THE KISS THAT STAINED THE STARS
PAIRING: possessive!anakin x worshipped!reader
SUMMARY: your master, the wise obi-wan kenobi, has entrusted you with a mission, where your task is to weave a spell of seduction upon your target. yet, anakin skywalker—your possessive and tormented lover—cannot conceal the fire of jealousy burning within him. he strives to make it known to all that who owns you.
CW: slight angst, kinda dddne, psychotic/delusional/obsessive/jealous behavior, gaslighting/manipulation, bpd traits, toxic relationship [ both of them] mentions of religious terms, murder attempt, death threat, make up/hate sex, blood, arguing, choking, slapping, spanking, intoxication, degradation, mean!dom!anakin, semi public, masturbation [ m ], overstimulation, name calling/pet names, dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, improper use of force, dry humping, creampie, slight breeding kink
A/N: i wrote it based on this ask. btw if anakin's or the reader's acts seem illogical at some points it's cuz i tried to portray a unhealthy/toxic relationship, where love/manipulation clouds their rational thinking skills.
now enjoy the story and lmk if u wanna b on my taglist! <3
The bar, cloaked in shadows, was an orchestra of murmurs—the air thick and oppressive, saturated with the bitter scent of liquor and corrupt dealings. Its walls seemed to sag under the weight of unspoken desires, a tapestry of secrets woven into the dim, simmering light. The moon filtered through the cracks in the frosted windows, casting pale, fractured patterns across the wooden floor. A place where secrets were whispered and promises broken, where power could be bought, and loyalty was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. Yet tonight, you were no mere face among the crowd. You were an instrument—a weapon masked in allure, your purpose clear. Your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind narrowing in on your target: a high-ranking informant whose knowledge would change the tide of the Republic's struggle. The mission left no room for hesitation or regret; you were here as bait, nothing more.
The dress you wore was a dark, liquid mystery—black as the void between stars, a fabric that clung to your form with sensual grace. It whispered with every step, its silk like the caress of a lover, pulling and yielding against your body in every movement. The cut of it was daring—sharp, unapologetic—and the slit that ran up your thigh, the way it hugged your curves, was an invitation to a risk no one could resist. Every movement you made was a careful balance between power and provocation, a dance that could turn lethal with one wrong step. This was not your choice but a necessity.
The designated person sat in the far-left corner, lounging in his seat, toying with his drink as if it were some cherished possession, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might amuse him. His gaze flickered over you like a predator fixing on its prey, and it was then that you knew—the game had already begun. He was yours to command, your every word a thread pulling him deeper into your web. You knew what to do. It was simple—charm, disarm, then extract. His ego would be your weapon; his thirst for admiration, your tool.
As you approached, the room's rhythm seemed to slow—your every step echoing, a quiet promise of something dangerous, something forbidden. Your hand lingered on the back of his chair as you leaned in, your voice hushed and honeyed, a thread of silk spun in the tension of the air. The words you spoke were a carefully crafted performance—seduction wrapped in intrigue, the veil of innocence concealing the razor edge of peril. His eyes drank in your every movement, every glance, every subtle shift of your posture. He was already ensnared and didn't even know it.
But you were not alone in this game.
Anakin stood at the edge of the room, a figure carved from shadow, hidden in the fringes where the world blurred. He did not see the room or the people in it; he saw only you.
You—his. Or so he believed.
Darkness stirred within him, far darker than the shadows surrounding him. It was not born of the mission nor the threat. It was something primal and unchecked—a hunger that clawed at his insides. You were the fire that blazed through his veins, and the moment he saw that man near you, something within him fractured. Every glance you shared with the target was a dagger to his chest. He could see every movement in vivid detail: the slight tilt of your head, the curve of your lips as you spoke—the way your laugh danced in the air like a blade sheathed in satin—each one felt like a betrayal.
It wasn't that you were playing your part. It was that the part seemed to fit you too well. You were too convincing, too effortless in your deception. His breath grew heavy, a storm gathering in his chest, dark clouds swirling around his heart. Anakin's pulse raced. He could feel it now—the fury inside him, coiling like an animal, tightening its grip around his soul.
Why did you let him think he could have you?
The question screamed through his mind, the answer splintering into a thousand shards of pain. His heart began to pound, a frantic rhythm, each beat resonating with the chaos inside him. His vision dimmed, the room's edges falling away, until all that remained was the image of you—his property, and yet, so easily slipping through his fingers.
The way the informant's hand brushed against your arm was a spark that ignited an inferno.
His fingers twitched at his side, longing for the weight of his lightsaber. Anakin's molten depths, dark and fevered, were fixated on you. Your smile was an invitation, your body a temple open to all who dared to enter, and he couldn't let anyone violate that sanctuary. The air around him quivered, the power of the Force surged like a wave crashing against the shore. The moment that bastard leaned in too close, Anakin snapped.
