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Luke’s going through a phase, and in Anakin’s mind, it’s unbearably cute.
To be fair, Anakin finds so much about Luke unbearably cute. But he knows Luke will soon grow out of this, and sometimes he can’t help but bask in it while he can.
It has been long day. Padmé is still at work, Leia is already sound asleep. All of five years old, Luke is swaying on his feet, blinking sleepily, determined not to leave Anakin alone and to be awake when Padmé gets home.
Anakin scoops him up in his arms with a fond grin. Instinctively, Luke snuggles closer, a huge yawn stretching across his tiny face. Bouncing him a little bit, Anakin settled onto the couch facing the wide windows, Coruscant lights and traffic winking and blurring in the darkening sky, situating his baby more comfortably in his hold.
Running his fingers through Luke’s baby soft, fluffy blond hair, Anakin asked softly, “Are you sleepy, Luke?”
“Mmm-mmm, daddy,” Luke informed him, rubbing his eyes, the most unconvincing liar in the galaxy.
And a helpless corresponding smile pulled at Anakin’s lips. Because for several months, Luke had been in a phase where he tacked on ‘daddy’ - or ‘mommy’ or ‘Obi’ - after everything he said to any one of them.
It filled Anakin with adoration for this sweet child he got to call his own. Every time Luke bestowed him with the label, it was like a beam of warm sunlight warming his heart, a tension ever present in his entire body easing.
Padmé would roll her eyes at him, but sometimes, he couldn’t help speaking to Luke, just to hear him say it.
Besides, Padmé wasn’t here now. No one to make fun of him for indulging in Luke’s unbearable cuteness for a moment.
“Are you sure? You look pretty sleepy to me,” he teased, though Luke was too tired to pick up on it.
“Uh-huh, daddy,” came the tiny, obviously sleepy response. “Gotta stay ‘wake till mommy gets home.”
“I think she’d wouldn’t want you to keep yourself awake when you’re so tired,” Anakin tugged at his soft hair playfully.
“M’not, daddy,” Luke corrected, tiny hands struggling to fist in the material of his tunic.
“Oh, of course. My mistake,” he agreed good-naturedly, taking one of Luke’s small hands in his own.
It wasn’t the first time Anakin had been struck by how small the child’s hands were. He traced Luke’s palm and fingers, his touch light and gentle, studying the tiny fingers for the marvel they were.
Luke giggled, “Tickles, daddy!”
“Oh does it?” Anakin asked with feigned innocence.
“Yes!” Luke exclaimed gleefully.
“Mmm, well, I better not do this then,” and with that, Anakin tickled at Luke’s side, delighting in the sweet giggles the action elicited.
“Daddy!” he laughed, “You’re tickling me!”
“I am?” Anakin questioned, hugging Luke closer despite his efforts to squirm away.
“Yes!” Luke confirmed again, hiccuping, then attempting to dig his own fingers into Anakin’s side in retaliation.
It didn’t work – he didn’t have the strength yet – but Anakin gasped dramatically as though it had, and Luke took the opportunity to dive closer, tickling his torso to the best of his ability.
“How could you? My own son!” Anakin gasped, smiling in pure delight. “I surrender!”
Luke stopped immediately, looking up at him with bright, mirthful eyes and tousled blond hair.
His eyes narrowed in the cutest version of shrewd he’d ever seen, the closest Luke, in all of his youth and innocence and complete lack of guile, could muster.
“I promise,” Anakin swore.
“’Kay, daddy,” Luke said suspiciously, retracting his fingers, watching Anakin the whole time.
Anakin smiled down at him, entirely besotted. He brushed aside some of the feathery fringe, his smile widening when Luke’s eyes fluttered, another yawn overtaking his face.
“Sure you don’t want to go to bed, sweetheart?”
“Uh, huh, daddy. Gotta stay up till mommy gets home so you won’ be alone, and ‘n so she knows I love her,” Luke stumbled and stuttered with exhaustion and youth.
“She knows you love her, sunshine,” Anakin told him warmly, cuddling him closer.
“But I gotta tell her though. So she knows for sure,” Luke informed him, words soft and clumsy with sleepiness.
Placing a gentle kiss to Luke’s head, Anakin stroked his hand along Luke’s back to soothe him, and Luke immediately relaxed in his embrace.
“’N I love you, daddy,” he murmured, clearly hanging on to the last dregs of awareness.
“I know you do,” Anakin replied, keeping his voice soft. “And I love you too. So much, Sunshine.”
“Why you call me Sunshine?” Luke asked, tiny fists once again twisting in Anakin’s robes, his small head resting over Anakin’s heart.
“Because you’re warm and bright and giving,” Anakin answered readily, carding a hand through Luke’s hair. “And one of my favorite things. Like sunshine.”
It was true, Luke often inspired feelings of warmth and happiness within Anakin.
“Should I call you ‘Blanket’, then? Cause that’s what you feel like t’me, daddy,” Luke declared, thick with sleep.
Anakin chuckled at the sincere question. “If you want, sweetheart,” he tucked the small child closer, pushing his favorite plush bantha in his arms, grinning when Luke snatched it up tightly in his arms automatically.
“Kay, Blanket.”
And Anakin couldn’t help himself. He threw his head back and laughed, chest shaking enough to jostle Luke in his arms. He’d said it so sweetly, so seriously, in that tiny, genuine voice of his.
Luke looked up at, his face screwed up in consternation and confusion.
“It’s nothing, Sunshine,” Anakin assured him once he’d calmed down.
“Do you not like it?” Luke asked timidly.
“Oh Sunshine,” Anakin sighed, hugging him closer. “I love it.”
And if Anakin dozed off with his son safe in his arms, only to be woken by a loud exclamation in his ear of, “Mommy! Me’n Blanket waited for you,” and Padmé's confused but delighted, “Who?”, well, that was just perfect.
Another phase to look forward to.
Luke giggled when Padmé pressed a kiss to his temple. “Wha’ should I call you Mommy? Hug?”
“Well, that sounds perfect Sunshine,” she murmured through a smile, hoisting him up and carrying him to bed.
“G’night Blanket!”
Anakin answered with a fond, “Good night, Sunshine.”