☆ luke skywalker
☆ luke skywalker/mean bratty reader
☆ pervy! luke skywalker
☆ grand master! luke skywalker
☆ grand master! luke skywalker
☆ pilot! luke skywalker
☆ sith! luke skywalker/mean bratty reader
☆ sith! luke skywalker
☆ sith! luke skywalker/servant reader
☆ sith! luke skywalker/servant reader
☆ sith! luke skywalker headcanons
☆ thoughts on sith! luke skywalker
☆ modern! luke skywalker/city girl reader
☆ modern! luke skywalker headcanons
☆ modern! luke skywalker bedroom hcs
☆ modern! luke skywalker summer hcs
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pls can someone tell me is there a single fictional chatacter that got less screen time than valarr and got more fanfics/edits/posts where people are yearning for him because this is insane to me 😭 i love my boy so much but we barely got a 180° of him and we’re all going feral over the guy and that just proves us fangirls need two (2) crumbs/minutes max and our imagination will do the rest
anakin can smell how much his son loves you. he can practically see the possessiveness prowling around inside of him. it's like a beast locked in a cage. one day he sits his son down and tells him, in his vague way, to lean into his feelings for you. it's good for him, and it'll be good for his command of the force.
and who on earth would sith luke be if he disobeyed his father?<3
you're so right on this .ᐟ
lord vader understands what it means to have passion. its one of the many teachings that the sith emphasize because peace is a lie and there is only passion. that passion leads to strength and that is necessary to gain power. power is the only great and valuable currency that can be understood among the empire's world order. it's only natural that lord vader would pass these teachings to his son and apprentice. especially if he means to have him ascend the throne and rule the galaxy.
anakin understands that it would give him something valuable, something meaningful like he had. because he loves his son, more than anything in this galaxy. his son is the living breathing proof of the memory and love that he once had with padme. anakin encourages it because he's ruled by fear. he understands more than anyone what loss can make you do, what love makes you do and he would never wish the same fate to befall his son. lord vader/anakin is a father, and he only wants to provide the best he could give his son and that includes everything he couldn't have had.
lord vader recognizes that darkness inside of his son as natural born command and its only further encouraged by the dark side of the force. it's fed. slowly cultivated over time until honed to a near frightening perfection. that, is useful that could be weaponized to greatness.
anakin recognizes that darkness as possession, the aspect he was denied when he was a jedi. as the saying goes, the apple certainly doesn't fall far from the tree and he feels an odd sense of pride that his son shares this with himself.
its almost vicarious living through him in a way, its a sense of parental pride and fulfillment knowing that his son would be able and free to love with whom he pleases and with no rule, command or code to say otherwise.
a single transmission reached luke's personal communicator through a secured Imperial frequency reserved for only a select few. the channel itself was enough to command his attention before he had even read its contents. there was no accompanying authentication code, no formal summons bearing the imperial crest, and no elaborate preamble befitting the heir to lord vader. his father had never cared for unnecessary ceremony.
'Lord Vader requests your presence.' and nothing more. no explanation. no indication of urgency. no destination beyond the understanding that there was only one place lord vader would summon his son for a conversation intended for no other ears.
luke rose without hesitation.
the star destroyer carried on with its tireless routine around him, but the deeper he ventured into its interior, the quieter the vessel became. the bustling arteries occupied by officers, technicians, and enlisted personnel gradually gave way to secluded corridors where footsteps echoed uninterrupted against polished durasteel. stormtroopers became increasingly scarce until they disappeared altogether, their patrol routes ending well before the command deck's most restricted wing. beyond this point, privacy belonged solely to lord vader. it was an unspoken rule understood by every soul aboard the ship that these corridors existed beyond the reach of idle curiosity. no officer lingered here, no aide ventured through these halls without explicit instruction, and no one possessed enough courage or enough foolishness to intrude upon the dark lord's solitude.
the towering blast doors recognized his clearance before he reached them, separating with a deep mechanical groan that reverberated through the chamber beyond.
lord vader stood motionless before the immense viewport with his hands folded neatly behind his back. the endless expanse of space stretched before him, an ocean of black punctuated by cold stars whose light had traveled centuries to reach this corner of the galaxy. several imperial star destroyers drifted in flawless formation beyond the transparisteel, their angular silhouettes illuminated by distant suns as though the empire itself stood in silent vigil. It was a view designed to remind any observer of the order they imposed upon the galaxy.
vader did not acknowledge his son's arrival.
luke crossed the threshold with measured steps, and the blast doors sealed shut behind him with a resonant hiss that seemed to sever the chamber from the rest of the vessel. neither father nor son spoke. there was nothing uncomfortable about the silence they shared it had become a language of its own over the years—a contest of patience, composure, and discipline. lord vader had long since abandoned needless conversation, and luke had learned that speaking first often revealed more than remaining still. the minutes slipped by, marked only by the slow, mechanical cadence of vader's respirator as each measured breath filled the chamber with an oppressive rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the hum of the star destroyer's engines.
only when enough time had passed to test his son's resolve did lord vader move.
it was scarcely more than the subtle inclination of his helmet, a gesture so restrained that another man might have overlooked it entirely yet luke understood that even the smallest movement from his father carried intent.