He was a tempest in that moment—a creature of destruction. The informant's body was yanked from his chair, his breath stolen by an invisible hand that clenched around his throat. His eyes bulged, gasping for air, his limbs flailing uselessly. Anakin's chest heaved as he watched, his gaze still fixed on you. The anger seared through him, relentless, consuming, devouring. He wanted this man dead. His lips parted, but the words that left his mouth were a growl, low and guttural, a possessive whisper meant only for the space between them: "Mine."
It was a declaration, an ownership that resonated through every fiber of his being. The target was nothing. He had no purpose other than to suffer and perish. Anakin's instrument of war ignited to life with a snap, its crimson blade casting an infernal glow that painted his face with the color of rage, of blood—his blood, his claim. He could feel the heat of the blade, the impending annihilation thick in the air. His hand tightened around it as if his weapon were an extension of his very soul. The saber hummed, hungry, as if it, too, yearned for the final, unrelenting strike. The target was a mere pawn, an obstacle between him and what was rightfully his.
You screamed, your hand reaching out as if to calm him. Now that there wasn't as much space between you anymore, you were hit by the smell of smoky whiskey that reeked from him. He probably ordered drinks to distract himself from the jealousy that grew inside of him while he was watching you on the mission. It made you wonder if it was the alcohol or his past that made him behave this way. He grew up with nothing, so in order to feel safe, he had to know that he finally had something that was truly his—in this case, you. It wasn't surprising that he acted this territorially over you, but it quickly became suffocating—this time, for the target.
He didn't listen. Instead, he tightened his hold, the Force squeezing the remaining life from the informant. You tried to stand in front of his victim like a barricade, but then Anakin's scream stung your ears—
"You stupid bitch, do you think this will stop me?" His voice was cold, cutting through the air like a knife, the weight of his words wrapped around you like a shackle—haunting you. "What makes you think that I won't kill you too? If I can't have you, no one can."
He fell into a heavy silence as if the words that had just escaped him had struck even him with their weight. He stood there, trembling, his hand quivering under the weight of what he could and desired to do.
The thought of ending it, of taking away the one thing that kept him tethered to whatever fleeting thread of humanity he still clung to, tore through him like an unforgiving arrow. You were the breath in his chest, the only thing that made his heart dare to continue its rhythmic dance. He could never—would never—bring himself to do it. To take your life would be to rip apart the last piece of himself that remained whole. You were the only thing that had ever truly mattered, the singular star in a sky that had long since fallen to blackness—his religion. The sheer horror of a world without you—without your light—shattered him utterly. He would rather burn in the flames of his despair, rather drown in the depths of hell, than watch you slip from his grasp, fading into the void. You were his everything—his obsession, salvation, his only reason for existing. The thought of your death, the thought of his own hand delivering it, was a kind of agony so fierce that he could not endure it.
He was not himself, and he knew it in the marrow of his bones. The reins lay forgotten in his hands, and still, he rode the wrath, unable—unwilling—to stop.
"Why?" He growled dangerously ."Why do you care? Why don't you just let me finish this?" His words were seething, but they didn't reach you. Not entirely. Not when you saw the madness that threatened to swallow everything.
"Obi-Wan said he must live."
Before you could continue, he reached out suddenly, his palm striking you across the cheek. The slap was sharp and disorienting, its force making your head snap to the side. The sudden sting left you breathless, the taste of copper filling your mouth. He had never—never—laid a hand on you like this. Not in anger. Not in this way. A sudden, violent laugh absconded him—a sound devoid of humor. When it came, his voice was laced with venom, its low timbre a cutting whisper.
“Obi-Wan…that weak fool. Do you think you're playing some game, seducing him behind my back?" His hands were clenched at his sides, curling into fists, nails dug into his palms, and his knuckles were as white as a sheet. "Do you think you can have both of us?"
Anakin's snarl cracked with pain.
"Do you think Obi-Wan could give you what I can? I'm the one holding you together. You're nothing without me. You wouldn't survive without me." His tone raised, a harsh, cutting edge entering each syllable like a dirk. "I built you. I made you. You are weak, a fragile little toy meant to amuse me, and I'll break you just like I break every other useless thing."
He spat the words out, each one a weapon aimed directly at you.
"You think you can leave me for him? Oh, you dumb slut, you have no idea what I'm capable of. You can't escape me, you can't escape this." His words were filled with bitterness, his jealousy evident even in the rawness of his speech.
