Star Wars x Reader Inserts

you're breaking my heart | anakin skywalker | 3/3

a/n: This is waaaaaay overdue, thanks to University shedule and stress, but now I'm on medical leave, so I'm gonna write for four months straight (hopefully). This three part series was requested by @kashyykian. This part is so poorly written, and I know that, but my brain is broken right now. I hope you still enjoy it, love! 

summary: A visit in the night,  one horrifically convicting dream sequence, and a final confession of loyalty; all of this, for what? Which will you choose? Your growing sense of anger or your pledge to the Light? A life of heartbroken isolation or a life of service to the Jedi Order? 

warnings: anxiety, dreams/nightmares, the internal war between the dark and the light

word count: 6 K

music: Survivor List by Jeff Russo and Jordan Gagne 

The bright blue light distinguished as the hilt clattered to the floor. You stared at your saber as its dark metal plates contrasted to the cream-colored marble of the terrace. With a shaky breath, you drew your hand up to your chest, examining how much it trembled. You gulped down your uneasiness and turned around abruptly, shuffling frantically through the curtains and retreating under the heavy duvet of your bed. There, hidden away from the light of the evening, your body turned over into chills. Trembling beneath the blankets, you pulled your legs up to your torso, and began to speak the words you had been taught since you were a small child.

"A Jedi shall-" You began, and then adjusted your tone into one of absolution."-shall not know anger, or hatred, or..." The next words hung in your mouth as they rippled back into your memory; the words that could have prevented this entire mess, if you had only heeded them with more diligence. You swallowed over the lump in your throat. "Or love."

As you repeated those words over and over, bidding them entry back into your heart, you felt tears trickle down your cheeks and neck, dampening the soft satin sham of your plump pillow. Focusing on each syllable as it left your mouth, the voice of your master echoed in your mind. You remembered his guidance in the way you delivered the sentences when they needed remembering; to do so with deliberation and faith. You remembered the steps he had directed you to take with your feet to assist with balancing your mind; slow and steady, in a circle of balanced movement. You remembered how Master Windu had reminded you to close your eyes, to trust in the placement of your hands, feet, and the voice of your own mind.

Soon enough, your breathing evened out and your chest relinquished its tightened ache. For what felt like hours, you lie there under the cover of your warm duvet, balancing your thoughts and focusing on the training you had been taught to fight this kind of torment. As the minutes drew on and a state of peacefulness finally fell over you, your eyes grew heavy, and your body drifted between shallow consciousness and slumber, until finally, you fell asleep completely.

Anakin's knuckles were inches from the intricately carved wood of your bedroom door, suspended in nervous silence. He had just come from the dining hall, where he had spent nearly three hours of his evening apart from you, unable to put that sudden disturbance out of his mind. Even when Padmé had been able to join him in the gardens shortly after their meals had concluded, Anakin hadn't been able to hear anything she had brought up. When she had asked him about it, he had told her about your reaction to their relationship and the visit to the medical wing.

Padmé seemed a little shocked herself, both about him telling you in the first place and about your reaction, but had told him not to worry and that she was sure everything would return to normal soon enough. That's what his master had told him, too. But Anakin couldn't be so sure. Neither Master Kenobi nor Padmé had felt what he had between bites of roast and dessert, nor had they heard the tension in your voice, or seen the way you had thrown a hand up at him. They hadn't seen any of what had happened. They hadn't felt it.