"I have observed you... my son." the words emerged through the vocoder in that unmistakable mechanical timbre, each syllable distorted by machinery yet retaining an authority that could still silence admirals with a single sentence.
"You have become distracted." the accusation settled heavily between them.
luke felt his shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. his father's words carried more than simple observation; they were confirmation that he had been watched long enough for a pattern to emerge. lord vader did not concern himself with insignificant deviations, nor did he summon his son over passing curiosities. if the subject had been raised now, it was because his father had already reached a conclusion. Whether this audience was meant as correction, warning, or something far less predictable remained concealed beneath the polished mask of black durasteel.
"I am not." his reply was measured and devoid of defensiveness, though he felt the familiar stirrings of emotion flare within him. instinct urged him to resist, to justify himself, to challenge the assertion outright. instead, he buried every trace of it beneath years of sith discipline. his passion was not discarded; it was harnessed and emotion was not denied, it was bent until it answered only to its master's will as lord vader himself had taught him the force belonged to those capable of mastering their own impulses before attempting to command the galaxy.
"No?" the single word lingered in the air as vader's helmet tilted ever so slightly. this time, he turned fully away from the viewport to face his son. the stars that had occupied his attention moments before now reflected faintly across the polished obsidian of his mask, rendering his expression as unreadable as ever.
"The Force disagrees."
silence reclaimed the chamber once more.
luke held his father's gaze without wavering, though he could already sense where this conversation was leading. lord vader was not a man who relied upon speculation. he did not cast accusations in hopes of eliciting a confession, nor did he engage in conversations whose outcomes remained uncertain. he had perceived something through the Force, and experience had taught him to trust what it revealed long before evidence presented itself.
"The girl." the words arrived with absolute certainty. there was no interrogation in his voice, no invitation for explanation. it was the simple declaration of a truth already accepted. lord vader took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots echoing softly against the polished floor.
"You need not deny it." another measured breath escaped the respirator. he studied luke in complete stillness, as though observing currents invisible to all but the most powerful Force wielders.
"The Force has spoken of her long before you ever would."
there was no trace of anger within his mechanical voice, nor disappointment. if anything, there was only the detached confidence of a master who had witnessed the subtle shifts in his apprentice's spirit long before the apprentice himself had fully understood them. lord vader required no confession. he had walked the path of passion, attachment, and ambition before his son had ever taken his first step upon it. the currents of the Force were seldom mistaken and of all living beings aboard the star destroyer, there were few more capable of discerning their movement than the dark lord of the sith.
gotta stop myself there because i almost bled through and write about my oc when this can definitely be reader as well .ᐟ forgive me that its quite brief cause this kinda feels like it could be an aftermath of the second installment of my oc/sith luke. but thats not what you asked lmao .ᐟ
but yes i do agree with you on this very much so. this father/son duo destroy me genuinely.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the way mean bratty reader is neck and neck with both luke and sith luke. makes me giggle ᵎᵎ its like seeing yalls preference in a way so amusing ᵎᵎ thank you for liking it divas mwa .ᐟ .⊹𖹭 ֶָ֢ . ݁⋆˚࿔
𝐢𝐢.
The chamber he trained in was a cavern of reinforced metal and obsidian-black composites, its walls scarred by years of relentless violence. The air always felt unnaturally still when he entered, as though the room itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
Before the Force, there was flesh and Sith flesh had to be tempered as durasteel was.
Luke began by moving.
Slowly at first. Every motion measured, every breath controlled. The ancient martial forms Vader had drilled into him unfolded through his body: long, sweeping stretches that opened stiffened joints, deliberate rolls of his shoulders that cracked lingering tension loose, the gradual sink into a low stance that awakened muscle and sinew alike.
With a sharp inhale, he exploded into motion. His fists and open palms struck empty air with blistering speed, every blow rupturing the silence with a concussive crack that displaced the atmosphere itself. Shockwaves slammed into the walls, chipping reinforced plating and sending fine clouds of metallic dust drifting through the chamber.
