Actions

Work Header

i swallow your heart

Summary:

He is old enough to be her father.

(Like you haven’t thought about her in this way, the ghost of Darth Plageuis whispers in his ear. Sweet nubile Padmé, twice as smart as any Jedi, with tiny tits-)

Notes:

Happy Fandom5k Tanz_der_Salome! I read your Star Wars prompts and my brain literally exploded - how have I never considered Padme/Palpatine before? I hope you enjoy this, as I had the absolute best time writing it!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Senate meetings are more a formality than a necessity, now that Palpatine has taken his rightful post as Chancellor. It is almost amusing to sit and watch over the scourge of politicians, knowing that he has planned every skirmish in a market place, every anti-Jedi rhetoric painted on a wall, each whisper circulated around a village. 

Yet here the politicians are, arguing over which planet sold them grain for too high a price, and who wants to raise taxes for the wealthiest patrons. They are all so stupid.

He casts his eye idly over the silent majority, sitting in their repulsorpods. Senator Padmé catches his eye, still a shock without her face paint and robes. He has known her and her sister since they were old enough to debate their parents for a later bedtime, but still her plain face surprises him. She is pretty, in a fresh-faced sort of way. He can see why Anakin is hopelessly in love.

There is a ghost of a smile playing at her lips, and Palpatine wants to know what causes it. There is nothing else to do in this meeting; the politicians will fight amongst themselves until Palpatine has bored himself to tears. 

He slips inside her mind as easily as a step into a hot bath, submerging himself in the scent of Naboo spices. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for - visions of Anakin perhaps, shirtless sweaty Jedi training. He can only imagine what young girls are into.

Instead he finds himself in an accentuated version of Padmé’s rooms, with billowing pink curtains, and a large four-poster bed. The room smells sweet, and from far away, there is the sound of gentle music. It’s a Sith nightmare.

Palpatine turns, and finds a version of himself sitting on a plush loveseat. Padmé’s created image of Palpatine looks much the same as he does in the flesh, only with better groomed eyebrows and less of a receding hairline. Palpatine inspects the clone of himself, who seems to be waiting for someone.

The tinkling of bells designates the arrival of Padmé. She is dressed extravagantly, a blue dress the colour of the sea, with an additional headpiece and jewellery. Palpatine can tell that she has spent most of her mental energy conjuring up this outfit, the power thrumming off her, practically crackling the air.

Padmé sweeps into the room, and not-Palpatine raises his head.

“My lady. I have been expecting you.” He says, voice a rich purr. 

“Chancellor.” Padmé says, extending her hand for not-Palpatine to kiss. 

“I understand that you want a higher position in the Senate.” Not-Palpatine says. “You know that these things come at a price.”

Palpatine wonders where all this is going.

“I understand Chancellor.” Padmé says, and reaches up to unclip her headdress. “I understand what you want.”

“Good.” Not-Palpatine says, and spreads his legs. “Come here girl.”

Palpatine jerks himself out of Padmé’s head with a start, before he can see exactly what Padmé wants to do to him. The action almost sends him falling out of his seat, and he grabs hold of the pod rail to steady himself.

“Chancellor?” Ainlee Teem asks. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Palpatine snaps before he can help himself. “A disturbance. Nothing more.”

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, but searches out Padmé. They meet each other’s gaze, and Padmé smiles, the perfect face of innocence. 

He is old enough to be her father

(Like you haven’t thought about her in this way, the ghost of Darth Plageuis whispers in his ear. Sweet nubile Padmé, twice as smart as any Jedi, with tiny tits-)

Palpatine bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough that he can taste iron. He cannot get distracted, not when he has so much balanced on Anakin’s downfall. He mustn’t throw this all away for the thought of Padmé Amidala, smiling as she goes down onto her knees.

“Chancellor?”

“Continue.” Palpatine says, raising his finger. “I believe the grain prices?”

Ainlee Teem nods, and begins to drone on about the latest slight he feels his people have been dealt. 

Palpatine looks towards Padmé again. She is still half-smiling as she listens, occasionally making a note or two on her Datapad. She glances up at Palpatine’s intense eye contact, and gives him a little wave.

Damn it.

