#Anakin SKywalker | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pasukiyo · 3 days ago

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THE UNDOING OF DARKNESS

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: darth vader, a depiction of murder, angst, smut, p in x sex (unprotected), inappropriate usage of the force, did i mention angst, anakin is also unburnt for the sake of this fic synopsis: sometimes she believes anakin skywalker still exists. darth vader will say that he is no more but she does not truly believe he is gone. after all, anakin once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her.

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Every breath feels like the rarest air in Fortress Vader. Not only is it stuffy, and the simplest of movements makes you break out into a sweat, but it has always felt more like a prison than a home. She’s tried to think of it as one, as it is the place where she spends most, if not all, of her days. It is hard, however, when all she can see is gray, orange, and red for as far as the eye can see. It is hard when she knows there is always the possibility that he is there, watching, scrutinizing, waiting.

He, the man she once held in such high regard, the man she never thought she would have, the man that always seemed so impossible and out of reach, the man she never thought would have given her a chance. Maybe he wouldn’t have, she thinks when she has nothing to do but sit by the sliver in the wall of the throne room that serves as a window, looking out into the fiery oceans of Mustafar, if he hadn't changed.

She knew the man who he once was. She knew the man before the days of apparatus, before the days of the Empire, before the days of darkness. She thinks she must be the only one left who knew Lord Vader as well as she. Yes, she knew the man Lord Vader had been, before the days of dictatorship, before the fear of existing, because existing, in these days, was fear in itself.

She thinks she must be one of the only ones left who knew of Anakin Skywalker. Sometimes, when she sees Lord Vader in the way she and only she sees him, she thinks she can see Anakin again, slipping through the cracks. Sometimes, she believes Anakin must still be here, somewhere, if even a fragment of him. Sometimes she will look into his eyes— the fiery pools they were now— and swear she will see a glimmer, a mirage of that cerulean ocean she once knew, slipping through the cracks of his inferno.

If Anakin Skywalker did still exist, however, Lord Vader made sure he never came to be. If Anakin Skywalker still existed, then he was simply locked away deep inside the cage that had been built around the new Lord Vader’s heart. She isn’t sure if it is possible to break through the iron bars— and frankly, she’s become too frightened to even want to continue trying. She feels guilty, like she has some sense of responsibility, of duty to the lost Anakin Skywalker, as she is the only one that Lord Vader allows so close, the only one who may see him in a state as vulnerable as he will allow her to see him.

She wonders sometimes if Anakin Skywalker cries out for her, much like the way she did when she was taken, plucked like a rose from her village in the outskirts of Galidraan. When she closes her eyes, she can still remember that day, the harsh cold on her skin, the painful inferno inside her chest, the binds used to restrain her hands behind her back.

“No!” She can still feel her scream ripping from her throat, the acidic, rumbling feeling in her chest as she watches the red plasmic blade of the dark figure slice clean through her uncle’s neck, and can still see the shape of his head tumble into the white snow through her watery vision. Although she knows she is merely looking into the past, the pain feels too real, like she is reliving her worst day again.

She lunges forward, like she intends to avenge her uncle, a foolish spur of the moment instinct, as she is bound by the wrists and with a blaster to the back of her head. The stormtrooper behind her knocks the butt of his blaster into the back of her skull and her head rings while her cheek finds the snow. She hears her cousins and her people cry behind her and when she pries a single eyelid open, she can make out their trembling silhouettes, on their knees, shoulder to shoulder, a wall of stormtroopers behind them.

The ringing begins to dull and she hears footsteps somewhere behind her. She cannot bring herself to move, as she is stunned with the realization that today would be their final day. All these people she’s grown up with, her family she swore she would protect— they would meet their ends today. She would never see her off-planet friends again— she would never see Anakin Skywalker again. That promise he made her that he would see her again feels empty now. She almost wonders if she was a fool to put so much faith in him and his Jedi friends to begin with, if she was a fool to think he’d want her, someone as simple and as plain as her.

But all the same, he said they would come should trouble find her beloved planet— so where was he now? She believes he cannot be dead, purged along with many of the other of his kind. She knows he is out there, somewhere. Everyday, she thinks he will come poking his head out from the snowy horizon. Everyday, she waits for that moment to come. She feels the bitter cold seeping into her bones now and thinks how foolish she’s been for believing in such a thing.