He pivoted, twisted and kicked. His heel crashed into the floor hard enough to send a tremor rippling through the deck, the chamber lights flickering in protest. Sweat already traced shining paths down the lines of his arms long before he finally slowed. Then he stopped. His head lowered and muscles burning. Breathing deep enough to fill every aching corner of his lungs.
He listened and he delved into himself. Force-assisted strikes at the level he sought to master punished the body as much as they empowered it. Tiny fractures spidered through his bones, almost too small to perceive, injuries he would neither heal nor acknowledge. Pain was something to be catalogued, understood, and ultimately transformed into fuel.
The steady thrum of his pulse rushed through his ears, synchronizing with another rhythm buried beneath his ribs. A darker and older constant companion within him. The voice that whispered forgotten truths into his ear. The creature that took his suffering and forged it into a weapon, made a weapon of him. When he surrendered himself to that rhythm, he and the Force ceased to be separate things. They moved together, each amplifying the other. There was nothing serene about his communion with it. Luke inhaled the Force like a lungful of burning air. It flooded into him too quickly, too violently, scorching every nerve it touched, and he welcomed every moment of the agony. His fingers trembled beneath the strain before slowly growing still as the raw current bent—reluctantly, resentfully—to his will.
When he finally opened his eyes, the silence had changed. It was no longer the silence of anticipation. It was the silence left behind by a hurricane. Hours may have passed since he had entered the chamber. Luke rarely knew, or cared. He would make a brief stop to a medical droid, allowing it to seal whatever burns, fractures, cuts, and scrapes his training had inflicted, before returning here to begin the cycle anew.
That was how nearly all of his time was spent without fail, adapting his own relentless regimen to the confines of the Star Destroyer. It was a rhythm Cereia had quietly learned to shape her own life around after becoming his steward and discovering the truth of the bond between Lord Vader and his apprentice. Even now, the memory sent gooseflesh prickling across her skin, and she allowed herself a fleeting moment to disappear into those thoughts.
It happened when she was fourteen.
The Star Destroyer carved its way through the endless vastness of space, its engines humming with mechanical certainty as the stars stretched into pale ribbons beyond the viewports. Lord Vader was presently aboard his flagship, and his presence alone seemed to alter the very air. Every corridor carried a sharper edge, every conversation was quieter, every movement more precise. The ship already operated at the highest caliber as a matter of routine. That was expected of the Empire's finest.
But when the Dark Lord himself resided aboard, the crew understood that excellence was no longer enough. Every order had to be executed flawlessly, every report delivered without delay, every task completed beyond expectation. To disappoint their Supreme Commander was to invite his ire, and Lord Vader was not a patient man.
That relentless atmosphere had seeped into Cereia as well during her years aboard the vessel. She might have been educated and trained to become an asset to the Empire, but she understood exactly where she stood within its hierarchy. She possessed little true importance, and she had long accepted that as fact.
Even if she occupied chambers within the Residence itself, even if every one of her needs could be met by the countless droids waiting to obey the slightest request, she never mistook the luxury for kindness.
It was a cage.
A gilded one, perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.
Cereia understood that whatever authority she possessed was conditional. Borrowed. Useful only when the Emperor deemed certain matters beneath his direct attention.
Within the Senate Chambers on Coruscant, she knew the role she had been created to fulfill. It was what she had been molded for since childhood, and she understood better than to disappoint. Failure was never an option. She had learned to wear borrowed authority so convincingly that most believed she had been born to carry its weight.
Beyond that? Beyond Coruscant, beyond the Imperial Senate, she was simply another servant of the Empire.
She was just another expendable pawn.
That realization had given her a far deeper understanding of what it truly meant to live beneath the Empire's hierarchy. Those who remained useful survived and those who ceased to serve were discarded.
A servant who continued to prove their worth would always have a purpose.
Which was why, when a transmission arrived at the Residence requesting Lord Vader's immediate presence, fate dealt her an unfortunate hand that she happened to be the one who received it. Like a tightly wound spring finally released, she rose from her desk without hesitation, abandoning the political texts she had been studying to deliver the message herself.
What a fool she had been.
She read the Aurabesh transmission only once, committing every word to memory before setting off through the Residence. The hem of her dress whispered around her ankles as she passed polished furnishings and crossed quiet halls toward the adjoining training chamber, its placement beside the Residence designed purely for convenience. She stopped before the great blast doors. A hiss of hydraulics answered her presence as they parted, announcing her arrival long before she could speak. She wished, almost immediately, that she had never opened her mouth at all.
"...understood, Father."
Luke's voice reached her first, low and restrained, carrying the unmistakable frustration of someone receiving instructions he had not wanted to hear.
