#star Wars fanfiction

[ivystoryweaver]

Thank you for the comments and the beautiful art! I appreciate the rb! You are too sweet!

Stay - Poe Dameron

Poe + First “I love you”

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Poe Masterlist

Notes: a little suggestive, tinge of angst-ish Word count: 520 || for this nonnie request

It happened again. Poe spent the night with you.

He came to you weary and worn. Fell into your arms and buried his face in your neck as if you could wrap yourself around him like a blanket.

His mouth sought yours out, hungry and desperate.

You held one another until the suns rose.

"Gotta go soon," he told you, voice husky and eyes roving the contours of your face.

"Stay a little bit longer," you coaxed, twirling your fingers in his soft curls.

His eyes fluttered closed, even as he reluctantly untangled his limbs from the safety of your embrace. "You don't know what that does to me."

You knew exactly what it did to him.

"How long will you be gone this time?"

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he pulled his shirt over his head, mussing those thick waves you were so obsessed with. You couldn't help yourself, reaching out to smooth the wild strands back into place, gently scratching his scalp with your fingernails.

"Mmm, baby," he groaned, twisting around to tackle you to the bed and cover your lips with his own.

"Stay," you whispered, between kisses. "A little longer."

"It'll never be long enough for you, sweetheart," he teased, gazing down at you adoringly as he brushed his fingertips along the softness of your cheek. "Will you wait for me?"

"I always do."

Satisfied, he kissed you again before climbing out of bed and pulling on the rest of his hastily discarded flight suit.

You watched him prepare to leave you again. To do his duty. To be the best pilot, the best man you'd ever known. He turned back to you with a wistful smile.

"Poe, wait, I - "

Seeing you scurry out of bed, he caught you by the elbows, expecting another plea for him to stay, or a joke about him always leaving.

“I…”

“I know,” he nodded, easing his arms around you. The two of you silently swayed, savoring these precious few moments alone.

He kissed you again before activating the door, which opened with a whoosh.

You mean so much to me.

I need you

I’m yours

It doesn’t matter how long you’re gone, I’ll always be waiting for you.

There were a thousand ways you could utter the feelings swelling in your heart, but they all stuck in your throat.

As if he could read every thought inside you, Poe lingered a moment longer. “Your room is kind of small.”

“What?” You laughed at his unexpected comment.

“It’s smaller than mine.”

“Fine, we’ll use yours next time, Commander.”

He smirked. “I’ll help you move your stuff when I get back.”

Your heart stopped. Did he mean…

“Don’t say no,” he sweetly whispered, reaching for your hands. “You know my bed is softer.”

“And bigger,” you giggled.

“Say yes,” he breathed against your lips.

“Yes,” you whispered as his lips met yours.

He finally made it out your door, a confident swagger in his walk. “Hey,” he called back over his shoulder, turning around so he could look at you one more time. “I love you.”

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Poe Masterlist

[djarins-cyare]

Here from your WIP post - please tell me about Refugees From TV Land?!

Yay, I’m so glad someone asked about this one! 🩵 It’s one of my favourites and the first fic idea I wrote down after finishing Be-All And Endor.

As those of you who’ve read my WIP folder titles may have guessed, I’m pretty obsessed with the whole ‘Earthling in the SWU�� concept. One of my most beloved Mandalorian fics ever (Short Debts Make Long Friends by @wrathkitty) features a Reader from Earth, and I’ve already described one of my Earthling!Reader fic ideas here.

Another of my favourite Mandalorian fics is Not My Stars by @keldabe-kriff, which is kind of the opposite – it features Din becoming stuck on Earth. It’s such an intriguing inversion of the ‘Earthling in the SWU’ concept that I found myself dreaming up my own spin on how such a situation could come about and what the dynamics would be like. I love the idea of Din being totally flummoxed by things we find normal and the reader having to help him adapt!

Refugees From TV Land is a placeholder title until I can think of something better, but I’ve got the whole thing plotted out and have written a few scenes here and there. I think the best way to illustrate the setup is simply to give you the entire scene where Din arrives, although I don’t really want to give away much more than that for now. So here you go – I hope you enjoy it! 🩵

Refugees From TV Land

BOOM!

You bolt upright as a deafening bang wrenches you from your couch-based slumber, shattering the enjoyable Mandalorian-themed dream you were having. The projector still hums quietly behind you, its vintage lens casting an achromatic glow over the room, though the show has long since ended.

Through the foggy confusion of your abrupt awakening, you scan the room, convinced that something has either fallen or exploded, and a mounting panic hits as you realise Yoda is nowhere to be seen.

“Yoda! Where are you, buddy?” That dog is a menace.

After a few seconds, the patter of claws on the hardwood floor signals your little hound has heard your summons. All you see at first are his huge ears approaching the couch before he leaps up to join you.

“What have you destroyed this time, huh?” you ask, already dreading the mess you’ll have to face.

Yoda huffs at your accusation before bounding forward to lick your face – either in apology or simple affection – and you collapse back onto the sofa, laughing as you fend him off with a few ear scratches. A quick once-over confirms he isn’t wet, smeared in food, or singed. It’s unlikely he’s caused too much damage, then.

“Alright, little guy, whatever it is, we’ll tackle it tomorrow. Bedtime now.” But as you try to kick off the blanket and sit back up, you swear you hear something else – a man’s shout, distant yet discernible.

Is someone outside? You’re about to get up and check when Yoda growls, and a cold shiver of alarm races through you at the possibility of an intruder. This place is so isolated that you’re not sure how to handle such a prospect. You freeze for several anxious moments, watching your dog for any clues about the threat’s origin.

Then, you notice something odd: Yoda isn’t growling at the door or the windows. He’s fixated on the blank wall opposite you, upon which the projector still casts a large square of light.

And that’s when you see it.

Shifting patterns ripple within the light’s confines – undulating shimmers that make the solid wall appear almost liquid, the shapes slowly gaining colour and definition.

Suddenly, Yoda howls, and your focus snaps back to him, only to see him doing his best wolf impression at the ceiling. “What the fuck…?” you murmur.

But before you can reach out to soothe him, a shrill, high-pitched tone slices through the air, forcing you to clamp your hands over your ears. Yoda abandons his howling in favour of barking instead, his gaze fixed once again on the wall. You look up and see… images! They’re faint but unmistakable – as if the projector’s lens is out of focus.

Wondering what on earth it’s projecting (since the DVD has undoubtedly ended), you reach up behind the sofa and fiddle with the lens assembly, twisting the focusing gear to adjust the aperture. The piercing tone has vanished, so you drop your other hand from your ear, noting that Yoda has now fully burrowed himself beneath your blanket.

So much for your guard dog, the little wimp.

As the image sharpens, you hear a man shouting again – but this time, you can make out the words: “There he is! Stop him!” Desperately, you twist the focus gear once more, trying to tune in whatever your projector is inexplicably displaying.

Suddenly, the image becomes vividly clear – a perfectly projected grey hallway with angular walls and glowing strip lighting. Your drowsy mind struggles to make sense of the familiar architecture and fathom why it’s being projected onto your living room wall when, all at once, there’s another boom. You jolt in shock, and Yoda whines from beneath the blanket.

Then chaos erupts in the corridor: flashes of red ricochet off the walls, and your eyes widen as a figure dashes around the corner. A figure you recognise immediately.

It’s none other than the Mandalorian – his silver beskar reflecting the red plasma as if it were mere rain in a summer storm.

What the fuck are you seeing? Is this an easter egg at the end of the DVD or something?!

You watch as Din tucks himself against the wall near the corner he just raced around. He peeks back out and fires a couple of blaster shots back the way he came while Grogu’s little pod zips around the corner, its top closed tight to protect him.

Suddenly, a door slides open closer to you along the corridor, and a stormtrooper steps into the foreground, taking aim at Din’s back.

“Oh, shit!” you gasp, fully immersed in the stakes of this bizarre bonus scene. But Din pivots just in time, firing his blaster straight at his would-be attacker. The trooper falls instantly, their own shot going wide and bouncing off the metal wall until it hurtles directly toward the camera…

…and into your fucking living room!

You scream as it impacts the wall above you, desperately wondering if you’re still asleep on your couch and merely dreaming this madness… until Din rushes toward you, shouting, “Is it safe there?”

This is a dream. It can’t be real.

Nonetheless, you nod.

And then he’s running toward you again, stormtroopers rounding the corner behind him, blaster bolts shrieking in your direction.

You cringe as elements from the show you love transform your cosy living room into a battlefield. Red plasma shatters an antique vase on your shelf… it singes your new oak coffee table and custom-made couch cushions… and the Mandalorian you’ve adored for the past four years dives through the wall, rolling to a surprisingly graceful stop on your rug.

Holy shit. This is a dream. This is just a totally realistic, scarily vivid dream.

But the shots keep coming, and the stormtroopers clamour ever closer….

“Close the doorway!” Din yells, rolling to his knees and returning fire through your wall.

Reacting mindlessly to his command, you twist on the couch, stretching up behind you to slam the on/off switch as fast as you can. But as the projector’s light flickers and fades, a few more blaster shots make it through the rapidly vanishing ‘doorway’ – and one catches your outstretched forearm.

The pain is more excruciating than any injury you’ve ever endured. You can’t even tell if you scream; you think you do, but nothing else exists beyond the searing agony of white-hot plasma eating into your skin.

It’s fucking glowing.

With the projector now off, the room is shrouded in darkness save for the moonlight streaming through the windows… and your fucking glowing wound.

You slide back down on the couch, clutching your injured arm and trying your goddamn best not to hyperventilate.

“Hey… let me see,” you hear, and suddenly, your fictional crush is gently cradling your forearm in his soft leather gloves. Din fucking Djarin is kneeling beside you, holding your arm as you hysterically gulp down oxygen and repress the urge to scream. Then, a gurgling sound comes from behind him, and you glance up…

…and wide brown eyes stare at you from between enormous batwing ears that illustrate exactly why you named your dog Yoda. Except… he looks real. A real-life Grogu with fluid movements – so unlike that jerky puppet in the show.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. Even your desperate, gasping attempts to take in oxygen aren’t enough to stave off your shocked mind’s overwhelming desire: to just switch the fuck off for a while.

And as darkness encroaches from the edges of your vision, you remain conscious just long enough to feel something tingly being sprayed on your arm. The last thing you hear before you pass out is a modulated voice that sounds remarkably like Pedro Pascal assuring you, “You’re gonna be fine.”

Sure. You will be when you wake up. Because this was all a dream.

Right?

[ireadwithmyears]

I’m not even like, an Omega is force sensitive believer. The way I understood it, her blood acts more as like a binder that, during the cloning process, helps stabilize the blood of someone who is... however

That will not stop me from eventually writing an AU where Obi-Wan finds her sneaking around Kamino during his visit and later returning to retrieve her and train her as his Padawan, thus Codywan becoming dads and somehow changing the outcome of the whole war because Omega nonchalantly brings up the inhibitor chips and Obi-Wan is immediately like 🚩🚩🚩“Excuse me, dear one. Could you repeat that for me?” Because like hell is he going to believe that they exist to simply modify/inhibit behaviour.

Thus, Omega ends up saving all the clones, the Jedi, and the galaxy from absolute ruin

[pharmaforpresident]

Debated if I wanted to actually post this or not, then decided to.

I painted Amari and Eriria into Sir Frank Dicksee’s painting “La Belle Dame de Merci” which is about Keats poem “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”. Honestly a stunning painting, you should look it up, there’s a bunch of other beautiful paintings about this poem too.

While the poem does not represent Amari and Eriria’s relationship, I thought the way Sir Frank Dicksee painted the two characters from the poem looking at each other absolutely beautiful.

[moonsilklover]

Curse him and his looks, cause goddamn 🥴 lovely read as always!!

Eyes Off

character: Hunter (The Bad Batch)

prompts: “Are you jealous?” “No, I’m not!” “Oh, you really are jealous! Wait, why would you be jealous?” / “Look at me.” / A kiss of jealousy

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

"Of course that's what you're wearing."

Crosshair's unimpressed drawl drew your attention from where you were fastening and concealing your weapons. Considering everyone else had already changed into their civvies, it had to be Hunter that Crosshair was addressing, and one look at the sergeant proved why.

Whereas the rest of the team opted to keep themselves covered in a way that wasn't too unlike their Republic-issued blacks, Hunter didn't shy away from letting his skin breathe. His hands and arms were wrapped up to his elbows, but there was a sizable stretch of skin and muscle leading up to the light-colored sleeveless tunic he wore.

Tech had always ensured that the temperature of the Marauder's interior was regulated, but something had to have been off, because you could've sworn it had just gotten at least ten times hotter.

You were still staring, and Force willing not ogling, as Hunter raised his hands defensively at Crosshair. "What?"

Crosshair scoffed as he shouldered on his pack. He lifted a single eyebrow and flicked his toothpick at his brother. It bounced unceremoniously off one of Hunter's tensed biceps.

The sergeant just smirked in response and shrugged. "I earned 'em." His tone was playful as he lifted his own pack and secured it over his shoulders. "I think I'm entitled to showing 'em off for once."