“The prisoner dares the thought of standing against me,” she hears a voice, deep and undoubtedly male behind her and feels a quivering somewhere inside her chest. The bile that’s been resting at the base of her throat threatens to rise when two stormtroopers step forward, likely from this dark figure’s command, and wraps their hands under her armpits, hoisting her from the ground. She presses her lips together to quell her sick as the world spins and all she can see is black and white.

The figure is tall and broad, much more so now that she was so close to him. She has to look up at him and she tries to blink away the blurriness from her vision, and when it does, she can make out the face of his mask. She glowers into the two black circles of his eyes, trying to keep her gaze locked on him rather than on the limp body of her uncle.

“You cannot do this,” she says, her voice shaky with uncertainty but feigning determination all the same. “You cannot take us. You cannot kill us. Ana…” she pauses and somewhere in her delirious mind she thinks perhaps she shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t put yet another target on his back. But her brain tells her these will be her final moments and all she can really think of now is Anakin and of his promise she still tried to cling onto, even now when it was quite literally impossible for it to be fulfilled now. “Anakin will come for us. You cannot kill us.”

A silence ensues and the masked man’s shoulders rise and she thinks she must have caught him by surprise. Perhaps he already knows of Anakin Skywalker, perhaps he merely wonders why a girl as plain and unimportant as she knows of a Jedi Knight when they’ve all been purged, seemingly from his hand, or at least, his command.

His black capes flows in the snowy wind and she trembles, more from knowing his stare behind that mask is devouring her rather than the cold.

“You speak in tongues,” he says at last, stepping forward, closer until all she sees is black, an endless void with two circles and a triangle for a face. “I can and I will take whatever I want, foolish girl. I will do what I please.”

He straightens and with a black, gloved hand, points towards her people, her family. “Kill them,” he says simply and panic blinds her, taking control of her limbs.

“No. No!” She screeches into the howling wind, thrashing against the hold of the two stormtroopers behind her as she hears blaster shot after blaster shot and the sound of bodies falling into the snow. “Anakin! Anakin, please! Help me! Help us!” She screams again, sounding more like a fool than she ever has but she’s desperate as she tries to lift herself from the ground, kicking out towards the dark, wicked man before her.

All five fingers of the same hand the man used to damn her family to their deaths outstretches and it is like her body, her limbs are no longer her own. They freeze in place and no matter how hard she tries to will them to move, to will her arms to thrash about against their restraints and her legs to kick, they will not. Her heart pounds against her chest and it rises and falls with her shaky breaths as she is forced to stare at the man who has taken her entire world away in a matter of seconds. He steps forward again, looms like a dark cloud with the promise of downpour over her and she has no choice but to stare back, her brows knit together, the promise of tears stinging her eyes.

“The man you speak of ceased to exist long ago,” he speaks and she doesn’t quite want to believe him. Although, for a reason she cannot quite define now, she thinks he must be telling the truth, or at least, some version of the truth. “It’d do you well to rid your mind of these foolish beliefs. You shall not be saved. Your life rests in the palms of my hands, and I will do with it what I please.”

Still, she cannot move, all she can do is silently cry, waiting for this man, this awful, wicked, yet somewhat familiar man to damn her to whatever fate he had in store for her.

“You will come with me. You will live in my fortress. You will be what I want you to be. This is a mercy, but do not consider yourself saved. Your life will still be mine to own, and it will be mine to end, should I desire it.”

She opens her eyes and finds herself back in Mustafar again, staring out at the same fiery ocean she sees every other day. The pain and the memory of that day is still fresh, but she still cannot shake what she feels of Anakin— or rather, Lord Vader— even knowing what he is, what he is capable of. She hates herself for being so easy, for still wanting to believe that her Anakin is still there and that what she has with the new Lord Vader is love, a twisted, altered version of what her life might have been like with Anakin, should circumstances be different.

There are footsteps thrumming through the hall beyond the door of the throne room and time seems to still, her heart thudding against her chest as she waits for the door to slide open. When it does, he walks in, rolling like a dark fog into the room and despite the intense heat of Mustafar, she shivers, an icy chill seeping into the marrow of her bones.

She simply sits and stares as he stops in the middle of the throne room, her fingers wrapped around the fabric of her gown, chest heaving up and down, waiting for him to address her. She hates this— living in constant fear whilst simultaneously wanting him, wanting the man he used to be, Anakin, back.

Another few seconds of silence.

And then.

“Come here,” he finally speaks and his voice sounds not his own, a different man entirely. She blinks, swinging her legs over the ledge of her seat at the window, complying without a question. Sometimes she hated how easy she gave in to him, but even if she didn’t act of her own free will, she knew she wouldn’t have much of a choice anyways. Still, she hates how quickly she draws nearer, only stopping when she stands before him, looking up into his mask.