The words froze her where she stood. The chamber itself seemed weighted beneath an invisible pressure, tension hanging so thick in the air it felt almost tangible. Something volatile lingered between Master and apprentice, something dangerous enough that even an outsider could feel it prickling against their skin.
Luke turned and his eyes found her.
In that instant she wished, with every desperate fiber of her being, that she could turn around, that the doors would close, that she could pretend she had heard nothing at all. But retreat would only condemn her faster, so she stepped forward instead. One pace. Then another. Until only a few respectful strides separated her from Master and apprentice. Each step grew heavier beneath the crushing weight of their attention. Their gazes settled upon her with such impossible intensity that, by the time she finally stopped, the full magnitude of her transgression settled like ice inside her chest.
The transmission no longer mattered. Nothing else mattered.
She opened her mouth, searching desperately for words that might somehow undo what she had heard. But none came from her mouth. Instead, something invisible seized her throat. A crushing pressure clamped around her neck with merciless precision. Cereia gasped instinctively, fighting for a breath that would never come as the invisible grip tightened. Both hands flew to her throat in a futile attempt to pry away something that possessed neither flesh nor form.
A strangled cry escaped her lips and her vision blurred from the effort as tears welled uncontrollably and panic overwhelmed every coherent thought. She clawed helplessly at empty air while the Dark Side constricted around her like an iron vice.
Lord Vader's mechanical breathing grew louder. Faster.Each rhythmic inhale seemed to accompany another tightening of the Force around her throat. The instinct to beg for mercy lingered somewhere inside her, yet even the words escaped her. She could neither plead nor scream.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun—the pressure vanished.
Air flooded greedily back into her lungs and she collapsed forward, coughing violently as her body convulsed with desperate breaths. Her knees struck the cold durasteel floor while painful splintering coughs tore through her chest.
"See that this matter is dealt with, son." Vader's voice remained as calm as ever.
A soft click sounded from his personal communicator, and without another glance toward the trembling girl on the floor, the Dark Lord turned and departed the chamber, no doubt answering the transmission that had summoned him.
Only Luke remained. His gaze never left the gasping young overseer-in-training. Most would have pitied the frightened girl kneeling before them.
Luke descended into a crouch before her.
Cereia recoiled instinctively, though there was nowhere left to retreat. The cold durasteel pressed against her knees as she struggled to steady her breathing, each ragged inhale still burning the inside of her throat. She refused to meet his eyes.
His hand entered her vision first. It settled beneath her chin with deceptive gentleness, lifting her face until she had no choice but to look at him. His touch was steady, almost careful, yet it carried the unmistakable certainty of someone handling something that already belonged to them.
Comfort had never been the intention. It was about compliance.
The molten yellow of his eyes searched hers with unnerving patience, as though measuring the exact shape of her fear. There was no anger in his expression. Anger was loud, impulsive, this was quieter and far more dangerous. He considered her in silence. Father had entrusted this to him, not the Inquisitors, not an officer, not even the Emperor's intelligence apparatus.
Him. A test disguised as an inconvenience. The secret of their bloodline had survived because Vader had demanded absolutes. Luke had no intention of becoming the first weakness in that chain. If he handled this correctly, it would prove what years of training had already taught him—that he was worthy of the confidence his father placed in him.
His thumb brushed absently against her jaw.
Killing her would certainly solve the problem. It was also the simplest solution but simple solutions were often wasteful. Cereia was valuable to the Emperor. Her disappearance would invite questions. Questions then became investigations. Investigations uncovered patterns. Patterns led to truths that should remain buried.
No. She would live.
The realization settled over him with surprising ease. Her life no longer belonged to chance. It belonged to his judgment. The thought rooted itself almost immediately, taking hold with frightening certainty. Vader had placed this responsibility in his hands, and responsibility demanded control. Control demanded possession.
She had become his problem. His burden, his secret, to watch, to command and his to silence, should the need ever arise. The possessiveness unfurled inside him with all the quiet inevitability of the Dark Side. It did not feel cruel. It felt right. Natural. Ownership was simply another expression of power, and power left nothing unattended.
His father would see that he could be trusted not merely with missions but with lives, with secrets, the very aspiration of his Father and the galaxy in due time. Luke found, to his own surprise, that he did not resent the task in fact, he welcomed it.
His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against her cheeks. "You heard something you were never meant to hear." His voice remained calm, almost conversational, stripped of accusation.
"You have only one reason you're still alive." Luke added and Cereia's breath caught at that, she already knew the answer before he spoke again.
"My father entrusted this matter to me." There was a pause, long enough for the words to settle.
"So from this moment onward..." His eyes never left hers. "...you answer to me."
The declaration hung between them like an iron chain fastening itself into place. Luke felt something shift inside him and the decision had been made.
There would be no returning her to the Emperor's distant oversight, no pretending this encounter had simply been an unfortunate accident. Vader had handed him a responsibility, and in accepting it, Luke had claimed every consequence that came with it including her.
Cereia felt it before she could name it. The invisible grip that had nearly crushed her throat moments before had vanished only that another had replaced it. This one was far subtler but far tighter.She had escaped the grasp of the Dark Lord only to find herself tethered to his heir. The leash had merely changed hands.
A standard cycle had passed since the day she had inadvertently uncovered the truth of Lord Vader and his apprentice. In that time, the revelation had irrevocably reshaped the boundaries of their relationship, transforming what had once been a simple arrangement between master and steward into something far more intimate in its obligations and infinitely more dangerous in its implications.
She guarded the knowledge of their familial bond with an almost reverent vigilance, for it had become the single most valuable secret she possessed. It was not merely fear that compelled her silence—though she understood all too well the consequences of betrayal—but gratitude. Luke had chosen to spare her when every lesson the Empire had ever taught suggested that death would have been the simpler solution.
That act of mercy, however conditional it may have been, had become a debt she intended to repay through unwavering service and loyalty to the Crown Prince.
The blast doors of the Residence parted with their familiar hydraulic hiss, drawing Cereia's attention away from the datapad she had been studying. She set it aside without hesitation and rose from her seat in one fluid motion as Luke entered his private quarters.
There was an unmistakable purpose in the way he carried himself, an energy beneath his otherwise measured composure that she had learned to recognize over the past standard year. Without awaiting instruction, she fell into step behind him. Whatever task had occupied her moments before immediately surrendered its importance to his arrival, and she shadowed his movements with the quiet efficiency expected of someone who had come to anticipate his needs before they were ever spoken aloud.
"We're due to emerge near the Mid Rim," Luke remarked as he crossed the Residence, his voice carrying a subdued confidence that betrayed more enthusiasm than his expression ever would.
Cereia recognized the subtle inflection immediately. Missions such as these were opportunities, and Luke never squandered opportunities. Every campaign was another chance to distinguish himself before Lord Vader, another victory to demonstrate that his years of relentless discipline had forged him into the heir the Empire deserved. She acknowledged him with a soft hum as she crossed toward the wardrobe, retrieving the heavy black cloak folded meticulously upon its stand before returning to his side.
Standing before him, she raised the garment with practiced familiarity and settled its weight carefully across his shoulders. Her hands moved with measured precision as she adjusted the folds and secured the clasp beneath his collar, smoothing each crease from the dense fabric until it rested perfectly against his frame. Years of repetition had transformed the task into something almost ceremonial, and if Luke had chosen to study her hands rather than his own reflection, he might have recognized the quiet devotion woven into every deliberate gesture. There was no hesitation in her movements, only the confidence born from performing the same ritual countless times before.
"Will this expedition be long, my lord?" she asked softly as her fingers finished fastening the cloak.
Luke's attention lingered on the polished obsidian surfaces that adorned the Residence, where his reflection stared back at him beneath the dim lighting. "A practiced hand makes for short work," he replied with calm certainty, neither boastful nor dismissive, but with the conviction of someone who had long since accepted victory as the natural outcome of preparation. Cereia inclined her head in understanding before giving the cloak one final adjustment.
The reflection that greeted Luke was almost familiar enough to be unsettling. Draped in black, his posture rigid and commanding beneath the sweeping cloak, there were moments when the resemblance to his father became undeniable. Certain angles caught the severe silhouette of the Dark Lord so perfectly that it felt less like imitation and more like inheritance. The thought neither surprised nor disturbed him. It simply affirmed what he had spent years proving to himself.
"You will await my return."
The instruction was delivered with effortless certainty, carrying neither suspicion nor concern that it might be ignored. Since the day their secret had been entrusted to him, Luke had unconsciously redrawn the boundaries of their relationship. Cereia no longer existed merely within the Emperor's hold; she existed within his. The responsibility Vader had placed upon him had gradually evolved into something that extended well beyond safeguarding a secret.
Luke had become accustomed to knowing where she was, what occupied her time, and whether she remained within the safety of the Residence. It never occurred to him that such expectations required justification. In his mind, responsibility demanded oversight, and oversight naturally implied authority. She had survived because of his judgment, and that singular decision had quietly rewritten the terms of her existence. What he protected remained close to him. What remained close belonged beneath his care. To Luke, there was no distinction between responsibility and possession.
"Of course, my lord," Cereia answered without hesitation.