Just as you were about to respond to deny his allegations, the door to the bar swung open, the sound of it cracking against the frame breaking the tension. Obi-Wan entered like the messiah, eyes scanning the room, immediately locking onto Anakin, but there was a brief, softer glance towards you—one that seemed to ask if you were all right. And that was a mistake.
"Anakin," His voice was calm but firm. "This ends now."
Anakin's breath hitched, his nostrils flaring as something inside him—something already teetering—broke clean in two.
His animalistic yelling tore through the bar, a wounded beast lashing out at the world. He flung the informant's body against the wall, the impact knocking him unconscious and sending him crumpling to the floor like a ragdoll—the sickening crack of bone filling the space.
Anakin's hand shot out before he even knew what he was doing—a bottle from the counter wrenching itself free and flying across the room in a deadly arc. It exploded against the wall, shards of glass raining down like glistening diamond tears, bursting through the air like splinters of a dying star.
Another bottle. Another crash.
The shelves behind the bar shook with each forceful yank, liquors of every shade spilling down the wood in a cascade of shattered crystal and wasted oblivion. The scent of vodka and brandy filled the air, thick and intoxicating, mingling with the heat of his fury.
A gulp left your lips as a thin, searing pain licked across your skin—a whisper of agony. A sliver of decanter had sliced the delicate curve of your neck, blooming crimson, the warmth of the sanguine river trickling down.
Anakin flinched and froze.
He just stopped as he noticed the red painting your touchable horizon—his canvas—like the final stroke of some terrible masterpiece. His Adam's apple bobbed as he sniffed and turned away.
He moved instinctively and detached, like a ghost drifting through the wreckage. He found a lone, unbroken bottle of whiskey amidst the demolition, fingers curling around it with a clutch that trembled—whether from exhaustion or the remnants of his madness, even he didn't know. Without another word, he walked—not to you, not to Obi-Wan, or to the target still struggling for breath—just away.
He staggered toward the farthest table, the gloomiest corner, the place where the blinking bar lamps faintly reached. He collapsed into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut, elbows braced against his knees. He unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to his mouth. The liquor spilled over his tongue in one long, unrelenting gulp, trailing down the column of his esophagus like molten amber. It burned—but not enough. His free hand curled into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as his body shuddered. He took another long drink, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he swallowed.
Your master didn't say a word. He didn't want his verbality to make this Padawan strike again, but as he turned to you, his gaze—steady, knowing, and weighted with unspoken concern—asked the question his lips could not.
Your fingers curled instinctively over your wound, a silent answer passing between you. You nodded—just once, barely perceptible.
He lingered for a heartbeat longer, his expression unreadable, but something in his look softened.
Then, with quiet precision, he shifted his attention elsewhere.
The civilians—some cowering behind overturned tables, others frozen in stunned horror—moved as soon as Obi-Wan's hand gestured toward the door, his presence a silent command. They obeyed without question, hurrying into the night, eager to evade the aftermath of Skywalker's storm. The target, still coughing, still shaken, was next. Obi-Wan seized him by the arm, guiding him toward the exit with a firm, unyielding hold. The man didn't resist, too winded—too grateful—to be spared from Anakin's wrath.
One last glance. One last flicker of warning.
The doors swung shut behind them as they rushed to board the ship and just like that, the bar fell into silence.
The room, once a battlefield, is now filled with heavy lull. It finally stood still. But not for long. The state of peace disappeared as a looming figure entered your periphery, his presence consuming the space around you. His merciless orbs bore into you as though searching for every shred of weakness you tried to hide.
You stand motionless, between fear and something you can't quite place. Why didn't you run? You could have. You should have. But something keeps you here, in his orbit, like a moth drawn to a flame you know will burn you.
The soft rasp of his breath cuts through the quiet.
"And the most pathetic part is that you can't leave me. You don't have the strength to leave. I hurt you and even threatened to kill you, but you are still here."
A chill crawls down your spine as his words sink in. You take a step back, your body betraying you, instinctively recoiling from the sheer strength of his presence. But before you can even think to escape, his power envelops you. His irises glow with amusement at your retreat, and the Force binds you in place in the blink of an eye. Your feet are rooted to the ground as though invisible chains have wrapped around your legs. Your pulse pounds, fear rising like a tidal wave—each labored breath making you wonder: What if that was your last one? Your limbs refuse to obey your mind.
You can feel the heat of his breath as he approaches, and with each passing moment, the air between you crackles with an intensity that makes you prickle. And just when you think you might collapse under its weight, his hand snakes up to your throat. The pressure starkly contrasts the delicate brush of his exhalation moments ago. The terror you feel courses through your veins, your heart hammering wildly as his touch sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body.