She purses her lips. She hates this mask. It reminds her of that day. It is the mask of a killer, rather than the face of a man.

She inhales, feeling air draw into her chest. Then, “will you let me see you?”

Another moment of silence, save, of course, for the sound of his breathing through the apparatus. His shoulders rise and fall with his breath and she thinks it must have been a bad day. She internally shudders— tonight could go only one of two ways.

She feels a sense of relief, however, when his hands rise to the sides of his helmet, air hissing when he presses his fingers down on either side of the durasteel. Time stops altogether when he inches the helmet away from his head. Full, pink lips unveil behind the mask, a few ridged, faintly red scars like the jagged edges of broken earth spread across his cheeks, up to his strong nose and sharp, red eyes. Dark blonde curls spill over his face and her breath hitches because this is Anakin, but also not and she hates that she still feels something when she sees him, still wants him, and although it pains her to admit it— she still loves him.

She blinks up at him, unable to look away and he stares back, lips pressed together, fiery gaze devouring. Yes, it must have been a bad day, because although his gaze is usually unyielding, it is more intense than usual today. It pierces through her, as if he is sifting through her mind, and knowing what he is capable of, he may very well be.

It’s reminiscent of the way he used to look at her, back when he was still Anakin. Her Anakin. Her blue-eyed, kind, resilient Anakin.

He looked different then, no scars, save for the one on his eye, on his face. His eyes didn’t feel like drowning in a sea of flames, rather, they were oceans of warm cerulean, drawing her in with their kind gaze. She can still feel the rush of secret rendezvous in dark corners of rooms, where no one was watching, away from prying eyes and hushed whispers.

She can feel his hands— one warm, one deliciously cool to the touch— resting on either of her cheeks, her own hands wrapped around his elbows. She can still feel his lips against hers then, warm and slow but firm, dominant but soft, gentle. Anakin kissed her like she was a remedy, delicate and precious. Sometimes he still kissed her like this— warm, slow, firm, dominant, gentle. Sometimes it was almost enough to make her feel how she did then— delicate, precious, a remedy.

But nothing could amount to the way Anakin looked at her then, with vast blue eyes so inviting, so kind, and so him that she thought she would die if he ceased to look at her like that. This, of course, was not true. Yet, everyday she spent looking into the fiery depths that replaced his warm ocean, she thinks she feels pieces of herself, her old self, rotting.

Anakin pulled away from her lips and even though it was all those days ago, she still remembered how tenderly he brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it back behind her ear. She still remembers the pad of his thumb, the one with flesh instead of metal, smoothing circles into her cheekbones. She watches as his lips move to form words and she is simply mesmerized, so enraptured by this man she can hardly breathe.

“I will be going away soon,” he told her then, his breath like the warmth of a fire against her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks from his lips back to his eyes, wading further into his ocean, as if she could convince him with a stare to stay, to anchor himself here, to her.

“But…” she shakes her head, tongue swiping between her lips and her hands slide from his elbows to his wrists. “…but you cannot…” she sighs frustratingly, unable to find her words. “…it is not safe for us. You cannot leave…”

“Hey,” he whispers in only the way he can, in that way that has her resolve slipping, her knees trembling, her heart stuttering. The wind whips at their hair and their clothes and snow falls behind him but he is so warm, a warm glow in the midst of the storm. She grows warm, warmer in his hands and Anakin’s gaze drops to her quivering lips, the skin of his thumb soothing over her lower one. “You are fully capable of surviving without me,” he assures in a murmur that rolls like thunder in her chest.

She shakes her head. “But we are weak!” she protests. “We are not strong enough to handle this on our own. My uncle he…” she closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, tries to ease the unsteady beating of her heart. “…he is only getting older. He isn’t well. The storm is only getting stronger, and if they come… we—“

“No,” Anakin shakes his head, steps closer, cradles either of her cheeks in the palms of his hands. “Don’t say you can’t.”

She tilts her head in his palms, unsure of his meaning. “But Anakin, if they—“

“They will not touch you,” he says and he speaks with a sense of finality, and she knows there would be no question, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She knows that what he says is true. His hands tighten around her face and his gaze is strong, unyielding, piercing where it meets hers. He almost doesn’t seem himself, like there is some other version of him present. She isn’t sure what to think of it, but what she knows for sure is that she knows she must be safe, because Anakin says it is true. “I will not let anyone hurt you, do you understand?”