The immediate compliance drew the faintest suggestion of satisfaction across Luke's features, little more than the subtle lift at the corner of his mouth before his expression settled once more into composed neutrality. He had never needed to remind her twice. Over the past year she had learned the rhythms of his expectations so completely that obedience had ceased to feel like a command and had instead become the natural order.
As the silence settled between them, Cereia found herself studying him for a brief moment longer. There was a familiar sensation waiting at the edge of her awareness, delicate enough that another might have mistaken it for imagination. She had come to recognize its shape over the months. Whenever Luke stood nearby, the Force seemed to brush lightly against her thoughts, never forceful enough to intrude, but present all the same. It settled over her restless mind with quiet persistence, easing anxieties she could rarely put into words and lending a steadiness to her breathing that she had gradually stopped questioning. She could not explain why his presence produced such an effect, nor did she understand the strange comfort it brought. Somewhere deep within her subconscious, something instinctive responded to him, coaxing fragile confidence into places that fear had long since hollowed out.
Luke noticed the subtle relaxation in her posture almost immediately. He neither acknowledged it nor questioned it. The bond had developed exactly as he intended. She no longer required reminders of where she belonged; his presence alone was enough to anchor her. That silent certainty pleased him far more than overt displays of obedience ever could, for it spoke to something deeper than fear. It spoke to habit, to trust carefully cultivated beneath the shadow of authority, until the distinction between willing devotion and quiet possession had become impossible to separate.
The moment lingered only until duty reclaimed his attention. Without another word, Luke turned toward the blast doors, the heavy folds of his cloak sweeping behind him with measured purpose as he departed for the mission awaiting him. Cereia remained exactly where he had left her, watching until the doors sealed shut and his footsteps faded into the corridors beyond. Only then did she return to her duties, already counting the quiet hours until the Crown Prince returned.
cred and thanks to @uzmacchiato for the lace and pearl banners . 𐙚 ˚ 𑣲⋆.ᐟ
Imagine being Overseer .ᐟ reader who serves under the imperial senate under the emperor and your master Sith .ᐟ LUKE SKYWALKER......hear me out.
✶⋆˚ you were taken from your home when you were young. your parents surrendered you before they met their untimely demise at the hands of the empire and you carry that bitterness with you, it sinks to the depths of your core and festers there.
✶⋆˚ you stand before the emperor in his grand undignified and decrepit presence. you could never forget the feeling, the intrusion in your mind and that disgusting oppressive sensation making itself known to your mind, rifling through your hurt, pain and suffering; for his enjoyment.
✶⋆˚ most of your life is spent in the star destroyer of lord vader, your ward. the residence there has become your home; much to your acquiesce. your life has been itemized and organized to the smallest detail, a greater portion of it is spent studying with your protocol droid.
✶⋆˚ you feel caged. even if the cage is furnished and you never needed to worry about anything, it was all provided and your needs are met. some days it was easier to forget that there was a collar around your neck and other days it makes you feel the weight of it completely.
✶⋆˚ that's how the empire functions in all of its ostensibly grand veneer. power meant control and control means possession. that what you are. an asset, a servant or whatever perfumed language they'd supply to avoid calling you the simpler truth, a prisoner.
✶⋆˚ the cage turns into a comfort sometimes. the Senate, from your few visitations so far have already showed you that the chamber is nothing but an overwhelming cesspool of sycophants. to think that it shall inevitably become your play ground makes you feel more dread than hope.
✶⋆˚ Lord Vader is an occupied man. you've never seen much of him, only on instances where you're both sent to report to emperor at times or when he returns to his flagship and you stand front and center with the welcoming party. he's never been the kind of small talk and you wouldn't dare to push your luck.
✶⋆˚ you've gotten accustomed to that rhythm for how many standard years now. then it all changes when you were called to welcome lord vader aboard his ship and comes with him, a young man and not far from your age it seems.
✶⋆˚ Luke, as you've come to learn his name, slowly ever so surely, was now beginning to unravel that rhythm. he gave you something a new tune, a different rhythm to learn and orbit around him. you suppose it's only natural, he was closer to Lord Vader than any admiral you've seen before and you don't plan on disappointing your ward.
✶⋆˚ it's strange. Luke may have thrown off your rhythm but adapting him wasn't as difficult as you thought it would be. it almost seems... instinctive, you know when he's near and you're already on your feet to greet him and shadow him for whatever he needed or wanted.
✶⋆˚ that was another thing, you seem to know what he needs even before he finishes asking. it makes you a wonderful servant to the empire of course. Luke seems to be pleased with your assistance, his gaze never strays when you're around. he notices, he catalogs and he tucks it away for the inevitable use for it when the time comes.