He tilts your head to the side, exposing your vulnerable neck to him. Before you can even process what's happening, he bends down to lap the blood that still stains your skin. The way his tongue moves against your wound—slightly stretching it as he licks deeper—the way he leaves traces of his wetness on your flesh is nothing short of primal. You sigh, the sensation makes you feel something in every fiber of your being that shouldn't be felt. The mixture of fear and desire—an intoxicating cocktail that burns its way through your senses—leaves you trembling.
The metallic taste lingers on his lips—ruby droplets shimmering in the beam as he pulls away for a moment, his stare darkened with lust.
"You taste like pure sin," he cleans his lips with a sweep of his tongue, savoring every last trace. "Sweet, yet sinister." He leans in again, grazing your ear as his hand tightens around your throat.
"Now, what does it feel like to be the one getting choked?" His words come deliberate, each punctuated by the pressure around your neck. "Oh, I get it now, princess…you were just jealous of the target, weren't you? Were you just waiting for your turn, hm? Am I right?"
The question hangs in the air, thick and taunting, and you can't help but feel the sting of truth in them. He owns you. Every breath you take, every move you make, is in his control—at this moment, literally.
He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "So you won't answer me, huh? Alright, I suppose then I'll just have to make you."
With a swift movement, he summons a chair in front of you. The scrape of its legs against the cold floor is deafening in the hush that has settled between you. He sinks into it with all the ease of a king upon his throne. His legs spread wide, hands resting on his thighs. His fingers work at the clasps of his tunic, the fabric pooling around his waist, exposing the sharp lines of his collarbone and the sculpted terrain of his hard chest—all bathed in celestial luminescence. His upper body is bare before you, the scarred flesh a reminder of all the battles he fought—and won. His muscles shift with the fluidity of a panther on the prowl, his eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids.
"You don't get to touch me," he purrs, his fingers tracing down his abs to the top of his belt. "You don't get to touch this." He peels off the rest of his uniform that covers his torso, revealing the prominent outline of his bulge through the thin fabric of his pants. Without hesitation, he reaches for his member to free it. His pink tip already leaks pearls of pre-cum, and he glides his palm along his full length, smearing it evenly.
"Oh, baby, already?" he pouts ironically. "But the fun hasn't even begun yet." He lets out a chuckle combined with a proud grin.
Pure confusion floods your face, so he shifts his gaze to your legs.
You look down and realize that the slit of your dress has allowed him to see a streak of wetness dripping from your inner thigh. It also exposes your little secret—you're not wearing any underwear.
"God, you are so needy, so ready, so fucking mine. Your body knows who owns it." He begins to stroke himself slowly,watching how reactive you are, his eyes never leaving yours. "Wouldn't it be good to feel this cock, hm?"
You try to look away, but his actions hold you captive. You swallow hard, your vision fixed on his palm, pumping his veiny shaft. He's unhurried, letting the moment stretch out, enjoying the fact that he has all the time in the galaxy to make you suffer. But something inside you stirs—an ember buried beneath the suffocating ash of his dominance, aching to ignite.
That's it. You need to feel him.
The moment your energy pushes against his, trying to break free, his face sparks with something feral. It awakens something in him. The fact that you wanted him so much that you tried to fight him—turned him on. You could see his V-line twitch as he tightened his grasp on himself, pumping more desperately.
"Is that all you've got, little one?" His purr is silk over steel, his hold constricting around your will like a noose. "How cute that you think you have a chance."
You grit your teeth, pushing harder, willing the tendrils of his control to snap.
Anakin smirked and dragged his robe back on, standing to his full height. His face is golden in the low light, marred only by the dried streak of your blood on his lips. He tilts his head, watching you struggle, and then—his hands are on your sides, and you can feel his erect penis rubbing against your lower abdomen.
A keen gasp breaks free from you as he pushes you back against the wall. The Force wraps around your windpipe, squeezing—the sensation is dizzying. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.
"Come on, dollface. Fight me," his snicker thick with mockery. "It'll make this so much more fun, but you'll have to do better than this."
He drinks in the sight of you squirming beneath him.
For a moment, you think you might break. That he will wring the fight from you as easily as he takes your air. But then—you feel it.
It wavers—not much, but just enough. Alcohol dulls even the sharpest blade, and though he is a god among men, even gods are not infallible.
You summon every ounce of your strength, every shred of willpower, and shove back and finally—the invisible bind around your throat shatters.
Anakin stumbles. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes his mistake, but before he can react, your hand collides with his chest, sending him backward into the chair he had so confidently placed before you. His back hits the wood with a forceful thud, the air leaving his lungs in a capacious exhale. You feel superior and attempt to tame him. He deserves revenge for making you a victim of his teasing for so long.
