Anakin Skywalker Imagines

From the Dining Table

•Based off of the song, 'From the Dining Table' by Harry Styles.

•Continuation of 'Meet Me In The Hallway' pt. 2/2

•Warnings: masturbation, angst.

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Anakin Skywalker woke up in his quarters, surrounded by the dim morning light that streamed through the blinds. He squinted his eyes at the blinds, he sat up and used his arm to shield his sensitive eyes to the light. He examines the cloudy sky for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to get used to his new surroundings.

Not that the Coruscant sky was new, but simply the fact that he wasn't asleep in his apartment anymore, where he would wake up and see your magnificent face every morning, but instead back in his quarters in the Jedi Temple.

It was the same routine every morning, for about a year now, he'd wake up, expecting your presence to be there--that presence. That soothing presence, that always kept him at bay, that would always keep him at peace--it was gone. Just like that, in a simple conversation, you were gone, taken away from him.

He shook his head, trying to clear those drastic thoughts away from his head, those thoughts of your face, your smell, your touch, your voice--damn it. There he was again, reminiscing on you when Obi-Wan had told him several times to not dwell on the past, he couldn't help it. You were always there. He still loved you with every fiber in his being, yet, you had continued with the divorce anyway--the relationship had seriously gotten too toxic, you could hardly be in the same room with one another without breaking into a fight. He hated the fighting, but he still loved you.

When the divorce happened, Anakin went back to the Temple and told Obi-Wan everything that happened after Obi-Wan had kept asking what Anakin had been down about. Anakin found comfort in his old master, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and Obi-Wan of course kept his secret, and was now giving guidance to Anakin on controlling his feelings.

Anakin threw the covers off of him, his eyes drew down to the brown pants he wore, a feeling of disappointment washed over him as he huffed, seeing his member pressed up against the fabric of his pants. Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to decide if he should partake in this sinful nature that Obi-Wan had advised him against--would he let himself seep down into the thoughts of his past? His fingers traced thoughtfully over the raised fabric of his pants, contemplating. The pleasure would take his mind off of the negative thoughts, but then it could throw him into another depressive spiral.

His fingers continued to trace over it, sending gentle, comforting vibrations through his body. It was something he hadn't felt in so long, the feeling felt so foreign to him, yet welcoming. He pursed his lips together as his reluctant thoughts became mindless, letting his emotions cloud his judgment, he slips his hand under his pants and wraps his flesh hand around his stiff member; already smeared with the disgraceful liquid.

Anakin closes his eyes, letting his mind slip away into the past, into his memories of you, of your years spent together, of sleepless nights, of nights running his fingers through your hair, of nights of your smiling, your laughter, your excitement that filled your eyes, of moments that would bring him utter happiness, and sheer joy--or would expect to bring joy, anyway.

The sudden rush of memories brimmed his mind, frustrated groans escaped the Jedi as he tried fighting back the tears. He had wondered after all of this time, after everything, why you would just leave him? Where were you? Where were your promises, your vows? Were they nothing but vague memories, disappeared into nothingness? Or were they still there, lingering in the back of your mind?

He shook his head, his lips pursed together, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to remove the image of you from his mind while his hand flew fluidly against his skin, trying to get rid of old memories that plagued his current state.