✶⋆˚ and that time eventually comes and Luke becomes your master due to circumstances. you can't say much but you would certainly pick Luke over the emperor if you're given the opportunity to choose. a fleeting wish. but that isn't to say that Luke isn't benevolent as a master; he's intense in every sense of the word.
✶⋆˚ a shiver runs down the tail end of your spine when your master is near. other times it's a tingle pulling at the back of your mind and you tell yourself it's your instincts, the repetition of the act has programmed you to it. you're aware of him, his presence, his gaze and you're stuck anticipating every single moment of what he has to say and want so that you could provide.
✶⋆˚ but master Luke has also granted you the freedom to speak freely. he would ask and make comments and the first few times, he would turn his head to you and look at you expectantly. the first few times he's done so, you had fought with that deeply embedded protocol in your veins. but master Luke can be quite convincing and it didn't take long before you started to share your thoughts.
✶⋆˚ you provided neutral answers, noncommittal ones, detached. you didn't want to overstep and be punished for it, even you knew that freedoms such as these can be given and taken away just as quickly. but then master Luke began to tease. "what a diplomatic answer." "im asking you, not the overseer. try again." "i find it difficult to believe that's all you have to say with all your brilliance."
✶⋆˚ that's how he slowly coaxes you to share more of your thoughts and the feeling of sharing your mind, your thoughts and feelings. it sounds silly, childish even, but having that opportunity after so much silence and solitude in the residence. it was a welcome change and you didn't know just how much you craved it until now that you've had a taste.
✶⋆˚ master Luke is multitudes to you. perhaps it was the freedoms he allowed you that tampered with your thinking, it was certainly plausible. you push down the other nagging thought that had more to do with you than it did with him. that sounded irrational and you don't want to favor that.
✶⋆˚ the few times that you share the common rooms in the residence with master Luke, you'd find yourself in simple and pleasant conversation. those moments you treasure and adore so much that at times, you forget yourself. it almost feels like you're speaking to a peer and not your master. you enjoy it more than you're willing to admit.
✶⋆˚ sometimes you share the residence in silence while you're reading through a datapad; reports, findings and notes about recent progress and developments in the senate no doubt. you would be lost in your focus and then all of a sudden you feel a lightness to you. you lift your head and you find strands of your hair are afloat in the air. there could really only be one person responsible for this and your eyes flicker over to your master; where he sat idly watching you with interest.
✶⋆˚ "forgive me master. how may i serve?" you ask him, your hand on your datapad relaxing and ready to abandon the device as your focus now redirects to him. ever so dutiful as always.
✶⋆˚ "yes. resume your reading." and you give him this bewildered look because that was not the answer that you were expecting from him at all. but it only takes you a moment before you blink yourself out from your stupor and your grip adjusts to the datapad. "of course my lord." you tell him, trying to make sense of the aurabesh while fighting off the feeling of smiling too widely. Luke continues and your hair floats, puppeteered by your master cause it amuses him.
✶⋆˚ when the artificial night settles in the flag ship. that's where you feel the most like yourself, you would retire earlier to accommodate master Luke. you would have your attendant droid undo the make of your hair and you can feel it loosening, you wash and dress into your nightgown as the lights begin to dim lower as the night cycle takes hold of the residence.
✶⋆˚ by the time master Luke is ready to retire as well, you're already there; ready and willing to help him.
✶⋆˚ it starts with his cloak if he wad wearing one. that was always the first to be discarded. then you shadow right after him as he moves towards his personal chambers and your nightgown flutters at your ankles with every step you take just behind him.
✶⋆˚ your master takes the same spot he always occupies, standing before the grand mirror at his dresser and you take a step before him. you take his usual change of clothes for the evening. you set it aside and you begin to undo his garments. you move with deft fingers, familiar with the act but no less reverent in how you perform it if you look any closer in your movements.
✶⋆˚ some would say its kind of erotic. to be the one to dress and undress the crown prince of the empire. but it was dutiful for you, it was the highest form of praise you could ever give to the empire and who better than the prince himself to be the one receiving it. it takes shape in your mind and the wires cross; your loyalty, your service, your duty goes far beyond than what would be servitude but swallowing duty was easier even if the taste of devotion was saccharine to the tongue.
✶⋆˚ you could feel your masters eyes on you and you allow yourself just the briefest of glances upwards. the sight of your master, taken and spent with his own set of duties and responsibilities to the empire; one he will soon inherit must come with a tremendous amount of burden you could not truly begin to understand nor grasp fully.