He searches her gaze, awaiting her answer. She stares back, wondering how someone like him could be speaking to her like this, touching her like this, caring for her like this. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was like being a snowflake, falling from the heavens, making its descent to the ground— every one was unique, but its uniqueness may only be discovered by those who look close enough. Not many cared to take the time out of their day to see her, but Anakin did. Anakin saw her and held her in a way he and only he could. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was to be seen like nobody else had seen her. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was a rarity of its own.

She nods against his palms, her lashes fluttering as her gaze drops to his chin, to his lips.

“What is it?” He asks, lowering his head, catching her gaze in his again. She sniffs, wringing a hand around his wrist.

“What if I do not see you again?” She asks. “How long will I have to wait to have you like this again?”

It is a selfish thought, she thinks. They are in the middle of a war for Maker’s sake, and Anakin is one of the most important assets of it. It is selfish of her to want to keep him all to herself, to want to stay hidden in a permanent rendezvous, away from eyes, away from pain, away from war. The galaxy needed him, that, she knew. But she needed him too. She doesn’t know what she will do with herself, biding the time until she sees him again.

“But you will see me again,” he assures in a quiet murmur, his hands dropping from her cheeks to cup either of her hands between his. He presses his lips to one of her knuckles, then to another, and then another until they’ve all been graced by his kiss. Her knees feel like jelly and she is glad he is there to support her, because she feels like she can melt into a gooey puddle of magma at their feet despite the snow. “No matter how far, no matter the time, I will always find you. There is no place in the entire galaxy where you can be where I will not find you. We are bound to one another, you and I are. Even in death, I would claw myself out of the very earth to find you.”

She feels the bitter sting of tears pooling in her eyes, because she knows they are running out of time, and soon, he would have to take leave. She will only have these words and the memory of his touch to satiate her, until of course he keeps his word and finds her once again.

Anakin’s eyes fall back down to her lips before he collects them with his in a searing kiss, the kindling of a promise left in his mouth’s wake when he pulls away.

“We will see one another again,” he murmurs and she believes him. She knows he will keep his word. “And perhaps, we will meet even sooner than you think.”

Blue swarms and begins to morph into an angry, fiery red and she is once again back in Mustafar, staring at Anakin but not Anakin again. Sometimes when she thinks her Anakin Skywalker is truly lost, she need only remember those tender words he had said to her, the last time she saw him as he once was. She will then look at Darth Vader and tell herself that all hope is not lost. Darth Vader will say that Anakin Skywalker is dead, but she knows it is not true.

Because Anakin Skywalker once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her.

“Something troubles you,” she whispers and Darth Vader does not move but his eyes do. His blazing gaze falls to her lips, down her arms, all the way to her hands. She follows their trail and knows what it is he must crave. Sometimes when she thinks she must be afraid of him, she reminds herself that this is only a boy who is lost, misguided. She wonders, she hopes, if in time, he can be guided back onto the right path again.

Her hands move to find one of his, his left, where she knows she will still find flesh underneath. She glances back up at him to find he is staring at their connected hands, lips pursed, waiting for her to continue. She sucks in a breath and pinches the tip of his glove at the middle finger, slowly, cautiously pulling it away from his hand. Her palm circles to cradle the back of his hand and while he does not shiver, the locking of his jaw does not go unnoticed.

Even after all this time, he still craves for touch, her touch, and her skin on his. It makes her wonder if he still thinks about it too, all their secret rendezvous, their nights of passion, bodies tangled together with only the moons as their witness. She wonders if he still remembers the words he used to always say to her, the tender, sweet little nothings he’d whisper in her ear, the promises for a better future he made woven in the tendrils of her hair. If he still thinks back to that day she last saw him as Anakin Skywalker, if he still remembers the words he told her.

She thinks he must, because he still fulfilled his promise: he came back, no matter what. Only not the same, but perhaps more of the same than she initially thought. She sees the locking of his jaw, his craving for her touch he dare not speak aloud and thinks maybe it could be true.

“Let me help you,” she says, because she knows he has no desire to speak. Darth Vader lifts his gaze to find she is already staring back as she brings his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb subconsciously soothes over her bottom lip and she shivers, the tenderness of his touch a stark contrast to his demeanor. She knows what she is offering is only a temporary fix, but it is a start, and it is an understanding she didn’t quite have before.

He still craves for her, he still wants her. She doesn’t know if she can call what they have love, not anymore, but there is still a want. She thinks that maybe this is her Anakin slipping through the cracks. She decides to hold onto this sliver all that she can.

