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chanandlersstuff · 2 months ago

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

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader/OFC.

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

Word count: 7.141

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

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

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

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

(gif credits to the owner)

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

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

And so did everyone else.

She looked like a whispered sin.

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

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

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

And how many men wanted to bask in her glow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now others were close enough to smell her perfume.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew I was.”

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

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

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

That did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are mine,” Anakin whispered.

Somewhere inside, he knew this was dangerous.

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

It all made him reckless.

Made him Anakin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor young Jedis, they barely stood a chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t a request. Not really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not a possession, Anakin.”

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

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

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

The room froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A full day passed.

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

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

Maybe.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

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

When she opened the door, Senator Vanto stood there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

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

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

“No more playing game,” he smirked again.

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

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

She gasped. “Please, no.”

The fear started creeping up her throat like acid.

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

“You’ve got no one here but me.”

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

He leaned in, tried to kiss her.

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

And then—The door burst open with a crash.

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

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

“Get. Away. From her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it, he snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

The door opened again. Security. Too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was home.

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

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

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