*

There isn’t a Senate meeting for the next few weeks. In the meantime, Palpatine fuels an anti-Jedi protest on Elkeenar, and quietly gets rid of a trade delegation. 

Everyone has to have a hobby.

Truth be told, he is trying to distract himself from thoughts of Padmé. It’s the way she removed her headdress, arms reaching upwards casually, the shift of her dress rising. 

Padmé wants him. Without any knowledge of his Sith abilities, or the full scope of his power. She wants Sheev Palpatine, the friendly, if ambitious, Chancellor. He ruminates on these thoughts for several days; would it be easy to recruit her to the Empire, if he only spread a few additional rumours about the Jedi? 

It’s a tricky situation. Palpatine distracts himself with more murder.

By the time that the Galactic Senate requires another meeting, Palpatine is angry with his own self-conscious . It is horrible being distracted by something so human. Darth Plagueis would be so disappointed with him.

Stepping back onto Coruscant, Palpatine can smell Padmé in the air, can almost hear her bright laughter. He clenches his fists, feeling like a lovesick teenager, like Anakin

It will not do. It is not the Sith way.

The days go past with frightening quickness, meetings, Jedi, the occasional abuse of the Force. Twice Palpatine ends up in close quarters with Yoda, and amuses himself by fantasising about stabbing him through the stomach with a letter opener. 

Finally, he catches Padmé walking past his office in another ridiculous outfit. She is joined by Jar Jar Binks, the constitutional idiot, and Palpatine blithely wonders if he can push him out of a window without anyone noticing. 

“My lady.” Palpatine calls out to her from the doorway, and she turns. Her face brightens at the sight of him.

“Chancellor Palpatine!” She says, delighted. “My apologies, I have been distracted with the trade disputes.”

“No worries.” Palpatine assures her, holding his hands out towards her. She reaches out, and he kisses the back of her hand. “It seems like so long since I have spoken to you.”

“Doesn’t it?” Padmé says. “I was beginning to forget your face.”

She’s a sweet little liar. Palpatine wonders why he never entertained the thought of her joining the cause beforehand - if he had only got to her sooner. The lack of Force is a detriment, but the Empire will always need smooth talkers and pretty faces.

“Would you care for a drink?” He asks. “I have been gifted a bottle of wine from Galator III, and have had nobody to share it with.”

“Meesa would like a drink.” Jar Jar says hopefully, and Palpatine’s window plan becomes stronger. But how to make it look like an accident?

“You need to speak to the delegates from Orto.” Padmé reminds him gently, “But you can join the Chancellor and myself another time.”

Jar Jar pouts, but seems to accept Padmé’s reasoning. He flounces off down the corridor, saved from his tragic demise. Palpatine’s fingers twitch.

He lets Padmé into his office and firmly shuts the door behind them. He thinks about locking it, but decides that it would come across as predatory.

Padmé sits down on the nearest chair, kicking off her heels so that she can tuck her legs up underneath herself. They’ve had hundreds of conversations in Palpatine’s office, and Palpatine has never realised how easily she holds herself around him. 

“My apologies if you did want to speak to Jar Jar.” Padmé says, “But I have had to babysit him most of this week, and I needed a break.”

She smiles guiltily at him. “That’s awful to say, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” Palpatine says smoothly. “I often tire of my colleagues.”

“But not me?” She teases.

“Never you.” Palpatine assures her.

Padmé leans back in her seat, and rubs her eyes. Automatically, she checks her hands for face paint smears, which Palpatine finds a little endearing. It reminds him of Darth Maul, who left red streaks on everything he touched. 

Palpatine unlocks the drinks cabinet and searches for the bottle of wine. It’s a purple shimmery drink, the same colour as a bruise, and Palpatine pours them two glasses. The liquid swirls, giving off the faint aroma of candlewick flowers.

“Here,” Palpatine carefully places the glass in Padmé’s hand. “A toast. To the Republic.”

“To the Republic.” Padmé echoes.

It’s definitely more potent than Palpatine remembers. Still, it will work in his favour to have Padmé relaxed and trusting.

Padmé takes a sip of her drink, wrinkling her nose. “That’s strong.” Then she leans forward eagerly. “Do you remember the Young Ambassadors Program-“

“Where you all drank so much you could hardly walk?” Palpatine finishes. “How could I forget? I had to lie to all your legal guardians about why said Young Ambassadors were rolling about on the floor.”

“It was awful.” Padmé laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought we were going to get in so much trouble.”

Palpatine remembers the group of them, drunk out of their skulls on Ryloth Brew. Padmé had been twelve, new to puberty and boys. She had followed the older children around like a little lost puppy.

“Who was that young fellow you liked?” Palpatine asks. “The artist.”

“Palo Jemabie.” Padmé answers. “Oh, I thought he was so handsome. He was much older than me, he must have found me so annoying.”

“What is he up to now?” Palpatine enquires.

“He works for the Senate graphic design department.” Padmé says. “He’s probably created some of your campaign posters.”

Interesting. It was always good to have artists on your side, especially when propaganda was needed.

“Do you still speak?” He asks.

“Barely.” Padmé shrugs. “I don’t have time to do anything anymore.”

“I understand how you feel.”

She smiles at that. Palpatine wonders how often she sees her parents, her sister. Maybe he could entice her to return to Naboo for her own safety.

“You do know that the current climate is a cause for concern.” Palpatine says. “Some are saying that it would be safer to send you away.”

Something changes in Padmé’s face.

“I’m not leaving the Senate.” She says coolly. “If this meeting was just a ploy to flatter me before you sent me away like a child, then it has not worked.”

“I have no ulterior motives.” Palpatine lies. “But you understand why I am worried about you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I could send Anakin with you-”

“He is barely a Jedi.” Padmé interrupts. “If I wanted protection, I would hire Obi-Wan Kenobi. He has, at least, seen battle.”

“I didn’t realise Obi-Wan Kenobi was your type.” Palpatine says innocently.

He receives a flash of anger through the Force for his questioning. Palpatine tries a new tactic. “Why do you not like Anakin? I find him perfectly charming.”

“He likes me.”

“Most people do.”

“Not like Ani.” Padmé says. “It is… intense.”

“He has a harmless crush.” Palpatine says. “Were we not just discussing your own affectionate feelings at his age?”

“I do not want a harmless crush.” Padmé says. “I have no time for little boys.”

“Only Jedi Masters?”

Padmé shoots him a look. “You are making fun of me. You think that I have a crush on Master Kenobi.” She says.

“I said nothing.” Palpatine holds up both hands, mock innocence. “You are the one putting words into my mouth.”

“Oh you are a terrible man.” Padmé says crossly. “And I refuse you. I will not go to Naboo, and I will not go with Anakin Skywalker. My place is in the Senate.”

She folds her arms. Palpatine feels a pang of fondness.

“Fine.” He says. “You win. You may stay here and be assassinated in your bed.”

“So kind.” She mocks, and pushes herself to her feet. “You treat me so well Chancellor.”

“I know.” Palpatine says, watching as she walks to the window, to look out over the city. 

Padmé presses her forehead against the glass, staring out at the people below. Palpatine joins her, trying to see what she sees.

“They have no idea what goes on behind the scenes.” Padmé says. “They think politicians are just lies and deceit. They have no idea what we put on the line for them.”

“Indeed.” Palpatine says. “They don’t understand how much our power is limited.”

“I wish I could do more.” Padmé says, sounding a little frustrated. “I wish I could help more.”

Palpatine nods his head. As part of the Empire, she could do so much. He could make her Chancellor in her own right, give her as much power as she wanted.

He places a hand on the small of her back. Padmé does not flinch.

“There are ways to get what you want.” He says softly. “Not the easiest of ways, but choices all the same.”

She pauses.

“What kind of ways?” She asks slowly.

Palpatine pretends to be bashful. “I’m not sure if you would agree to them.”

“You have known me long enough now.” Padmé says, turning to him. “Tell me. What are you thinking?”

Palpatine studies her heart shaped face. Her eyes are wide, lips parted. There is a hungriness for power there - not like his own, but something earnest. 

“It’s something I have been thinking about for a while.” Palpatine says, trying to voice this in a way that could suggest deniability. “Little favours, that we could do for each other. Perhaps-“

Palpatine is not expecting her interruption.

Suddenly he is being kissed, Padmé’s mouth warm against his own. She is clumsy, but her hands are clutching at the front of his robes with desperation.

A better man would stop her. Would lecture her about abuse of power, and the age different between them.

Palpatine is not a good man.

Instead he kisses her back, hard enough to bruise. His hands grab hold of her waist, squeezing the soft flesh he finds there. Padmé gasps from the force of it, and her open mouth allows him to slide his tongue inside. It’s not romantic, it is wanting, like a great dam has opened up.

Palpatine presses her up against the window, and she allows it, the two of them unable to stop. Palpatine wants to bite and suck at her, wants to mark her, wants everyone to see that Padmé Amidala submitted to him.

“I didn’t realise-” Padmé says between kisses. “I didn’t know you felt the same.”

Palpatine wants to know how many kisses she’s imagined in her head, how many different ways he has taken her virginity. He wants to know everything she’s ever thought about, every vile fantasy that’s crossed her mind. 

He sinks his teeth into her neck. She moans, hands grabbing at his robes to bring him closer. Their hips rock against each other, and Palpatine sucks at the mark he’s made until Padmé whimpers.

“We have a meeting.” She says, but her voice is far away.

“It can wait.” Palpatine hisses. “I’m the Chancellor.”

That seems to turn Padmé on like nothing else. She clings to him, making the most exquisite noises as he touches her. He knows he’s being rough, but he cannot stop himself, biting at her skin with teeth that almost betray his Sith-self.

Padmé doesn’t seem to notice. She allows him to practically take her against the window of his office, where anyone could pause their speeders and watch. Her body is lithe and willing, and when Palpatine manages to get his hand inside her stupid dress, he finds her skin soft.

“Please,” Padmé says.

Palpatine doesn’t refuse her. 

(He never could.)

Afterwards, Padmé sits on the edge of Palpatine’s desk and tries to fix her hair. She is glowing, a silly smile across her face, and Palpatine cannot deny his own satisfaction. She is not a practised lover, but she is hungry for him.

“Is this how you imagined it?” Palpatine asks. His voice is rough, and his robes will not sit straight, no matter how many times he tries.

Padmé flushes. “You have known about my thoughts?”

“Yes.” Palpatine says. “But I tried to control myself.”

Padmé looks down at herself, the marks he has left on her skin. It makes his stomach stir when he plots each point on her body that he has touched. She is his now, whether she likes it or not.

“Next time…” Padmé says. “You will not have to control yourself at much.”

It’s forthright. It’s wicked.

“You’re already planning a next time Senator?” Palpatine asks.

Padme smiles, and reaches towards him for another kiss. “Of course there will be a next time.” She says. “I want more.”

She tastes of sweat, and Palpatine wants to consume her.

*

The arrangement suits them well. 

Palpatine is suddenly in possession of a young girl who will do anything for him, a welcome distraction in the middle of political espionage and Empire tactics. Nobody pays them much attention; the Chancellor and Senator Amidala have always been close. If Palpatine now locks his doors during their weekly meetings, it’s because they’re discussing important business, and do not want to be disturbed.

(He has stopped mentioning Anakin Skywalker.)

Palpatine indulges her because he can. He pays her for elaborate outfits, dresses threaded with real gold, jewellery forged from planet cores. He encourages her to be selfish, to think for the greater good, rather than the individual. He watches her tip towards his way of thinking, but Padmé still doesn’t fall.

But he has time. Empires are not formed overnight, and Palpatine has been planning this since birth. Nothing has changed with the sudden arrival of Padmé, but his life has gotten a little sweeter.

The Opera House is performing The Squid of Seville, a show that Palpatine hasn’t seen since his youth. In a rare display of emotion, he books tickets for himself and Padmé. It will be a chance for her to show off her new outfits, and experience in the finer things in life. 

His private viewing box is out of view of the general public, screened so that not even the performers themselves can look up and see them. Palpatine feels smug as he sits there beside Padmé, occasionally glancing over to watch her facial expressions. She seems enthralled by the piece, leaning forward in her seat.

“Are you enjoying this?” Palpatine asks.

“Oh, yes.” Padmé says. “I love romance stories.”

Palpatine had never thought of this piece as a romance, but nods his head. He remembers Padmé’s original fantasy of the pink bedroom, fluffy clouds. She is a simple thing.

In the darkness, Padmé reaches for his hand. He allows her to take it, and she brings it up to her lips and kisses the back of it. It seems a very grand gesture for her.

“The Jedi seek to ban this sort of thing.” Palpatine says. “They find romance… unnatural.”

“Who could find this unnatural?” Padmé asks. “No wonder Obi Wan is so uptight.”

Palpatine hides a grimace at the thought of the Jedi.

“I agree. I am thinking about discussing that there should be more of a separation between the Jedi and the rest of the galaxy. They have too much control.”

“Perhaps.” Padmé says, looking back at the performers. “If their laws are in such direct contradiction to the general population.”

“Of course, the Jedi would never agree to this.” Palpatine says, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “They have been in power for so long, they seek to destroy anyone who thinks differently. They have such hatred for politics like ourselves.”

“I could talk to Ani about this.” Padmé suggests.

“You could.” Palpatine agrees. “I believe that he is… on our side, so to speak.”

She glances back at him, smiling. “We are on a side together?”

“Of course.” Palpatine says. “The side of the people.”

Padmé gives a little laugh, and leans in to kiss him. Palpatine kisses her back, tasting fruit from her lip paint. He cups her cheek with one hand, increasing the pressure, and enjoys the gasp she gives.

“We must hold a meeting with the Jedi Council.” Palpatine murmurs against her. “The two of us. Discuss our thoughts.”

Padmé tilts her head upwards so that he can press a kiss to her neck. “They would outnumber us.”

“I have more power than you realise.” Palpatine says, truthfully.

The song on stage finishes, and the audience bursts into applause. Palpatine and Padmé break apart to clap, and Palpatine is pleased to see the flush that has bloomed across Padmé’s skin.

She turns to him, as the next set of characters take their marks. “Are we visible? To the performers or other guests?”

“This is a private booth.” Palpatine confirms. “Nobody can see us.”

“Good.” Padmé presses a kiss to his cheek. “Keep quiet.”

Palpatine raises an eyebrow, but does not infiltrate her brain to enquire further. She smiles at him, as if daring him to speak, and then ducks her head down.

For a moment, he feels like he’s electrocuted himself. 

Padmé’s mouth is soft around his cock, her tongue teasing. They have never done this before - Palpatine is always the one with his mouth on her, making her come several times until he’s satisfied. 

She is amateur, but enthusiastic as she takes him down to the back of her throat. Palpatine’s fingers work themselves into Padmé’s hair, pulling at the intricate design that she had worked so hard to achieve.

He leans back in his seat, trying to control his own desires. He’s the Emperor – He shouldn’t be undone by such pleasure.

But Padmé’s head is bobbing up and down in his lap, and he is just a man. Testing the waters, he thrusts up into her throat, and feels her gag. However, she doesn’t pull away. Instead she increases the pressure, and Palpatine tips his head back.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of desire. He can barely hear the noise of her motions over the ringing in his ears, and the actors onstage. Everything is very loud and claustrophobic, but the pleasure is the sweetest he’s ever felt.

Palpatine comes down her throat with a moan, biting the back of his hand to try and stop his own noises. He gives a final thrust into her mouth, eyes squeezed shut as she teases him to the point of pain.

Padmé raises her head just as the audience burst into applause. Palpatine pulls her to him and kisses her, tasting himself on her tongue.

“We will take control,” He murmurs against her mouth. “I promise it.”

*

The galaxy continues to crumble. There’s an uprising on the planet Omereth, a blockade on Quintil. Anakin murders a village of Tusken Raiders, and Palpatine feels the Force scream out in horror.

“I feel sorry for him,” Padmé says. She is laying in Palpatine’s bed in only her nightgown, ridden up to expose her bruise-marked thighs. “The Jedi have got their claws into him, and he cannot escape.”

“You must try and get him on our side.” Palpatine says. He’s sitting at his desk, trying to plan his next speech to the Senate. “He trusts you.”

“He’s too trusting.” Padmé props herself up on one arm to look at him. “He told me about the Tuskens the moment he had done it.”

And Padmé had dutifully reported back to Palpatine. He’s so very proud of her.

“There were children in the Tusken camp.” Padmé continues. “And he slaughtered them.”

“Tuskens are barely a step above from feral animals.” Palpatine says. “Don’t trouble yourself with thoughts of them.”

Padmé seems to consider this. Palpatine deletes a line in his speech that was too ironic.

“Do you think we should tell him?” Padmé asks.

Palpatine frowns at his Datapad. “About what?”

“Us.” She says.

Palpatine looks up sharply. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Padmé asks. “It would make him feel invited into a secret.”

(Because he’s a jealous little idiot who might try and run me through with a lightsabre, Palpatine thinks idly.)

“He still has feelings for you.” He says bluntly. “I believe that this may turn him against our cause.”

“I feel odd not telling him.” Padmé says. “It feels like I am hiding something terrible.”

“There is a conflict of interest.” Palpatine reminds her, setting down the Datapad. Best to distract her before this ends in an argument. “You are my junior.”

“I suppose.”

Palpatine sits down beside her on the bed and allows her to rub her head against him like a cat. The nightgown is flimsy enough that Palpatine can see every curve of her body, and he resists the urge to pin her down and take her in the middle of the conversation.

“Still,” Padmé continues, not dissuaded. “I feel that he would understand. The heart wants what it wants.”

Does Palpatine think with his heart? Does he even have a heart? He pictures his chest as a withered husk, like the desiccated remains of a corpse on Tatooine. 

“After we have removed the Jedi Council.” Palpatine says. “Then we can tell him.”

“If that day comes.”

“It will.” He promises. “I am sure of it.”

Palpatine straddles her, and a satisfied smile spreads across Padmé’s face. She tugs down the front of her nightgown to expose her breasts, the nipples dark and pebbled. Palpatine feels a stirring in his robes as she plays with them for her own enjoyment. It is so easy to lean into her base instincts, to pleasure her until she forgets their disagreements. 

He kisses down her neck to her chest, sucks at the nipple until Padmé is a mewling mess underneath him. She thrusts upwards with her hips, and Palpatine hums under his breath, pushing her down.

“Patience.” He says.

“Make me come.” Padmé begs, and he kisses the centre of her chest.

“Demanding, aren’t you? What would the public think?”

“I know better than the general public.” Padmé says, and Palpatine smirks. She’s beginning to align to his way of thinking.

“Do you now?”

Padmé takes his hand and presses it between her legs where she’s soaking wet and wanting. It makes a shudder run down his spine.

“Is this what you want?” He asks. “To hump my hand like a dog?”

It’s crude, but has the desired effect. Padmé nods, and he continues the motion, allowing her whatever she wants. For his own pleasure, he slips inside Padmé’s brain and closes his eyes, embracing the pressure that is building inside of her.

“I can feel you-” Padmé blurts out, “How are you doing that?”

Palpatine doesn’t withdraw, but digs his heels into her consciousness. She is bright lights and tension, a taught string. He bites down on her throat, at the same time that he slides two fingers inside of her.

Palpatine-”

She comes with a gasp, squeezing Palpatine’s hand so tightly between her legs that she might break all his bones. Her brain explodes behind her eyes, and Palpatine drinks it all in, the sweetness of it all.

Her teeth find his shoulder and Padmé bites him through the robes, drawing him from inside her.

She scrabbles out from underneath him, pushing herself to the corner of the bed. Her eyes are wet, demanding, and she turns her face when he tries to kiss her.

“What was that?” Padmé asks. “How did you do that?”

Palpatine quietly considers how to approach this. He feels like he is approaching a stray animal on the street, apprehensive about being bitten. For the first time, she is scared of him.

“I have a talent that some may consider… unnatural.” Palpatine says. “A version of the Force, if you will.”

“But you’re not a Jedi?” Padmé says. She is still breathing fast, her perfect chest rising up and down.

“No.” Palpatine acknowledges. “I am something else.”

Padmé doesn’t say anything. Her eyes flick towards the door for only a second, and Palpatine internally curses.

“My dear.” He says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“I was trying to increase your pleasure.” Palpatine says. “I only want the best for you. I care about you.”

She is trembling. Palpatine carefully moves to sit beside Padmé, and takes her hand in his own.

“Everything I do, is for your benefit.” He says. “I can see now that my powers frightened you.”

Padmé holds onto him. “Did you hide your powers so that the Jedi would not find you?”

“Yes.” Palpatine says. “I knew what they did to children, and I did not want that for myself. You can understand, can’t you?”

“I do.” Padmé says, and then, “Is this why you don’t like the Jedi?”

“One reason.” Palpatine says.

Padmé is quiet for a little while. Palpatine wishes that he could slip inside her head, but knows now that she would feel it.

“I understand why you made that choice.” Padme says. “But you should have told me.”

“A thousand sorries.” Palpatine says. “It was a decision made by fear.”

Padme chews the inside of her cheek.

“When we have control of the entire Senate,” Palpatine says. “And have removed the Jedi Council, nobody will have to live in fear anymore.”

Padmé leans against him, and Palpatine hides a satisfied smile. She is coming back to him now, and he has twisted her fear towards the Jedi.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Yes.” Padmé says, and she does not hesitate.

*

Everything continues onward.

Obi Wan is, very disappointingly, not murdered by Count Dooku. Palpatine is starting to wonder that he’s never going to get rid of the sanctimonious idiot.

Still, at least he has finally been granted emergency powers. War brings out the best, and the worst, in people, and he is excited to see what horrors he can create. The clones are fascinating creatures, and there are many things he has in store for them.

But for now, there are still Senate meetings, and Coruscant debates. 

(And Padmé on her knees, over his desk, in his bed, wanting more, and more, and more.)

Padmé is currently in his office, looking over his plans for the Clone War. Of course, they are not his actual plans, but it is very pleasant to have Padmé sitting on his lap, studying the Datapad.

He has one arm wrapped around her to keep her steady, and she is warm against him. It would probably be easier for them to sit on the loveseat, but Padmé is clingy ever since he crawled inside her brain. 

“I can’t believe it has come to this.” Padmé says, flicking through the various files. “A galaxian war, in my lifetime.”

“We have been complacent for too long.” Palpatine agrees. 

“It’s proof that we’ve hidden behind the Jedi for too long.” Padmé says crossly. “If they hadn’t acted as the first line of defence, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I agree.” Palpatine says. “I’m thinking about sending Anakin in as my representative, to bring some order to the Council.”

“Ani, a Senator?” Padmé says.

“You cannot see it?” Palpatine asks. “Our own Master Skywalker?”

He pinches her hip to make her laugh, and she wriggles.

“You mock the both of us.” Padmé says. “But I still think of him as the slave boy on Tatooine.”

Palpatine thinks back on chubby-faced Anakin, blonde and desperate for affection. He wishes that he’d asked Maul to kidnap the child, instead of focussing on Qui-Jon. But then again, looking at Darth Maul… his child raising efforts were not entirely father of the year.

“Truth be told, I think the Jedi Council think the same.” Padmé continues. “They don’t trust him, not even with trivial matters. Mace Windu won’t even ask him to brew a cup of Cassius tea.”

“Mace Windu has always been a difficult man.” Palpatine says. “However we need someone on the inside. Who knows what rumours the Jedi are spreading, or their plans to solve the Clone Wars.”

“Like a spy.” Padmé says.

“Exactly.” Palpatine agrees. She’s catching on.

“I can only imagine what horrible things they say about us in private.” Padmé says. “Whispering that those without the Force are lesser lifeforms.”

“All the more reason to remove them from the Senate.”

“But they don’t know about your powers.” Padmé says. “We’re almost one step ahead. And perhaps, with Ani, we can start to show everyone who the Jedi really are.”

Palpatine cannot resist a smile. He’s got her exactly where he wants her. Anakin is also teetering on the edge of Palpatine’s plans. He just needs a final push, some threat of harm to those he loves. Once he sees that Padmé is against the Jedi, he will fall quickly, straight into Palpatine’s hands.

“They’ll be powerless to stop us.” Palpatine agrees.

“And we can finally bring true democracy to the Senate.”

She opens the file on Naboo’s refugee evacuation plans and settles back against his chest to read it. Palpatine inhales the scent of her hair, pressing his forehead against her skull. He can sense the worry - but also the anticipation. Everyone loves the war council after the war.

Palpatine has it all planned out, and he cannot wait to see the ending.

Notes:

Comment and Padme can be Empress of the Galaxy