She presses her lips gently against his thumb, maintaining eye contact all the while, unwilling to break it. The blazing amber in his eyes intensifies and in an instant, his lips are on hers, replacing his thumb. She releases a mixture of a yelp and a moan into his mouth, letting his tongue scour her, devouring her. He seeks to conquer her but he still kisses her with desperation, almost insecurely, but not like he’s unsure. It’s more like he’s waiting for her to push him away, to curse and spit at him like he believes (and perhaps, does) deserve.

But she doesn’t. How could she? It’s hard to differentiate Darth Vader from Anakin Skywalker when they are one in the same, even while being entirely different. He still feels like her Anakin, he still shares the same shell as her Anakin. He kisses her with a mixture of Darth Vader and just the tiniest fraction of Anakin Skywalker but he is there, he is still there.

So she presses herself further into him. His right hand finds the small of her back and presses her further into him, his kiss more determined, his touch more certain. She pants against his mouth as he uses his left hand to unclip his cape, the heavy material falling in a heap on the floor behind him. She feels the shoulders of her dress slipping down her arms but does not feel his hands there and knows he is using the Force on her. It alights a new sort of blaze she’s never felt before between her legs and as his left hand grips her chin and his kisses trail down to her jaw, she burns brighter than ever before.

Her eyes are screwed shut as he sucks angry marks to the line of her jaw, her fingers holding on tightly to his sleeves. She thinks she hears the door slide open behind them but the invisible hand working at her clothes unties the knot at the small of her back and Darth’s teeth sink into her collarbone so she does not care. Her head tilts back and she hears the faint sound of footsteps retreating, the door sliding back closed, once again leaving them alone.

“An… Ana…” she hears herself begin to pant but knows it is a mistake as soon as he pulls away from her altogether, her body, now nude, feeling cold with the lack of his against it. She peels open her lids and shudders where she stands as his gaze pierces through her as if it intended to melt her to the very ground she stood on. She thinks she very well can but she knows there is no use of running so she stays, awaiting her fate.

“The name you call is not mine,” Darth speaks and he reaches out with a hand, his left, and her body is not her own anymore and her mind flashes back to the day where he found her, when he used this very power on her to strip her of her own will. She presses her lips together as the Force brings her down to her knees, the ground biting into her bare skin. She does not cry, does not even struggle. She simply waits— she’s already offered herself to him and she knows that he will not hurt her. He cannot afford to. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself without her. Because Anakin is still there. There is still someone inside of him that loves her. “It’d serve you well to forget that man, because he is gone. Dead. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you scream it until hell fears me.”

She hates the effect he has on her. She can feel herself pulse between her legs and she inhales, fluttering her eyes closed at how pathetic she must seem. Still wanting this dangerous, nefarious man. The man who murdered her uncle. The man who murdered her entire family. But yet, still the man who said he would cheat death to keep her safe.

Darth’s gaze intensifies and she feels a prodding in her mind, encouraging her, no, commanding her to comply. She gulps, and then, “Darth.”

The invisible finger toying with the outside of her mind crawls away and her body once again feels like it is her own but still, she stays in her place on her knees on the floor. Darth Vader’s footsteps echo the room as he steps forward until he towers above her. She peers up at him through her lashes, watches as he crouches, pinching her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his gloved hand.

“Obedient girl,” he remarks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “You will not defy me, lest you wish for it to be the last thing you do.”

Her head nods before can even begin to think. She knows she would’ve complied regardless. The ache between her legs wouldn’t allow her to act otherwise. It was disgusting, lusting after this man who swears he will be her demise. But he has a way of making her insatiable, unlike herself.

“Good,” he says before he pulls away and she watches as he circles the center of the room, setting himself down into the throne in the middle, legs spread, waiting. “Undress me.”

She gulps down another moan, the words alone making her stomach somersault. She wastes no time to pick herself off of the floor, painfully aware of how naked she is as she makes her way over to where he sits. Even sitting on his throne, he is still bigger, still stronger than her. She feels meek, small against him as she begins with the shoulders of his armor, finding his eyes as she removes it, piece by piece. He taps his fingers against the arms of his seat as she unbuttons his tunic and before she can move to slide it down his arms, he waves a finger and her hands find his belt without their own accord.

