SUMMARY:Anakin cooks for you. He unfortunately breaches a sensitive topic.
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"Since when have you been so picky, wife?"
You chuck a pillow at the back of his head from your comfortable position on the bed, eyes unmoving from the fascinating downhill of the female lead as she surrenders to her enemy. Anakin's muffled 'oof' goes ignored as the villain... as the villain–
Anakin closes your holodrama, his smile crooked. Your protests die in your throat as soon as the savory smell of food wafts in your nose. Anakin pulls you up to sit properly, removing the hologram occupying your table to present his family's famous Worrt Casserole.
Addressing his earlier question, you let him feed you a bite despite your earlier protests about having a functioning arm, not really knowing why Anakin insists on taking care of you like this. It is quite endearing, to say the least, "I'm pregnant, Ani. Blame her for being so picky I couldn't eat whatever I wanted."
"He is your child as well, my darling. Do not pin the blame on me so easily."
You raise a brow, "He is a she!"
When Anakin sees the first sign of your distress, he backtracks opting to shrug instead, "It is but a father's intuition. Don't take it seriously–"
Your lip trembles. He sighs.
"My love, I'm not certain of their gender of yet, please don't cry." Anakin's attempts at placating you with the uncertainty. That, however, does not quell your heightened emotions. "However, whoever they will be, we will love them all the same."
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