Curate, connect, and discover
Also… your post about ani loving back scratches omg.. you think he’s into like reader playing with his hair too?? His curls, and even when he had short hair like wow I just know that man has the softest hair ever
happy may the 4th! send me star wars requests/headcanons and we'll have a party <3
i pictured this as tcw!anakin's hair because it was like the cutest little baby mullet/shag where it was growing and curling against the nape of his neck and i wanted to scrunch it with my fingers so bad <333
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"Keep going."
"Hold on, hold on," You mutter, "My friend's texting me."
Anakin releases a displeased grunt into the fabric of your shirt, and you feel it where it lands warm in your lap.
"Easy," You tap away at the screen of your datapad, pecking letter by letter at what is shaping up to be a lengthy paragraph, "I thought they taught patience at the temple, Jedi Knight. I'll go back to playing with your hair as soon as I'm done."
Anakin grunts again, louder this time.
You don't dignify his dramatics with a response, and you continue typing, the lingering warmth of Anakin's hair fading from your fingertips. He lets you get half of a sentence more in before you feel an invisible tug at your hand, and it relocates itself against Anakin's scalp instead of where you'd placed it on your pad.
"Anakin!" You scoff, "Did you just force my hand back into your hair?"
He lets out a muffled chuckle into your sleep shirt, "Force."
"You are absolutely insufferable," You grumble, but you indulge him with the scrape of your nails against his scalp. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he burrows his face further into your stomach.
"You sound like Obi-Wan," He muses, "I've heard insufferable, incorrigible, reckless, untamable, unmanageable-"
"Unshushable," You add, still making a valiant effort at typing one-handed rather than returning your second hand to its rightful place among Anakin's barely-curled scruff, "Do you ever stop talking?"
"You love the sound of my voice," He accuses, peering up at you with squinted, tired eyes, "That's why you make me read to you at night."
"No, I make you read to me at night because the last thing you read was a users' manual for a landspeeder, and you barely even skimmed that," You scratch against the crown of his head and he groans, "I worry about your literary habits."
"I worry about your hair-playing habits," He reaches out to knock your datapad out of your hand which he drags back into his hair, "Come on, baby, you owe me three books-worth of this."