And thank the Force you did, you would have said if you didn't already have a durasteel lock on your own jaw.

"Ha-ha, yeah!" Wrecker clapped his brother on the shoulder. Hunter rolled it back in response, but nevertheless widened his sly smile as he looked up at Wrecker. "I think ya' look great, Sarge." Wrecker then turned his attention on you, giving your shoulder a nudge with his own. "Right, Sunny?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, but only for a quick moment. Subtlety had never been Wrecker's specialty, and you should have remembered that when you had stayed at 79's until last call with him and spilled out all your secrets. That's what you got for indulging in truth serum for once.

You schooled your expression into nonchalance the best you could and nodded. "Yeah." You lifted your blaster and gave it one last unnecessary check. "It definitely suits you."

Hunter huffed. "I don't even want to know what you mean by that." You snorted in amusement before Hunter refocused and addressed the gathered squad. "We shouldn't be here long, especially since we're dividing and conquering. Tech, Wrecker, you're clear on your objective?"

Tech looked up from his datapad and nodded as he adjusted his goggles. "That is correct."

Wrecker gestured over to Tech with his thumb. "What he said."

Hunter nodded at them both. "Great." He turned to his youngest brother. "Crosshair?"

Crosshair's brow rose once again. "Do you really have to ask?"

Hunter participated in their typical impromptu staring contest for a few heartbeats before he let out a sigh. "I'm taking that as a yes." His attention then shifted to you, and you fought a hard-won battle to not take a visible breath as his dark eyes found yours. "Sunny, you're with me." Hunter motioned for the squad to follow as he stepped towards the open hatch. "Let's move out."

You kept your attention on the way ahead as the squad walked out of the hangar together and through the throngs of sentients that crowded the planet's streets. Eventually, as you and Hunter got closer to your own destination, Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair peeled off to attend to their own objectives. You tried not to tense as you kept yourself close to Hunter's side.

"Hmm." Hunter's hum got your attention, and you looked over to see his brow creased the way it often did when he was reaching out with his senses. "It's gonna be crowded in there." He gave you a glance and nodded. "Stay close. We might have to push our way through."

You nodded and obeyed, getting close enough for one of his arms to brush against yours. It was hard to focus with the warmth of his skin meeting yours in endless succession, but you threw your mindset into the mission as the two of you stepped inside the cantina.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, you could feel the eyes on you—only they weren't on you specifically. They were on him.

You could have accredited the lingering stares to the fact that Hunter presented much more like a regular clone than the others, and he may have been getting some undue attention for that, but you could identify the kind of looks he was getting all too well. Gazes flickered up and down, heads did double takes, and some people even giggled with their peers.

You should have found it amusing. The others certainly would have if they were there. Instead, it filled you with a pool of a sickly feeling almost like dread, coiling in your stomach and twisting into an uncomfortable knot.

It was an unmistakable wave of intense jealousy, and you weren't strong enough to fight it.

You were drawing yourself even closer to Hunter's side before you could stop it, your eyes cautiously scanning your surroundings as you did so. Another strong flare of jealousy's angry green haze saw you taking his arm and wrapping your hands around it, securing you to his side as you smiled in satisfaction at the way many of the hungry scares awkwardly flickered away from the two of you.

But your actions didn't go unnoticed by him. Hunter stopped pushing through the crowd long enough to turn his head and look at you with his full attention. "You okay?"

You looked up at him with innocent eyes, and his gaze gestured to the grasp you still had on his arm. You offered him a quick nod. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just..." You glanced around the room again. "A little overwhelmed."

Hunter's warm eyes studied yours as he softened. "I get it. We won't be here long, though, like I said before." He nodded towards the bar. "C'mon. We're almost there."

You went forward with him, selfishly indulging in the feeling of his warmth—and the arm you still had a tight grasp on. You were pleased to note it was just as strong and solid as it had looked.

Once Hunter had successfully maneuvered your way to the bar and had made enough room for the two of you there, you reluctantly let go of his arm and simply stood at his side. Your arms were still brushing at the close proximity, your focus was still going to any wandering eyes that caught sight of him.

You should have been focused on the objective and helping Hunter get information out of the bartender, but you had other priorities. Like Hunter had insinuated before, he had worn what he was wearing for a reason. Did that mean he wanted one of these people to approach him?

The thought alone made you sick. It shouldn't have, because you weren't his and he wasn't yours, but that didn't matter.

"You sure you're okay?"

Hunter's low voice of concern brought your attention back to him. You glanced over to see him furrowing his brow at you.

"You seem on edge."

You shrugged and looked past the sergeant, seeing someone just behind him staring holes through his back. You fought back a growl and forced yourself to answer normally. "I'm just seeing a lot of eyes on you." You blinked and quickly rushed to correct yourself. "Us."

But the damage had already been done. One of Hunter's eyebrows shot up in suspicion as he continued to look at you. "That's nothing new, especially not for me."

You circled your jaw. "Yeah, but..." Your gaze flickered over him before you could stop it. "It's different this time."

Hunter looked ahead, his expression taut as he pondered something, and then you saw his dark eyes light up with realization. You winced quietly before he even had the chance to speak.

"Wait." He looked over at you again, the small pieces of hair that escaped his bandana bouncing on his forehead as the corners of his lips rose in a small smile. "Are you jealous?"

You forced out a scoff and began to flounder. "No, I’m not!" You looked down, your gaze searching. "I-I'm just..."

It was too late. You were too flustered to think of a viable excuse, and your ears and face were burning so hot that you were half-convinced Hunter's senses had already picked up on the temperature change.

"Oh, you really are jealous." Hunter said the words with a chuckle, and his bare shoulder playfully nudged yours.

You fought off the sudden waves of embarrassment valiantly and looked anywhere but at him. He was clearly still joking, and you were stuck between playing it off again or at least wanting him to put the pieces together. This one-sided thing you had going on was getting too exhausting.

That made his next words even less of a surprise than they probably should have been. "Wait... why would you be jealous?"

Your gaze flickered over to meet Hunter's, but you looked away from him just as quickly. Your stare focused on your fingers as they picked at the skin around your nails. This was not a conversation you wanted to have here, especially not when he was looking like that.

"Hey." Hunter's voice was achingly soft now as he set a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Look at me."

You relented, your guilty gaze finding his—which was full of comfort and, surprisingly, understanding. Your brow knit together, though the knot in your stomach began to loosen when Hunter's hand suddenly moved from your shoulder to the one you had closest to him on the bar. His stare lowered and watched as his wrapped hand wove his fingers through yours and gave your own hand a soft squeeze.

Hunter looked at you again, and he gave you a reassuring nod. "You have nothing to worry about."

All you could do was blink at him, any words you could have possibly wanted to say dying on your tongue. You were trying to read him and make sure you weren't misinterpreting the signals he was sending you. Was he saying that because he had requited feelings, or just to assure you that he wasn't looking for anything from anyone?

Hunter huffed and gave his head a fond shake. "You've been noticing the eyes on me, and I..." He paused, his jaw tightened as he narrowed his eyes at something behind you. "Have been tracking the eyes on you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. You must have been so wrapped up in your jealousy towards Hunter that you failed to notice how people had been looking at you, too. Your civvies did hug your body in a way your typical tactical gear didn't...

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You had no choice but to ask. You couldn't live with the anticipation anymore.

Hunter nodded and looked at your entwined hands again. He gave yours another squeeze. "The feeling's mutual."

You couldn't keep the smile from growing on your lips. Honestly, you should have known better, but reason and feelings never paired well together, anyway. All you could do was let out a soft laugh as you also looked down at your hands.

"What do you think?"

When Hunter spoke again, you looked up, suddenly realizing how much closer the two of you had gotten. Hunter clocked the minimized distance, too, his warm gaze flickering to your lips before he went on.

"Should we give them something else to stare at?"

You hummed, pretending to have to consider the offer even as your traitorous body already started to lean closer. "I think that's a good plan, Sarge."

Hunter chuckled, though the warmth that sound brought you was nothing compared to the feeling of his lips on yours.

You inhaled one another like it was your first full breath of oxygen, with Hunter's free hand catching the side of your face and jaw to keep you locked in place. Meanwhile, your free hand rose to his bicep, anchoring yourself to him as each breath passed between you and each tease of his tongue threatened to make your knees buckle underneath you. It was utterly dizzying, and it made you completely forget about everything and everyone else around you, for better or for worse.

When you parted, Hunter was quick to clock the sight of your hand on his arm. His lips gave way to a sly smile, and your brow shot up as you mused upon his words from earlier.

"This is what you wanted all along, isn't it?" You shook your head at him in fondness. "I was the person you were 'showing 'em off' for."

Hunter shrugged, playing innocent for now. "Maybe, maybe not."

You scoffed. "Do we even have a real objective here?"

"Well, we did." He gave your hand another squeeze. "But we just completed it."

You gave your eyes a roll. "Force, Hunter..."

"The others' objectives are real, though."

You couldn't help laughing at that. Leave it to the sergeant of the Bad Batch to use an actual mission as a way to somehow get you both to finally break the ice. "And the bartender?" You nodded towards the nearest one. "You just made that up?"

"Not really." Hunter's smirk remained as he caught the bartender's eye. "I do need to talk to them... to get us some drinks."

You blinked at him before you laughed even harder. You shifted your hand onto the arm closest to you and rested your head against his bare shoulder the best you could manage, relishing in the wave of content that rolled over you.

It was an unconventional way for your mutual feelings to surface, but that was just who Hunter was, and you couldn't hide the way you loved it.

[avastrasposts]

Plot: Crashing his Razor Crest on a remote planet, Din is seriously injured and unconscious when he's found by a local woman. This story explores a few months of Din's life before he meets Grogu and started on the path we know.

Din Djarin x Female reader

Author Note & Warnings: Explicit - smut, fluff, angst, serious injury, blood, poor Din has an existential crisis...

This is set pre-Grogu and before season 1 of The Mandalorian and explores a few months of Din's life. The first chapters contain blood and descriptions of serious injuries.

The latter chapters will be filled with angst. I don't want to spoil the story by listing too many warnings, but if you don't know me, I write tooth aching fluff and smut and then I throw heart breaking angst into the mix and that's exactly what I've done here.

Don't send me your therapy bills....

Seriously.

Series Master List

You heard it before you saw it, a bang and the screech of metal being ripped apart. The sharp swoosh of sound that a spaceship makes as it tumbles through the atmosphere out of control. As you rounded the corner of your small dwelling, you saw it too. There was smoke and flames coming out from one side of the double engine craft, more smoke billowing out from what looked to be the cockpit. And as it tore through the trees about a mile from your home, you wondered if it would go up in a giant ball of fuel and fire and burn your whole forest down. 

The ship disappeared from view, but you felt the ground shake as it thumped down, the sound reverberating through the still air, all the birds fleeing at the sound of the crashing spaceship. 

Turning away from the forest, you rushed into your small house, grabbing what supplies you had and stuffed them in a bag. 

“Gearz, boot up, I need your help,” you called to your worker droid, “Someone crashed their spaceship in our backyard!” 

Within a minute you were out in the yard again and running towards the crash site, Gearz zooming along behind you. If there was any chance of someone surviving such a crash, you needed to help them. You knew very little of rebels and imperials, but you knew enough to tell that this ship was neither. Or at least it wasn’t marked as belonging to the Alliance or the Empire. And to be frank, most of the time, that didn’t matter this far out towards the edge of the galaxy, and certainly not in this remote corner of your home planet. 

As you neared the crash site, you slowed down, not wishing to run straight into toxic fumes or a fire if the whole thing had in fact gone up in flames. Weaving through the trees, you came upon one of the few open clearings in this part of the forest, just large enough for a smallish spaceship to land. And whoever had piloted this wrecked ship, had managed to set it down, right side up. There was a gash in the trees on one side where the landing gear must’ve clipped the tops of them, and the whole ship tilted to the side. Smoke was still billowing out through the cockpit and the hole in the side, but at least there were no open flames. 

You quickly tied a rag across your nose and mouth, and hurried forward. There was a risk this thing could blow, but there was still a chance someone was alive in there and you were too much your father’s daughter to ignore someone who might need help. 

The entryway was damaged, half hanging off its hinges, with smoke streaming out, and the panel on the side that seemed to control the door was a mess of broken wiring. You quickly stepped onto the landing gear and grabbed the half open door, using your body weight to force it down, swinging from it. It groaned under your weight, and suddenly gave out, sending you crashing to the ground and a cloud of smoke poured from the inside of the ship. Scrambling to your feet, you peered into the darkness for signs or sounds of life. 

“Hello?” you called out, “Anyone alive? Hello?”

Nothing stirred, but the smoke thinned out and streamed upwards, letting you see further into the hull. Tentatively you stepped on the gangway and edged towards the opening, peering through the darkness. The bright sunshine from your planet's twin suns helped light your way. You paused just inside the hull, listening and waiting for your eyes to adjust to the murky interior. 

Suddenly something scraped against metal further inside, and you saw a small movement. You nearly jumped backwards, until you realized you were looking at the underside of a boot lying flat on the floor of the hull. 

