldn’t change anything, you’d hope it could maybe make him feel better, at least.

And oh, it did. He hugged you twice as much, holding onto you as if he’d were to lose you next, something he couldn’t ever allow happening. His face was hidden in the crook of your neck, allowing the scent of your skin - calm, familiar, grounding, to soothe the ache that throbbed in his chest.

You felt the faint tremble in his arms, the way he clung to you like a lifeline. Not a word more needed to be said. In that quiet moment, wrapped in the silence of the Temple halls, you were his anchor. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally sleep without dreaming.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

It’s only been a few hours since they let you come home. The latest days were the wildest story of your life; labor so painful you felt like you had ten combined period cramps at a time, your cries, screams as you fought to push not only one but two human beings. You were exhausted, trying to heal from the childbirth, and yet so no used to the whole mom title. ANAKIN SKYWALKER was the opposite; yes, he looked tired but he stepped into the shoes of a dad so fast. Practically acted like a real man; giving comfort, being the caregiver, protector, and most importantly, a present husband.

As soon as you stepped into the house after Anakin, a smell of fresh lavender laundry detergent and antiseptic—new, strange, too clean, hit your nose. Everything was too bright, too loud, even though there was only Anakin's mother who took care of your house during your absence.

You felt bad, acting all distant and a little emotionless, when she beamed with sunlight crossing her features. But you felt weird

Your arms felt too weak out of a sudden.

Your heart felt too full.

And your mind felt like it was barely hanging on.

Soon later, Anakin and Shmi didnt even want you to do anything. No lifting, no walking if necessary. Youve been through a lot, you should rest ~ they said.

So here you were, slumped against the headboard in your shared bed, cradling your screaming daughter against your bare chest, tears blurring your vision. She was rooting around desperately ever since shmi had left, leaving two fresh young parents for the night. Her tiny mouth searching, fussing, whimpering, but she wouldn't latch at all.

And your body, already so sore and raw from delivery, felt like it was being set on fire—your breasts all big, swollen and aching. Your skin stretched too tight, every nerve in you rubbed raw in this disgusting, painful way

You sobbed; a big, helpless, ugly sob you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Because it hurt.

Because you were exhausted; emotionally, psychically

Because you felt like you were already failing.

And over the noise, the crying, the buzzing panic in your own head—you heard another wail. This time from your son; the twin Anakin’s desperately trying to settle in his arms.

He paces the bedroom in uneven, never ending circles, holding the squirming baby boy against his chest. Huge hands were shaking, rubbing little circles over the newborn’s back while whispering brokenly over and over again: "I know, little man, I know, I know…"

You choked on another sob as your daughter cried louder, pushing away from your breast again, tiny fists flailing around.

You couldnt hold it anymore

"I can’t do it," you whimpered, voice cracking right down the middle. "Ani, I can’t— I’m failing—"

"Hey, no," he said immediately, voice sharp with urgency, but not anger—rather fear. Fear that you really believe that lie.

He crossed the room in two big strides, the baby boy still bawling in his arms. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, grayish-blue eyes switching up to look up at you, gaze almost pleading. "You're not failing," the curls stuck to his head were a mess, with the dark circles carved under his eyes. His shirt was stained with spit-up already—but God, he still looked like everything you needed. Like he’d fight the whole universe for you.

"For fuck’s sake, sweetheart, look at you," he breathed. "You just brought two healthy, perfect babies into the world. You’re—" His voice broke. He blinked rapidly, as if to stop his own tears from threatening. "You're everything."

You just cried harder, whole body trembling from it, and Anakin immediately shifted closer, maneuvering both babies somehow. One tucked against his broad chest, one cradled in his lap now. He twisted your chin to face him, his lips kissing the tears off your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, murmuring in that broken, desperate way that made you feel like his entire soul is in his mouth.

"We’ll figure it out," he whispered against your skin. "We’ll do it together. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone, baby." at that, you sniffled helplessly, nodding into his neck as he let you clutch at him, even with the babies squirming between you both.

"Let’s try again," he said with a little sigh, voice steady even though you could hear the terror underneath. He wanted so badly to fix this for you. To make this easier for you. To take away the pain you have to go through.

"One at a time, sweetheart. You’re doing so great. Just breathe. We’ll go slow." Then he shifted, settling the crying boy against your opposite side while you tried again with your daughter. His big hands cradled her so tenderly, moving her closer to you.

You sobbed again—this time a choked, gasping laugh—when the baby girl finally, finally, latched onto your nipple, suckling weakly on the milk

"There we go," Anakin's voice was thick with relief, a trembling smile breaking across his face. He then pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in. "There’s my good girl. Both of you."

And even though the boy was still fussing and your body still ached, with the house feeling way too big for just the four of you—

you believed him.

Because Anakin’s arms were around all three of you; so gently, so lovingly. Because he kept whispering, "I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you."

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[girly-girlk]

if they only knew

anakin skywalker x reader

summary: the council suspects anakin is attached to someone, and you’re terrified they’ll find out it’s you. the more they push, the closer the two of you get.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with anakin skywalker.

you were a jedi. you had trained your whole life to let go of attachment, to see love as a path to fear, fear as a path to suffering. but the first time he looked at you like you were more than just a fellow knight, the rules stopped mattering.

the late-night missions. the whispered conversations in shadows. the hands brushing just a second too long when no one was looking. it was all wrong—but it felt more right than anything else in your life ever had.

and now, the council is watching him. closely. too closely.

“they’re suspicious,” you say one night, voice low as you stand beside him in the temple gardens, moonlight barely reaching through the trees. “mace cornered me after our last mission. asked me if i sensed… ‘emotional compromise’ in you.”

anakin turns sharply. “did you tell him anything?”

“no. of course not.” you look at him, really look at him. his jaw is tight, his posture rigid—ready for a fight, even here, even with you. “but i can’t keep lying like this.”

his voice drops to a near-whisper. “would you rather lose me than lie to them?”

you flinch. “that’s not fair.”

“no. it’s not,” he says, stepping closer. “it’s not fair that we can command legions, fight wars, save entire systems—but loving someone is forbidden. it’s not fair that every time i look at you in the council room, i have to pretend i don’t feel like the galaxy makes sense again.”

you shake your head. “you know how dangerous this is.”

“i don’t care,” he breathes, hand brushing against yours. “let them suspect. let them stare. i’d burn the whole temple down before i let them take you away from me.”

your heart stutters.

this love—your love—is a flame in the dark, beautiful and blinding. but fire consumes. and one day, it may take both of you with it.

but tonight, in the quiet of the garden, you still choose each other.

even if the galaxy never forgives you.

[starrdream]

anakin headcanons please I feel like he is such a sweetheart

absolutely

Anakin cannot sit still. If he’s not pacing, spinning his lightsaber absentmindedly, or drumming his fingers against the nearest surface. The only time he’s truly still is when he’s asleep.

Anakin is touch starved. He doesn’t even realize how much he craves physical affection until someone gives it to him. He absolutely loves any kind of physical contact, especially from you.

Anakin is absolutely terrible at hiding his emotions. He thinks he’s good at masking his feelings. He’s not. If he’s annoyed, his entire face will scrunch up. If he’s happy, he grins like an idiot.

Anakin hates fighting with you. But he’s emotional and sometimes reacts first, thinks later. If he raises his voice and sees you flinch? Immediate guilt. He will apologize. But it takes him a minute to calm down first. He never wants to go to sleep angry at you—he can’t. Arguments with him are brutal but rare and the apologies are raw and real.

Anakin's love language? All of them. He'll do anything for you, let's be real. Broken kitchen appliances, lightsaber malfunctioning, com link not working..He's fixing it for you (acts of service). He loves to spend time with you. He'll tag along just about anywhere. (quality time). etc..

Anakin needs constant reassurance He needs to hear you tell him that you love him. He needs to be reminded that he is worthy of your affection, especially after a fight or a stressful situation. If you tell him you love him, he holds on to those words like a lifeline. He’ll replay them in his mind, constantly seeking that validation.

Anakin would not come to you with his problems in the beginning of your relationship. He’s far too prideful, fiercely independent, and conditioned to believe he has to handle everything himself. Overtime he does crack and he absolutely hates it. "If you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t want to be here." He tends to withdraw from you after opening up, convinced you see him as weak and unworthy of your attention.

Anakin's your biggest supporter. It doesn't matter what you're doing, Anakin is right there cheering you on. He believes in you—deeply. He’ll also be the one to celebrate your victories with you, no matter how big or small, because he knows how much effort you put in.

Anakin may not always be romantic, but he’s thoughtful. He remembers the small things—the book you read, the song you love...He will go out of his way to surprise you with things that'll make you feel loved. It’s not grand gestures all the time, but rather the meaningful moments. "I heard this song and thought of you. It’s silly, but I wanted to share it."

Anakin will also make sure you’re always taken care of, whether it’s making sure you’re well-rested or helping with a problem before you even ask. "I just want you to be happy. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen."

Hope u guys like it! Lmk if u want a part 2