You cuff his hands with the Force behind his back and settle onto his lap backward with a firm movement. Gathering the bottom half of your dress to your waist, you begin rocking your hips back and forth gently. Your leaking pussy seeps into Anakin's pants, soaking little puddles into the fabric. As you ride his thighs, your ass brushes against his twitching erection with every hump. He was shaking like a sinner in the hands of a vengeful god, trembling beneath the weight of desire too heavy to bear, his breath hitching as if the very air between you was suffocating him in yearning.
You brush the wandering strands of hair away from your face and look back over your shoulder, biting your lower lip.
"Mm, come on, baby, spank me. Oh wait… you can't." You can see the veins bulging in his temple, sweat glistening on his brow. He becomes so overstimulated that this is the sentence he needs, his aspiration overtaking him.
"Enough is enough!" He roars, breaking your restraints with the sheer power of the Force—no longer imprisoned by your Jedi hold. He starts gripping your hips and kneads the tender flesh—his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.
"All this effort, but look where that got you." His smirk deepens. "Right back where you fucking belong."
You hiss at the impulse that makes you lean forward subtly—the motion forcing your chest to dip down as your hands fly to his knees for support. The position leaves you open and vulnerable, a perfect display of both submission and anticipation. You scarcely had time to return to your senses when a strike landed on your right cheek. The sting blooms across your backside, but you don't pull away—it's making you arch more.
"This one's for Obi-Wan," He mutters darkly. His voice is nothing but a commanding snarl as he orders, "Count them."
You swallow hard, your pride warring with your obedience, but the heat pooling between your thighs makes it impossible to defy him.
A second strike sears across your bottom, precise and unrelenting, pulling a breathy whimper from your lungs.
"And this—" Anakin's utterance drops lower, his fingers grazing over the burning imprint of his hand "—is for that pathetic excuse of a man who thought he could have you."
The next blow sends you forward, your forehead pressing against his knee as you cling to him, fingers curling desperately into the fabric of his trousers.
"I said count them," He reminded, the command laced with both menace and promise.
His fingers wove into your hair, twisting at the roots as he wrenched your head back, forcing you upright. He pulled you against his chest, his breath scorching against the supple skin of your throat. Torpidly, he skimmed the tip of his nose along the column of your wounded neck, all up to your ear shell.
"Even though I'm punishing you right now," He whispered, his voice like velvet, "you should be thankful that you even have the chance to serve me."
His grip on your hair tightened, locking you in place, ensuring you felt the full weight of his tyrant claim.
Your breath stuttered, your pulse a drumbeat against the confines of your ribs. Instinct had you nodding, but the ruthless tug at your scalp made you freeze. A silent warning.
"Use your words," His order smooth as polished steel, yet no less dangerous.
"Yes, Anakin," You choked out, your resolve unraveling into devotion. "My only purpose is to get used by you."
A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest as he reveled in how you responded. His hands, once cruel, now traced reverent paths over the marks he'd left upon you, soothing what he had burned—before setting you ablaze once more. He dragged both his palms up your sides, his thumbs ghosting over the curve of your flanks. He's mapping the shape of you, learning you anew, as if he does not already know every inch.
Without warning, he pressed his hardened member between your thighs—heavy and hot—making you suck in a honed breath.
"Feel that, hm?" He murmured, his lips ghosting along your temple. "How hard I am for you?"
He nestled himself against your dripping folds, not yet pushing in, but sliding his shaft through your slickness, letting you feel every inch of his rigid length pressing against you.
"All because of you, sweetness."
The sensation sent a violent shudder down your spine, a trembling ache blooming deep in your belly. His swollen tip kissed your clit with every agonizing thrust, smearing precum along the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You whined, your hips instinctively bucking, trying to angle yourself—to grind down against him—but he caught your movements. His strong hands clamped you down, forcing you still.
"Patience," He cooed. "Well, what do we have here, hm? You are dripping all over my cock, making such a fucking mess."
He dragged himself through your folds again, coating himself in your arousal.
"So desperate, and I haven't even given you anything yet."
Your answer was nothing but a pathetic, throaty mewl. Your mind was fogged with need, consumed by the way he tortured you with pleasure yet denied you what you craved most. He withdrew minimally, then rutted forward again, letting the tip nudge against your entrance for the briefest moment—before pulling away completely, leaving you empty.
You sobbed in frustration, your head lolling back against his shoulder while your body writhed, already wrecked just from his teasing.
"Tell me something, angel." Another stroke between your legs. "Do you think Obi-Wan could make you this wet?"
The name sent a flash of panic through your dazed mind, but the possessiveness in his tone made your stomach clench.
"Fuck, Anakin—only you!" You wailed, your fingers curling into fists as frustration and pleasure tangled in your veins. "Only you. No one else—never anyone else."