“Hello? Do you need help? Are you injured?” you called into the ship again, but the boot didn’t move. Taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, you stepped into the glum interior and walked towards what you could see on the floor. As you got further in, you saw more of the damage of the ship. Something had blasted a hole in the side, wiring was hanging loose everywhere, crates tossed, half broken and dented, the galley ladder up to the flight deck was nearly ripped off the wall next to the figure on the floor. 

You made your way to the still form, quickly taking in what you were looking at. A person, human in form, covered from head to toe in metal armor. But blood was seeping from under the chest plate, and from under the mangled helmet. If they were still alive, you needed to stop the bleeding and get them back to your farm as soon as possible. 

“Gearz, go back to the house and get the small transporter as quickly as you can, we need to help them.” 

Gearz beeped in acknowledgement and zoomed away while you turned back to the still form. Kneeling next to their body, you carefully searched under the edge of the chest plate for a latch or a switch to remove it. Something clicked, it came loose, and you placed it on the floor. It was dented but it didn’t look like it was the cause of the bleeding. The source of that became evident as you moved to allow more light to fall on the person, a jagged piece of metal was buried deep in the side of the flight suit. 

“Dank farrik…” you mumbled, gently probing around the wound. You couldn’t remove that here, and moving them would make it jostle around. Gearz would have to help you lift them onto the transporter while you kept it as still as possible. For now you placed pads around it and stemmed the blood flow as much as you could. 

Next you moved up so that you could crouch next to the head of your patient. The helmet was cracked down through the visor, one the metal panels bent out of shape, and you could only pray it had given enough protection to its owner to keep them safe. Keeping a steady hold on the helmet with one hand, you slowly moved it up over the head while you cradled the wearer’s neck with your other hand. It slipped off fairly easily, and the man, as you realized it was, didn’t move at all as you placed the helmet on the floor and examined him. You pressed your fingers to his neck just below the ear, and felt a weak, but steady pulse. 

“At least you’re still alive,” you mumbled, “But I wonder what shape you’re in, friend.” 

With all the gentleness your father had taught you, you pressed your fingers along his spine, checking each vertebrae. Without a proper scan you couldn’t say for sure there was no damage, but at least there was no apparent break so far. Satisfied that you could move his head at least a little, you examined the source of the blood at the back of his head. There was a gash there, not too deep from what you could see, the piece of metal in his side was a bigger problem. You placed another pad against his head, stemming the blood flow, and straightened up just as Gearz zoomed into view with the transporter. 

“I need you to lift him up and place him on the transporter as gently as possible, I don’t want to move him much. I’ll try to keep the piece of metal from moving. Ok?” 

Gearz beeped the signal that meant ‘yes’, and you got to work. The stranger was soon up on the transporter and being ushered towards the farm. You glanced around the broken ship, there didn’t seem to be anyone else on board, the sleeping bunk and cockpit both empty. If you managed to save the stranger’s life, you’d come back and get whatever gear he needed. Out here, there was no one who would disturb the ship in the meantime. 

Once back in the house, you got Gearz to place the man on your bed after you’d placed a clean blanket on top. Pulling out all the medical supplies you had, you got to work. You lived alone out here during the long warm season of your planet, and although you could always return to the main settlement for supplies, you preferred to have all you needed on hand for all eventualities.

“I never imagined I’d need to save someone who crashed into my backyard though,” you told the unconscious man in your bed as you carefully cut open the flight suit, exposing his upper body before attempting to remove the viscous metal sticking out from his abdomen. The skin underneath was cold and clammy to the touch, the smattering of dark hairs stark against his pale complexion. 

“We’re going to need to get those blood levels up too, seems like you bled out more than I first thought,” you said, feeling the chill in his body, “Gearz, turn up the heat in the room, and bring the spare blankets from the couch. We need to get him warm once we’ve patched him up.” 

The handheld scanner told you the vicious looking piece had managed to avoid all major arteries, but it still sat lodged in deep. While Gearz pulled it out, following your precise instructions, you kept pressure on the wound, quickly stemming the blood and closing the gash after dousing it with a cleaning agent. You could manage most healing without bacta, an expensive and rare medical solution this far out in the outer rim, and not many could afford it here. So you did without, and did well, but right now, you wished you had a bacta spray to douse the man in and help his healing. Sitting back on your heels next to Gearz, you surveyed your handwork on the man’s abdomen, before turning to the gash on the back of his head. After cleaning it out, all you could do was close it with some quick stitches and cover it with a new patch. Then you got to work on the smaller cuts and lacerations he’d sustained in the crash. 

“Seems like you were lucky to be wearing your armor,” you mumbled, cleaning out a cut just above where his shoulder pauldron had sat, “I think it absorbed most of the impact, and that helmet surely saved your life.” 

The man, who had been still and quiet throughout your ministrations, suddenly whimpered and twitched. His eyes moved rapidly under the still closed lids and he seemed to shift, his hand moving as if grabbing something. 

You put your hand on his bare shoulder, the rest of his body covered by blankets. 

“Shh…you're safe, you’re being cared for. Just rest,” you said softly, “You need to rest and heal, friend.” 

The man seemed to be fighting the unconsciousness that was keeping him from awakening, and his eyes suddenly flew open, looking up at you in confusion and panic.

“My…” he croaked, his eyes already slipping closed again as you tried to calm him. 

“You’ve been injured, please stay still. You’re safe, but you need to rest.” 

You gently took his hand in yours, it was anxiously moving, his fingers opening and closing, and wrapped both your hands around it. With soft, slow movements, you stroked the back of his hand, gently urging him to calm down and sleep. You could feel him fight it, his hand twitching as you held it, but it didn’t take long before he went under again. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as you felt his pulse, it was stronger and his breathing more regular. He’d moved from unconsciousness to sleeping, and it made you feel less anxious for his life. He had a long road to recovery, but at least the head trauma hadn’t been fatal. As long as your stitching held on his abdomen, and you could handle any infections, he stood a chance. 

You sat next to him for a little while longer, studying the man who had so unexpectedly literally fallen into your life. It was clear that this was not the first time he had sustained a serious injury, multiple scars littered his body, both old and new. And he was built like a soldier, he looked strong and solid, despite the pale complexion the blood loss gave him. His face was pale too, dark rings under his eyes, shaded by black lashes. His unkempt brown hair, covered in grime and blood, fell over his forehead in sweaty curls, and you gently brushed them away from his eyes. He looked calmer now, and you hoped that when he woke up, he’d be less panicky. If the last thing he remembered was falling out of space in his ship, it would be a shock to wake up in the bed of a stranger. 

Once you were sure the man was sleeping soundly and wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, you instructed Gearz to stay with him and alert you if there was any change. It had gone dark while you tended to your patient, so you closed your house for the night and made some dinner. Seeing as your only bed was occupied, you bedded down on the couch, and soon fell asleep. 

You woke early the next morning, to a soft beep from Gearz. 

“Waking up,” came the staccato voice from the droid and you hurried out of your makeshift bed. 

The man was still sleeping when you came into the bedroom, but you could see that he was shifting, his eyes moving under his eyelids again. He looked better this morning, some color had returned to his skin, and he looked a more normal golden tan under the sunlight that filtered in through the shutters. Keeping your distance so as to not startle him, you waited by the foot of the bed. 

He blinked his eyes open, looking up at the ceiling in confusion before his hands flew to his face, grabbing at it. He wrenched himself up in bed, his eyes flying around the room before landing on you. The wound on his abdomen must’ve shot pain through his body, because he groaned and grabbed at it as he fell back towards the bed, but his eyes remained on you as he tried to sit up again. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, his complexion quickly going pale again as he stared at you with wide, terrified eyes. 

Panic

That was the word that hit you as you held out your open hands towards the man, he was panicking. 

“Please, calm down, you’re not in any danger, but you're injured. Don’t move too much, I closed the wound in your side but you’re going to tear the stitches.” 

You kept your voice low, as if you were speaking to a scared animal, because that’s what he reminded you of. 

“My helmet,” he croaked, still trying to sit up. He half rolled onto his side and got his feet on to the floor, and you rushed forward. He tried to bat at your hands, groaning with each movement, putting up a weak struggle against your firm grip. 

“Please, stay in bed!” you urged him, placing your hands on his shoulders and gently pushing him back. He had no strength, and he easily fell back onto the bed. 

His eyes were still wide, staring up at you, glancing over your shoulder, and then back at you. His breathing was violent, his breath coming out in short bursts. He seemed scared, panicking over his surroundings and the situation he was in, but you needed him to calm down, to reassure him that he was in no danger. 

“You’re safe here, please understand that. I just don’t want you to injure yourself more, so I need you to calm down and rest.” 

“H-helmet,” he gasped as you placed your hand on his forehead, he was burning up. He flinched at your touch, a whimper escaping him as his eyes flicked up towards your hand before staring back at yours. Panic was flooding his body and making him hyperventilate as he gasped for air. 

“Your helmet is on your ship, but it was damaged in the crash. I’ll send my droid to get it for you, but I need you to calm down,” you urged him. You kept your voice soft but stern, “Please, stay still and I’ll tell Gearz to get the helmet. But don’t try to get up again.” 

He gave the smallest of nods, his eyes fixed on yours. There was such terror there, this strong man looked terrified and vulnerable, and it made your heart clench. You had no idea why he was so scared, but you wanted to comfort him and make sure he felt safe.

“Please, I assure you, you’re safe here. You’re on a safe planet and there’s no one else around except me and my worker droid.” 

You sank down onto your heels next to the bed as you spoke, putting both hands on the mattress and looking at him, hoping you could convey some sense of calm to him. 

He gave another small nod and you nodded in return, carefully getting back onto your feet to not startle him. 

“I’ll be right back,” you said, “I’ll just instruct Gearz to go to your ship straight away.”

Leaving the room, you pointedly let the door stay wide open. 

Finding Gearz in the kitchen, you sent him to the ship with the transporter with instructions to collect the helmet, the armor and any personal belongings he could find. Before you returned to the room, you poured a glass of water for the man and took a small bowl of broth from the pantry along with some bread. 

You found him flat on his back trying to survey the room, scanning the window as you stepped through the door. His eyes immediately flew to you again, still wide and apprehensive, but the worst of the panic seemed to have subsided, or he was at least keeping it in control. You could see that the stitching had ripped on the side of his body, the bandaged stained red already. 

“You managed to pull out a stitch or two,” you said, pointing to the wound, “I need to close that again before we do anything else, but I thought you might be thirsty.” 

“My helmet, my weapons,” he said, his voice low and unsteady, and although you heard no question mark, you assumed he was asking where it was. 

“Gearz, my droid, is on his way to your ship to collect the helmet along with your armor and anything else he can find. He should be back very soon,” you replied, keeping your voice level, even as your mind processed what he’d said. 

The mention of weapons startled you, there was seldom any need for weapons here, except for hunting animals for food, and you realized that you needed to tell Gearz to hide any weapons he’d found before he brought the armor in the house. You didn’t know why this man would need them, although it made sense that if they were valuable he’d want to make sure they were safe and with him. You just didn’t want to run the risk of suddenly being threatened by this man who very much looked like he’d seen many battles, judging by the scars on his body. He seemed very unstable and scared and you weren’t sure you could trust him to not turn on you once he got just a little of his strength back. Best to not have any weapons nearby to start with. 

You placed the tray on the small table next to the bed, and picked up the glass, “Here, drink some water. You lost a lot of blood and you need liquids. When I’ve done the new stitches you should try to eat some broth too.” 

You held out the glass to him but it took him a few moments to move. He glanced down at the glass in your hand and then up to you again before reaching up. He was clumsy when he took it, and his fingers closed over yours. The contact seemed to startle him so much, the glass shook and water spilled on to the bed. The poor man looked like a nervous wreck, and you gave him a small smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll dry. Just drink as much as you can.” 

He raised the glass to his mouth and sipped it, carefully at first, but then thirst seemed to overcome him, and he downed the whole thing, gasping for air as you took it from him. 

“Now, lie back again, and I’ll redo your stitches,” you said, placing the glass on the table and picking up your medical supplies. He didn’t do as you said, and you looked at him with raised eyebrows, questioning him. 

“What happened?” he asked, his voice less raspy, but it still held that unsteady tone. 

“To your ship? I don’t know how you got it so banged up,” you replied, “but I heard it falling from the sky and saw it crash into the forest with flames and smoke. I ran out there with Gearz and found you unconscious on the floor of the hull. You had a nasty piece of metal sticking out of your side, and a deep gash in the back of your head. But please, lie down and let me stitch you up again before you bleed through my bed?” 

The man’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline in surprise, and he blinked a couple of times. 

“No, I need to see,” he finally said and now it was your turn to look surprised. 

“You don’t trust my stitching skills? I need you to lie down so that I get the stitches straight.”

You meet his gaze straight on, emotions flashing across his face as he seemed to fight an objection. Finally, he lay back without a word. 

You prepared the small apparatus that did the stitching, and from the corner of your eye, you could see that the man was trying to watch your hands by looking down his chest. 

