Star Wars Guys x Reader

Wish Me Luck pt. 3: Anakin Skywalker x Reader

A/N: sorry i got tired so i used a bunch of time skips but yk i gotta publish what i gotta publish

Warnings: death sentence, violence, i got hella lazy, feels, swearing,

Word count: 1555

Something's not right.

Well of course something's not right, you're being framed, but the Dark side seems terribly close in this warehouse, thick in the air around you, like a heavy, ominous mist. Your fingers itch to ignite your lightsaber, to hear the comforting hum of its blade in the empty darkness, but for now you keep the hilt in your fingers; using it will kill your night vision, and if there's anything you need right now in the sinister shadows of a warehouse packed with crates full of nano-droids, it's your ability to see. Something shuffles to your left - your head jerks in the direction of the sound, eyes frantically scanning the darkness -

A cloaked figure crashes into your right side, knocking the air out of your lungs. Rolling to absorb the momentum, you gasp, leaping to your feet, igniting your lightsaber as you whirl to face your opponent.

'Ventress?' You gasp, recognising the twin blades. 'What happened to our - '

She runs at you again, and you just block her attack, gritting your teeth and straining as she slams her lightsabers down on your own, the heat from them too close to your face. Rage at Ventress' betrayal filters through your system - you should have never trusted her in the first place, you should have never let her play with your head and push you until you were borne away by your own inferno of emotions. And still, something's not quite right; it doesn't make sense why she'd go back on her deal like this, because she'd already upheld her part, and the only thing left for you to do would benefit her. Unless she doubted your request to pardon her would be turned down? Did she really have no faith in you?

There's something else. You've fought Ventress many times, and she always, always gloats, always tries to worm her way into your mind and twist your feelings until they work against you. Your attacker - masked and anonymous - hasn't spoken a word, instead just dancing fluidly over the crates and through the shadows, coming at you from all directions; you begin to realise their movements aren't ones Ventress would use, in fact, you recognise some of the manoeuvres as Jedi ones.

You frown, pressing forward, raining down blows. 'Who are you?'

Your attacker's head jerks, and she pulls her hood lower over the helmet she wears, confirming that it isn't Ventress. Maybe it's a little stupid that you're taking Ventress' track record of snarking and boasting too literally, but there's also that niggling in the back of your mind, tracking the movements of your enemy and trying to match them to someone, anyone. Bultar? No, you remember her telling you how she hated using double sabers. Luminara? No, not quite, not controlled enough, not precise enough.

You're stuck too deep in your mind, flicking through faces, to feel the way the Force reels and hums around you, restless. You're still too shaken that someone would do this to you to catch yourself. You're mind is racing too fast, heart bleeding too much, ears ringing too loudly with the anguish in Anakin's voice.

You slip up.

You let your guard down.

Swiftly, your attacker backs you towards a stack of crates, and you teeter there for a second, resignation seeping into your heart before you fall backwards, rolling to absorb your momentum and leaping to your feet, ready for another onslaught of blows but -

Clones from the 104th and the 501st surround you, and as you cast your eyes up, you see your enemy disappear into the shadows. You don't try to pursue her, you know you'll be shot down in seconds. Sighing, your shoulders slump, and you gaze at the soldiers around you, wishing their helmets were off so you could see the thoughts in their brown eyes; the clones are varied, all unique, but one thing always stays the same - their eyes are windows to their souls, displaying their emotions like a flowing, everchanging watercolour.