He growled, pleased but not satisfied. He still didn't believe you.
His fingers curled around your jaw as he forced your head back, making you look at him.
"If I have to trust you," He paused, "then you have to trust me, too. Do you?"
The command was simple, yet your body betrayed you the moment you obeyed. The attempt to straighten made your knees buckle slightly, legs trembling beneath you like a newborn fawn.
Anakin caught you effortlessly, steadying you before you could collapse. His chuckle was cocky and cruel.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He mocked. "Legs don't work?"
He watched the way your legs wobbled.
"Poor thing, can't even stand properly."
He seized your wrists to drag them behind your back and locked them in place with one hand—leaving you utterly at his mercy. His grip was like iron shackles as he led you to the massive window that spanned from floor to ceiling, overlooking the vastness of space. The astral bodies extended endlessly before you, glimmering in the infinite black, the soft glow of distant planets and hyperspace lanes casting a faint shine into the room.
You had a fleeting moment to drink in the sight before the zipper's teeth descended your backbone, a lethargic surrender. The silk of your dress cascaded to the floor like a forgotten veil, relinquished without a second thought. He sought you bare, exposed—stripped of anything that wasn't his.
His gloved hand splayed over your lower back, guiding you forward until your exposed chest met the cool surface of the glass.
Your body flushed, your nipples immediately pebbled against the transparent barrier upon contact. You hissed, your breath fogged up the window as you exhaled. The discrepancy was overwhelming—the icy, biting chill of the pane against your front clashing with the feverish, searing heat of Anakin's body branding you from behind.
He grabbed your chin, forcing you to face forward—making sure you saw your desperate expression as his frame eclipsed you by towering over you. Your eyes flickered up, catching your reflection shimmering in the mirror—disheveled, marked, ruined for anyone but him. You looked wrecked— neck painted in bruises, pupils blown wide with greed.
You couldn't shift your gaze elsewhere. Not when the sight before you was undeniable proof of who you belonged to.
"You see that? See what I do to you?" His speech was dripping with triumph.
He snarled low in his chest before sinking his fangs into your scruff—just like a beast locking onto its mate—right over the fading wound. His teeth carved his name into your skin without needing a single word. Tears welled, slipping down your flushed cheeks, proof of your breaking beneath him—and oh, how he reveled in it, the way his violence could shape something so exquisite. But before they could fall too far, his fingers were there—catching them, cradling them as though they were precious, something sacred. He wiped them away with endearment, his touch suddenly soft, almost worshipful. Then his lips followed, trailing pecks over the salted paths of your sorrow, a disparity to the brutality of his bite—baptizing you in the rites of his dominion.
"Even your pain is beautiful." His thumb traced your blush-stained apples, his touch tender now, though the heat in his orbs spoke of something far less innocent—the way he relished this, in the art of breaking and mending you all at once. He had hurt you just to admire the ruin, and yet here he was, smooching away the evidence, soothing what he had inflicted—not out of guilt, but out of pleasure. He was captivated by the way his bare hands could give rise to grace, as if from the ashes of destruction.
"You look too pretty like this to keep it all to ourselves. Don't you think we should show it to everyone else?"
The cityscape of Coruscant sprawled beneath you, its lights twinkling like a thousand watching eyes—each one a potential witness.
"No hiding now, my dear. Let them know. Every single one of them."
You whined softly, a breathy, needy plea slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
The sound had no time to linger before he cut it off.
"It's Anakin." His tone was strict and commanding. "Say it right."
"Please," You whimpered, arching back against him, feeling the rigid press of him through his robes. "Anakin, please…"
His gloved hand descended to your mouth, silencing your words and stealing air. "Shut up." He spat. "You're going to take what I fucking give you. Nothing more. Nothing less."
Before you could even inhale, he delved into you with a single, brutal thrust. His hips faltered for a fraction of a second as he felt the heavenly feeling of your tight, velvety walls enveloping him. The leather pressed harshly against your lips, muffling every sound, swallowing every scream, turning your cries into nothing more than silent echoes trapped beneath his palm. Your nails scratched helplessly at the smooth surface of the glass, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. He spread your knees with his own, allowing you to take him to your guts. He was buried to the hilt, stretching you past your limits, forcing your body to accommodate his sheer size. He didn't give you time to adjust. He didn't care. The way you shuddered and squirmed beneath him—it only fueled him. Pain laced through the pleasure, white-hot and overwhelming as he set an unforgiving pace. His fingers shoved into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue, demanding you gag on their intrusion. Drool spilled from the corner of your lips, dripping down your chin. Anakin drove into you, splitting you open, making you feel every thick inch of him—every blistering, agonizing, delicious burn.
"Anakin, stop! I-it's too much. I can't take it." You tried to protest, but the words dissolved around his fingers.
"Oh, but you can and you will," He taunted, plunging deeper, forcing himself past the tight resistance of your body—bruising your cervix with every abusing snap.
Your nails scrambled against the window, trying to push back and find some relief—but there was no escape. Only him. You attempted to turn around, but his free hand slid down your spine, pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you trapped against the translucent surface.
"Stay where you are," His sneer thick with condescension. "You were acting like a cheap slut all night—so now you're going to take it like one."
Your walls spasmed around him from his words, betraying you. The heat in your belly coiled tighter, the sharp edge of pain melting into something toe-curling, mind-numbing.
"Now, hands up," He commanded.
You hesitated, your arms trembling—until he wrenched his fingers out of your hot cave, the absence leaving your lips parted. His hand wrapped around your wrists, yanking them above your head and pressing them flat against the cool transparency. His weight bore down on you, caging you within the chalice of his hunger.
You had no choice but to obey.
Each vicious stroke pushed you harder against the window, making your clit grind against it—the friction only feeding the unbearable tension in your pelvis. Your breath left streaks of condensation against the surface, your moans were reduced to whimpers.
Tears burned at the corners of your waterlines, the pleasure so intense it bordered on torture. And still—you craved more.
You rolled your hips backward, grinding against him, wanting him deeper—wanting him to rip you apart. You felt him groan against your back, his eager hands pulling you closer, his body now entirely against yours as he surged forward, his dick digging into you even more.
"Yeah, that's it. Atta girl," He praised, elongating his words like a lazy drawl. "See? I told you. You got this, baby."
"A-anakin." You echoed his name, which made him humm approvingly.
"Yes, that's my name." His strokes slowed a little, savoring the way you clenched around him. "You are such a clever girl, aren't you? So fucking dumb on my cock, but you still remember who you belong to."
Your mind unraveled, drowned beneath the crushing tide of enjoyment, your body teetering on the edge of something cataclysmic. And the moment you started to beg through the pleasure-drunk haze—he already knew.
"Please, come inside me." Your words tumbled, unable to stop yourself or think of anything except the one thing you needed most. "Want it—need it—need you to put a baby in me. Anakin Skywalker, make me yours. Make me a mother."
Something inside him snapped.
A feral growl ripped from him as he hauled you up, twisting you to face him as he hooked your leg around his waist. His gloved hand seized your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes for the first time.
You could feel his member throb inside you at your request, his excitement undeniable. His fingers trailed down, pressing firmly over your womb. His pace quickened, each thrust shooting sparks of pleasure through your core, his swollen tip battering that perfect spot inside you, dragging you closer and closer—
It was too much. And yet, not enough.
As he moved faster, you couldn't think of anything else except how right this felt. How perfect it felt to be consumed by him. You turned into a moaning mess, the crest of your orgasm rising, threatening to wreck you—until all you could see were stars.
You sobbed, writhing under him, desperate, delirious, no longer capable of shame. "Please, A-ani, fill me up. Make me pregnant—chain me to you forever."
And for the first time, his lips crashed into yours—a silent oath.
It was everything you had imagined and more.
It wasn't gentle; he kissed you with a thirst you had never seen from him. It was raw, consuming—a collision of teeth and tongue; a vow carved in stone, unspoken but deeply understood, and a promise: that you were his. His tongue swept past your lips, devouring you whole, swallowing every cry, every sob, every sound you made. You had earned this moment. Your desperation, your need, had finally reassured him. He saw no other competition, no other challenge—the fire of burning jealousy inside him was finally extinguished.
Your souls merged, braided together in that single, molten second when you both shattered and reached climax at the same time, in a perfect symphony. The pleasure detonated, tearing through you like wildfire as you came, your hips rocking against his, riding through the waves of ecstasy as you melted into each other. Your orgasm ripped through you, walls milking him so hard he nearly collapsed against you. Your squirt splattered against the glass—a filthy testament to your devotion.
Deep, all-consuming warmth as he spilled thick ropes of his release inside you, filling you to the brim, his fingers digging into your thigh as the aftershocks made him shake. He shot himself into you one last time, locking your bodies together, slamming so deep to emphasize how the two of you became one in that moment—a sovereign in his own right crowning you with his claim. He was holding you there, forcing you to feel every pulse, every drop, making sure you knew—without a doubt—that you were his.
Your forehead pressed against his sweat-slick chest—you could feel his heartbeat, the pulse of life beneath your earthly shell. His scent wrapped around you like a shroud, drowning you in him until there was nothing left of the woman you used to be. His cum leaked from your destroyed cunt, running down your thigh—but he wasn't having that.