“This might hurt a little, but it’s only two stitches,” you said, carefully lifting up the bandage and arranging the edges of the wound for the stitches. When you touched his skin, he flinched so hard you lost your gentle grip on it. 

“Are you ticklish?” you smiled at him, “Try to lie still, I’ll be quick.” 

He looked up at you without replying, and didn’t smile back, if anything, he looked embarrassed, a red flush creeping up his chest and neck. 

Looking back down at what you were doing, you prepared the edges of the wound again. This time you took a firmer hold to not tickle him, and he still flinched, but managed to remain still. It was only a couple of seconds' work for the machine to put in the two stitches and the sharp prick of the suture needle didn’t even make the man grunt. 

You cleaned the wound again and placed a clean bandage on top, smoothing down the edges, and he flinched again. 

‘Ok, stitching without anesthesia he doesn’t even react to, but light touches make him almost jump out of his skin…noted,’ you thought to yourself as you cleaned the apparatus and put it away. The man’s behavior was almost that of a wounded animal that needed to tolerate humans in order to receive care. His eyes were on you the whole time you moved around the room, widening with something that almost looked like fear, when you turned and looked at him again. 

“How is your head feeling?” you asked as you stepped closer to the bed again, “Can you maybe eat something if I help you sit up?” 

He reached up and touched the back of his head gingerly, “I need my helmet,” he said. 

“I’ll go see where Gearz is, he should be on his way back,” you replied, taking the opportunity to leave the room and alert Gearz to the need for hiding any weapons first. 

You left the bedroom door open again, but closed the front door to the yard when you left the house. Walking across the small garden, you saw Gearz and the transporter in the distance. As the droid approached, you directed him to the storage building to the side of the garden and led the transporter inside. 

“Thank you, Gearz,” you said, going through the crate that held what looked like a complete set of armor, “Did you find any weapons?”

“Yes, many,” the droid replied, and lifted the lid of the other crate.

Your jaw dropped at what it contained. There were two lethal looking blasters, both still in their holsters that attached to a belt, a long rifle of a type you’d never seen before, a sheathed knife with a well worn handle and an assortment of weapons you didn’t even have names for. 

These were the guns of someone who fought for a living, and not just in self defense. You knew traders that came to your planet's major hub would carry a blaster sometimes as a deterrent or self defense. The hunters in your small community carried simple rifles for prey, and knives for dressing what they took down. But you’d never met anyone, or heard of anyone on this planet who needed this much fire power. 

“Gearz, hide these guns well back on the ship, do not let the man in the house find them before he leaves. I’ll tell him you couldn’t find them.” 

The droid confirmed his instructions with a beep, and took off with the transporter again. 

You took a deep breath before picking up the crate with the armor, now it was your turn to feel nervous and scared. Who exactly was the man in your house? 

You found him fighting against sleep when you came into the room, his body probably craving rest to heal. Quietly you put the crate by the foot of the bed and stepped over to him. 

“Gearz brought back your armor, it’s in the crate there, including your helmet, but it’s been badly damaged. You should sleep though, your body needs to heal.” 

“N-no…” he protested, attempting to sit up again and you sighed. 

“I’ll give you the helmet if you promise to lie down,” you said, your voice sterner this time, you did not have the patience to stitch this man up again. 

“Give me the helmet,” he growled, his voice suddenly low and dangerous sounding, as he grabbed your arm. Despite the weak state he was in, his grip was firm enough to pinch your flesh as you tried to pull away. His eyebrows had furrowed tight over his dark eyes and there was no doubt that he was demanding the helmet from you, the tight grip on your arm a warning. 

With your heart in your mouth, you bent down to retrieve the heavy metal, the man’s grip on your arm still tight. Without a word, you shoved it into his outstretched hand, and pulled out of his grip as soon as he let go. You rubbed the spot where you could still feel the painful grip of fingers as you watched him handle the helmet. He quickly turned it around, seeing the large crack through the visor and the deformed panel rendering the object useless. 

You stepped back from him as he continued to stare at the helmet. His face betrayed the emotions that must be coursing through him, a bout of panic and fear, grief and loss as he gripped the helmet hard in his hands, you could see the knuckles turning white. It was clear to you, even though you didn’t understand why, that the helmet was immensely important to this strange man and its broken state left him bereft. 

“I’ll leave you for now,” you said softly, “Try to eat something, and just call for me if you need anything.” 

The man didn’t respond, so you pulled the door closed, leaving a small gap so that you could hear him if he needed help, and went back to the kitchen. 

You weren’t sure why, but you tried to move quietly around your house for the next few hours, as if not to disturb your patient more than necessary. After breakfast, you went over your medical supplies, and went back to your daily chores. Eventually you peeked through the bedroom door to check on the man, and found him flat on his back with the helmet on his chest. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling, but flew to you as he heard you move inside the room. 

“Hi,” you said softly, stopping by the door, “I just wanted to see how you're doing and if you want some more water and food?” You noticed that the bowl of broth you’d left on the table was empty, a good sign. He looked calmer too, still apprehensive as he regarded you with dark eyes, but not in the same panic as earlier. 

“Yes,” he said, and after a pause, “Please.” 

You couldn’t help giving a small smile at what seemed like an afterthought at being polite, and nodded. 

“Ok, I’ll be right back.” 

You prepared a bigger bowl of broth this time, and poured water into a large jug, leaving it on the bedside table. 

“I’ll leave you to it, but let me know if you need anything, ok?” 

He gave a short nod as reply and again you left the room, keeping the door just slightly ajar, going back to your chores around the house.

Chapter 2

Many thanks to @din-cognito for beta reading and Star Wars checking the story!

Tagging some lovely people who listened to me yelling about this for the past month! @djarins-cyare @lady-bess @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @snshineandgnpwdr @angiewatson

@grogusmum @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Lane Line Challenge

Post the last line of your WIP drawing or writing, don't matter.

@ghostymarni thanks for tagging me this round 💋

We have a bit of both this time. Doodle wise we're aboooouuut here. I think. I don't actually remember the last one but I think it was this one.

I also did a bunch of writing before getting moving this morning. we're at the closing of chapter 14 and this chapter has a few perspective jumps. A change up from just riding along in Tahny's wacky lil brain.

“I want you broken, clone. Broken, and empty. I have plans for you, CT-9904… but first you must be brought to heel… pleasant dreams,” He swept out of the room, flicking the lights off as he went to leave Crosshair strapped down and helpless in the dark. His eyes burned, stinging with tears that refused to fall. Thoughts caught in strands of white hair like a spiders web as grief finally sank into him.  I wish we had never… met.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tag ur it.

@orangez3st @leapingbadger @feral-ferrule @cloneflo99 @silverwings22 @haybellewrites @freesia-writes @techhasmjolnir @eclec-tech

[pasukiyo]

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

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

read on ao3

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

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

 But of course, it’s futile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

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

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

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

 It was typical. 

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

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

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

 So she prayed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 So, she prayed again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

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

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

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

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

 And there it is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

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

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

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

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

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

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

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

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

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But even that is momentary. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

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

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

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

 And then, she bolts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 She does not move. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 But she’s frozen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And her time to detonate has come. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

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

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

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

 So he doesn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Another finger. Please.”

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

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

[viharker]

Last Night of the World [Vietnam War AU] | PART FOUR

I'll Go With You by @viharker

1971. Padmé introduces Ben to Cody. 1968. Padmé wrestles with the human cost of war.

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala & CC-2224 | Cody Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody

Language: English Published: 2025-03-01 Words: 2,450 Chapters: 1/1

Last Night of the World [Vietnam War AU] | PART ONE

Anywhere We May Be by @viharker

1971. Former Vietnam War nurse Padmé encounters an old friend back home, and old hopes become new beginnings.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Relationship: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Padmé AmidalaObi-Wan Kenobi

Language: English Published: 2024-12-27 Words: 2,625 Chapters: 1/1

[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[skybreakprimeonao3]

With the amount of Clones created, there was always going to be an overlap of names.

Marshall Commander Cody of the 212th was not the only Cody.

Jesse of the 501st shared a name with many soldiers across many battalions.

There were so many Foxes, younger Clones naming themselves after the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guards in a bout of hero worship.

But there was a set of Clones on each Venator that, after passing their normal tests and combat training, went into specialized training before their assignments. A majority of them didn’t have names before the specialized training, and those that did, weren’t really attached to their names and chose their new names amongst the others they worked with.

Obi-Wan met them on the flight deck, the group disembarking from the drop ship and saluting the Jedi.

All of them would join in on the battles and train with the others during hyperspace flight, but it was fairly quick to see that these soldiers worked together in a specific way.

“May I know your names?” Obi-Wan asked. He was still hesitant in asking, knowing names could be a private thing amongst the soldiers.

“My name is Spoon, sir!”

“Cup, sir!”

“I’m called Whisk!”

Eyebrows rose, and a glance to Cody told Obi-Wan that this group was a bit of a surprise to him.

“Are all of you working in the mess hall?” Obi-Wan, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“Of course, sir,” Whisk answered. “We’re all trained in ways to make the nutripaste more appealing, and not to give the soldiers food poisoning. We also know how and what to hunt and forage in case we run low on supplies during a campaign.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said. And it did make sense. Many Padawans got the same training, especially if their missions took them to the more remote planets.

Obi-Wan continued to smile as he got the names of Fork, Lid, Pan, Pot, and Kettle, but he paused when he heard a second Spoon. He glanced back at the first one for a moment before looking at the second one.

“It’s not often that squad mates share a name,” he offered.

The second Spoon shrugged. “You can call me little Spoon if it helps, sir, but it’s silly if a kitchen only has one Spoon in it.”

The snort of amusement from Cody was more surprising than anything, and Obi-Wan accepted the explanation with a nod and chuckle of his own.

[leenathegreengirl]

Cross is sleepy, let him sleep! 😴 💚💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @anxiouspineapple99 @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa

[bunnylovesani]

An Arrangement

Summary: You’re a princess taken from your home planet and forced to marry Darth Vader. Turns out life on the Death Star isn’t as bad as everyone makes out. Based on the prompt shared with @luminoustarlight !

Content warnings: p in v sex, degradation, sub dynamics, begging, some violence, slow burn smut

WC: 9.3k

You stare out the grand palatial window in the coronation room, passively observing the flames swallowing the city of your home planet Onderon. Unintelligible screams flood the background, soon mercilessly silenced by the thuds and cracks of brusquely operated laser guns. 

So this is how you were to meet your end: powerless at the mercy of the imperial army. You’d been trained for such a scenario before and you always carried a vial of poison in the event of capture; you’d rather die than be made to serve the Empire’s twisted interests.

“Princess, you need to take cover, follow my men into the vault below!” Your faithful attendant, Silas called out in panic.

“No, Silas. I will not cower in the basement waiting for them to breach our walls. I will remain here and eagerly await them.” 

“But Your Grace-!”

“Enough.” You bark back. “It’s over. You have been discharged from duty, run while you still can. Thank you for all your years of service, I pray that our paths might cross again in another life.” You turn from him, tears flowing down your stiffeningly cold cheeks.

“May the Maker keep and protect you, Princess. You are our only hope.” He replies solemnly, before fleeing through the stony back passage of the palace.

You chuckle mirthlessly at the futility of his words and reach into your bosom where the corset of your gown has a sewn-in compartment. You extract the compact glass ampule of viper venom, so toxic that one drop is enough to send you into an eternal sleep, and fiddle with the intricate bottle for a few moments. With a heavy sigh, you tuck it under your sleeve; you decided you wanted to gaze into the eyes of your captors before you bid farewell to life. 

With a resounding crash, the barricaded gate before you falls and the imperial army- donning armour plastered in dust and foreign blood- swarm into the great hall of the palace. You force the knot in your throat down with a gulp and turn on your heel to face the brutes responsible for the massacre of your people. 

“Ah Princess, excellent. We thought you’d be grovelling underground with your father but you’ve just made our job a whole lot easier.” A masked figure that you presume is the Commander of the battalion addresses you. “Grab her. But keep her alive, she’s got a special purpose to fulfil.” 

Hearing the ominous plans they have in store for you, you rush to reach for the poison in your sleeve but are hindered by the stampede of soldiers hurtling at you, slapping the vial out of your hand and shattering it all over the nitid marble floor. 

‘Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even think about it.” The unnaturally deep voice of the commander booms. “You’ve been specially requested at the behest of the Emperor.” Dread consumes you as you’re roughly cuffed and dragged out of the safety of your childhood home. The soldiers marching comes to a sudden halt and you’re made to turn around and stare at the palace, a deadly silence hanging in the air. 

“Burn it.” 

Triggered by the commander’s words, a roaring blaze fulminates, the building being crushed in an instant by the force of the explosion. All you can see is the reflection of smouldering flickers through the thick veil of tears filling your eyes. 

The commander smugly trudges over to you, sharply inhaling. “Ah, there’s nothing better than the smell of a coward’s smouldering corpse.” He hisses, words dripping with venom. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Your heart burned at the injustice, at the innocent civilians decimated- but you couldn’t fool yourself into pretending that scorn extended to your dearly departed father. 

Refusing to reply to his provocation with anything other than an expectorated glob of spit aimed at his helmet, he takes the barrel of his gun and pummels it with brute force against your temple. You’re instantly rendered unconscious and your limp body is packed into the nearest starfighter, chained up and ready to make the journey from Onderon to the Death Star.  

The first thing you do as you’re rudely awoken is cradle your aching head- a wave of nausea overtaking you and the electric pain behind your eyes knocking the air out of your lungs. 

“Rise ’n shine, Onderon whore.” One of the soldiers grabbing you by the elbow spat and you stumbled to your feet like a newborn foal. After being dragged through a fortified steel tunnel, you were harshly thrown to the floor in a cold control room before two cloaked men, one of whom wore black combat boots- no doubt robust and heavy enough to crack open a skull. The light in the battle station glowed painfully bright and you lifted your head as best you could to observe the squabbling figures through squinted eyes.

“Here she is, my young Lord. I think she’ll do nicely, yes?” The ominously raspy voice croaked and you knew at once it was none other than Emperor Sheev Palpatine.

“She’s shivering.” The monotonous voice of the other cloaked figure stated callously and only then did you notice how your body was trembling- whether it was from the cold or the fear, you weren’t sure. 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to warm her up on your wedding night.” He cackles wickedly but is met with silence from the man opposite him. The last thing you remember before it all went black was the light reflecting off of the quiet man’s helmet, and wondering what might be lurking underneath. 

“Tskk poor thing, look at this cut on your head.” You flutter your eyes open to see a woman in a billowed white cloak tutting and fussing over you. “Good morning, princess.”

“Who are you?” You scowl, trying to get up and immediately being knocked back down by the overwhelming pain.

“Whoa, easy now! Nice ’n slow.” The woman puts her arm around your waist and helps you to sit up. “I’m Sabe, a royal handmaiden. Your handmaiden, to be exact.”

“Where am I?” You croak, uncertain you wanted to know.

“You’re on the Death Star, ma’am.” 

Bile rises in your throat at the realisation that none of it was a dream- your recollection of the last 24 hours starts flooding in and your chest seizes in panic. The fire, the cloaked men, the people in the vault. 

“You’re all right, just breathe. No harm is going to come to you. He’s made sure of that.” Sabe spouts and your head snaps at her.

“He?”

“Oh yes, Lord Vader gave orders for your protection. Under penalty of death. If you ask me, he just needs a woman’s touch to soften him up and he’d finally succeed in shaking that leech of an emperor off. Suppose that’s where you come in!”

“Me?” You screech, wondering when you’d say something not in the form of a question.  

“Oh, you poor thing, you don’t know…the Emperor is arranging a wedding between his young protegee and a princess from a seized planet. The princess being you, if that’s not clear.” She continued chattering incessantly. 

“Yes, I got that.” You snap. “And when is this supposed union meant to be taking place?”

“Tonight.” 

You choose to remain quiet, rather than parroting back her last word in the form of yet another question. 

After your handmaiden assists in bathing and dressing you in clean robes, you still can’t seem to escape the dull throbbing of the headache that permeates every cell of your body, leaving you in persistent agony. You beg Sabe to find something to help, knowing that you yourself weren’t allowed to leave the confines of the east wing. Stepping out onto the enclosed observatory space by your chambers, you stare out into the stars surrounding the vessel. You wished you could break beyond the thick glass enclave and just glide away, joining the stars and freeing yourself from the pain. 

“Who hurt you?” A raspy voice questions and you turn around to the sight of Lord Vader, enveloped in his armour and mask. 

“Uh, whoever the commander of the battalion was.” You reply, startled.

“He will be dealt with. Now come here.” He reaches his gloved hand out, signalling for you to grab it. With a great deal of uncertainty, you approached him, timidly giving him your hand. He takes it into his palm and holds it firmly to his chest. As if some force had siphoned the contusions and swelling out of you, you felt your agony slowly subside- until there was nothing at all in its wake. 

“H-how did you do that?” You took a step back from him, holding your fingers up to your temple in disbelief. You’d heard of force healing before but assumed it was either a myth or a nearly lost practice only wielded by the most masterly of Jedi.

“Go back to your chambers and rest. You have a long ordeal ahead of you.” He leaves your question unanswered and marches out of the observatory as quickly as he entered it. 

You’re compelled to follow his commands so you retreat to your chambers, forcing yourself to drink the healing tea Sabe concocted after having decided it was easier than explaining the bizarre experience you’d had. That was the dark Sith Lord that struck terror into the hearts of everyone who faced him? Ruthless, soulless, devoid of all human compassion- and channelling force healing to ease your headache? You spent all afternoon writhing in confusion, all the way up until a neatly packaged box was left on the doorstep of your assigned room. Upon closer inspection, the box contained an intricate white lace dress, paired with a beaded, scallop hemmed headpiece. A wedding outfit.

Standing at the forefront of the cold metallic arena, you twiddled with the sleeves on your dress- the material itching terribly and making your skin crawl. In a way, you were glad to have something occupy your mind beyond the impending prospect of marrying a Sith brute. You wondered why he wore that clunky helmet- is he so hideously deformed he has to hide behind it lest people faint at the sight? 

A frightened-looking man you can only assume is the officiator of this sham of a wedding is escorted through the heavily guarded gates and takes his place before you, not daring to make eye contact. Your body fills with dread at the familiar sound of heavy boots dragging along the steel plates of the floor. He doesn’t spare you a passing glance for even a moment, despite your stubborn resolution to face him for the entirety of the ceremony- you wanted to look deep into the supposedly merciless eyes of your new husband. There aren’t any vows, there’s no exchange of rings, no kiss to celebrate the union- just some legal jargon and a couple of witnesses. Although you can’t see him, you can feel Palpatine’s snake eyes burning into you, no doubt observing from another room to ensure his mysterious plan came to fruition. 

“Follow me.” A stormtrooper orders you and begins to head back in the direction of your chambers. Confused, you allow him to escort you out of the hall as you see a cloaked figure approach Lord Vader out of the corner of your eye. You just about hear the Emperor’s gravelly voice hiss out the word “consummate” before the doors shut behind you and you’re carried away to the bedroom. For some reason, the thought of sex hadn’t crossed your mind- you assumed villains like him had interests that surpassed such blunt mortal affairs - but now standing in front of your 4-poster bed, waiting for the sound of his heavy footsteps again, reality sunk in. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and lay on the bed, removing the first layer of your dress and remaining in a white negligee. “Just lie back and think of Onderon.” You thought.

Your whole body tensed as you observed him enter your joint chambers, completely walking past you and going to the connecting bathroom, door left ajar. 

“I’m ready, Lord Vader.” You stiffly announce, hoping to get it over with as soon as possible. 

Hearing your words, he peers out of the doorway and although you can’t see his face, his body language seems perplexed. 

“What are you doing?” He remarks accusingly. 

“I-I’m…waiting for you to consummate our marriage. Like Palpatine wishes.” He scoffs at your comment- laughs even- and goes back into the bathroom. 

“I will do nothing of the sort.” You hear him say.

Sitting up on the bed and dragging the covers over your exposed body, you’re bewildered. 

“Oh, c-can Sith Lords not…?” You stutter, searching for an explanation.

“I assure you I’m perfectly capable.” He snaps back. “I just have no desire for the task.” 

Although relief floods your body, you feel slightly offended at the presumption that lovemaking with you should be a task. 

Just then, you hear a steamy hissing sound, followed by a loud thud. The figure emerges, back facing you without his layers of armour- donning a simple black shirt and black trousers. He wanders over to the window at the far end of the room, staring out into space. 

“I’m sorry about your father.” He grunts after a while and you finally hear his voice- free from robotic static, with no menacing growl - just him, and it sounds beautiful.

“Don’t be.” You say sincerely, fixated on the back of his head. You notice he has dark blonde curls, gathering in tufts at the nape of his neck. “Come on, turn around.” You think, bracing yourself for what you might find. 

“Alright, if you insist.” He remarks and you scowl in confusion- you didn’t say that out loud, did you? 

He pivots round to face you and you feel as though someone has knocked the air from your lungs: he glares at you with mesmerising cobalt-blue eyes, embellished by abundantly thick lashes and even thicker eyebrows sitting atop his handsomely chiselled face. His cheekbones stand at attention, enhanced by his sculpted jawline, which works in perfect harmony with the rest of his body- even his collarbones are perfect. He’s full of sprightly vigour, he’s young even. You are floored and contemplate how anyone could hide such a face away in that clunky helmet.

“Not what you were expecting, huh?” He speaks, sensing the utter shock his appearance has inflicted on you. 

“You…you’re-” You stutter.

“Not hideously deformed?”

“-beautiful.” 

He raises his bushy eyebrows disapprovingly and you scold yourself for being so forthright. He may be devilishly handsome, but that doesn’t mean you can swoon over him. He’s a monster, remember? Sure, he has the most seductive pair of lips you’d ever seen on a man - all plump and the perfect shade of pink- and sure, he’s sparked a desire within you that you don’t think you’d ever felt before but…where were you going with this? 

“I’m going to sleep in the adjoining room, you can take my chambers.” You’re snapped out of your dreamy haze by his velvety voice as he begins to walk away.

“Wait! Y-you don’t have to, I’m sure the bed is uncomfortable over there.” 

“No, it’s perfectly fine.” He continues marching away. 

“Wait! The bed here is more than big enough for the both of us, we wouldn’t even touch.” You stumble over your words, melting under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Do you want me to sleep with you, Princess?” His movement comes to a halt and you’re rendered speechless. “Because that really would be something. Captured and brutalised after all that you hold dear is set alight, forced to marry a servant of evil- and then you request his company in your bed? That would be deranged. You’re not deranged now, are you Princess?”  

Your mouth goes dry at the snarky way in which he’s talking to you- you admit it sounds mad out loud but the situation is more complicated than he thinks. 

“N-no.” You mutter, barely above a whisper. 

“Good, I wouldn’t want to find out I’ve married damaged goods.” He remarks impertinently. “I’m retiring for the evening- and I am not to be disturbed.” With that, he slams the door between you shut and you slide down your headboard, consumed by embarrassment, shame, desire. His dastardly good looks have really thrown a spanner into the works. 

You barely managed to get any sleep that night, much like every night the week following the wedding. Your dreams were plagued by visions- of your father, of your captors, of your husband. Before your seizure, you already knew your future would hold a forced marriage; although an even less desirable one. Your father had plans to marry you off to your cousin, a brainless specimen by the name of Fester who was too dim-witted to even realise he was being used as a pawn in the family’s bloodline feud.

Despite your many attempts to plead and beg your way out of this union, your father dismissed you entirely- even going so far as to sanction you to the confines of your stuffy quarters, striking you remorselessly when you defied his orders. 

You’d spent a lifetime dreamily peering out of your windows, waiting to be liberated by a saviour that never came- at least not in the way you thought. 

Lord Vader was never present, aside from a very brief juncture in the evenings, when he would pass through your chambers on the way to his bedroom. You tried to make conversation but he either stared at you with dead, unamused eyes or flat-out ignored you. Asking him what he did during his working hours was not one of the things you tried to speak about- much preferring to stay in ignorant bliss- and he was more than happy to not be at the receiving end of your questions for once. 

Growing increasingly tired of questioning your purpose on this wretched behemoth of a ship, you took the liberty of posting yourself outside his bedroom that night, waiting to block his exit until he at least acknowledged your existence. You’re ashamed to admit that you selected your nightwear especially for him- tonight choosing to wear the thinnest of slip dresses in the pathetic hopes that he might be drawn in by your pert chest. 

As is routine, you hear the doors to your chambers swing open and are greeted with the welcome sight of the young Lord, who strides over to you intimidatingly. Removing his helmet and towering before you, you gulp at not just the height difference- but the sheer broadness of his shoulders compared to your slender ones. 

“Move.” He states, glaring at you unaffectedly. 

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” You stubbornly huff and you think you spot a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“You don’t give the orders around here, Princess.” He asserts as he lifts you up by the waist with ease and drops you out of his way like you were a meagre traffic obstruction. You’re filled with disbelief as he enters his room, shutting the door in your face. “At least he didn’t slam it tonight.” You ponder.

Slouching down the door defeatedly, you pout as you hear him undress, desperately in need of an explanation. 

“Please.” You plead pitiably, not expecting him to hear you. 

You almost fall to the floor as your backrest swings open, and you lift your head to see him, sighing above you. 

“What is it?”

“I-I just wanna know some things.” You mutter, cradling your knees on the floor. 

“Then talk.” He taps his foot impatiently. 

“Well uh- for starters, why am I here?” You rise from the floor to face him. “Why did Palpatine want you to marry me?”

“He wants me to sire a son- to ensure his plans can be carried out should I be otherwise indisposed.” He looks away coldly. 

“I don’t understa-“

“Palpatine will live into his 200s. I am only human. If I am killed, he wants another apprentice to bend to his will, one just as strong with the force.” 

“So why haven’t you attempted to do any siring yet?” He looks at you with a look of intense shock, disgust even. Of all the things he’s said, you take issue with his lack of action in the bedroom. 

“I refuse to participate in this charade. He’ll see that you’re barren after a while- and we’ll dispose of you accordingly.” 

“But I’m not barren.” You interject, dismissing the latter part of his sentence. 

“It would be in your best interests to pretend you are.” You’re beguiled by his smooth voice and find yourself yearning to hear it all night. “I’ve brought someone to keep you company, hopefully with them in attendance you’ll be less inclined to seek my attention.” 

“Another handmaiden? Ah, spare me- the current one is more than irritating enough on her own.” You shudder at the thought of 2 Sabes, prattling in your ear all day. 

“No, I’ve ordered for the capture of your former attendant. I believe you were quite fond of him- Silas, is it?” 

Your heart seizes, he’s alive? More importantly, he’s being brought to you? You stare at the scowling face of your husband, who looks afraid you might try to do something overly affectionate. 

“A purely self-indulgent measure. To prevent any future ambushes like the one tonight.” He backtracks, attempting to impose some distance but you disregard it entirely. “If that’s not enough to keep you occupied, you can also have access to my private library - Silas will be waiting for you there tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, my Lord,” You whisper, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping your arms against his waist, face snugly pressed into his firm chest. You feel him tense up at the intrusion, but he relaxes ever so slightly with an exhale, hovering his arms above your own- careful not to let them touch lest he give you the impression he’s embracing you back. 

“Call me Anakin.” He mumbles softly. 

You wake up the next day, your chest feeling lighter than it has in years. Bounding out of bed, you instil deep confusion in Sabe, who enters your room with fresh clothes. 

“Having a good morning?” She asks.

“I think actually, yes. Yes, I am.” You reply resolutely, allowing her to dress you without your usual complaints as she tightens your corset. 

“Might this have anything to do with Lord Vader?” She raises an eyebrow, consumed with curiosity. 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I see that my new life might not be so bad after all. I believe I have someone waiting for me, you’re dismissed for now, Sabe.” You waltz out of your chambers to the library that Anakin mentioned you were granted entrance to. 

You enter the room and stare in wonder at the rows upon rows of polished shelves, furnished with all kinds of large, leather-bound books. Among the volumes of publications is a tall, spindly man- standing with his back turned. 

“Silas!” You cry out and dart towards him, colliding against him in a tight embrace. 

“Princess! Let me look at you, are you hurt?” He grabs your face, inspecting it for any cuts or bruises. 

“No, no I’m perfectly fine!” You smile. 

“How could you possibly be fine? I heard about the wedding- it’s a scandal, it’s a disgrace! The intergalactic senate will hear about this- I promise I will get you out!“

“Silas, it’s okay, I’m being treated well here.” Your reply sends him into a stunned silence. 

“You’ve been married to a Sith Lord. A princess of the purest blood made to intermingle with the lap dog of the Emperor. I don’t even want to think about what you’ve been forced to do here to survive.” He shudders.

“I haven’t been made to do anything. And Anakin really isn’t that bad once you get to know him a little.”

“Anakin?” Silas almost breaks out in hives at what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah, that’s his real name. And oh, Silas, he’s so handsome!” You clamber on, reading the titles off a nearby bookshelf and digging for something that might take your fancy.

“I don’t believe this. One week under captivity and you’ve been brainwashed already.” He takes his head into his hands.

“I haven’t been brainwashed.” You chuckle. “Anakin is the one who brought you here. Just for me. And he lets me have the nicest quarters on the ship- and I’m allowed private access to the whole library!” You gush.

“So he’s built you a very pleasant cage. Fantastic. Just because your prison has a nice interior doesn’t make it your home.”

“Well, it’s no less of a prison than Onderon was. At least in this one, my marriage isn’t incestuous.” Silas’s eyes widen beyond measure at the boldness of your statement and he takes a seat before he collapses. 

“He used the force to heal me when I was in pain.” 

“And what caused you to be hurt in the first place?” He snaps back accusingly.

“Silas, listen to me.” You kneel beside him, taking his hand into your own. “I’ve spent too many years worrying about the fate of my future, cursing the Maker for how little control I had over my own destiny. No more. I can only take life as it comes in small waves- I have relinquished control. This is my new home now.”

With a heavy sigh, Silas nods- looking away as if unable to process your revelation. 

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You say, mischievous twinkle in your eye.

The remainder of the day is spent flicking through various books, amassing a pile of them in your bedroom so high that you could barely see Sabe’s head poking through when she entered.

“Um, m’lady? If you won’t be requiring anything else for the night, can I retire? Silas and I were thinking of wandering down to the observatory by my quarters…”

“Of course, Sabe, enjoy.” You chuckle as she meekly smiles and exits your room. You knew they’d hit it off, one perennial chatterbox with another. Flicking through the last page of the first edition volume of The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise, you hummed discontentedly. “What a terrible ending.” You thought as you inspected the piles on your floor for the second volume. You suspect you must’ve left it in the library when you were packing your books onto the trolley so you wrap a thin robe around yourself and march down the hall. You notice the lights already burning as you enter the library cautiously, peering your head through to see Anakin, sitting on an armchair and reading something out of a thick, metal-encased manual. 

“What’s your book about?” You query as you approach him slowly.

“It’s a story about a very naughty princess who loves to go looking for trouble.” He sneers, lip curling up into the shadow of a smile. 

“No, it’s not!” You titter as you pry over the bind, seeing various starfighter diagrams and mechanical cross-sections. 

“What do you want now?” He shuts the book promptly.

“I just came to collect something I left behind.” You reply innocently. 

“I trust you’re enjoying my collection, then.” He looks up at you for the first time and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his dreamy eyes.

“Oh yes, it’s very impressive. I didn’t think Sith Lords read so much.”

“They don’t.” He gets up from his chair, sauntering over to a nearby shelf and picking out a specific book. “Try this, I think you’ll like it.” He throws the book in your direction and you catch it; observing the cover, you speculate it’s some kind of historical tale about a lost civilisation. 

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to read it.” You tuck it under your arm. “Are you retiring for the night yet?” 

“Yes, I’ll leave the library to you.” He gets up to leave but you stand in front of him. 

“I was only here to get something, escort me back?” You ask and he looks you up and down before making a low grunting sound, something you can only assume is a sign of acceptance. He heads out the door and you follow, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. 

“I never got to thank you.” You say as you enter your chambers, seizing the short moment you have to converse before he disappears into his bedroom. 

“What could you possibly have to thank me for?” He rolls his eyes.

“For rescuing me.” You reach out to touch him by the arm but back down, courage failing you. 

“You’ve lost your mind.” 

“No, really. My circumstances back home were…less than ideal.” You stare down at your feet.

“I admit I find it peculiar that you don’t seem to be in mourning.” He notes, more intrigue in his tone than you’re used to.

“Would you be in mourning over a man who oppressed and rebuked you at every turn?”

“I see. I suppose that explains your…unorthodox behaviour.” For the very first time, he takes a seat on the chaise lounge by your bed- does he actually want to have this conversation with you?

“I guess you could say that. After he locked me up in the palace and forced me to accept my cousin’s betrothal, I abandoned all hope for the future and resigned myself to perpetual misery. And then you came along.” He squints his eyes, looking almost frustrated with your positivity.

“Are you sure you understand the situation you’ve found yourself in? You’re aware you’ve been abducted- forced to spend every day locked up here, never to see your planet or familiars again? Forced to play wife to me?” He gawks incredulously.

“You’re not as bad as you make out.” You smile at him. “And you’re certainly very easy on the eyes.” You look for changes in his demeanour but it remains unaffected. “Would you have preferred it if I was terrified and unwilling to go near you?” 

“Terrified? Of course not, the thought of it sickened me. Unwilling to go near me? I’m not sure I’d mind.” He states and you wonder if that was his way of making a joke. “I regret that you’ve been ensnared into this. I wish it could’ve been different.” 

“I don’t.” You pluck up the courage to sit beside him, placing your hand on his leg. “I can see there’s goodness within you. It’s almost tangible in the way you treat me.” 

“Clearly I’ve given you the wrong impression.” He mutters gruffly, visibly uncomfortable. “And you can stop wearing those little dresses around me. All you’re going to succeed in doing is get frostbite.” He pushes your hand off him.

“Do you find me that repulsive?” You question sharply, tired of being made to feel undesirable. “I’ve been told my looks rival that of some of the fairest Princesses in the galaxy. Is a man like yourself so completely cold to the affections of women?”

“I fail to see how that is relevant.” He dismisses.

“It’s relevant because I’m tired of my bed being cold. You chose to marry me, now act like a husband!” 

“What choice? I had no choice!” He shouts back and your blood runs cold when he stands towering over you.

“That makes two of us. But I fail to see what good can come from sulking about it.” You lower your tone.

“You’re that desperate, huh?” He sneers condescendingly.

“So what if I am?” You throw caution to the wind, fully aware of the way you’re debasing yourself right now; after the breadcrumbs of affection he’d been giving you, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fine.” He says, making his way over to the bed, ripping off his shirt. 

“W-what are you doing?” You murmur as he undresses and positions himself in the middle of your stately bed. 

“I’m ready, Princess.” He mocks, parroting what you’d said to him on your wedding night. “You wanted to fuck me, right? Well here I am. At your royal disposal.” 

“N-not like this.” You mutter, trying not to stare at his firm pecs or chiselled abdomen. 

“What’s the matter? You’ve been prancing around in those little dresses all week, practically begging me to give you a scrap of my attention and now I’m in our marital bed, you’re too scared?” 

“I’m not scared, I just don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on you.” You mutter quietly, drained of all confidence. 

“You’re worried about all the wrong things. Palpatine told me to brutalise you to within an inch of your life, you know that? To take all my anger out on you and make you pay for the sins of your family. And you’re worried about whether you’re taking advantage of me. I fear I have been too soft. You seem to forget who you’re speaking to.” 

“But you didn’t.” You sniffle.

“What?”

“But you didn’t do those things. You’re a good man, Anakin.” Your voice softens and you climb up the bed to join him, allowing your gaze to linger on the small line of blonde curling hair starting from his belly button, travelling down to what lay underneath his underwear. 

“No. I haven’t quite lost all my humanity.” He breathes heavily, seemingly noticing your staring. 

“Let me show you my appreciation.” You bit your lip and bravely met his intense gaze. He doesn’t respond, the only noticeable reaction being his eyes wandering down to your breasts, thin material doing little to conceal your pert nipples. 

“Do you wish to see me?” You ask, fingers toying with the straps as he huffs slightly, acting as though this were beneath him- but still remaining silent. You shrug the material off, revealing your round, perky breasts to him. You think you can see something twitching in his boxers but you can’t be sure. 

“Can I?” You ask, gesturing to sit on his lap but he remains speechless. “Please, my Lord, I need to hear you-“ 

“Yes.” 

A grin spreads across your face as you mount him, completely bare. Putting your hands on his chest, you move your hips a little to feel him. Not that you were expecting any less for a man of his stature, but you felt yourself getting soaked at his formidable size; he was surely 8 inches, and just as satisfyingly thick. Your eyes fall to his pretty face and you’re overcome with the urge to kiss him all over. Reaching down to plant small kisses over his temple and cheeks, you feel him stiffen even more. 

“What are you doing?” He grumbles.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You pant as you capture his lips in a soft kiss, brushing them against each other. You can feel him almost fighting the urge to hold you so you take the initiative and grab him by the jaw, kissing him deeply and passionately. You think you hear a moan slip out of his mouth but when you pull away, he’s still got the same cold expression on his beautiful face- brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed in disaffection. 

“If you’re waiting for me to make a move, it’s not going to happen.” He sighs, looking fatigued. A quiet rage simmers within you. You’ve had suitors lining up at the palace gates since you were a teenager and now this glorified servant is behaving as though he is the prize. You craved the chance to teach him not to underestimate you, to make him see you were special. “On another occasion, perhaps.” You thought. Tonight, you just wanted to make him writhe beneath you. 

“If you’re going to be making snarky comments all evening, I’m going to stuff my panties in your mouth to silence you.” 

“What panties? You didn’t wear any.” He grins and your chest sets alight. However brief it was, it’s the first time you’ve seen a genuine smile. His teeth were pearly and straight, and his smile broad enough to reach across his whole face in a bright, radiant flash. You felt like your day had gotten better just by being witness to it. 

“Why do you always do that?” He breaks your trance.

“Huh, do what?”

“Disassociate. You stare right through me when you do it.” 

“M’sorry. I can’t help it.” You feel a fierce shyness overcome you. 

“You find me that handsome?”

“Yes.” You whisper. You have no idea why you’re admitting to it. 

“Is that why you don’t mind being married to me?” He continues and you’re confused by the volume of questions coming your way- it’s more than he’s talked to you all week.

“Partly.” He smirks a little at the ego boost and places his hands on the back of his neck, arm muscles flexing as they’re extended. You trail a line from the centre of his chest down to his abdomen with the tip of your index finger, stopping as you reach the band of his boxers. You look up at him and he raises an eyebrow at you, almost daring you to go further. Toying with the band for a little while, you steel yourself and pull them down in one prompt motion. You have to hold in a wince as you take it in- in all its thick, veiny glory. With a shuddery breath, you savour the view before you: his strong, toned arms trailed down to his athletic torso, v-line achingly defined and sloping down to his large, pink-tipped member. “Even his dick is pretty.” You mentally cursed. His smirking, confident simper never faltered, not feeling a fragment of insecurity for even a moment. 

Knowing you weren’t going to get any warming up from him, you lifted your hips and angled yourself up, tip kissing your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly sunk down on him, lowering yourself gradually until your bare skin brushed against the curls around the base of his cock. He shuts his eyes for a moment and exhales lightly, pretty lips forming into a small o shape. You try to subdue the overwhelming feeling of being filled so deeply, not wanting to stroke his ego even more than you already have. You begin to move, riding him very slowly and focusing on his chest as it rises and falls, eyes watering at the sensation of being stretched out. Worrying that he’s going to question why you’re going so slow, you begin to speed up even though it aches. 

“Slow down.” He speaks softly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“As if you care.” You huff.

“Don’t get on my bad side, Princess.” He shoots you a deadly glance and you slow back down, knowing better than to disobey him. It takes you a good while to accommodate to his size, oo’s and aa’s escaping your mouth every time you straighten up and sink down on his cock a little too deeply- but after the adjustment period, you start to ride him confidently. Your tits bounce with a hypnotising jiggle as you smack the flesh of your ass against his thighs, wetness drenching you both. Noticing how his arms lay by his side, you grab him by the wrist and lay them on your hips. He grips onto them slightly for a moment, but quickly releases and lets them fall back down to his sides. You whine a little, starved of affection. You were bouncing on his cock yet you still felt like you weren’t close.

“Please?” You moan. 

“You wanted this, not me. I said I’m not participating, didn’t I?” His voice rings out, completely unaffected while you were a panting mess.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not- ah- enjoying it. F-feels good, doesn’t it?” You stutter, feeling his tip prodding that spongy spot within you that threatens to be your undoing. 

“It’s fine.” He replies, still refusing to engage in any meaningful way.

“Oh come on, Anakin! Give me something.” You feel like you’re one snarky comment away from resorting to begging. 

“I’ve given you my cock. What more do you want out of me?” 

“I want you to talk to me, I want you to touch me. To be present!” 

“And I want for my wife to not be such a whore.” Your mouth gapes open at his harsh words, but you continue bouncing, getting too close to stop now. “I mean seriously, you’re being held hostage and all you can think about is getting fucked? There’s nothing in that little brain of yours other than visions of me fucking you, is there? I’ve seen them.”

You moan at his degrading words- if you weren’t so cock drunk, you might be ashamed of the way you’re allowing him to speak to you. 

“Oh my God, are you gonna cum from me talking down to you? Does me calling you a stupid whore get you off?” He rambles and you can’t stop yourself from turning into a whimpering mess, moans spilling out at every turn and unintelligible groans flooding the room as you bounce on his cock.

He reaches up towards you and you think he might be pulling you in for a kiss but instead, he hooks his fingers into the corners of your mouth, stretching it out. You babble out disjointed syllables, too overwhelmed to establish a rhythm that isn’t completely sloppy.

“The fuck are you even saying right now?” He laughs and oh god, there’s that smile again- if his cock wasn’t enough, now his grin is making your legs feel like jelly.

“What are these dumb little sounds you’re spluttering out? You sound like an idiot.” The lewd squelching noises increase in intensity as you fall apart on top of him in a sudden climax- pleasure hitting you like a truck and nearly knocking you out. You pant on top of him, trying to catch your breath with your head resting on his chest. He clears his throat after a minute and you shuffle off him, laying your head on the nearby pillow instead. 

“Wow. That was…did you not cum?” It occurs to you that you’d just used him for your own pleasure.

“Of course not.” He gruffly responds, legs still spread and cock exposed, glistening with your arousal. “I have self control.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask and he turns to face you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat. It’s not very princess-like of you.” 

“Well, I’m not a princess anymore. I’m a Sith Lord’s wife.” You counter.

“Wives don’t ride like that.” You know he didn’t mean it as a compliment but you chose to take it as one anyway. 

“Aren’t you going to cover up?” You point at his exposed body while you clutch the crisp white sheets around yourself.

“Why should I?” He snaps back and you’re taken aback by his show of confidence. And you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Yeah, I bet you aren’t.”

“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that! It’s unnatural.” You complain.

“I don’t ordinarily pay such close attention to these things but your mind is so dirty.” 

“Oh yeah? What have I been thinking about in the last couple minutes then?”

“You’ve been wondering how I’m both a shower and a grower, how you’ve never been so wet before - oh, and how you want to fuck me again.” Your cheeks redden at his painfully accurate observations- and you feel his vulgarity plant a renewed desire within you. 

“Really, you want another round? Fine. Hop on.” He sighs, tapping his thigh. You stare at him affectionately with a smile as if to say “really?” and you clamber over him again. You only have to press your dripping body against him once and he quickly hardens again, tip oozing with precum. You waste no time impaling yourself, pussy swallowing him greedily- slightly sore but still stretched out enough to take him with ease. 

“Anakin, please.” You mumble, reaching for his hands- needing to feel them on your skin. 

“What do you want?” He replies breathily. 

“Please, touch me.” You slide up and down his shaft, body racked with delirious pleasure. “Pleasepleaseplease - please Anakin!” He scoffs smilingly at how you’ve been reduced to a needy mess before he’s even put an ounce of effort in. “Do you want me to beg? I’ll get on my knees and beg- please, touch me just a little, please Ani-“

“Alright, alright, enough!” He stops you and you wince at his harsh tone, wishing that just for once, he’d be gentle with you. 

“I’m sorry, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He reaches out and wraps his hands around your dainty waist, right arm gradually trailing up your body. His knuckles brush against your cheek tenderly before he wraps his strong hand around your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You squeak in shock at the unexpected affection as your breasts press against his chest, one hand squishing your soft flesh and the other wrapped up in your hair. 

“Mmm, Ani.” You hum, your deepest craving finally quelled.

“No one’s called me that in a really long time.” He mumbles into the kiss, sliding both hands down to your ass cheeks and gripping them firmly. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks as he slides you on and off him, commanding your movements with his strong grasp. 

“Oh God yes, fuck Ani- ah.” You gasped as he began lifting his hips and fucking his cock into you, fingernails digging into your hips. “‘m not gonna last much longer if you keep go -oh, just like th- aah.” 

“You don’t need to.” He whines, finally allowing himself to utter his own sweet sounds. 

“Nuh uh, I-I want you to cum with me.” You whimper in his ear as you wrap your arms around his neck. Cradling you, he wraps one arm around your back and rests his other hand on the back of your head while drilling you with such vigour you almost black out. 

“Shh, baby, shh- ’s okay.” He moans and your walls flutter at the heavenly sound. Try as you may, you can’t stop the drool that streams out of your mouth, fucked so dumb that you’re losing control over your senses. 

“You’re close, can feel you gripping me.” He sputters, barely audible over the sound of your squeals. “You want the whole ship to hear you, huh?”

“I want them all to know who I belong to.” You manage to get out clearly, trying to get a handle on your faculties. Rising up from being tucked into his neck, you start bouncing on him with the excitement of a little bunny, so desperate to bring him to his release. You look down at him, eyes screwed shut, gnawing on his bottom lip and you feel how furiously his eager cock throbs inside you.

“Want you to fill me up.” You warble, dropping your hands to lay on either side of his face, soft locks brushing against your wrists. “I wanna be yours.” You stare into his eyes, which have just fluttered open, eyebrows knitted close together.

“You’re already mine.” He whispers, grabbing you by the waist and turning you over in one swift motion, your back hitting the plumpness of the bed. Before you can take a breath, he slams into you again and your back arches from the overstimulation. 

Hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you deeper into him, he roughly pounds against you, cock gliding into your sensitive core. You try to focus yourself, gnawing on your lip and mentally repeating: “You can’t cum this quickly again.”

“Oh yes, you can.” He asserts mischievously, speeding up his sloppy strokes until your eyes roll to the back of your head. You grip the sheets around you, trying desperately to hold on for just a few seconds longer.

“Don’t you dare.” He growls, slapping against you roughly. Beads of sweat trickle down his defined pecs, down to the creamy mess where your bodies meet. With one final gloopy thrust, you scream out his name and collapse entirely, body convulsing with pleasure as he moans at the sight, burying his face into your thigh. 

“Goddamn…” You hear him mutter as he continues using your body like a toy, dragging you onto him in a way that you don’t even notice in your cock drunk stupor. You hear a glorious groan escape his lips as he pulls out, painting your body with his creamy white cum. 

“Why’d you pull out?” You whine, completely spent and feeling woefully empty now that your bodies weren’t connected anymore. 

“You know why.” He exhales as his head hits the pillow beside you. “I refuse to let a child come into this.” You huff a little but feel too exhausted to argue.

Shuffling over, you test his boundaries by leaning your head against his shoulder. When he noticeably stiffens and backs away a little, you sit up hastily to face him. 

“Really, Anakin? You’re still not comfortable around me?” 

“I’m as comfortable as I need to be.” He murmurs and you let out a fussy whine. 

“I’ve just given myself to you entirely and you can’t even hold me after? Please, Ani, you’re making me feel really-“

“Fine! If it’ll get you to be quiet.” He pulls you in swiftly, his strong arm wrapped around you protectively and you let out a satisfied hum while he shakes his head- no doubt wondering how he got stuck with such a petulant child.

The days that followed were full of you waltzing around the ship, lost in your daydreams. Anakin had been dispatched to a different system for a mission and much to your displeasure, wouldn’t return for several days yet; you never knew exactly how long his journeys would last, you only knew they were doubtlessly too long. You missed him dearly - and if the way he hugged you back before he left was any indication- you were growing on him too. 

After enthusiastically getting through the book Anakin recommended, he told you that he’d left a stack out by his desk in the library- a personally hand-picked selection that he believed you’d enjoy. Your heart fluttered at the thought and you felt yourself keenly gliding over to it. You reminisced fondly about the way his soft hair felt when it brushed through your hands, how his dreamy eyes made you weak at the knees- how he had the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. You didn’t realise it was possible for someone to be so perfect- so what if he had an unsavoury pastime? It was a flaw you were willing to overlook if it meant you got to wake up next to that face. 

Entering the library, you hum a chirpy song and float over to the desk where you find a neat pile of books in varying colours and sizes. Just as you were about to pick the first one out of the stack, Silas rushes in- scruffy and disorganised, looking over his shoulder.

“Princess! Princess, you must hurry. They’re here- they’re finally here.” He sputters, grabbing onto your wrist like a madman and leading you out. 

“Slow down! What’s going on?” You question, wondering why you were running along with him. 

“Oh but we must be quick, the stormtroopers can only be held off for so long! Sabe is leading the distraction-“

“What are you talking about?” 

“Word finally reached them, they’re finally here!”

“Who? Who’s here?” You shout back, brain spinning in confusion.

“The Senate has sent an army - a rescue team for you!” Silas stares at you with crazed eyes, sweating with anxiety. “We can finally go home!” 

“W-what?” You stutter, allowing him to lead you out to the docking bay where you can see a battleship undoubtedly belonging to the Galactic Republic- suspended midair awaiting boarding.

“Wait, wait, no.” You backtrack but the grip Silas has around your wrist is too strong to easily break from. 

“You don’t mean to tell me you wish to stay here with that brute?” He glances back at you, face painted with disgust as he pushes on for the last few metres left until you reach the ship. “He doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s not true!” You shout, propellers buzzing over you with a furious intensity. 

“Is that so? Then why isn’t he putting up a fight right now?” He gestures behind you and you turn around to where the observatory window is. There he is, standing behind the glass, looking at you calmly. 

“Do you see? He doesn’t even care enough to stop you!” Silas digs his fingernails into your wrist as you reach the ship, doors unloading with a steamy hiss. “Get in!” He yells, pushing you forward with all his might. 

He’s letting you go. He’s letting you leave.

“No!” You fight back, striking Silas across the face and sprinting out of his reach as soon as his grasp on you loosens.

“You idiot! Stay here and rot with those Sith devils!” He curses, clambering up the stairs and smacking the handle, signalling for them to shut. Tears course roughly down your face as you stand back and see the ship ascending before darting off into the distance in a beaming flash. Turning around, you run as fast as your feet will carry you, scrambling up to the observatory to the man you’d just abandoned life as you knew it for.

Throwing the doors open, you see him: mouth parted, eyebrows raised and a singular tear rolling down his cheekbone. You jump into his arms, colliding and entangling yourself with him.

“Why did you do that, huh?!” He grabs your face with both hands, kissing you desperately. “Why would you do something so stupid?” You break out into a sob as he mumbles against your lips. “I would’ve let you go, you could’ve left.”

“I know, that’s why I stayed.” You wrap your hands around his own, still in a firm grip around your face. “I love you, Ani.” You gaze up at him with such adoration he feels his cold heart bursting. 