She doesn’t move for a movement, only stares at him as he gazes back. He cocks an eyebrow, the one pierced with a scar, expectantly and she inhales sharply, her gaze sliding from his face down to his exposed, toned chest as she begins working at his belt. She tosses it away along with the heap of clothes on the floor and unbuttons his trousers, feeling her center throb at just how close she is to seeing what it desires. Her tongue swipes between her lips as she frees his cock from his pants, her breath hitching as she blinks at the angry pink tip peeking from his waistband.

“You test the limits of my patience,” Darth Vader says in an annoyed, clipped tone. “My cock will be your throne, but only if you make haste.”

She blinks again and she feels a ball of acid at the base of her throat as she tugs his pants all the way down to his knees, finally allowing his cock to spring free. She can’t help but gawk, even if she’s already seen it more times than she can count. It’s large to say the very least and it is hard, ready, eager for her. She recalls just how large it is whenever she’s had it in her mouth, how each and every vein of it feels when it is buried so deeply inside of her. Sometimes, she can’t believe that it is all hers to have. Sometimes, she doesn’t feel worthy of it.

She realizes she is testing his patience again, only when she feels that invisible hand wrap around her throat, her own subconsciously reaching for them, although they are not there. Breath is stolen from her and she knits her brows together, mumbling a tight apology.

“You are merely fortunate that I am not in the mood for games today,” he says and the Force brings her forwards, her knees hitting his. He leans towards her until their faces are mere inches away, his breath rolling like smoke over her cheeks. “So do not push my mercy any further. Sit on my cock.”

She feels every syllable of his last sentence in her core and the invisible hand remains on her throat as she manages to bring herself closer, her knees on either side of his thighs. He does not touch her, merely watches as she struggles to align his head with her center. When she finally does, he uses this invisible grip on her throat to push her down before releasing her altogether and she gasps for breath, eyes rolling back into her head, her head tipping towards the ceiling as a moan rips from her throat.

She can feel every pulsing vein of his cock against her walls, can feel her delicate cervix being bullied by his angry tip. Her hands search for his shoulders and when they do, her nails dig into the sleeves of his tunic, the bitter sting of tears escaping the edges of her eyes.

Darth hisses through his teeth and his left hand finds her hip, his skin warm against hers where it kneads. A curse tumbles past his lips and his other hand, still gloved, weaves through her hair, forces her forehead down onto his. She opens her eyes and sees his glaring gaze piercing through to her own.

“I don’t know how you do this to me,” he snarls. “I don’t know how only you have this effect on me. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me…” Darth is unable to control himself so he snaps his hips up into her and she cries, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “…fuck!” He howls, tossing his head back against his throne. “You are destroying me. It’s not fair. How are you doing this to me?”

He says this last thing with a hint of a vulnerability she’s never heard from him before. It’s almost desperate, like she really, truly is destroying him, paining him. It’s hard for her to try and understand what this means when he is fucking her into a state of mind-numbingness, but there is only one thing, one word, one name that she can even think of.

“Darth!” She screeches but it is not the name she thinks of. She thinks of Anakin, how perhaps this, she is the key to freeing Anakin Skywalker from the mask of Darth Vader. Because this, this Darth Vader is but a mere facade— they both know it to be true. It is not who he truly is. He can try and deny it all he wants. But there is nowhere in the entire galaxy where he can hide that she won’t find him. Because he is and will always be Anakin Skywalker.

She knows that Darth Vader will try and fight it. He will tear down the entire galaxy before he admits it. He will destroy planets and will bring down entire monarchies before he admits it. He will kill and he will burn and he will destroy before he admits it. But not even that will be enough to hide from it, to run from it. Because she is Darth Vader’s destiny. She is Anakin Skywalker’s destiny. She will be Darth Vader’s destruction. And she will be Anakin Skywalker’s redemption.

She is the key to bringing Anakin Skywalker home.

a/n: another long one for anakin 🤭 i absolutely love writing for him, he's so complex and so fun to explore and create headcanons of my own for. i hope i was able to do him at least a little bit of justice here. sorry if this seemed a little too slow burn and if there wasn't enough smut to suffice 😭 i went in like "oh yeah this is gonna be absolutely filthy" but oh well! i find i write a little easier when i go in without much of a plan lol since i get carried away easily and usually just let my thumbs do whatever the hell they want anyways 😭 anywho! thank you so much for reading! it always warms my heart to know my writing is being seen by others! 🥹🫶

psst, i also want to thank each and every single one of you who read a place in the sea of stars. i was not expecting the feedback that fic received and i am still so overwhelmed by all the love all this time later. thank you thank you thank you a million times over from the bottom of my heart. 🥹🫶

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

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