Anakin let out a guttural curse, pulling back just enough to glance down, watching with hooded eyes as his seed painted you white—evidence of the two of you morphing into one. With the head of his cock, he scooped up every drop—and then pushed it back inside, forcing you to take all of it.
"Wouldn't want to waste any of this, huh, darling?" His voice was husky, brushing your temple with a lingering peck.
He tilted your chin, capturing your lips in a languid, toxic kiss that sealed your fate. His tongue slid into your mouth, unhurried and lazy, as if he had all the time in the galaxy to break you down and rebuild you from the bones out. You could taste it—that you were tied together for eternity, never to be torn apart. You're tethered to him, bound in blood, in the flesh, in something more profound than either of you can name—so tightly you wouldn't know where you ended, and he began. He was reluctant to pull away as if breaking the lip lock might undo everything you had just sworn to each other.
His ivory tendril slithered against the gash that still wept for him—a baptism in violence, christening you as his.
"I'm sorry, my love. I never wanted to hurt you." His thumb traced the jagged edge of your scarred skin as if he could erase it. "But you wear it so well…"
You leaned into his touch, letting the sting burn beneath his fingertips—eyes glazed and feverish, as if drunk on him. The cut split open further, spilling its sorrow over the very hands that had coaxed it into existence. It wept beneath his palm, ribbons of blood trickling down his wrist—staining him in the color of his own possession.
"I'll bleed whatever color you tell me to." The words fell from your mouth like scripture recited at the altar, your gospel resonating like a hymn. You tilted your chin up, baring your throat like a lamb to slaughter.
"I would die for you, Anakin."
The confession curled between your bodies like smoke. You smiled—sweet, delirious—as if the thought of death in his name was the purest offering you could give, something holy.
He gathered your sacrament on his fingertips before smearing it between your legs, mixing it with his sperm—a hallowed fusion of the two of you woven into the very essence of your beings. A blood covenant sworn beneath the moon, a binding act that transcends mere words.
"No. You will live for me," He kneels before you, his forehead pressed against your stomach, his hands cradling the life he's planted inside you. "For our family."
Anakin stilled as something unseen pulled at the edges of his mind. The Force surged violently, wrenching him into an ominous glimpse of what lay ahead. A blinding vision, as if the very future had risen to meet him, the fabric of fate itself bending to his will.
Two figures, twin orbs burning in the dark. A boy and a girl—one cloaked in brightness, the other in shadow. They were perfect reflections of you both, the boy's eyes burning with the same fierce intensity as their father’s, while the girl's gaze was pure and serene, a mirror of your own—each a living embodiment of the legacy you'd both created, destined to carry it forward.
He saw the power within them—the raw, untamed strength that rushed through their veins. One would rise in brilliance, a light that would scorch everything in its path. The other would dwell in the shadows, a vengeance consuming all who stood against them. Together, they will rewrite and bend the galaxy with their dominion.
Anakin's fondle you tightened as the vision began to fade, but the weight of it pressed heavily on him. His heart pounded with the knowledge of what was to come—a dynasty chosen to rule and to break.
"I see them," his voice wavering with a mix of awe and terror. "Our children. They are beautiful, just like their mother. They will remake the galaxy in our image."
You could feel it, too—the shift in the air, the gravity of the vision. The promise of what had been set in motion was unstoppable and inevitable.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The meadow of stars outside blinked like distant witnesses to what you had created and what you would destroy.
Your fingers thread into his hair, combing through the strands, nails grazing his scalp as you look past him, past the gilded cage he has built around you. The metropolis lay beneath you, its lanterns blinking quietly before being consumed by the boundless void—a world that once belonged to you. A storm gathered beyond the window, winds howling through the capital, lightning streaking across the abyss, splitting the sky. Thunder rolls through the air as if the Force itself reacts to what you have just done. His hands tightened around you as if shielding, protecting all three of you, could keep the squall at bay. The rain begins to streak across the surface, blending with your tears that have already fallen. They mingle, and the drops outside can't wash away what you've come to know or what you sacrificed. No matter how the water runs down the panes, the feeling in your chest remains. It clings, indelible, even as the water erases the traces of the world outside.
"See? Even the galaxy knows, my dear." His fingers press against your stomach, feeling the life inside you. The cyclone hums against the glass, whispering of freedom, of roads untaken. It is close enough to touch—yet forever out of reach.
But you do not grieve it.
Because here, in the umbrage, in his arms, is where you belong. Where you were always meant to be.
The night folds around you both, swallowing you whole until nothing is left of you but the heat of his hands and the twins nestled beneath your ribs—a piece of him, a piece of you, entwined forever.
TAGS: @skyguytoast @oopsyoufoundme @buttweezer44 @throughparisallthroughrome @starrdream @lunaluvsuu