✶⋆˚ but his eyes look beautiful when they're relaxed like that. the yellow color almost looks honeyed and amber-like in the softer lights and shadows of his chambers. the glittering stars of endless space flicker past the transparisteel and yet the beauty of it stood no chance to Luke's eyes.
✶⋆˚ the belt comes undone and the metal clinks as you gently fold over the discarded garments over a settee. you turn around, giving the crown prince his privacy as he insisted to do the bottom half of his clothing himself. you keep your word, you turn to give him his privacy yet your faced with a mirror and you can see his movement in your periphery. you keep your head tilted down and not once do you move or shift your gaze. hearing the sounds of his undressing was enough to be your methodical undoing; seeing would be your swift demise.
✶⋆˚ the fabric of his trousers were discarded on the settee and he slips into the clothes you brought for him. you take a moment, the briefest of pauses before you ought to move again. instead, you feel his hand gently moving your hair away from one side to expose your right shoulder. it reveal the softness of your skin, the silhouette of your nightgown in all its feminine slopes and lines.
✶⋆˚ your master slots himself there. he doesn't press his skin against your own but he lingers near enough that you feel the warmth of him, the impression of him and you can't decide which would be worse; to really feel him or to only know the ghosting of him. you hear him inhale and your own breath feels stuck at your throat. you tilt your head and you look at one another through the mirror.
✶⋆˚ the intimacy of the moment makes your finger twitch. it makes you want to touch, hold, feel; to have something against the palm of your hand because to say what you want is heavier, too damning, too honest. but touch can merely be just touch, duty and service and nothing more.
✶⋆˚ the empire and the rest of the galaxy could stop at this very moment yet you wouldn't have noticed. just as you were about to avert your gaze away from Luke, he calls your name and the sound of it, the letters and the shape of the words up against your ear was the smoothest thing. like water dripping down the body. you couldn't have hidden the shiver that crawled all the way your spine even if you tried. it makes your skin flush knowing that your master was the cause and he saw it.
✶⋆˚ of course he saw it. you can see that even if you're looking at one one another through the mirror, you don't miss the slightest uptick of his mouth at the corners. "yes?" you answer him, your own voice sounded small and pathetic. you certainly feel that way. undone and weak to your master from the simplest of things; your duty is boundless it seems.
✶⋆˚ "come back to me in the morning," he says, his voice softened into something so quiet and impossibly tender that it feels as though the words were never meant for the galaxy beyond those walls, but only for you. for a suspended moment your feet refuse to move, rooted to the spot as you stare back at him. the simplest response should come easily yet the weight of what he has just said settles somewhere deep inside your chest; stealing every rehearsed reply before it can reach your lips. in the end, all you can manage is the faintest nod, hoping it conveys everything your voice no longer can.
✶⋆˚ "goodnight." the farewell is gentle, and with it he takes a single step backward, creating just enough distance to remind you that this moment has reached its inevitable end. the absence is immediate. it strikes with such quiet force that for the briefest instant you think your knees might finally surrender beneath you, leaving you to collapse onto the polished floor where he had stood only moments before. somehow, you steady yourself instead. you gather what little composure remains, return his goodnight in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, and force your legs to obey as you turn toward the door.
✶⋆˚ one measured step follows another until his private chambers disappear behind you, replaced by the dimmed lush of the residence. the deeper you venture into them, the more the frigid chill of space seeps through the opulent furnishing and strips away the lingering warmth you had found in Luke's presence. you cling to it as long as you can, wishing you could gather that fleeting comfort into your hands, wrap it around yourself like a second skin and preserve it for just a little while longer. stay, some hidden part of you pleads, though whether the plea is meant for him or for the feeling he leaves behind, you no longer know.
✶⋆˚ the doors slide shut behind you with a muted hiss, sealing the corridor between you before you have the chance to look back. you never see the way Luke's gaze lingers on the space where you had been standing only moments ago, nor do you hear him quietly speak your name into the silence that follows. it leaves his lips with a tenderness so unguarded that it would scarcely seem to belong to the man the galaxy knows, stripped of every title and every burden until only your name remains. spoken as though he is committing it to memory all over again, an affection reserved for the solitude of empty chambers and moments when no one is left to witness it.
✶⋆˚ you continue down the corridor unaware, carrying only the memory of his farewell and never knowing that once the doors had closed between you, your name became the last thing he whispered into the quiet.
love love LOVE sith luke/servent reader. genuinely one of my favorite things rn. ESPECIALLY with the way you write luke?? chefs kiss
thank you lovely anon .ᐟ it means a lot to me that you love it and for letting me know it makes my heart clench and so many feelings mwa ᵎᵎ ୭˚. 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
