It didn't take much for Luke to get jealous, and when he did, it was over you. The poor Jedi couldn't help but feel everything when it came to you.

You, Han, Leia, and Luke were stranded on some unknown planet, in some isolated village. In desperate need of supplies and repairs. But the market was homely, warm and vibrant. Too similar to your own, and you pushed back the memory of Tatooine. Instead, you focused on the jewellery stand, staring at the gold and silver with Han.

The stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf herder wanted to purchase a necklace for Leia, and you couldn't find it in yourself to say no. It was rare he did anything without selfish intent, but adamant on proving himself worthy of her affection, he was happy to give up some credits for the princess. And he needed his best friend's help to do it.

A diamond necklace lay on display, and Han's hand reached to touch its pendant. It was beautiful, but its hefty 500-credit price tag was too much. Lying half-forgotten, a similar bracelet of 200 credits was the perfect gift.

With a winning smile, Han handed over the coins to the disgruntled merchant. He turned that same smile on you, and you knew what was coming next. "What do you want now?"

"You wanna try it on for size? I want to make sure it'll fit."

"You're asking me after you've bought it? Honestly, it's a bracelet, Han. I'm sure it'll be fine." But you couldn't say no to him, and because the bracelet was for Leia, you snatched it out of his grasp to try it on. "See? It fits. Because it's a bracelet."

"Thank you y/n," he sang as he took it back.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm telling you, she'll love the damn thing."

Luke, hidden under his hood with a separate vendor, watched you part with a strange feeling in his chest.

. . .

Fulfilling your prophecy, Leia loved the bracelet, and reciprocated his feelings. She'd left the bracelet in her room for dinner, showing off the gift to you in delight.

Dinner was an awkward affair, with you seated across from the siblings and Han on your left side. His unflinching glare at Han went unnoticed by everyone except you, brushing off your concern any time you asked.

The second he finished his meal, he mumbled some excuse about fixing his lightsaber and scrambled out of the room. You excused yourself too, wiping your mouth on your napkin and bidding the couple goodbye.

Luke sat on the end of his bed, twirling the lightsaber between his fingers and muttering under his breath. "Stupid, thinking she'd ever look at you the way she looks at him. Stupid stupid stupid, Luke, you and your imagination—"

You knocked on his door frame, a soft smile playing on your mouth. "Hey, SkyGuy. What's going on with you?"

His eyes darted to yours in a panic, looking for an escape, but you entered the room and closed the door behind you. Plastering on a smile, he tried, "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing going on with me."

Sitting down on the neatly made bed, you took his hand in yours. "You forget, I know you well enough to know when something's bothering you. Just... talk to me? Please?"

How can he not, when you're looking at him like that? He's never had a filter when it comes to you, and the words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. Everything. You smiling at Han, receiving the bracelet, hugging him. He saw it all.

The penny dropped, and you smirked as his face grew red. "Luke, are you... jealous? Of Han?"

He huffed. "I'm not jealous. Just concerned, that's all."

"Uh-huh. You sure you don't secretly have a crush on me?"

"No, of-of course not. You're my best friend." His smile wasn't convincing, and with your raised brow and another glance at you, Luke sighed. "Yeah, I uh, I do. And I mean, I get it if you don't feel the same way, I mean, how could you?"

His hand leaves yours to fiddle with the lightsaber again, spinning it over and over until you stop it with your fingers. He looked down, startled. Your hand in his, fingers sliding and intertwining. "I don't... I don't understand. You feel the same?"

You smile. "How could I not?"

Your other hand slides up to cup his cheek, thumb sliding over his upper lip. He turns to properly face you, hands finding your waist. "Can I... can I kiss you?"

Lips centimetres from his, you whisper, "Yes."

And as your lips meet, Luke knows he's a goner. Knows he belongs to you, only you. He could only ever be yours, with you sweet and warm in his hands, tongue sliding to meet yours.

This is where he belongs.