“I love you too.” 

As soon as the words leave his beautiful lips, you leap to kiss them- trying desperately to memorise every detail and every sensation that belonged to this moment. 

“I-I thought you would’ve surely left if you could.” He murmurs, struggling to break away from your lips. “Thought you were jus’ making the most out of a bad situation.” 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say sincerely, hoping he could feel the love you have for him pouring out of you. 

“I don’t believe my eyes.” A dreaded raspy voice resonates across the room. “The Princess has fallen in love with my apprentice. And he seems to love her back? Now this is just precious.” Anakin stands in front of you protectively, pushing you back. 

“She will prove to be useful in the future.” The Emperor hisses, glaring at you with an empty hunger in his eyes. “Now that she has demonstrated her loyalty.”

“It’s the last show of loyalty you’ll ever see.” Anakin spits as he draws his lightsaber from the left belt hook on his robes and strikes Palpatine, beheading him in one swift motion before he can even register what’s struck him. 

“He always taught me that even the most powerful of enemies can be defeated-“ He turns to face you, retracting his glowing lightsaber. “with the element of surprise.” 

A twisted grin creeps up on your face as he swoops you up like a true bride- lifting you with a firm hold and carrying you out of the room while you wrap your arms around his neck, planting kisses all over.

“I think it’s high time me and my wife got some privacy, don’t you think?” He gestures at the incoming stormtroopers, who confusedly back away after spotting Palpatine’s decapitated body. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You giggle as he carries you to your chambers, throwing you onto the bed and peering out of the large doors one last time before shutting them with a loud clamber- ah, free from disturbance at last.

@erinkeifer @crazy4men @mortalheartache @arzua10

[lamamasjamas]

To Serve or Indulge

Summary: Your sensitivity to darkness leads you to a path of vices.

A/n: Saw a tweet that said that Sith should seduce Jedi to the dark side with lust and I thought that was so true. Canon isn’t real to me so reader is a Jedi Sentinel who specializes in being a shadow agent. 🤗

Warnings: Allusion to dubcon smut, freaky foreplay dreams, JediShadow!Reader, a slice of what’s to come… 🤫

Tah’Nuhna. Cold, peaceful, neutral. The order kept a close eye on the Tah’Nuhnans. You were lured there for a reason.

Neutrality meant they never picked sides. It also meant it was a safe haven, for light and dark alike. The darkness was pungent as you wandered the streets of the crystallized city.

The penetrating reflections of the structures shine onto you and make you wince in irritation as you were led to your temporary quarters

The same darkness you’ve tracked has kept you up at night for months. It infiltrates your dreams. It would envelope you every night, making your heart pump, your skin dew in anticipation.

A red flame would catch your eye and before you knew it a heat was upon your neck like a bolt.

You’d wake up with fear and your hands would tremble to your side instinctively. You’d forget that your blade was stored at your bedside.

A shadow can only make itself known with light. Some of your companions would question the existence of your sect. You would question their own devotion to the light.

It was a necessity to act ruthlessly in order to snuff them out. Amulets, talismans, and artifacts of the Sith were still passed and traded throughout the galaxy.

Less so after a millennia of Jedi intervention. But the danger of Sith influence was always a concern to the council.

Despite what they might discuss with others.

Oftentimes, extreme measures were taken to disrupt the spread of Sith knowledge and teachings. Some would die to keep their secrets and you weren’t one to deny them that wish.

Trained to be sensitive to darkness seemed counterintuitive. It threatened to envelope you and shroud the light at times. It was dangerous to be so close.

The exposure of temptations, of power, fear, and anger, some would say, would make you a hazard among your peers.

A spy is what they call you, with their lips pursed and eyes narrowed in slight disdain. You didn't wear the same golden robes they did; you often mimicked the attire of an old Sith.

Dark muted colors served to deter attention, but the saber at your hip was a reminder to those keen enough to look you over that you were part of the order spread over the republic to maintain peace.

A puff of condensation escapes past your lips, the market was full despite the deep chill that morning. Your robes didn't help from the cold shivers passing through your body.

But you had a feeling the discomfort was more than the frigid temperature.

The dark lured you in. Your efficiency in identifying depended on the innate attraction to it. You could feel the air shift.

You stop mid-step, a deep burning dug into your ribs, your cheeks pinched and your skin puckered. It was calling to you. The crowd around you grumbled as you blocked the middle of the path.

Your hand braced against your saber as a hooded figure roughly bumped past you. So rough your shoulders twisted you out of your stoic composition. Their fingers had skimmed right over the clip of your handle tauntingly.

You pause as they look back, revealing the face of a man with a teasing smile, his hair parted along the sides of his face messily. His eyes roamed over your form, analyzing you for a moment before pursing his lips in contemplation.

He turned and rushed away.

It was then that you realized, as he turned the corner. Your heart sunk to your stomach and your lungs stopped mid breath.

He was coated in it, plunged and dripping. But he was looking for something. He was lured by the same darkness you've been sensing the second you landed.

This was a new challenge. You had to find the Sith remnant first.

…

It should start off the same. You wake up inside the temple of Coruscant, soft footsteps litter outside your door. Low whisperings pass by. The room smells of paper, ink and linen.

It was simple, a window, a desk, and a bunk. There was enough space in your drawers to have changes of robes and civilian clothes.

Nothing unnecessary. You reach beside you disoriented, already knowing where the dream was going to lead.

The tips of your fingers barely reach the familiar metal of the handle of your saber. Your relief was cut short.

Your head pounds. In a blink of an eye the room darkens, it was raining, and your window howled as if the water burned its frames.

The tunic and loose pants that you wore plastered against the front of your body, your arm moves to block the stabbing droplets of cold rain from your face.

Then a flash of red blurs your vision, the corner of your eye catching it briefly before you wince heavily from the heat of it.

You feel it at your throat, your eyes are closed in anticipation of the threat of the blade's proximity.

You tremble and stand frozen as firm muscle snakes up your waist and torso, holding your stomach in place against a broad chest.

It has never gotten this far. You always wake up as soon as the heat creeped up your shoulder and to your neck. Another heat creeps up beside your head, it leans against your temple and rests there.

Strands of dark hair fall beside your face and you shiver. It was him.

He smells like fresh wet dirt, green cuttings and a hint of metal. You can feel the exhale of his breaths warm the top of your cheek.

The buzz of the saber taunts you, unmoving.

“Inspiring. Isn’t it?”

You open your eyes to find yourself in a cavern surrounded by stored relics and antiques. All Sith memorabilia. Your mouth is dry as you speak. You were in a daze of confusion and sleep. Even as you dread to admit it, you were struck with fear.

Your mind could barely catch up.

“What?-”

“Show me where this is,” his voice echoed throughout the stone walls, it made you squirm against his chest.

Your eyes widened, your mind was clearing, and you recognized where you stood. A select few knew where shadow agent's findings were kept.

You stiffened and he could feel you prepare yourself to disarm him. He didn’t want that.

His hold on your stomach tightened, the fabric of your tunic twisting in his grip. His temple pushes against yours and his lips skim past the shell of your ear, shushing gently.

Your heart races, something curls in your stomach as he tsks at your weak attempts at escape. You blame it on exhilaration, not…

You close your eyes tightly and shake your head with a thick swallow. He was clouding your mind somehow. All you could feel was the beat of his heart, the strength of his hand rising underneath your shirt and touching the skin of your belly.

You were surrounded by darkness, locked in and trapped like a loth cat sinking in tar. You had to resist and yet you didn't have the strength to.

He puts his weapon away, his other hand glides atop your arm until he reaches your hand, turning it upright until he could cup it in his palm.

You felt… weak. You can feel him smile against you. The same smile he had in the market.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

Your ears ring, his lips graze over the soft skin of your neck.

“Let it win," he mutters as he nuzzles against your skin. Your eyes flutter and you exhale shakily.

His hips press against the small of your back. He sucks, you whimper as you shake your head pitifully. You can feel him smile, a hum making your skin erupt in tingling bumps.

He was enjoying watching you squirm weakly, so wavering, so conflicted.

His mouth continues downwards, lightly pecking over the swell of your breasts, returning to their ferocity along your collarbones.

This was only a dream, you repeated in your own thoughts. The hand creeping down your hips, the dark locks you thread your fingers in with acceptance of the pleasure he was giving you.

It had to be a dream.

Fingers slipped underneath the cotton band of your pants. His palm cupped you and flexed. The deep groan of satisfaction he gave, finding you aroused and wet, rumbled through your chest.

His head lifts, his nose bumps into yours and his eyes flicker to your lips. For a few seconds your eyes connect, he smiles playfully.

“I’ll find you.”

The bed springs creaked loudly as you sat up quickly. Your hand went up to your throat, the area feeling sore.

Your skin was tingling, alight by the visions in your dream. With a wince you stand, feeling an ache on your hips from where you were held.

The door to the quarter's restroom slid open loudly enough to make you jump. As you felt around your chest, you could feel more tender spots.

The memory of the mysterious man’s hands flash through your mind. You could almost feel the heat of his mouth, the intention of his touch again.

Shame fills you, these types of interactions were frowned upon, much less with someone so far gone into a path of chaos.

You splash water over your face, the towel feeling rough on your skin. Refreshing. You take deep breaths in, your mind was finally calming.

You almost chuckle from how absurd your night was, you finally look up above the sink.

The reflection on the mirror made your heart stop. Small splotches of raised red and purple were scattered along your neck, your collarbones and over your breasts.

Succumbing to the floor you place your hands over your mouth, trying and failing to will the image of his grin out of your head.

…

A/n update: Reblogs and comments keep authors going, por si no supieran! Please support fics and authors you want to see more of! 🫶❤️

[thesassypadawan]

Addicted (Stephen x FemReader)

Summary: You love your sweet baby boy, but you know how much of a pretty little liar he can be. Especially when it comes to something he wants.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Mission, refusal to pull out, slight mommy kink, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes: I would love to hear what all you, lovelies, think! If you would like to see more of Stephen! If so...I already have another idea in mind! ❤️

- It’s in the way he exhales; breathy, laced with the sweetest whimper. Just barely audible over the lovely, lewd sounds of Stephen’s clumsy thrusts.

- You can practically feel his impatience. See the look of dizzy, drunk pleasure on his angelic face. Clearly on the verge of his orgasm with the way his compact muscles tense…how his neck strains deliciously. “Good…feel so good…”

- Sweat gleams on his skin in the faint light. As well as the angry, red scratches you left on his biceps…chest. “Sucking me back in…clenching around me…”

- The scent of sex lays heavy in the air when he begins to twitch. His calloused hands grip your hips harder. Pace picks up, drives grow more erratic. While he sputters out… “S-shit. You’re g-going to make me…make m-me…”

- “P-pull out, baby,” you pant softly. Writhing beneath him, head tilted slightly to the side. Showing off all the adorable marks he left behind. “You need to p-pull out.”

- Strokes become uneven, sloppy. He shakes his head and something wild, defiant flashes in those blue eyes. “N-no. Please, m-mommy. I want to m-make a mess of this p-pretty pussy…”

- Instinctively you try to push him off, but his hold tightens. Pinning you to the bed, pressing you into it with his weight. “Coat these t-thighs; cover those s-swollen folds…”

- You know you shouldn’t. That you should be more forceful; attempt to fight back, put him in his place. Demand he releases on your stomach, like always. But he looks so sweet, so desperate…you can’t deny him.

- Legs wind, lock securely. Hands cling to his shoulders, pulling him close. Walls flutter while your lips ghost over the shell of his ear. “All right…just this one time though…”

- “T-thank you…thank y-you… I p-promise… Only…only…” Movements falter, stutter. Long fingers digging in, bruising you. As he buries his face into the side of your neck, hot breath and soft curls tickling your skin.

- “O-one…onnnce…” Slamming awkwardly, brutally. Strangled moan flies from his mouth and he cutely cums. His warm seed pumping you all full, making you…

- Wail out at the sudden load. Coil in your stomach finally snapping, sending you crashing over the edge. Crying out; gushing all over his cock, milking him for every drop. Head reeling in the best way possible, barely able to think…because it’s just too good. Not that you'll admit it.

- He babbles, whimpers. Tongue lapping, teeth nibbling gently. Continuing to pound and fuck you through his high. “Warm…s-so warm…” Until the last spurt paints your walls and he stills.

- Propping himself, he hovers above you. Chest heaving, face all flushed and splotchy. Glasses crooked and completely fogged up. “That…that was a-amazing.”

- Try as you might, you can't help but giggle at his adorably, pathetic state. Cupping his pink cheek, tapping it gently. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, but don't get used to it though. One time only…got it?”

- “Y-Yeah…” He mumbles, reluctantly pulling out. Gaze locked on, entranced from the way that creamy whiteness seeps from your core. “O-only once…”

- That something wild, defiant flashes in those blue eyes once more and you know… That by the end of the night you’ll have lost count of how many times he’s cummed inside you… That it’s too late to stop Stephen now… Now that he’s addicted…

- Oh, well… Maybe you'll get a cute baby or two out of this, out of your pretty little liar…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker