#star Wars fanfiction

[pasukiyo]

Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader in

THE UNDOING OF DARKNESS

“She will be Darth Vader’s destruction. And she will be Anakin Skywalker’s redemption.”

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader warnings: darth vader, a depiction of murder, angst, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), inappropriate usage of the force, did i mention angst synopsis: sometimes she believes anakin skywalker still exists. darth vader will say that he is no more but she does not truly believe he is gone. after all, anakin once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her.

— NEW FIC COMING NOVEMBER 12TH, 2024 AT 7 PM CST.

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 23

Every nerve in Din’s body leapt into high alert. Lying was unthinkable, and it was pointless to prevaricate.

“Tion’jor?” the Armorer pressed, dissatisfied by his slowness to reply. Why?

He said nothing. The answer was simple enough, but he did not wish to say as much without having formally declared himself to you first. The Mandalorian courting traditions he grew up with did not account for courting non-Mandalorians, and he fully intended to court you.

Left with no other choice, he took a deep breath and reached out to touch your cheek. You met him with a scowl, but held still as he quietly made his reply in Mando’a:

“She is in danger because she is important to me.”

The sullen clouds in your eyes softened to puzzlement, and for a fleeting moment, fear. 

“She is not Mandalorian,” the Armorer pointed out. 

Yet another cloak-and-dagger command for answers. 

Din brought his hand down from your cheek, moving to grip your shoulder. 

“She honors the Way,” he asserted, and spoke his next words with equal conviction. “And she has the heart of a Mandalorian.”

The Armorer lapsed into contemplative silence as she considered these answers. Experience had taught him that she would not be hurried. Still, he was reasonably certain the final decision would be in his favor. She had taken interest in his journeys over the years, indulging his need for wanderlust while denying others similar liberties. 

Din bided his time searching your eyes, marveling at your uncanny ability to find his gaze despite the barrier of his helmet. Could you sense what he was trying to tell you? Yes, you were aruetii, and no, you were not exactly amongst friends, but you need not be frightened. You had assisted a Mandalorian in locating his Tribe and fearlessly rendered him aid, both on and off the battlefield. What better way to demonstrate one’s loyalty?

Chapter 23: She is in Danger Because She is Important to Me

Link to main fic: Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

(Reblog and get your own snippet from the next chapter)

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[vodika-vibes]

Hey, Vod'ika!! I'm in an Echo mood lately.

What about a fic where the reader has been with the batch since before the Empire and the reader and Echo got together round about the time of Order 66. The reader decides to join Rex's rebellion which Echo doesn't mind in fact he loves seeing you everyday. But after taking down Tantiss, Echo notices how you talk to the batch and how you just seem to fit in well on Pabu, so Echo gets an overbearing feeling that he's holding you back from an ordinary life so you have to reassure him that your home is wherever he is. ❤

Wouldn't Change A Thing

Summary: You’re always happy to get to visit your boys, and spending a week on Pabu is always a treat, but when you return to the fight with Echo after this most recent visit, he’s quieter and more withdrawn. And you’re worried.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1117

Warnings: None

A/N: This fic is soft, though I'm setting it in a perfect TBB AU where Tech is still alive. Because I'm a writer and I'm allowed to delude myself like that. (Though, he's actually not mentioned in this story). Anyway, I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You stretch your arms over your head with a groan as you step out of the fresher and into the suite you share with Echo. As much as you love visiting Pabu, and seeing your boys, sometimes you feel like you need a vacation to recover from your vacation.

Honestly, Hunter can be so exhausting sometimes. And that’s even with him mellowing out since Omega came into his life.

You’re so glad you’re not their handler anymore.

You stretch a little more and grimace when the sunburn on your shoulders pulls uncomfortably. It’s fine, you’ll have Echo put aloe on your back before bed.

Speaking of said man—

Your gaze sweeps across the room. He’s not sitting on the couch, and the bedroom door is propped open, so you can see that he’s not in there either. Then you hear the familiar sound of dishes clinking together, so you turn and poke your head into the kitchen.

Echo’s back is to you, but you’d be surprised if he didn’t know that you were there. For a moment, you watch the muscles ripple across his back, and a tiny smile lifts your lips as you lean your head against the door frame.

Maker, you love him so much.

Echo pauses, and turns his head slightly, “You’re staring.”

“Mm, yeah,” You say through an adoring sigh.

He rolls his eyes and flings a damp washcloth at you. It smacks your chest and falls into your hand, “I’m hardly worth staring at.”

“Agree to disagree, my darling~”

“Cyare.”

“My beloved.” You continue with a grin as you cross the room to stand next to him, “My only. My—” Your words become muffled when he presses his hand over your mouth.

“Hush, you.”

There’s color high on his cheeks, and you giggle in delight. Something softens on his face at the sound of your giggle and he moves his hand from your mouth just enough that he’s able to caress your jaw. 

“You’ve got a sunburn,” Echo notes as he lightly brushes his scomp across the burn on the back of your neck and upper shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’ll need you to help me with some aloe later,” You reply absently as you rub your cheek against the palm of his hand, “If you don’t mind.”

“Oh no, the love of my life wants me to massage lotion into her skin. Whatever shall I do?” He counters, deadpan.

“How is it that you become more sarcastic after spending time with the boys?” You marvel.

“It’s a defense mechanism for having to deal with little brothers.”

You laugh and reach up to cup his face, “Well, I like it when you’re sarcastic.”

“Only because it means that you can be sarcastic right back at me,” He teases with a tiny smile, though the smile fades as he scans your face.

“Echo? What’s wrong?” You ask him, with a tilt of your head.

“You looked pretty happy on Pabu.” He murmurs.

“I mean, sure. Who’s not going to be happy to be able to lie on a beach with a fruity drink?”

“You seem to fit in well there,” Echo continues, “And the others were so happy to see you. And you were happy to see them.”

“Honestly, I’m not convinced that they’re able to survive without me,” You whisper up to him like you’re sharing a secret. “I think Crosshair lost weight, can you believe that!?”

“Cyare,” The affectionate pet name is murmured through a sigh, and you drop your hands from his cheeks, so you’re able to wrap your arms around his neck.

“What’s wrong, Echo? Talk to me.”

“I love that you’re here. I love waking up and seeing you every day.” Echo says slowly, “But, cyare, if you’d be happier on Pabu. I can take you back. You don’t have to stay here.”

You blink at him, struck mute by his words.

Slowly your arms drop from around his neck and you take half a step back, you can’t think when you’re wrapped around him like that. “Echo,” You speak slowly, “Do you want me to leave?”

Echo draws you back into his arms. Unlike you, he thinks more clearly when you’re in his arms. “Never. I want you here, in my arms, all of the time.” He presses his nose into your hair, his voice soft right by your ear, “But if you’re not happy here, then I’ll let you go in a heartbeat.”

Well, that’s what it is to love someone, isn’t it? If you love them, really and truly love them, you’ll want them happy. Even if it means that they’re not with you.

A soft sigh falls from your lips and you turn your head slightly so you’re able to kiss the side of his head, “Have I ever implied that I’m not happy here?” You ask.

“No, but I know you. You’d downplay a fatal injury if you worried it was going to be an inconvenience.” Echo replies.

You wrap your arms tightly around him again, “Then allow me to be blunt,” You trail light fingers across his skin, tracing the scars that show you that your love is a survivor, “Yes, I like Pabu. And yes, I like seeing my boys.”

He tenses slightly, his arms tightening.

“But, Echo, I am happier on Pabu when you are there. And I am happier spending time with the boys when you are with me.” He pulls back slightly, so he’s able to look you in the eye, and you continue with a small smile, “My place, Echo, is wherever you are. Be it here, or Pabu, or a moisture farm on Tatooine.”

“Cyar’ika—”

“And I wouldn’t change a single thing.” You pause, “Well, maybe I’d change the whole rise of the Empire thing, but that’s the only thing I’d change!” You inch closer to him so that you’re pressed flush against his body, “I love you, Echo. And I will stay here, with you, until you get tired of me.”

“It’ll never happen.” Echo replies as he bumps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure? I can be really annoying.”

“The most aggravating woman I’ve ever met,” Echo agrees, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, “But I wouldn’t change you for all of the credits in the galaxy.”

“Good.”

Any further conversation is unnecessary, as Echo’s lips catch yours in a deep kiss and he starts walking you back towards the bedroom. “I should get the aloe,” He murmurs against your lips, “Something something good boyfriend.”

“You just want to be a pervert,” You accuse.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He laughs against your jaw, as he kicks the bedroom door shut.

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[thesassypadawan]

Make Them Blue (Leo x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary:  It’s No Nut November and, as usual, your man lets his stunad friends talk him into participating.  Everything was going sort of well, until one crazy day working at the shop.  After dealing with idiot customers, watching you scampering around in that skirt and his hoodie…he needs to unwind badly.  So he grabs the bottle of wine stashed for emergencies and you, dragging you both out back to the alley.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Thigh riding; some good, cheap vino; one horny and worked up big chooch, sauce stain, jizz in pants, and… Leo’s big, fat dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- Two fingers beckon while holding a bottle of wine.  “Come here, amore…”  Other flour covered hand easily captures both of your sweater pawed ones.  Bringing your knuckles to his red stained lips; placing a kiss on the icy-hot skin.  “Missin’ ya all afternoon…”

- Tugging gently, he urges you to take a seat.  “Leo…”  Flirtatious grin widening on his flushed face as you happily oblige.  Plopping down onto his toned thigh.  “…I've practically been glued to your side the whole time.”   Knee ‘accidentally�� glancing his already hard cock; warm, tacky core pressing against his sauce-stained jeans.

- One last deep swig for himself, for you, and he sets it with a soft clink on the alley floor.  “Yeah, I know.”  Calloused fingertips come to rest on your waist, squeezing and kneading your handle like fresh dough.  “But I couldn't do…”  Before wandering lower, slipping under the hem of your skirt.  “…this…”

- Hooking his thumb, snapping the band of your lacey panties.  Ample globes jiggle, ripple from the recoil.  Tits bounce beneath his stolen hoodie.  When a squeak, followed by a giggle bubbles up from your throat.  “Ooooh, true.  Customers kind of frown at the cook feeling up the register girl in front of them.”    

- “Exactly,” he chuckles.  Big hands come to rest, cup your bottom firmly.  Pulling you even closer, little paunch brushing his thick middle… the swell of his prominent bulge.  “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

- Your own small ones settle on his toned chest, fingers tangle lazily in his gold chain.  “I am, but…”  Head tilts slightly to the side, mischievous smile curling at the corners of your mouth.  Plush pillow rubs and prods; eyes search his glassy, blue ones.  “…what about your bet with the guys?”

- Low hiss, hot breath washes over you.  Faint smell of alcohol tickles your nose and senses.  “Fuuuck ‘em.”  Shrugging, leaning down; lips hover inches away from yours.  “Choochs don’t got it as good as me…”

- Crashing them together, pushing past yours.  Tongues tangle, wrestle.  “Got someone to keep their dicks wet…”  Bitter, sweet taste tantalizing and arousing.  Adding to the overwhelming, swirling onslaught of pent-up frustrations and tension.  “Got a fat ass like this…”

- All the while he caresses, gropes your full cheeks.  Guiding, rocking you back and forth.  Stimulation, friction from your puffy folds passing over the course denim; making a thrill run, sparks of pleasure erupt throughout your body.   Causing you to moan softly into his mouth, yank roughly on his chain.  “Faster…  Faster…”

- Landing a solid, painful smack.  His grip tightens, fingers dig and sink into the subtle flesh.  “Faster, huh?”  Presses you down harder on his flexed thigh, drags and grinds your sensitive bud.  Pushing, hurtling you towards the edge…the much-needed release.  “Better hang on then, angel.”

- Pace picks up, almost brutal and blinding.  Juices totally soak, drench your panties; seeping into his jeans, coating them in a sticky trail.  Needy mewls, whines echoing off the brick walls.  Along with the distressed creaks from the wooden crate below.  “’Cause I ain’t stoppin’…”

- You can feel him rutting frantically, desperately against you.  Chubby cock straining at the fabric, poking at the underside of your stomach.  His breaths coming out in shallow pants; wispy puffs that float away on the cool, night air.  “…‘til…’t-til…”

- Nails scratch at, digits just start to fumble with his zipper.  Trying to free him when…  Abruptly he stops, deep groan escapes him.  Face and cheeks grow redder, sweaty forehead leans on yours.  As a moist, heated spot forms, soaks through the front of your skirt.   “…cum.”

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[renlyslittlerose]

Of Good Men and Monsters

Rating: E

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Chapter: 32/32

Summary:  Let me share in your life,” Anakin whispered. He pressed in close, their noses brushing. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and pushed himself back against the wall, but Anakin followed him. “Let me sleep with your heart beneath my hand, your pulse against my lips, your cock between my thighs. Let me live through you. Let me be a part of your humanity.

–

Anakin was a boy made of magics and gilded in prophecy, his story unendingly important to the universes in all their multitude; Obi-Wan was nothing of the sort, humble in origin and in manner. Fate saw it fit to bring them together, the two sworn to fight the forces of darkness in whichever way it appears.

But prophecies are tricky things. When Anakin is turned by a vampire who follows an ancient cult known only as The Sith, Obi-Wan is forced to navigate his feelings for the demonic entity that has lay claim to his gilded boy, all the while trying to prevent an apocalypse centuries in the making.

[skybreakprimeonao3]

“This Jedi Master is often called upon when Padawans find themselves in difficult negotiations, mostly during classes. She is remembered for successfully convincing a squad of Mandalorians to fight for her mission.”

Many years ago:

“How is it that I got you to help me, but now I can’t get rid of you!?”

“Have you eaten today, Jet’ika? Alor won’t let you get away with limited rations now that the mission is over.”

“I’m going be remembered as the Padawan who died from overbearing Mandalorians…”

Now:

Obi-Wan, staring at hundreds of thousands of Clones while trying to think of arguments against the Kaminoans: “Master of Negotiations, give me strength.”

Somewhere in the Manda, a squad of Mandalorians hear an exasperated sigh.

I think the Jedi should have fake saints and made-up martyrs the way medieval Catholicism did

like tell me the creche-story of the Jedi Knight who threw their soul into the Force and left no body behind when they were captured by a Sith rather than let themselves be tortured into Falling and joining the Sith

or about the Jedi Padawan who spoke her case so eloquently that the Mandalorians who had captured her let her go and devoted themselves to fight for her noble cause

[collophora]

Team 5 reporting for the @clonebang 2024 starting December 1st!

On ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clonebang2024/ and on tumblr following the tag #cb2024

Author CourtesyTrefflin @fanfictasia and Artist @collophora for the fic:

Fire and the Flood

SFW gen fic - posting December 9

Hunter has never been off Kamino before, no matter how confident he is that he and his squad are ready. Sure, they might age like natborns do, but they’re still soldiers. They’re capable. When the war ends, their fate becomes uncertain… until Omega warns them that the Kaminoans plan to decommission them to study their mutations. Desertion becomes the only option.

--Characters: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, Omega, Rex, Echo (minor), Cut (minor), suu (minor), emerie (minor) Relationships: Hunter & Tech & Wrecker & Crosshair, Hunter & Tech & Wrecker & Crosshair & Omega, hunter & omega, echo & clone force 99 (minor), rex & clone force 99, cut & clone force 99 (minor), rex & echo (minor), emerie and clone force 99 (minor)

[pasukiyo]

THE UNDOING OF DARKNESS

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: darth vader, a depiction of murder, angst, smut, p in x sex (unprotected), inappropriate usage of the force, did i mention angst, anakin is also unburnt for the sake of this fic synopsis: sometimes she believes anakin skywalker still exists. darth vader will say that he is no more but she does not truly believe he is gone. after all, anakin once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her.

read on ao3

 Every breath feels like the rarest air in Fortress Vader. Not only is it stuffy, and the simplest of movements makes you break out into a sweat, but it has always felt more like a prison than a home. She’s tried to think of it as one, as it is the place where she spends most, if not all, of her days. It is hard, however, when all she can see is gray, orange, and red for as far as the eye can see. It is hard when she knows there is always the possibility that he is there, watching, scrutinizing, waiting. 

 He, the man she once held in such high regard, the man she never thought she would have, the man that always seemed so impossible and out of reach, the man she never thought would have given her a chance. Maybe he wouldn’t have, she thinks when she has nothing to do but sit by the sliver in the wall of the throne room that serves as a window, looking out into the fiery oceans of Mustafar, if he hadn't changed. 

 She knew the man who he once was. She knew the man before the days of apparatus, before the days of the Empire, before the days of darkness. She thinks she must be the only one left who knew Lord Vader as well as she. Yes, she knew the man Lord Vader had been, before the days of dictatorship, before the fear of existing, because existing, in these days, was fear in itself. 

 She thinks she must be one of the only ones left who knew of Anakin Skywalker. Sometimes, when she sees Lord Vader in the way she and only she sees him, she thinks she can see Anakin again, slipping through the cracks. Sometimes, she believes Anakin must still be here, somewhere, if even a fragment of him. Sometimes she will look into his eyes— the fiery pools they were now— and swear she will see a glimmer, a mirage of that cerulean ocean she once knew, slipping through the cracks of his inferno. 

 If Anakin Skywalker did still exist, however, Lord Vader made sure he never came to be. If Anakin Skywalker still existed, then he was simply locked away deep inside the cage that had been built around the new Lord Vader’s heart. She isn’t sure if it is possible to break through the iron bars— and frankly, she’s become too frightened to even want to continue trying. She feels guilty, like she has some sense of responsibility, of duty to the lost Anakin Skywalker, as she is the only one that Lord Vader allows so close, the only one who may see him in a state as vulnerable as he will allow her to see him. 

 She wonders sometimes if Anakin Skywalker cries out for her, much like the way she did when she was taken, plucked like a rose from her village in the outskirts of Galidraan. When she closes her eyes, she can still remember that day, the harsh cold on her skin, the painful inferno inside her chest, the binds used to restrain her hands behind her back. 

 “No!” She can still feel her scream ripping from her throat, the acidic, rumbling feeling in her chest as she watches the red plasmic blade of the dark figure slice clean through her uncle’s neck, and can still see the shape of his head tumble into the white snow through her watery vision. Although she knows she is merely looking into the past, the pain feels too real, like she is reliving her worst day again. 

 She lunges forward, like she intends to avenge her uncle, a foolish spur of the moment instinct, as she is bound by the wrists and with a blaster to the back of her head. The stormtrooper behind her knocks the butt of his blaster into the back of her skull and her head rings while her cheek finds the snow. She hears her cousins and her people cry behind her and when she pries a single eyelid open, she can make out their trembling silhouettes, on their knees, shoulder to shoulder, a wall of stormtroopers behind them. 

 The ringing begins to dull and she hears footsteps somewhere behind her. She cannot bring herself to move, as she is stunned with the realization that today would be their final day. All these people she’s grown up with, her family she swore she would protect— they would meet their ends today. She would never see her off-planet friends again— she would never see Anakin Skywalker again. That promise he made her that he would see her again feels empty now. She almost wonders if she was a fool to put so much faith in him and his Jedi friends to begin with, if she was a fool to think he’d want her, someone as simple and as plain as her. 

 But all the same, he said they would come should trouble find her beloved planet— so where was he now? She believes he cannot be dead, purged along with many of the other of his kind. She knows he is out there, somewhere. Everyday, she thinks he will come poking his head out from the snowy horizon. Everyday, she waits for that moment to come. She feels the bitter cold seeping into her bones now and thinks how foolish she’s been for believing in such a thing. 

 “The prisoner dares the thought of standing against me,” she hears a voice, deep and undoubtedly male behind her and feels a quivering somewhere inside her chest. The bile that’s been resting at the base of her throat threatens to rise when two stormtroopers step forward, likely from this dark figure’s command, and wraps their hands under her armpits, hoisting her from the ground. She presses her lips together to quell her sick as the world spins and all she can see is black and white. 

 The figure is tall and broad, much more so now that she was so close to him. She has to look up at him and she tries to blink away the blurriness from her vision, and when it does, she can make out the face of his mask. She glowers into the two black circles of his eyes, trying to keep her gaze locked on him rather than on the limp body of her uncle. 

 “You cannot do this,” she says, her voice shaky with uncertainty but feigning determination all the same. “You cannot take us. You cannot kill us. Ana…” she pauses and somewhere in her delirious mind she thinks perhaps she shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t put yet another target on his back. But her brain tells her these will be her final moments and all she can really think of now is Anakin and of his promise she still tried to cling onto, even now when it was quite literally impossible for it to be fulfilled now. “Anakin will come for us. You cannot kill us.”

 A silence ensues and the masked man’s shoulders rise and she thinks she must have caught him by surprise. Perhaps he already knows of Anakin Skywalker, perhaps he merely wonders why a girl as plain and unimportant as she knows of a Jedi Knight when they’ve all been purged, seemingly from his hand, or at least, his command. 

 His black capes flows in the snowy wind and she trembles, more from knowing his stare behind that mask is devouring her rather than the cold. 

 “You speak in tongues,” he says at last, stepping forward, closer until all she sees is black, an endless void with two circles and a triangle for a face. “I can and I will take whatever I want, foolish girl. I will do what I please.”

 He straightens and with a black, gloved hand, points towards her people, her family. “Kill them,” he says simply and panic blinds her, taking control of her limbs. 

 “No. No!” She screeches into the howling wind, thrashing against the hold of the two stormtroopers behind her as she hears blaster shot after blaster shot and the sound of bodies falling into the snow. “Anakin! Anakin, please! Help me! Help us!” She screams again, sounding more like a fool than she ever has but she’s desperate as she tries to lift herself from the ground, kicking out towards the dark, wicked man before her. 

 All five fingers of the same hand the man used to damn her family to their deaths outstretches and it is like her body, her limbs are no longer her own. They freeze in place and no matter how hard she tries to will them to move, to will her arms to thrash about against their restraints and her legs to kick, they will not. Her heart pounds against her chest and it rises and falls with her shaky breaths as she is forced to stare at the man who has taken her entire world away in a matter of seconds. He steps forward again, looms like a dark cloud with the promise of downpour over her and she has no choice but to stare back, her brows knit together, the promise of tears stinging her eyes. 

 “The man you speak of ceased to exist long ago,” he speaks and she doesn’t quite want to believe him. Although, for a reason she cannot quite define now, she thinks he must be telling the truth, or at least, some version of the truth. “It’d do you well to rid your mind of these foolish beliefs. You shall not be saved. Your life rests in the palms of my hands, and I will do with it what I please.”

 Still, she cannot move, all she can do is silently cry, waiting for this man, this awful, wicked, yet somewhat familiar man to damn her to whatever fate he had in store for her. 

 “You will come with me. You will live in my fortress. You will be what I want you to be. This is a mercy, but do not consider yourself saved. Your life will still be mine to own, and it will be mine to end, should I desire it.”

 She opens her eyes and finds herself back in Mustafar again, staring out at the same fiery ocean she sees every other day. The pain and the memory of that day is still fresh, but she still cannot shake what she feels of Anakin— or rather, Lord Vader— even knowing what he is, what he is capable of. She hates herself for being so easy, for still wanting to believe that her Anakin is still there and that what she has with the new Lord Vader is love, a twisted, altered version of what her life might have been like with Anakin, should circumstances be different. 

 There are footsteps thrumming through the hall beyond the door of the throne room and time seems to still, her heart thudding against her chest as she waits for the door to slide open. When it does, he walks in, rolling like a dark fog into the room and despite the intense heat of Mustafar, she shivers, an icy chill seeping into the marrow of her bones. 

 She simply sits and stares as he stops in the middle of the throne room, her fingers wrapped around the fabric of her gown, chest heaving up and down, waiting for him to address her. She hates this— living in constant fear whilst simultaneously wanting him, wanting the man he used to be, Anakin, back. 

 Another few seconds of silence. 

 And then. 

 “Come here,” he finally speaks and his voice sounds not his own, a different man entirely. She blinks, swinging her legs over the ledge of her seat at the window, complying without a question. Sometimes she hated how easy she gave in to him, but even if she didn’t act of her own free will, she knew she wouldn’t have much of a choice anyways. Still, she hates how quickly she draws nearer, only stopping when she stands before him, looking up into his mask. 

 She purses her lips. She hates this mask. It reminds her of that day. It is the mask of a killer, rather than the face of a man. 

 She inhales, feeling air draw into her chest. Then, “will you let me see you?”

 Another moment of silence, save, of course, for the sound of his breathing through the apparatus. His shoulders rise and fall with his breath and she thinks it must have been a bad day. She internally shudders— tonight could go only one of two ways. 

 She feels a sense of relief, however, when his hands rise to the sides of his helmet, air hissing when he presses his fingers down on either side of the durasteel. Time stops altogether when he inches the helmet away from his head. Full, pink lips unveil behind the mask, a few ridged, faintly red scars like the jagged edges of broken earth spread across his cheeks, up to his strong nose and sharp, red eyes. Dark blonde curls spill over his face and her breath hitches because this is Anakin, but also not and she hates that she still feels something when she sees him, still wants him, and although it pains her to admit it— she still loves him. 

 She blinks up at him, unable to look away and he stares back, lips pressed together, fiery gaze devouring. Yes, it must have been a bad day, because although his gaze is usually unyielding, it is more intense than usual today. It pierces through her, as if he is sifting through her mind, and knowing what he is capable of, he may very well be. 

 It’s reminiscent of the way he used to look at her, back when he was still Anakin. Her Anakin. Her blue-eyed, kind, resilient Anakin. 

 He looked different then, no scars, save for the one on his eye, on his face. His eyes didn’t feel like drowning in a sea of flames, rather, they were oceans of warm cerulean, drawing her in with their kind gaze. She can still feel the rush of secret rendezvous in dark corners of rooms, where no one was watching, away from prying eyes and hushed whispers. 

 She can feel his hands— one warm, one deliciously cool to the touch— resting on either of her cheeks, her own hands wrapped around his elbows. She can still feel his lips against hers then, warm and slow but firm, dominant but soft, gentle. Anakin kissed her like she was a remedy, delicate and precious. Sometimes he still kissed her like this— warm, slow, firm, dominant, gentle. Sometimes it was almost enough to make her feel how she did then— delicate, precious, a remedy. 

 But nothing could amount to the way Anakin looked at her then, with vast blue eyes so inviting, so kind, and so him that she thought she would die if he ceased to look at her like that. This, of course, was not true. Yet, everyday she spent looking into the fiery depths that replaced his warm ocean, she thinks she feels pieces of herself, her old self, rotting. 

 Anakin pulled away from her lips and even though it was all those days ago, she still remembered how tenderly he brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it back behind her ear. She still remembers the pad of his thumb, the one with flesh instead of metal, smoothing circles into her cheekbones. She watches as his lips move to form words and she is simply mesmerized, so enraptured by this man she can hardly breathe. 

 “I will be going away soon,” he told her then, his breath like the warmth of a fire against her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks from his lips back to his eyes, wading further into his ocean, as if she could convince him with a stare to stay, to anchor himself here, to her. 

 “But…” she shakes her head, tongue swiping between her lips and her hands slide from his elbows to his wrists. “…but you cannot…” she sighs frustratingly, unable to find her words. “…it is not safe for us. You cannot leave…”

 “Hey,” he whispers in only the way he can, in that way that has her resolve slipping, her knees trembling, her heart stuttering. The wind whips at their hair and their clothes and snow falls behind him but he is so warm, a warm glow in the midst of the storm. She grows warm, warmer in his hands and Anakin’s gaze drops to her quivering lips, the skin of his thumb soothing over her lower one. “You are fully capable of surviving without me,” he assures in a murmur that rolls like thunder in her chest. 

 She shakes her head. “But we are weak!” she protests. “We are not strong enough to handle this on our own. My uncle he…” she closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, tries to ease the unsteady beating of her heart. “…he is only getting older. He isn’t well. The storm is only getting stronger, and if they come… we—“

 “No,” Anakin shakes his head, steps closer, cradles either of her cheeks in the palms of his hands. “Don’t say you can’t.”

 She tilts her head in his palms, unsure of his meaning. “But Anakin, if they—“

 “They will not touch you,” he says and he speaks with a sense of finality, and she knows there would be no question, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She knows that what he says is true. His hands tighten around her face and his gaze is strong, unyielding, piercing where it meets hers. He almost doesn’t seem himself, like there is some other version of him present. She isn’t sure what to think of it, but what she knows for sure is that she knows she must be safe, because Anakin says it is true. “I will not let anyone hurt you, do you understand?”

 He searches her gaze, awaiting her answer. She stares back, wondering how someone like him could be speaking to her like this, touching her like this, caring for her like this. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was like being a snowflake, falling from the heavens, making its descent to the ground— every one was unique, but its uniqueness may only be discovered by those who look close enough. Not many cared to take the time out of their day to see her, but Anakin did. Anakin saw her and held her in a way he and only he could. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was to be seen like nobody else had seen her. To be loved by Anakin Skywalker was a rarity of its own. 

 She nods against his palms, her lashes fluttering as her gaze drops to his chin, to his lips. 

 “What is it?” He asks, lowering his head, catching her gaze in his again. She sniffs, wringing a hand around his wrist. 

 “What if I do not see you again?” She asks. “How long will I have to wait to have you like this again?”

 It is a selfish thought, she thinks. They are in the middle of a war for Maker’s sake, and Anakin is one of the most important assets of it. It is selfish of her to want to keep him all to herself, to want to stay hidden in a permanent rendezvous, away from eyes, away from pain, away from war. The galaxy needed him, that, she knew. But she needed him too. She doesn’t know what she will do with herself, biding the time until she sees him again. 

 “But you will see me again,” he assures in a quiet murmur, his hands dropping from her cheeks to cup either of her hands between his. He presses his lips to one of her knuckles, then to another, and then another until they’ve all been graced by his kiss. Her knees feel like jelly and she is glad he is there to support her, because she feels like she can melt into a gooey puddle of magma at their feet despite the snow. “No matter how far, no matter the time, I will always find you. There is no place in the entire galaxy where you can be where I will not find you. We are bound to one another, you and I are. Even in death, I would claw myself out of the very earth to find you.”

 She feels the bitter sting of tears pooling in her eyes, because she knows they are running out of time, and soon, he would have to take leave. She will only have these words and the memory of his touch to satiate her, until of course he keeps his word and finds her once again. 

 Anakin’s eyes fall back down to her lips before he collects them with his in a searing kiss, the kindling of a promise left in his mouth’s wake when he pulls away. 

 “We will see one another again,” he murmurs and she believes him. She knows he will keep his word. “And perhaps, we will meet even sooner than you think.”

 Blue swarms and begins to morph into an angry, fiery red and she is once again back in Mustafar, staring at Anakin but not Anakin again. Sometimes when she thinks her Anakin Skywalker is truly lost, she need only remember those tender words he had said to her, the last time she saw him as he once was. She will then look at Darth Vader and tell herself that all hope is not lost. Darth Vader will say that Anakin Skywalker is dead, but she knows it is not true. 

 Because Anakin Skywalker once told her that even in death, he would claw his way out of the very earth to find her. 

 “Something troubles you,” she whispers and Darth Vader does not move but his eyes do. His blazing gaze falls to her lips, down her arms, all the way to her hands. She follows their trail and knows what it is he must crave. Sometimes when she thinks she must be afraid of him, she reminds herself that this is only a boy who is lost, misguided. She wonders, she hopes, if in time, he can be guided back onto the right path again. 

 Her hands move to find one of his, his left, where she knows she will still find flesh underneath. She glances back up at him to find he is staring at their connected hands, lips pursed, waiting for her to continue. She sucks in a breath and pinches the tip of his glove at the middle finger, slowly, cautiously pulling it away from his hand. Her palm circles to cradle the back of his hand and while he does not shiver, the locking of his jaw does not go unnoticed. 

 Even after all this time, he still craves for touch, her touch, and her skin on his. It makes her wonder if he still thinks about it too, all their secret rendezvous, their nights of passion, bodies tangled together with only the moons as their witness. She wonders if he still remembers the words he used to always say to her, the tender, sweet little nothings he’d whisper in her ear, the promises for a better future he made woven in the tendrils of her hair. If he still thinks back to that day she last saw him as Anakin Skywalker, if he still remembers the words he told her. 

 She thinks he must, because he still fulfilled his promise: he came back, no matter what. Only not the same, but perhaps more of the same than she initially thought. She sees the locking of his jaw, his craving for her touch he dare not speak aloud and thinks maybe it could be true. 

 “Let me help you,” she says, because she knows he has no desire to speak. Darth Vader lifts his gaze to find she is already staring back as she brings his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb subconsciously soothes over her bottom lip and she shivers, the tenderness of his touch a stark contrast to his demeanor. She knows what she is offering is only a temporary fix, but it is a start, and it is an understanding she didn’t quite have before. 

 He still craves for her, he still wants her. She doesn’t know if she can call what they have love, not anymore, but there is still a want. She thinks that maybe this is her Anakin slipping through the cracks. She decides to hold onto this sliver all that she can. 

 She presses her lips gently against his thumb, maintaining eye contact all the while, unwilling to break it. The blazing amber in his eyes intensifies and in an instant, his lips are on hers, replacing his thumb. She releases a mixture of a yelp and a moan into his mouth, letting his tongue scour her, devouring her. He seeks to conquer her but he still kisses her with desperation, almost insecurely, but not like he’s unsure. It’s more like he’s waiting for her to push him away, to curse and spit at him like he believes (and perhaps, does) deserve. 

 But she doesn’t. How could she? It’s hard to differentiate Darth Vader from Anakin Skywalker when they are one in the same, even while being entirely different. He still feels like her Anakin, he still shares the same shell as her Anakin. He kisses her with a mixture of Darth Vader and just the tiniest fraction of Anakin Skywalker but he is there, he is still there. 

 So she presses herself further into him. His right hand finds the small of her back and presses her further into him, his kiss more determined, his touch more certain. She pants against his mouth as he uses his left hand to unclip his cape, the heavy material falling in a heap on the floor behind him. She feels the shoulders of her dress slipping down her arms but does not feel his hands there and knows he is using the Force on her. It alights a new sort of blaze she’s never felt before between her legs and as his left hand grips her chin and his kisses trail down to her jaw, she burns brighter than ever before. 

 Her eyes are screwed shut as he sucks angry marks to the line of her jaw, her fingers holding on tightly to his sleeves. She thinks she hears the door slide open behind them but the invisible hand working at her clothes unties the knot at the small of her back and Darth’s teeth sink into her collarbone so she does not care. Her head tilts back and she hears the faint sound of footsteps retreating, the door sliding back closed, once again leaving them alone. 

 “An… Ana…” she hears herself begin to pant but knows it is a mistake as soon as he pulls away from her altogether, her body, now nude, feeling cold with the lack of his against it. She peels open her lids and shudders where she stands as his gaze pierces through her as if it intended to melt her to the very ground she stood on. She thinks she very well can but she knows there is no use of running so she stays, awaiting her fate. 

 “The name you call is not mine,” Darth speaks and he reaches out with a hand, his left, and her body is not her own anymore and her mind flashes back to the day where he found her, when he used this very power on her to strip her of her own will. She presses her lips together as the Force brings her down to her knees, the ground biting into her bare skin. She does not cry, does not even struggle. She simply waits— she’s already offered herself to him and she knows that he will not hurt her. He cannot afford to. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself without her. Because Anakin is still there. There is still someone inside of him that loves her. “It’d serve you well to forget that man, because he is gone. Dead. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you scream it until hell fears me.”

 She hates the effect he has on her. She can feel herself pulse between her legs and she inhales, fluttering her eyes closed at how pathetic she must seem. Still wanting this dangerous, nefarious man. The man who murdered her uncle. The man who murdered her entire family. But yet, still the man who said he would cheat death to keep her safe. 

 Darth’s gaze intensifies and she feels a prodding in her mind, encouraging her, no, commanding her to comply. She gulps, and then, “Darth.”

 The invisible finger toying with the outside of her mind crawls away and her body once again feels like it is her own but still, she stays in her place on her knees on the floor. Darth Vader’s footsteps echo the room as he steps forward until he towers above her. She peers up at him through her lashes, watches as he crouches, pinching her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his gloved hand. 

 “Obedient girl,” he remarks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “You will not defy me, lest you wish for it to be the last thing you do.”

 Her head nods before can even begin to think. She knows she would’ve complied regardless. The ache between her legs wouldn’t allow her to act otherwise. It was disgusting, lusting after this man who swears he will be her demise. But he has a way of making her insatiable, unlike herself.

 “Good,” he says before he pulls away and she watches as he circles the center of the room, setting himself down into the throne in the middle, legs spread, waiting. “Undress me.”

 She gulps down another moan, the words alone making her stomach somersault. She wastes no time to pick herself off of the floor, painfully aware of how naked she is as she makes her way over to where he sits. Even sitting on his throne, he is still bigger, still stronger than her. She feels meek, small against him as she begins with the shoulders of his armor, finding his eyes as she removes it, piece by piece. He taps his fingers against the arms of his seat as she unbuttons his tunic and before she can move to slide it down his arms, he waves a finger and her hands find his belt without their own accord. 

 She doesn’t move for a movement, only stares at him as he gazes back. He cocks an eyebrow, the one pierced with a scar, expectantly and she inhales sharply, her gaze sliding from his face down to his exposed, toned chest as she begins working at his belt. She tosses it away along with the heap of clothes on the floor and unbuttons his trousers, feeling her center throb at just how close she is to seeing what it desires. Her tongue swipes between her lips as she frees his cock from his pants, her breath hitching as she blinks at the angry pink tip peeking from his waistband. 

 “You test the limits of my patience,” Darth Vader says in an annoyed, clipped tone. “My cock will be your throne, but only if you make haste.”

 She blinks again and she feels a ball of acid at the base of her throat as she tugs his pants all the way down to his knees, finally allowing his cock to spring free. She can’t help but gawk, even if she’s already seen it more times than she can count. It’s large to say the very least and it is hard, ready, eager for her. She recalls just how large it is whenever she’s had it in her mouth, how each and every vein of it feels when it is buried so deeply inside of her. Sometimes, she can’t believe that it is all hers to have. Sometimes, she doesn’t feel worthy of it. 

 She realizes she is testing his patience again, only when she feels that invisible hand wrap around her throat, her own subconsciously reaching for them, although they are not there. Breath is stolen from her and she knits her brows together, mumbling a tight apology. 

 “You are merely fortunate that I am not in the mood for games today,” he says and the Force brings her forwards, her knees hitting his. He leans towards her until their faces are mere inches away, his breath rolling like smoke over her cheeks. “So do not push my mercy any further. Sit on my cock.”

 She feels every syllable of his last sentence in her core and the invisible hand remains on her throat as she manages to bring herself closer, her knees on either side of his thighs. He does not touch her, merely watches as she struggles to align his head with her center. When she finally does, he uses this invisible grip on her throat to push her down before releasing her altogether and she gasps for breath, eyes rolling back into her head, her head tipping towards the ceiling as a moan rips from her throat. 

 She can feel every pulsing vein of his cock against her walls, can feel her delicate cervix being bullied by his angry tip. Her hands search for his shoulders and when they do, her nails dig into the sleeves of his tunic, the bitter sting of tears escaping the edges of her eyes. 

 Darth hisses through his teeth and his left hand finds her hip, his skin warm against hers where it kneads. A curse tumbles past his lips and his other hand, still gloved, weaves through her hair, forces her forehead down onto his. She opens her eyes and sees his glaring gaze piercing through to her own. 

 “I don’t know how you do this to me,” he snarls. “I don’t know how only you have this effect on me. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me…” Darth is unable to control himself so he snaps his hips up into her and she cries, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “…fuck!” He howls, tossing his head back against his throne. “You are destroying me. It’s not fair. How are you doing this to me?”

 He says this last thing with a hint of a vulnerability she’s never heard from him before. It’s almost desperate, like she really, truly is destroying him, paining him. It’s hard for her to try and understand what this means when he is fucking her into a state of mind-numbingness, but there is only one thing, one word, one name that she can even think of. 

 “Darth!” She screeches but it is not the name she thinks of. She thinks of Anakin, how perhaps this, she is the key to freeing Anakin Skywalker from the mask of Darth Vader. Because this, this Darth Vader is but a mere facade— they both know it to be true. It is not who he truly is. He can try and deny it all he wants. But there is nowhere in the entire galaxy where he can hide that she won’t find him. Because he is and will always be Anakin Skywalker. 

 She knows that Darth Vader will try and fight it. He will tear down the entire galaxy before he admits it. He will destroy planets and will bring down entire monarchies before he admits it. He will kill and he will burn and he will destroy before he admits it. But not even that will be enough to hide from it, to run from it. Because she is Darth Vader���s destiny. She is Anakin Skywalker’s destiny. She will be Darth Vader’s destruction. And she will be Anakin Skywalker’s redemption. 

 She is the key to bringing Anakin Skywalker home. 

a/n: another long one for anakin 🤭 i absolutely love writing for him, he's so complex and so fun to explore and create headcanons of my own for. i hope i was able to do him at least a little bit of justice here. sorry if this seemed a little too slow burn and if there wasn't enough smut to suffice 😭 i went in like "oh yeah this is gonna be absolutely filthy" but oh well! i find i write a little easier when i go in without much of a plan lol since i get carried away easily and usually just let my thumbs do whatever the hell they want anyways 😭 anywho! thank you so much for reading! it always warms my heart to know my writing is being seen by others! 🥹🫶

psst, i also want to thank each and every single one of you who read a place in the sea of stars. i was not expecting the feedback that fic received and i am still so overwhelmed by all the love all this time later. thank you thank you thank you a million times over from the bottom of my heart. 🥹🫶

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@johnbassplayercutie

@arisksywlkr

@sydkneez

@sunnytotheend

[joecool2002]

i recently discovered star wars/buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction and it’s something i didn’t know i was missing in my life specifically obi wan/buffy is a pairing that works so well

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Stalker!ani

“Baby… please.” He whined quietly as if he were too weak to handle speaking any louder, his voice simply wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t-“

“Ani, stop. It’s okay.” You said, your eyebrows furrowed in concern as you carded through his hair soothingly.

“N-no!” He shook his head whimpering as tears filled his eyes, the sheen of them glistening in the low yellow lighting from the bedside lamp.

“M’close. S-so close.” He hiccuped, rutting into you with a vigor that he’d dug out from the depths of his chest. “D-don’t make me stop, please don’t make me stop.” He panted, a shaky hand coming up to cover your mouth to shield himself from your sweet voice.

“Fuckin’ god-d-damnit.” He muttered, his eyes fluttering as his blue iris disappeared, leaving a pool of black behind while his hips went slack and a powerful, warm gush of liquid poured out of your puffy cunt. “Oh… Jesus.”

Then his eyes snapped up to yours, a look of pure, undiluted embarrassment causing his face to turn blood red. He looked completely mortified, shocked and a little disgusted with himself.

“I’m… oh shit- I’m so sorry.” He whispered, pulling back despite your protests. He sat back on his heels, kneeling between your soaked thighs, his knees pressing down into the saturated sheets.

The sight of it on your beautiful, soft skin, making it shiny and slick… paired with the way you were looking at him like he hadn’t just ‘accidentally’ pissed all over you. Then, you bit your lip and whispered words that he didn’t fully comprehend, he was too busy trying to make sense of why you wrapped a leg around him and reached for him like you were asking for him to keep going.

“Ani?” You said worriedly, “Hey? Are you okay- I mean you-“ He blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor before realizing he’d just cum on your stomach after his mind had gone to the land of delusion, a place where he’d imagined you begging for him to continue, despite what he’d done.

“Fuck!” Anakin huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry I didn’t mean to… I swear I didn’t.”

[he lied, he did mean to.]

Ghost!Stalker!ani

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” He scoffed, gripping your hair at its roots and tilting your head before slamming down your throat again.

“Ghost! Stop it! Please!” He mocked you in a whiny, high-pitched tone that let you know just how much he was enjoying this.

“I’m sooo tired.” He pouted, bringing up one hand to his mask, miming the act of wipping tears away. “I’m thirsty. Please!”

“It’s your fuckin’ fault.” He growled, ramming himself down your throat and squeezing your neck to make it burn that much more, tears prickling in your eyes as you choked and spluttered. “Fucking your stupid little boyfriend all damn day, while I was forced to watch and do nothing?” He shouted.

“So no. You can’t take a break.” He pulled out quickly, making you gag and spit a glob of saliva to the floor beneath you, gulping down fresh air.

“But, I’ll oblige you on that drink.” The mask he wore hiding the wicked grin gracing his lips as he smacked you, your mouth falling open instinctively in shock.

His thumb hooked behind your bottom row of teeth, holding your mouth open while he let loose a stream of hot urine into your unwilling mouth.

I’d love a piss kink blurb with stalker!ani for kinktober please

Slay

I’ll do one for stalker!ani and ghost ❤️

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vodika! I think you might know why I'm here..

Fox and reader, a camping trip with a fire pit and shimmersilk.. I would very much like to request a NSFW sequel to this most satisfying story ❤️

Please take your time, I don't mind waiting patiently for Mr Fox (and most importantly: enjoy writing it) <3

Shimmersilk Nights

Summary: Fox might not be as surprised about your surprise as you would prefer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not getting it anyway.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 1746

Warnings: Smut, but there's nothing super kinky here

A/N: This isn't the smuttiest thing I've ever written, but I think I like it.I hope you do too.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

This is your favorite way to see Fox. Relaxed and peaceful, the stress lines on his face fade away until you can’t see them, until he looks his age, rather than much older. 

His arm is snug around your waist as he reads a detective novel. He likes to joke that this author is his favorite because the main character reminds him of you, and her love interest reminds him of himself.

You think he’s being ridiculous. But, so long as he’s happy, he could be reading trashy romance novels for all you care.

You shift so that you’re able to press your face against his chest. He smells like the campfire, the lounge must be too close to the firepit, but you don’t mind. Under the scent of smoke is a scent that’s just Fox, after all.

Fox shifts under you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, “What are you doing, cyar’ika?”

You turn your head so you can see his face, “Thinkin’.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corner, “What about?”

Again, you shift position, but this time you fold one of your arms on his chest, before reaching up and tapping the tip of his nose, “It’s a secret~”

He closes his book and sets it to the side, focusing his attention on you completely. “What kind of secret?”

You shift up his body so that you’re lips are hovering over his, a wide grin on your face, “The secret kind.”

“Babe.”

You giggle and kiss his cheek quickly, “Let me up, please.”

He immediately releases you, and settles back on the lounge, “You’re coming back, right?”

“That’s a secret too,” You reply as you roll off of him and head into the camper. You both know where you’re going, and what you’re going to do. It’s nice of him to, at least, pretend that he doesn’t know what’s happening at least.

You move to where you stored the new set of lingerie you bought for today specifically, and pull it out of the box. It is, quite possibly, the most expensive thing you’ve ever owned in your life. 

The set is white and red and made of the finest, and most delicate, shimmersilk you’ve ever felt in your life. And, as you pull it on and examine yourself in the mirror, you’ve never felt prettier in your life.

You know Fox will feel the same way.

You dig through your make-up bag and apply just a dusting of make-up, to enhance rather than hide, and hang the simple pendant Fox gave you after you started dating around your neck, and then take a step back.

Perfect.

The simple red stone hangs just above your collarbone, and the lingerie sits smoothly against your skin, the material so light-weight that you can barely feel it at all. You do have a pair of red heels, the same shade of red as the threading on the lingerie, but you quickly decide against it.

Heels are sexy, yes. Broken ankles are much less so.

Next time, at home or in a hotel.

Finally ready, you slip out of the bedroom, and to the door of the camper. Fox is reading his book again, and you smother your laughter as you open the door and step onto the rug at the foot of the stairs, “That must be a really good book.” You tease lightly. 

He glances at you, pauses, and then drops his book to the side. “Well now, look at you.”

You meander over to the foot of the lounge, and then spin, “What do you think?”

“I think I’m the luckiest asshole in the galaxy,” He slides so that he’s sitting at the foot of the lounge chair and settles his hands low on your hips. Fox leans in and presses a light kiss on your sternum, “All of this for me?”

“Well, there’s no one else here,” You tease, your hands coming up to settle in his curls, and you brush a loose curl off his forehead, “You really like it?”

His dark gaze meets yours, “I like you, everything else is window dressing.”

“You’re a sap,” You whisper to him.

“Don’t tell my brothers, I have a reputation to keep.” Slowly, carefully almost, he guides you so you’re straddling him and he pulls you into a deep kiss.

The plan, your plan really, had been to tease him until he can’t stand it anymore. Unfortunately for you, Fox has plans of his own, and they don’t have anything to do with you driving him insane.

Smoothly, as if he planned it out, he flips the pair of you so you’re sprawled out on the lounge, your legs hooked around his waist and blinking up at him in surprise. 

“There. This is a good look for you,” Fox teases as he drags his hands up your sides and then across your breasts.

“I had a plan,” You say, trying to whine at him, though your words come out kind of breathy as he flicks his thumbs over your nipples.

“Oh?” He leans in and wraps his lips around a nipple through the material of the lingerie. It feels amazing, but the cloth keeps you from feeling him completely. “As it happens, so do I.”

He leans back on his heels so he’s able to look you over, a tiny smirk crossing his handsome face as he takes you in completely.

“You have a plan?” You prompt as you slide your hands under the hem of his shirt so you’re able to touch him properly. 

“Mm,” He pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the side, so you can explore him more freely, “Well, I have several plans, actually. Depending on you.”

You absently trace a tattoo that sits low on his stomach and wait for him to continue.

“If you’re going to be a brat for me, cyare, then I have a plan for that. But if you’re going to be all pretty and pliable for me,” He leans down so he’s able to kiss down your throat, nipping roughly enough that you whimper, and tighten your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection pressing against you, and it’s not nearly enough. 

He chuckles against your throat and grinds against you, “If you’re going to be all pretty and pliable for me,” Fox repeats, “Then I have a much more fun plan.”

Your mouth goes dry, “I can be good,” You reply, immediately.

“Oh, I know you can.” He leans up to grab a pillow and eases it under your head, “And because you’re being such a good girl, that’s what I’m going to do.”

You half sit up so you’re able to unfasten your bra, but his gentle hands stop you. “Oh no, cyar’ika. All of this,” He gestures to the lingerie, “Stays on.” You blink at him but then lay back again.

You trust him, after all.

“Good girl,” The praise shoots electricity through your entire body, and you whine low in the back of your throat, pulling a chuckle from him. He shifts you up the lounge a little further, effortlessly pulling your legs from around his waist so he’s able to position you how he wants.

“Cyar’ika, you’re already so wet,” His voice is light and teasing, but you don’t have the chance to respond as he moves your panties to the side and presses his thumb against your clit, pulling a gasping moan from your lips. 

Fox can play your body like an expert, and you know, from experience, that he can push you to an orgasm in a matter of minutes if, and when, he’s so inclined. 

But that, clearly, isn’t what he wants tonight. As he expertly brings you right to the edge using nothing but his thumb on your clit, and then he stops, pulling his hand away, and instead leans in so he can lavish your body with heavy kisses and bites.

As soon as you not teetering on the edge of your orgasm again, his fingers go back to your pussy, so he’s able to coax you right back to the edge again. 

“F-Fox—” This time, though, you whine his name and reach out for him, wanting him closer than he is.

“What’s wrong, cyare?” He coos.

“Need more,” You pout up at him, “Need you.”

“You have me,” He eases two fingers inside you, and you gasp as his fingers hit that spot deep inside you, a spot that you can never quite reach on your own, and your hips jerk in response.

“S’not enough,” You manage to whine out.

“Greedy,” He sounds delighted though.

“‘M allowed. You said.”

Fox grins at you and pulls his fingers out of you, making you whine even more. He leans in and kisses you, wiping his fingers on your chest. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He breathes against your lips, “Tell me what you need, cyare.”

“You.”

“Be more specific.”

You whine and bump your nose against his, “I need you to fuck me,” 

“As you wish,” Fox replies, leaning in to kiss you one more time, before he pulls back to pull the rest of his clothes off. 

He’s moving so swiftly that you only catch a glimpse of cock, deliciously hard and leaking pre-cum, and then you’re not thinking about much else, as he rubs himself against you, and teasingly nudges your clit with the head of his cock.

You think, for a moment, that he’s still teasing you. But before you can scold him for it, he slowly presses his cock deep inside you. Taking his time so you can feel every inch of his cock as he enters you.

As soon as he’s completely bottomed out he stops so he’s able to kiss you. You hook your legs around his waist again, to hold him close, and he presses his forehead against yours.

A look of mischief crosses his face.

“Fox?”

“I wonder,” He murmurs, “How many times can I make you cum tonight before you have to use your safeword.”

For a moment, you’re surprised, but then you grin, “I think we should find out. For science.”

Fox laughs, a bright and boyish sound that makes you fall in love with him all over again, “Well, who am I to deny science?” He asks, a wide grin on his face as he slowly rolls his hips.

@n0vqni

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[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[skybreakprimeonao3]

With the amount of Clones created, there was always going to be an overlap of names.

Marshall Commander Cody of the 212th was not the only Cody.

Jesse of the 501st shared a name with many soldiers across many battalions.

There were so many Foxes, younger Clones naming themselves after the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guards in a bout of hero worship.

But there was a set of Clones on each Venator that, after passing their normal tests and combat training, went into specialized training before their assignments. A majority of them didn’t have names before the specialized training, and those that did, weren’t really attached to their names and chose their new names amongst the others they worked with.

Obi-Wan met them on the flight deck, the group disembarking from the drop ship and saluting the Jedi.

All of them would join in on the battles and train with the others during hyperspace flight, but it was fairly quick to see that these soldiers worked together in a specific way.

“May I know your names?” Obi-Wan asked. He was still hesitant in asking, knowing names could be a private thing amongst the soldiers.

“My name is Spoon, sir!”

“Cup, sir!”

“I’m called Whisk!”

Eyebrows rose, and a glance to Cody told Obi-Wan that this group was a bit of a surprise to him.

“Are all of you working in the mess hall?” Obi-Wan, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“Of course, sir,” Whisk answered. “We’re all trained in ways to make the nutripaste more appealing, and not to give the soldiers food poisoning. We also know how and what to hunt and forage in case we run low on supplies during a campaign.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said. And it did make sense. Many Padawans got the same training, especially if their missions took them to the more remote planets.

Obi-Wan continued to smile as he got the names of Fork, Lid, Pan, Pot, and Kettle, but he paused when he heard a second Spoon. He glanced back at the first one for a moment before looking at the second one.

“It’s not often that squad mates share a name,” he offered.

The second Spoon shrugged. “You can call me little Spoon if it helps, sir, but it’s silly if a kitchen only has one Spoon in it.”

The snort of amusement from Cody was more surprising than anything, and Obi-Wan accepted the explanation with a nod and chuckle of his own.

[viharker]

Chapter 5: Kiss Me Updated: 2024-11-12 Words: 7,104 Total Words: 21,892 Chapter: 5/?

*** Rating Change from Mature to Explicit

Even If We'd Never Met An Obidala Wedding Date AU by @viharker

Rating: Mature (May Change) Category: F/M Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Relationship: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Dormé (Star Wars), Sabé (Star Wars), Sola Naberrie, Jobal Naberrie, Ruwee Naberrie, CT-7567 | Rex

Language: English Published: 2024-10-28 Updated: 2024-10-28 Words: 4,991 Chapters: 1/?

[leenathegreengirl]

Cross is sleepy, let him sleep! 😴 💚💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @anxiouspineapple99 @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa