#anakin...anakin hes talking about the missing hand...

[star-walking]

[andorsdoll]

Homecoming ♡ Anakin Skywalker x Reader [♀]

Summary: Anakin comes home from battle wrecked and starving for you. You’re his wife, his anchor, his religion—and he fucks you like it.

Word Count: 1.6k || Warnings: nsfw. p*rn w/out plot?? idgaf!!, reader & anakin are married, the gloves stay on during sex, no foreplay, penetration (p-in-v), unprotected sex/creampie, some praise/dirty talk, aftercare, doting husband! anakin, etc.,

Author's Note: idk how to write smut, but im trying okie?!

PS- if i have any james kelly/hayden christensen girlies, i posted a lil one shot here ;)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ .✦.

He doesn’t knock but you hear the sound of boots trecking closer. Your breath catches in your throat the moment the door opens.

Anakin.

Finally.

You stand a little too fast and your knees almost buckle from the way relief crashes into you like a wave.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since he was pulled to the opposite end of the galaxy, again, with nothing but scrambled comms and a handful of encrypted messages.

He’s sunburnt, his cloak covered in dust. His brow is creased but he looks at you like you’ve just saved his life.

“Hi,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

That alone nearly breaks him.

Anakin crosses the space between you without hesitation, wrapping you in his arms. He buries his face in your neck, letting out an exhale. Like he's been holding his breath the entire time he was gone.

“I thought I’d go insane,” he mumbles. “I thought if I had to wake up one more morning without you next to me—” He pulls back just far enough to kiss you.

And the second your lips touch—it all unravels.

His kisses are desperate, needy, open-mouthed. Like he’s both punishing and apologizing to you for having had to leave.

“I missed you, Ani." you stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in dusty curls.

It's almost overwhelming now, being in his arms after weeks. You can't even get another sentence out before Anakin's mouth devours the words against your throat.

He bites and licks at the skin there like he needs proof you’re real. Then he lifts you with both arms, one still gloved, possessive and loving on your thighs, walking you backward through the apartment without looking.

When he finally places you onto the bed, he lays you down like he's been waiting forever for this exact moment.

His forehead rests against yours while his hands roam, sliding beneath your top. Thumbs grazing your nipples until you gasp and whimper into his mouth.

“I dreamed about this,” he says. “Every night. I was afraid I'd forget your touch. Afraid I’d forget how it feels to be inside of you.”

You whimper, hips pressing forward instinctively. That alone makes him groan like you’re torturing him.

“I need you,” he says suddenly, dragging his mouth across your collarbone, leaving trails of blooming bruises. “I can’t wait, baby. I need you.” he whines, deprived and desperate.

“Take me,” you plead as you grind against him.

He undresses the both of you like a man possessed. Belt clattering to the floor, robes kicked aside, cock flushed, thick, and leaking at the tip as he shoves his pants down just enough.

He doesn’t waste time teasing, just pushes in deep with a sudden thrust. His head falls into your shoulder as he groans and just stays buried inside you, murmuring your name like it's holy.

Like loving you is the only thing he's ever needed and he's on his knees for it, buried in you like it's salvation.

Your legs are trembling from how full you feel when he says, "You’re clenching like you missed this. Missed me. Is that it, sweet girl?"

You nod against him, breath caught, arms wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.

And then he starts to move.

It's really slow at first, mostly because he's making sure to reach as deep as possible when he rolls his hips forward. Like he wants to fuck your soul, not just your body. “So pretty like this… so wet for me… fuck, baby…”

He laces his fingers with yours, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he moves inside you with aching rhythm, eyes locked to yours.

He drives into you with ruthless precision, your dripping pussy clenching around him. The sounds between your bodies are obscene and wet, your legs shake while your mouth falls open.

Babbling incoherently now, you're barely able to take it. And he absolutely loves it.

Seeing you flushed and undone under him, Anakin moans, slowing his thrusts just long enough to lean down. His gloved fingers cradling your jaw while his eyes drink you in.

“Stars,” he whispers, voice hoarse, almost gone. “Look at you.”

A broken sound escapes your throat again as your head falls back, eyes fluttering. Your body’s too full, too sensitive.

You feel destroyed, wrecked, and you know he can see it. He brushes your cheek and the corner of your lips with his fingertips, gentle in a way that makes your chest ache.

Because even now, even like this, Anakin is still so tender with you. His expression is molten and dark with hunger. Yet, it's so soft and loving, as if he can’t decide whether to ruin you completely or stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he pants, voice ragged. “Gonna fill you up. Will you let me?” He asks. But it's not really a question at this point, more like a promise.

All you can do is moan, arching your hips up to meet him, mouth still parted in gutteral cries. You come hard, clenching around him. He kisses you through it, swallowing your cries as he keeps fucking into you, desperate to reach his own release.

“Say it,” he breathes into you, hoarse and pleading. “Say you’re mine. Say you missed me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, fingernails dragging down his back. “Always, Anakin. I’m yours, I miss—”

He slams into you, cutting off the words, rhythm starting to falter. You feel it as his thrusts grow uneven and erratic and he's cursing under his breath. His face contorts and he groans through clenched teeth as he finally comes, thick and hot inside of you.

But he doesn’t stop pounding until he’s completely spent, until it’s leaking out around him.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

Afterwards, there's a long moment where neither of you move. Just the sound of your breaths echoing throughout the apartment. Shaky, uneven, like you’ve both been through something you barely survived.

His weight eases over you while your legs remain lazily draped around his waist. He’s still inside you, softening slowly. His breath hot and shallow against your throat.

The galaxy feels blurred at the edges, dazed and dreamlike.

Your thighs tremble with every little shift in movement. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you blink up at the ceiling, lips starting to tremble.

It hits you then, he's really home.

Anakin senses it, the shift in your breath, the way your lip starts to wobble. So he lifts himself just enough to look down at you. There's something soft in his gaze—like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss your cheek, your eyelids, your nose. Your eyes flutter shut from the sensation and he gingerly brushes your hair back.

His voice is sweet and doting now, “I missed you so much. I don’t think I can leave you ever again.”

You smile. Mostly because you know he has to leave again soon. Of course you do. He’s bound by duty—by the war, the cause, the robes he never fully gets to take off.

But right now, none of that matters.

Not with the way he’s holding you while his come is still warm inside you. Not with his mouth trailing over your collarbone like he’s relearning the shape of you.

He’s here.

And he’s yours.

And that’s enough, for now.

“C-Can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

He grins.

Actually grins. Boyish, flushed and handsome.

It's then in his smile that a flicker of a memory comes back to you. The first time you ever met him, both of you years younger, standing awkwardly in the Temple courtyard. He’d smiled at you then like this too—cocky, sun-warm, all dimples and promise.

“Good,” he says proudly.

You shove at him half-heartedly, and he chuckles again before slowly, carefully pulling out. You whimper when your hips twitch at the sudden emptiness and soreness. He gently hushes you.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’re sensitive. It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.”

You’re so fucked out you can’t move. So, he moves for you. He kisses your stomach, your thighs, your knees.

Then he disappears from the bed, rummaging around for a moment before returning to clean you up. He runs the damp fabric between your legs with maddening care, cooing every time you flinch or whine.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still dripping for me.”

“Anakin!” your cheeks flush as you throw your arm over your eyes.

“What?” he says innocently, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Just admiring my beautiful wife. All full and spent and pretty… Do you want me to run you a bath? Or should I tuck you in? Did you eat already?”

Your mouth opens to answer but he’s already climbing back onto the bed, settling behind you, pulling you into his lap. Your legs go limp over his thighs. “Ani, you're not serious—”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, voice low and teasing now. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Might keep you like this forever.”

You lean into him, humming as your head falls back on his shoulder. “You're ridiculous.”

Anakin places a kiss on the top of your head as he massages your hips slowly. "I'm in love." he responds casually, like it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

[bettyvick]

'liar!'

unburnt!anakin skywalker x farmer!reader

summary: 'Liar!' Those were the last words the love of your life told you. Now you live in exile on a farm with your children when he comes back and begs for forgiveness.

warnings: Angsty, dark side!anakin, breeding kink, mention of getting caught, sexual explicit content, mention of being overwhelmed during sex, mention of fullness, crying of pleasure, penetration (f receiving), oral (f receiving), use of sex for manipulation, praising, nicknames such as 'love', 'baby' and 'mommy' to reader, mention to giving birth, 3000 words.

author's note: Something a bit sad :/

—Liar! You're with him! You've brought him here to kill me— Anakin shouted with the most scary expression you had ever seen. His eyes shone red with rage. He raised his hand in the distance and the walls of your throat closed, cutting off your air. You brought your hands to your neck and coughed, trying to get some air.

—Let her go, Anakin! Let her go!— Obi-Wan spoke from the ship. Anakin stopped the effect of the Force on your throat and you fell to the ground unconscious.

When you woke up, you were about to give birth. The contractions were terrible, and you were scared to death. What if Anakin was right? What if it was true that you were going to die during childbirth? You tried to not think about it a lot, everything was going to be good. Obi-Wan held your hand during the two more scary hours of your life. After many contractions, screams and tears, your two babies were born safely (because yes, they were twins!).

—Hello my beautiful babies, Luke, Leia— you spoke softly to them while Leia gripped your finger in her tiny palms. They were red and wrinkled, but you loved them more than anything.

When the last remaining Jedi learned that you had given birth to Anakin Skywalker's children after Order 66, they decided to hide you on an abandoned planet. It was similar to Naboo, your home, but nothing was the same. There were ships constantly monitoring the planet, making sure no one got too close. No one could know you were still alive.

The habitants of every planet were told that you and your child had died in childbirth, and even a monument was dedicated to you and a fake funeral was prepared. You didn't approve of any of this, but you understood that it was necessary for survival.

That was seven years ago.

The children were now grown, they liked to play on the green fields of the farm while you did the laundry or baked cakes. Leia, with her leadership spirit, would lead the flock of sheeps through the mountains to save you work. But she loved it. It was so scary the way she was just like her father, stubborn and brave. However, Luke was busy helping you with your chores while talking about the fruits he had found in the valley. He was calmer in character and somewhat more reserved. He has Anakin's eyes.

Obi-Wan spent weeks on the farm and other weeks away. He comforted you over the loss of your husband, because Anakin was dead to you. He also gave you some conversation, which was important for your mental health since spending so much time alone with just your seven-year-old children was driving you crazy. You didn't hate the farm —on the contrary! You loved everything about it, but you missed your old life. The nostalgia was especially overwhelming at night before bed, when you thought about everything that could have been but wasn't. If only he hadn't let Palpatine manipulate him... If only he hadn't trusted his dreams... But the damage was done and there was no going back.

This morning you were extremely sensible, Obi-Wan left yesterday and he wasn't coming back for three weeks. Luke had a nightmare and woke you up at 4 AM, then you couldn't sleep well anymore. And to make matters worse, some creature had destroyed the barn and killed several chickens, thus traumatizing the children. After lunch, the twins fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from repairing the barn and catching the escaped hens. You carried them to bed and tucked them in, then kissed each of them on the forehead.

Tired, you lied on your coach and tried to rest. You closed your eyes softly and your breathing became slow. You fell into a light sleep until the mechanical sound of a ship hovering over the small wooden house woke you up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was some soldiers checking the perimeter, but then a loud knocking sounded in the living room. Knuckles rapping on the door. Soldiers weren't allowed that close to the farmhouse.

Could it be Obi-Wan? Had they delayed their mission?

The sound repeated, and now you got up, your body felt heavy and the lack of sleep more present than ever. You took the small knob between your fingers and rolled it. Then you met his eyes, those eyes that had haunted you for so long. The most beautiful shade of blue you'd ever seen. With his scar running vertically across his eyebrow, his light hair longer than you remembered, and a black tunic similar to the one he used to wear but with some red details.

Anakin, no. Darth Vader was in front of you, invading your safe place, the safe place of your children.

—Love…— he spoke with that soft expression that you missed. You looked horrorized.

—What are you doing here?— and you sounded horrorized.

—I've been looking for you, love…

—No, no, go away— you ordered, your heart pounding.

—Is this how you greet your husband?— he asked, his tone deeper.

—You're not my husband, you're a monster. My husband died on Mustafar, I don't know who you are— you replied, your voice sounding desperate. You should have wanted him to leave, but you didn't. Instead, you wanted him to stay, to raise your children together, to be a family. Your head said that it wasn't possible, but your heart thought you could still fix him.

You stepped back as Anakin calmly passed through the doorway. He scanned the living room of your home with an expression you couldn't quite understand.

He took a photo frame in his hands and smiled at the image. He wanted to keep it in his memory forever.

You slowly approached behind him, more relaxed now. It was a picture of Luke, Leia, and you. You were holding Luke in your right arm while Leia took your other hand. You were all smiling. In the background, you could see the flock of white sheeps that the little girl loved so much. You were all dressed in white, and you were wearing the same thin dress you were wearing now. Anakin thought it was his new favorite thing in the world.

—They were two— he interrupted the silence and turned to look at you; you were closer than you had been in a long time. You nodded. —They're up there, right?— he meant the stairs that led to the upper floor. He didn't give you time to answer when he started moving slowly toward it, but you ran ahead of him and stood in the middle, slowing him down. You grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors that were on the thick wooden railing and pointed them at him.

—Stop! Don't come any closer!— you cried, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He used the Force to pull the scissors into his hand and threw them to the floor without flinching. Anakin approached you, trying to get past you, but you didn't move. Your chests were pressed together. —Please, don't come up— you begged him through a sob.

His eyes met yours, and he held your gaze for a few seconds. He was about to give in. He looked at you with inner turmoil. You made him doubt his morals, everything he had built during those seven long years apart.

Has it really all been worth it? Losing you for his Empire had been worth it?

It broke his heart to see how scared you were of him. His hand was about to gently touch your cheek when he was interrupted.

—She told you not to come any closer— Obi-Wan's voice echoed through the living room. Anakin turned to him, his expression changing to rage in a matter of seconds.

—Obi-Wan— Anakin said, reaching for his belt where his lightsaber rested.

—No!— you said, raising your voice. You were surprised the children hadn't gotten up yet; they must have been tired. Obi-Wan already had the lightsaber in his hand, glowing in bright blue. —Stop! Stop now! The children are upstairs!— Obi-Wan looked at you over Anakin's shoulder.

—Stay back, he's dangerous— the older man said. Anakin balled his hand into a fist.

—The only danger here is you, Master. Stay away from the house, my wife, and my children— the blue-eyed spat angrily.

Obi-Wan gave you another look, asking what he should do. You lowered your head in a gesture for him to leave. He turned off his lightsaber and, hesitantly, walked toward the door.

—I'll be outside if you need me— Anakin's figure relaxed once he was gone.

He took your hand and you headed upstairs, but not before he left his lightsaber on the dining room table. You arrived with delicate steps to Luke and Leia's room. You opened the door slowly, and there they were, both asleep and tucked into different beds, each in a corner of the room.

The room was entirely made of different types of wood and filled with sheets of paper with drawings glued to the walls by the two siblings. One that particularly caught Anakin's attention was one with four stick figures representing the entire family, including him. His heart sank when he read ‘Dad’ above the largest stick figure. You noticed his gaze linger on that sheet and smiled.

—Luke made that one. He insisted on including you in the family drawing— you whispered. He nodded, shocked.

—What's the girl's name?— he asked sadly. It felt terrible not even knowing his children's names.

—Leia, she's just like you, stubborn and unstoppable.

Anakin smiled sadly and bowed his head, thinking of everything he had missed. Their first steps, their first words, teaching them how to fix ships, planting their first flowers in the garden, their first birthday… It all overwhelmed him, and his eyes began to water. He wiped the tear falling down his cheek with his robotic hand.

—Can I come closer?— he asked, his voice cracking.

You hesitated for a few seconds but finally gave in.

Anakin approached Luke's bed first and sat on the edge. He studied him for several minutes, gently stroking his hair. The boy exhaled deeply and turned to his father, still asleep. Then Anakin did the same, but with Leia. She was sprawled across the bed with her stuffed bunny around her neck. He gently kissed her forehead, and she made incomprehensible sounds.

He turned and looked you up and down after a long time. You looked more tired, but still beautiful. Your hair was in a braid that fell over your shoulder, some strands straying. You were leaning against the frame with a smile and your arms crossed.

—You are beautiful— he said shamelessly, as he used to do before; he knew that was what you needed to hear. And you blushed. He'd almost made you forget all the horrific crimes he'd committed, how he'd subjected the entire galaxy to a dictatorial regime. Almost.

Nothing was the same again. And it couldn't be the same again, no matter how much you still loved him.

You returned to the living room ready to chat for a while. Anakin sat in an armchair opposite you while you opted for the sofa.

—How did you get in?— you asked softly and he felt he could melt right there.

—It wasn't very difficult, your guards are incompetent and lazy.

—How did you find me?

—Tracking ships, planets, space movements, etc. During seven years.

—What do you want?

Anakin laughed softly and your heart raced.

—You.

You blinked nervously and played with your braid between your fingers.

—And you think after everything you've done, you can come here, ask for forgiveness, and be forgiven?

He stood up and looked at you from top.

—I came here intending to do whatever it takes to get you back— he admitted grabbing your chin with delicacy.

—End the rule of terror you have imposed— you spoke looking him directly in the eyes. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

—I’ll do whatever you want— he whispered a few inches from your face.

His lips found yours, and a thousand sparks shot through you from head to toe. He knelt in front of you while you remained seated, and he deepened the kiss by gently taking your neck. His tongue slid into your mouth and you moaned quietly. He left a couple of short kisses more on your lips and then he dragged his mouth down your neck, reaching the beginning of your dress and leaving a couple purple marks over your skin. He massaged your bristly and sore nipples under his hands, tearing off a heavenly sound for him.

—I'm going to take you to heaven, love— he spoke with a broken voice.

He grabbed the fabric of your dress and pulled it down, revealing your beautiful tits. His pupils gave themselves away. His mouth immediately settled on them, biting and sucking.

—Anakin— you moaned of pleasure.

—I know, baby, I know.

Your clit was swollen and sore, it needed attention urgently. When he left your nipples red and sensible, his head went down your torso, dragging the fabric in its wake, until reaching your ruined panties. A dark spot was concentrated in the center.

—Fuck, baby, you're wet as hell— he said making lazy circles over your dressed clit. A sound between a gasp and a moan left your lips when you felt the friction of his finger over your sensible zone.

Then his tongue joined in, making you cry out. It had been too long since you had time to enjoy your sexuality. Anakin started licking your weeping pussy and the pressure was so good that you came a few minutes later. The orgasm passed through you like a wave, making you scream acutely with your mouth opened.

But he was hungry and seven years had passed.

You shrink your legs up onto the couch and Anakin wrapped his arms around them as he was eating your pussy out.

—One more, baby— Anakin said rubbing your overstimulated clit with his fingers. His tongue was as fast as his fingers. You started shaking and babbling nonsense. He had to cover your mouth, sliding his fingers on your throat.

—You have to be quiet, you don't want to wake up the kids.

The thought of being caught made you unable to handle it any longer and you came again in his mouth with a scream that your husband's fingers in your mouth silenced. Your dress was wrapped around your waist and your panties wet and sticky.

—That's it, mommy, you did it very well— he praised you. Your mind was blank and blurred, you were drooling and couldn't form a single sentence. Then Anakin got on his feet and he took off his clothes. He passed his finger

—Now you're gonna take me like a good girl.

And that's what you did.

At first he teased you a little, passing his dick over your vaginal lips without actually filling you. But the he lined up his thick cock on your pussy and pushed inside slowly. His face twisted with pleasure.

—You don't know how long I've been waiting for this— he spoke with a shaking breath. You were completely overwhelmed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed and moaned. —I’ve spent seven years searching for you, and you're finally here.

He sank all of his dick inside of you and then started moving slowly from out to inside. A whimper left his mouth.

You've missed that so much.

—I’m gonna live here, and you'll be my little farm wife— Anakin said, putting your legs up on his shoulders taking you to an angle that made his member go deeper. You rolled your eyes, turning them white, the sensation of fullness was too much for you. He covered your mouth again before you screamed.

—I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, and we'll give Luke and Leia another sibling, fuck-

—Mmmhmmm— you moaned. Your knees were pressing your chest, numbing against your naked tits.

—You go dumb over my dick, don't you?— he asked, stimulating again your sensible clit. You nodded.

—Ani…— you gasped. Your hair was a mess and falling over your face as Anakin lunged faster.

He penetrated you more erratically until he finally fulfilled his promise and came inside of you with a long and loud moan left on his lips while his face contracted. He withdrew from your insides, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness and he saw his sperm sliding from your cunt.

—That’s it, baby— Anakin said, kissing one of your knees, then he threw himself onto the couch and pulled you onto his lap, wrapping you in a warm hug. Your labored breaths were in sync, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your arm.

—Have you forgiven me?— he asked innocently.

You weren't sure about the answer.

[bkchron]

DOWN BAD

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 5.1 k

Note This is porn without plot. Which is weird because I am not that much into writing smut because I can be awkward as hell but some things happened and now here we are. This was gonna be something that was pretended to be at 1k words, a blowjob little thing but then... yes. Expect some Bucky whimpering. On a couch. Lovely. Still, smut might not be my thing but my thing surely is making them so nauseous because they're so in love.

You and Bucky started your evening by watching a movie. ‘Revenge Of The Sith’, Bucky picked this time and groaned a bit when you started fawning over Anakin. By the end of it, you two were just talking, about the movie, a mission that tired you both the week before and even if Bucky liked that new dish soap he picked last time you went for groceries. Your voice a low, familiar hum that calm him as you curled into his side on the too-small couch in his Brooklyn apartment. The one he’d picked because it forced you close. You’d always suspected that.

Once Bucky realized there was no more popcorn, he stood up, walking towards the kitchen for more and in that moment, you sat on the floor, loving the way the rug he bought a couple months ago felt on your knees. He came back and his grin made you feel your cheeks warm. He didn’t say a thing and only sat back down, sprawled across the couch, all six feet of super-soldier taking up every inch of the cushions like a very large, very dangerous housecat claiming a sunbeam.

The only light in his living room is the blue-white glow of the city through the window, catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the metal glint of his left hand resting on the back of the couch. He’s warm. Solid. A wall of muscle and quiet tension that only ever seems to unspool completely when it’s just the two of you. He’d been sharing the popcorn with you, feeding you from the bowl in his hands while you sat down, facing him.

After a few minutes, you realized that Bucky hadn’t said a word for a while, only humming when you say something and the truth is that he’d been watching you. Watching the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way you bit your lip when you told a particular fascinating story that happened on your trip with Wanda, the way you shifted occasionally to get more comfortable on the floor until eventually you’d leaned back against the couch between his legs.

That was when you’d felt it.

Not intentionally—God, not intentionally at first. You’d just been trying to find a position that didn’t make your neck hurt, so you’d tilted your head back, let it rest against the inside of his thigh, and blinked up at him for no reason other than to check if he was still awake.

He was awake. He was very, painfully, obviously awake.

The bulge in his jeans was impossible to miss from this angle. You could see the thick curve of it, heavy and half-hard, pressed against the rough fabric like it was trying to escape. And there was something about the way he was looking at you—bottom lip caught between his teeth, pupils blown wide despite the dim lighting, chest barely moving like he was afraid to breathe too loud and break whatever spell had fallen over the room—that made you want to be very, very still.

His left leg is bouncing—a nervous tic he’s never quite shaken despite the century of life behind him. You press your palm flat against his shin, stilling the motion, and the muscle immediately goes soft under your touch.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is a low rumble, already frayed at the edges. “What are you really doing down there?”

You don't answer with words. You just turn around on your knees and shift closer, nudging his knees apart with your shoulders until you can slot yourself perfectly back into the vee of his legs. His thighs are thick, solid as oak trees, and when you let the weight of your head fall against the inside of his right thigh, you feel the immediate, violent tremor that runs through him. The bowl drops, the popcorn making a disaster that neither you or Bucky pay attention to. His flesh hand comes up to hover uselessly over your hair, not quite touching, like he’s afraid you’re a hallucination.

“This okay?” you murmur, but you know it’s more than okay. You can feel the answer pressed against the curve of your cheek, hidden beneath the worn dark blue jeans he’d pulled on after his shower. It’s not subtle. It’s a heavy, thick shape, half-hard and twitching with every exhale you deliberately push through your nose against the sensitive seam of his thigh.

Bucky swallows so loud you hear it click. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, and it sounds like a prayer.

That’s when you look up.

You take your time, letting your lashes drag against the coarse fabric of his jeans as you tilt your chin. First, you see the white-knuckle grip he has on the arm of the couch—his flesh hand, veins standing out like rivers. Then his stomach, the muscles jumping beneath his thin henley. And finally, his face.

Oh, his face.

Your man looks utterly wrecked and you haven’t even touched him yet. His jaw is slack, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and his eyes—those impossibly blue, ocean-deep eyes—are blown so wide with want that the pupil has swallowed nearly all the iris. He’s staring down at you like you’re the last source of light in a universe going dark.

You blink up at him, slow and syrupy sweet. Innocent. The picture of placid devotion. “What?” you ask, your voice a featherlight thing. “I’m just sitting here.”

A broken sound catches in his throat. Not a groan, not a sigh—something higher, more desperate. A whimper. You’ve heard him roar in battle, heard him snarl at threats, heard him laugh that rare, beautiful laugh. But this. This small, punched-out noise of pure, unraveling need? It goes straight between your own legs like a live wire.

“You know,” he grits out, finally letting his hand fall to cup the back of your skull. He doesn’t push. He just holds, his thumb stroking a frantic rhythm behind your ear. “You know exactly what you’re fucking doing.”

You turn your head, just a fraction, just enough to press your open mouth to the inside of his thigh. You only taste the cloth but still, there’s his essence there and when you drag your tongue in a wet, slow stripe over the fabric, his hips jerk off the couch. His cock bumps against your cheekbone, a hot, heavy brand even through the layers, and you feel a gush of slickness soak through your own underwear.

“Bucky,” you say, and it’s the first real thing you’ve said. Not a question. A promise.

His metal hand comes up to cover his own mouth, the cold vibranium stark against his flushed lips. “Don’t,” he begs, but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Don’t stop? Don’t look at him like that? Don’t make him come apart before you’ve even gotten his jeans off?

Then his hand came up to cup your cheek, the vibranium somehow warm against your skin, and he said your name like it was the only word he had left. “What do you want?” he asked, and his voice was so soft, so careful, so achingly tender that you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Anything. Everything. Just tell me.”

You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to his palm, then his wrist. “I want to make you feel good,” you said. “I want to take care of you. I want to watch you fall apart because of me. Can I do that, James? Can I be good for you?”

His answer was to pull you forward by the back of your neck and kiss you like he was drowning.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of wanting that came from years of deprivation. He kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, like he needed to taste every corner of your mouth to convince himself you were real.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and the bulge in his jeans had gone from noticeable to obscene.

“Floor,” he said, and his voice was wrecked. “You want to be on the floor, sweetheart? Then stay on the floor. But if you’re going to kneel there looking like that, you’d better put that pretty mouth to use.”

The command in his voice made your stomach flip. You’d seen Bucky be soft, had held him through nightmares and panic attacks and the kind of grief that came from losing seventy years of your life. But this Bucky—the one who looked at you like he wanted to devour you, the one whose chest was heaving with the effort of restraint—this Bucky made your thighs press together.

You’re merciless. You nuzzle closer, letting your nose trace the prominent line of his erection through the dark denim. He’s thick, so fucking thick, and when you breathe in, you can smell him—musk and heat and something uniquely Bucky that makes your mouth water. He watches your fingers work on his belt, work the leather free, the metal buckle clinking softly. His breath is coming in short, sharp pants. His thighs are trembling under your hands, the muscles jumping like live wires. You take your time, dragging the zipper down tooth by tooth, and you feel the tension in him ratchet higher with every click. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans, and he lifts his hips before you even have to ask, a man desperate to give you anything, everything.

You blink again. Sweeter this time and pull them down just past his thighs, just enough. His cock springs free, slapping against his lower belly with a wet sound, the tip already glistening, flushed a deep, angry red. He’s beautiful. All of him is beautiful, but this, this side of him, the way he’s trembling like a leaf in a storm while you’re still fully clothed—is a different kind of gorgeous. Thick enough to stretch your jaw, long enough to make your mouth water, curving slightly towards his stomach. You’ve had it in every way imaginable, but seeing it like this—inches from your face, twitching under your gaze—never gets old.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and his gaze snaps down to yours. There are tears clinging to his lashes. Actual tears. He is so far gone for you, so utterly, pathetically down bad, that just the sight of you kneeling between his thighs has him on the verge of sobbing. “Buck,” you murmur, your voice a soft, sleepy thing. “You’re all tense.”

He makes a sound. A strangled, low thing that rumbles up from the back of his throat. His right hand comes up, hovering in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with it—touch you, push you away, fist it in his own hair. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the grey of his iruses until they’re almost black.

“Fuck,” you breathed, and it wasn’t performative. It was genuine awe. “You’re so big, Buck. How is this going to fit?”

His head fell back against the couch cushion with a thud. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that. I’m already—“ He groaned as you wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “I’m not going to last. You know I’m not going to last. You’re too much. You’re too fucking much, and I love you, and I can’t—“

Bucky makes another sound. A desperate, keening little whimper that would embarrass him if he had any blood left in his brain. “Stop looking at it like that,” he begs.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a—a popsicle. Like you’re about to—fuck, sweetheart, your mouth. I can feel you thinking about it.”

You grin, wide and sharp, and finally, finally, you wrap your hand around the base. He’s hot. Velvet over steel. He jerks in your grip, and a bead of precum wells up at the tip, pearly and glistening in the low light.

You lean in, slow, and you don’t break eye contact. You let your tongue dart out, just the very tip, and you lick it away.

Bucky’s entire body seizes. His metal hand slams down on the couch arm, leaving dents in the leather. His right hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just… holding. Anchoring. His fingers twist into the strands, and he’s shaking.

“Oh, God,” he whispers. “Oh, God. Please. Please, baby. I need—I need you to—”

“You need me to what?” you ask, and you kiss the head of his cock. Soft. Chaste. A peck. Like you’re saying goodnight.

He sobs. Actually sobs, a wet, broken sound that goes straight between your legs. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it.”

“Suck it,” he gasps, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Please suck my cock. Please. I’ve been good. I’ve been so good all day, I did the dishes, I didn’t complain about the traffic, I—please, sweetheart, just—I need your mouth. I need it so bad I can’t think.” He whines a bit, making your thighs clench. “I’m not gonna last,” he warns, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “Baby, please, I can’t—you waited too long, you were down there looking so pretty, I already almost—“

You cut him off by leaning forward and dragging the flat of your tongue from the base of his shaft to the very tip.

The sound he makes is inhuman. A deep, guttural keen that vibrates through the floorboards. His back arches off the couch, his metal hand scrabbling for purchase on the cushion, tearing a small hole in the fabric. His hips buck again, and you let him, letting the head of his cock bump against your lips, your chin, smearing precome across your skin like a gloss.

“Please,” he sobs, and it’s not a controlled plea. It’s a wrecked, animal noise. “Please, sweetheart, I need your mouth, I need—fuck, I need.”

You take pity on him. You’re not cruel, not really. You just like him like this—wrecked and begging and so full of want it spills out of every word.

You wrap your lips around the head and sink down.

The sound he made was inhuman. It was a sob and a moan and a prayer all rolled into one, and it vibrated through the room like a physical force. His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your throat, and you had to brace your hands on his thighs to keep from gagging.

“Sorry—shit, sorry, I’m sorry—” He was already apologizing, already trying to pull back, but you held on. You looked up at him through wet lashes, tears already forming at the corners of your eyes from the stretch, and you saw the exact moment he broke.

“Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Baby. Baby, please.”

You couldn’t answer with your mouth full, so you showed him instead. You relaxed your throat, took him deeper, let the tip press against the back of your palate until your eyes watered and your nose pressed against the thatch of dark hair at his base. You held there for a moment, feeling him pulse against your tongue, tasting the salt of his precome spreading across your taste buds.

His hands fly to your head, both of them now, flesh and metal tangling in your hair. He doesn’t push. He holds, his grip desperate but reverent, as if you’re something holy he’s terrified of breaking. You take him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet, silky clutch of it. His hips stutter, barely controlled, and he starts to babble.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, that’s—you’re so good, you’re so fucking good, how are you this good—I love you, I love you, I’m sorry for swearing, I’m sorry, fuck, fuck—“

You pull off with a wet pop, just to look at him. Just to watch the devastation on his face. His chest is heaving, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyes are glazed, unfocused, like he’s already floating somewhere above his body.

“You apologize right now, honey?” you ask and smirk, licking your lips slowly, deliberately.

He chokes on a laugh that turns into a moan. “You make me—ah—you make me crazy, I can’t think straight, everything’s just—please put it back, I was so close, baby, I was so fucking close—“

You oblige. But this time, you don’t tease. You swallow him down to the root, and you stay there. Your throat works around him, your tongue pressing flat against the thick vein on the underside, and you feel the exact moment he shatters.

You hum around him, a low vibration, and his hand tightens in your hair. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, that’s—that’s it. Just like that. Oh, Jesus.”

You take him deeper, inch by aching inch. You let your tongue press flat against the vein on the underside. You let your saliva pool and drip, messy and wet, because you know he likes it sloppy. You know he likes the sounds—the wet, obscene gluck of your mouth working him, the way you gag just a little when he hits the back of your throat.

He’s babbling now. A stream of consciousness, raw and unfiltered.

“So good. So fucking good at this. Look at you—look at my pretty girl with her mouth full of my cock. You’re so—oh—you’re so beautiful like this. On your knees for me. Blinking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes.”

You moan in answer, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder.

When you finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to the head of his cock. You wiped it away with the back of your hand and smiled up at him.

“Good?”

Bucky looked like he was having a religious experience. His mouth was open, his eyes were glassy, and his chest was heaving like he’d just run a marathon. His metal hand was gripping the couch cushion so hard that you could hear the fabric starting to tear.

“Good,” he repeated, and then laughed, a broken, breathless sound. “Good. Yeah. That was—you’re trying to kill me. You’re literally trying to murder me, and I’m going to let you, because I can’t—I can’t fucking think when you look at me like that.”

“Then don’t think,” you said again, and went back down.

You built a rhythm this time, slow and deliberate. You wanted to savor him, wanted to learn every sound he made, every twitch of his hips, every tremor in his thighs. You found that he was vocal—god, was he vocal—and that every time you hummed around him, he made this desperate little whimper that went straight to your core.

“Please,” he kept saying, like a mantra. “Please, please, please—“

You weren’t sure what he was asking for. More? Less? Permission to come? Permission to grab your hair and fuck your throat the way you could tell he wanted to? It didn’t matter. You knew what you wanted to give him.

You pull off slowly, dragging your lips up the length of him, and you let the tip pop out of your mouth with a wet sound. A string of spit connects you to him, and you break it with a flick of your tongue.

“More,” you say, your voice hoarse. “Tell me more.”

He looks down at you, and his eyes are glazed, his mouth open, his chest heaving. He looks like a man who’s been drowning and just found air.

“I think about this all the time,” he confesses, and his voice is a whisper now, raw and honest. “When I’m on missions. When we’re in meetings with the team and they won’t shut up and then you’re there writing whatever in your book in those old sweatpants and you look do hot it makes me so hard. When I’m trying to sleep. I think about you on your knees. I think about the way you look up at me. Like I’m—like I’m something worth kneeling for.”

You feel a hot, sharp ache bloom in your chest. It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Like a secret. Like a prayer.

“You are,” you say, and you mean it. “You’re everything worth kneeling for.”

You take him back again into your mouth. You sink down until your throat spasms around him, until tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You stay there for a count of three, four, five, your nails digging into his thighs. Your head kept bobbing up and down, your hand working on the base when you were too busy sucking and licking at his head.

It starts with a whimper—high, thin, desperate. Then his whole body seizes, his thighs clamping around your ribs like a vise, his hands yanking your hair hard enough to sting. He screams. A muffled, desperate thing, bitten off behind his fist. His whole body arches off the couch, and his hips jerk, and this time he doesn’t stop them. He thrusts up into your throat, shallow and frantic, and you let him. You take it. You fucking love it.

“I’m gonna—baby, I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice cracking. “You have to—if you don’t want—fuck, you have to stop—”

You double down. You suck harder, hollow your cheeks, bob your head in a fast, filthy rhythm. You reach up and cup his balls, heavy and tight, and you roll them gently in your palm and just like that, he comes apart.

He comes with a broken wail, a broken shout of your name his hips pumping up into your mouth, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, thick pulses. You swallow everything, greedy for it, and you keep sucking, keep milking him, moaning around him as the vibrations draw out every last shudder from his frame, until he’s whimpering.

He goes limp like a marionette with cut strings.

You stay where you are, mouth soft around his softening length, until his fingers loosen in your hair and start stroking, gentle now, soothing and pushing at your head, too sensitive to take any more. Only then you pull off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your lips are swollen, your chin wet, your eyes still glassy with tears. You look up at him, and he’s crying.

Tears stream silently down his temples, disappearing into his hairline. His lips are parted, panting, and he’s staring at the ceiling like he’s just seen the face of God. You press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then his knee, then crawl up his body until you’re straddling his lap, your forehead pressed to his.

“Hey,” you whisper, cupping his stubbled jaw. “You okay?”

He blinks. His eyes focus on your face, and a smile breaks across his tear-stained cheeks—wobbly, radiant, so full of love it makes your own chest ache. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you so tightly you can’t move, burying his face in your neck.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I love you. I can’t words. I forgot how to words.”

You laugh, soft and fond, and kiss the side of his head. “That’s okay. I love you too.”

He’s a disaster. Sprawled across the couch, his jeans around his knees, his chest heaving. His face is flushed, his eyes are wet, and he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“Come here,” he rasps, and he hauls you against his chest, burying his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you, tight and desperate, flesh hand and metal hand both clutching at your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your skin. “I love you so much. That was—fuck. That was—”

“Good?” you offer, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“I blacked out for a second,” he admits. “Like, actually blacked out. Saw the light. Met God and he just said, ‘Tell your girlfriend she’s a menace.’”

You laugh, a bright, startled sound, and he lifts his head just enough to look at you. There’s so much warmth in his eyes. So much softness. The kind of love that doesn’t need words, that lives in the curve of his smile and the way his thumb is tracing circles on your spine.

“I’m not done with you,” you say, and you feel him stir again beneath you. Already. The supersoldier serum is a gift.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You want—now?”

“I want to ride you,” you say, plain and simple. “I want to be on top. I want to watch your face while I fuck myself on your cock.”

His hands tighten on your hips. His pupils dilate again, swallowing the grey. “Yeah,” he breathes, licking his bottom lip while watching your face. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I want that. I want that so bad.”

You don’t bother with stripping. You just reach down and shove your own shorts and underwear to the side, just enough to bare yourself. You’re soaked, slick and ready, and when you line him up and sink down onto him in one slow, steady motion, you both groan.

He’s thick inside you, stretching you open, filling you up. You pause when he’s fully seated, just breathing, just feeling. His head falls forward to rest against your collarbone, and his hands are shaking on your waist.

“So tight,” he whispers. “So warm. Fuck, sweetheart. You feel like coming home even when I fucked you this morning. Oh shit.”

You start to move.

Slow at first. A gentle roll of your hips, a lazy grind that makes his eyes flutter shut. You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex under your palms, and you find a rhythm. Up and down. Rocking and circling. Every drag of his cock against your walls sends sparks up your spine.

He’s watching you. His eyes are open now, dark and hungry, tracking every shift of your expression. Your bitten lips. Your flushed cheeks. The way your head falls back when you find the right angle.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and so full of awe. “That’s my girl. Take what you need. Use me. I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You speed up. The couch creaks under you, the springs groaning in protest. Your thighs are burning, but you don’t care. You chase the feeling building low in your belly, the tight coil of pleasure that’s winding tighter with every thrust.

Bucky’s hands roam. Up your sides, under your shirt, across your stomach. His metal fingers are cool against your heated skin, a delicious contrast. He palms your breasts, thumbs your nipples, and you moan, loud and wanton.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and his voice is breaking again. “Look at you. Riding me like you were made for it. Like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you gasp. “I was made for you, Bucky. Only you.”

His hips buck up to meet yours, and the new angle makes you see stars. You cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he does it again. And again. A relentless, perfect rhythm that has you teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he begs, and his hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “Please, baby. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want you to—fuck—I want you to soak me. Let go. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You fall.

It crashes over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding, and you scream his name. Your body clenches around him, vice-tight, and he follows right after, a broken moan torn from his chest as he spills inside you.

You collapse against him, boneless and trembling. His arms close around you, holding you safe, and you press your face into the crook of his neck. His heart is pounding against your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that slowly, slowly begins to slow.

Neither of you speaks for a long time. The city hums outside the window. The couch is a mess. You’re both a mess.

He presses a kiss to your temple. Then your forehead. Then the tip of your nose.

“I’m fucking down bad for you,” he says quietly, like a confession. “Like, embarrassingly down bad. Sam and Steve make fun of me. Natasha says I look at you like a puppy watching its owner eat bacon.”

You laugh, weak and breathless. “A puppy?”

“A very pathetic, very lovesick puppy,” he confirms. “She’s not wrong.”

You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s soft now. Sated. The sharp edges of his want have smoothed into something gentle and warm. He’s still flushed, still a little sweaty, and his hair is a complete disaster.

“Good,” you say, and you kiss the underside of his jaw. “Because I’m down bad for you too. Embarrassingly. Pathetically.”

He grins, wide and bright, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Later, after he’s carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you up with ridiculous tenderness, after he’s changed the sheets on the bed because “there’s no way we’re sleeping on that couch tonight, sweetheart, it’s a biohazard”—later, when you’re tucked under the blankets with his arm around your waist and his face buried in your hair, he speaks again.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Next time,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I kneel for you?”

You turn in his arms, pressing your forehead to his and grin. It's a silent conversation, knowing that he loves spending his time like that. He kisses you then, soft and slow, and you fall asleep like that. Tangled together. Wrapped up in each other. Two people so ridiculously, embarrassingly, down bad that it loops all the way back around to being the easiest thing in the world.

masterlist ♡

[evildala]

Rolling with the concept of Obi-Wan on Tatooine understanding Anakin better than he ever did during their 13 years of constant companionship.

For Obi-Wan everything on Tatooine is Anakin. During his second dry season, Obi-Wan understands how the desperation of poverty can last a lifetime. He understands why someone might be so desperate for security.

Every little boy is little Ani. Every teenager hanging around the cantina is his Padawan. Every person caught between childhood and adulthood is his Anakin.

He learns about the culture Anakin was raised in.

Obi-Wan provides what little help he can to escaped slaves and is taught how important the family you end up with is. You never forget the family you were born to but it is disgraceful to reject the family who comes to you, especially if you are the older party.

Did he reject Anakin? Obi-Wan never ment to reject Anakin.

Obi-Wan learns about traditional Tatooine folk art. He see’s the little doodles Anakin would leave on his homework. Obi-Wan catches some of a folk dance performance intended to extend strength and solidarity. He see’s the odd little adjustments Anakin would make to his lightsaber form.

He can’t even ask Anakin if he was aware of his home planet’s influence over everything he did. Anakin would probably feel insulted. Obi-Wan can guess Tatooine’s presence in Anakin’s actions wad not intentional but he never really can know, can he?

He learns about the life Anakin had left behind.

One day, after a long hot week, something in Obi-Wan’s cave breaks and he has to go source a replacement for the broken part in the city. The only place that has a suitable replacement is Watto’s junk shop. He knows Watto’s name from panic attacks and nightmares and off-hand comments that terrified Obi-Wan every time. The entire interaction is like talking to a ghost.

When he leaves, he notices Watto has a new slave. A girl about 12. He only knows she’s there because the girl drops something, breaking it. Obi-Wan watches out of the corner of his eye as Watto yanks the girl by her arm and puts his cigarette out on her hand.

All Obi-Wan can think about is how fast a person can burn.

He is different? Isn’t he? He is different than this man who gave his boy nightmares right? He is different than this man he used to curse? Isn’t he?

Of course he is. Of course he is. Most of the time Obi-Wan knows that. Not all of the time, though.

The more he learns, the more questions he has.

Sometimes Obi-Wan will see the old men who hang around, waiting for someone weaker or lower status to exploit. These men always make Obi-Wan think of Palpatine. His mind starts inventing new scenarios of what he could have missed. None of the places his imagination goes are good. But it’s all useless because it’s all done. It’s over.

The wondering is unbearable but at least Anakin is also present in all the joy Tatooine has to offer.

Obi-Wan seeing a group of kids playing a game and laughing and realizing Anakin had taught it to Ahsoka.

Luke smiling just like Anakin.

Obi-Wan coming to understand that love is so often kept secret on Tatooine but is felt so strongly and so truly.

Even just hearing the slang that Anakin used to use as a boy.

Watching families walking together and, for the first time, Obi-Wan understanding how it would be hard to leave that behind.

He finally understands.

Obi-Wan eventually notices how young parents tend to be on Tatooine. He had always dismissed Anakin likening their relationship to a father and son because they were too close in age. He spares a thought for Shmi Skywalker. They were likely around the same age. He feels ancient now but he knows how young he felt just before the war started. Maybe she felt just as young and unsure. Maybe she had to feel much older than she actually was.

So he spares a thought for the mother of his child. A woman he has never met and will never meet but who he owes all of his joy and all of his pain too. He couldn’t bring their child back to her.

What kind of a man kills his brother? What kind of a man abandons his son?

What kind of person leaves someone to burn alive?

The guilt is crushing. How could it not be?

But Obi-Wan has to get up every day anyways. He sees Anakin every day anyways. Maybe that’s the greatest blessing he has.

It’s too late, but he finally understands.

Guys I am so PRO-GUILT its crazy!!! Generally, not just for Obi-Wan Kenobi. I think Obi-Wan’s problem isnt guilt I think it’s shame. Shame is bad. And that is #mytruth

[haydenssweetheart]

fathers day headcanons/blurbs w/ hayden christensenverse...

publishing now bc im in atl this weekend and wont be able to upload!! also, not proofread. i'm drunk. just got back from the bars.

warnings: DDDNE!!! please. thank u. blowjob, stepcest, unprotected piv, incest themes, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, cheating, ddlg themes, subtle power dynamics

stepdad!james kelly: (based on request!)

your mom is on night shift. you watched as she kissed james kelly on the cheek, barely paying him half a mind, telling him what a good stepfather he his. if only she knew. you knew you had a better gift for him. he was laid back on the couch, an arm behind his head, eyes half lidded. you appeared next to him with a sultry smile. "happy fathers day daddy." "m'not you're daddy and you know that." his voice is thick, his eyes trained on the tv, but you know him better than that. "but you know me so well. don't you want my thank you?" your voice turns to a whiny strain, causing james to look you in the eye. he looks defiant against your attempts, but you can see his cock starting to strain against his pants, betraying his words. "think you should go to your room." he mutters. you ignore the rejection, because he was the one who started this, continued it, until your mother started to get curious, and he decided it was too much. now, you're nothing. "she didn't give you anything for father's day. let me at least appreciate you for bein' my daddy." you try, one more time. you nibble your lip. you just want to taste him again. his eyes scan yours, your pathetic, needy soul, before he slips down his jeans and boxers. "fine. suck me." you eagerly get in front of him, placing your hands on his thighs, starting to lick up and down his shaft. you missed this so much, the feel of his cock around your mouth. the sound of his groans. "fuck. baby. just like that." you purse your lips around his tip, tasting his salty precum, before licking a stripe down his cock once more. he stifles a moan, thrusting his hips into your throat, gagging you. "keep going baby, that's it. take this cock. fuck." his eyes are glazed over watching your spit drip down his erection, but you're lost in lust, lost in him. james can't stop spitting out profanity as you go deeper, before he spills down your throat, gripping your head as he pulls you against his cock. "happy fathers day." you murmur again. this time, he accepts it, with a kiss to your forehead. "anything for my girl."

dad!will beeman:

will beeman loved his daughter. maybe more than most dads did. but he saw no problem with it, because it meant you were protected and secure in his eyes. "daddy, i'm going on a date." you said, one night. fathers day, specifically. his face fell. "what?" "a boy in my grade asked me out." you said, sheepishly. your ears turned pink. you looked beautiful, all dressed up in a little yellow sundress. "and you're going on fathers day." will says, sighing. he knows what he's doing. but he can't help it. his little girl, going on a date with a man who's going to ruin her. he can't let that happen. "oh daddy. i didn't even think about that." you breathe out, twisting your lips into a frown. your plump lips, lined with gloss, making them even more attractive. he's only let you call him daddy. and maybe it was wrong. but he liked the way you said it. sometimes he thought you knew how it affected him, you took your time saying it. "you gonna ruin my day angel?" "no, i'll cancel. we can watch a movie." he watches as you set your bag down, like an obdient girl, his cock twitching.

anakin skywalker wanting to be a father:

"gonna fill you up baby. gonna make you a mommy." anakin is driving into you, his cock hitting your cervix, making you hold back a scream each time. something had triggered him earlier in the day to want to breed you like this, fill you up, make you have his child. you aren't entirely sure what, but he hasn't stopped for an hour. his eyes are wild, your pussy leaking, sore, and sensitive. no matter how many times you've begged him for it to be enough, he's insisted he needs it to be more, to make sure you're filled and fertile with him. he's flipped you in every position possible, right now in mating press, his cock driving into you, your legs so far back, you didn't even think it was possible. "ani..." you trail off, the pressure cutting off the oxygen. "wanna see you filled with my cum, swollen with my child." he's panting, you're not even sure he's fully coherent. it's somewhat attractive though, making you squeeze his cock in attraction. "fuck that's it baby. milk me, take my seed." you never imagined anakin to be so filthy. sure, he gets dominant sometimes, but tonight he's beyond what you've seen. you press your lips to his as he continues to drive into you, his pace stuttering as he reaches his final climax, gasping as he releases into you. "it's gonna be twins." he says, confidently.

tag list: @mythicalcowboyatheart @florsials @samanthaw16 @l0singctrl @onbevreesdofficial @velvetdahliaa @mark-renton-luvr

[kingdomhate]

Finding Out You're Pregnant Scenarios!

Anakin Skywalker: You both knew something was wrong when you would wake up at the crack of dawn, vomiting out the contents of last night's dinner, and when you would have mood swings like crazy. At first, you thought it was just a really gnarly stomach bug, but after your period had not come at all, you decided to get a pregnancy test.

You had already known the answer, as it was the most logical reasoning after you missed your period, but just to be sure, you took the test, waited and once the results came back positive, you were elated, in shock, and a little nervous. You didn't know how to tell him, and how you guys could manage take care of a baby what with him being a Jedi and constantly risking his life to protect the galaxy.

Nevertheless, the challenge was one you would accept for the sake of being able to bring in another life, one that you would no doubt love with all your being, and Anakin would as well.

"My love, have you thrown up any today? Fever? Have you eaten?" Anakin bombarded you with questions, concerned and on edge as he always was when you were under the weather. You shook your head, you hadn't thrown up yet and hadn't run a fever, but you had managed to eat earlier. "I ate earlier, Ani." You say softly, as he hugged you to his warm chest, his hands caressing your skin with ghost-like gentleness. "Ani, I.. I have something to tell you." You whisper against his chest, almost inaudible. "What is it, angel?"

His eyebrows furrow, and you can see his eyes harden a bit, protectively. He always assumed the worst.. "I'm.." You pause, taking a deep, long breath. Anakin's expressions grows more tense. "I'm pregnant. That's what the sickness was." You gaze into his deep blue eyes, trying to gauge his reaction as he became motionless after you spoke, no doubt processing or in shock. You searched for fear, hesitation, apprehension, anything, and as he blinked away the last remnants of his dumbfoundedness, he beams, the corners of his lips turning up into a wide grin. He was overjoyed.

Immediately, he kissed you deeply and passionately. When you both broke away, a bit breathless, he leaned to whisper in your ear. "That's awesome, sweetness. I'll be sure to give you and this child everything I have." He promised, kissing your ear and then your lips again. Safe to say, he did everything for you, not wanting you to overexert yourself, or the baby, whatsoever.

Luke Skywalker: Poor Luke, like his father, had thought you had caught something and couldn't stop himself from feeling worried as what started with complaints of not feeling well turned into morning vomiting, and times where he would run to the bathroom, after hearing your moans and groans of pain, to find you sitting by the toilet, curled into a ball.

He felt awful that there was nothing he could do, nothing that could soothe you from feeling horrible. Pretty quickly, you suspected it was pregnancy, and to confirm your suspicions, took a test. You stood in the bathroom, clutching your stomach as you waited for the results. As they came back positive, you were glad it was pregnancy and not something you had caught. Pregnancy with something both you and Luke wanted, talked about and tried a lot for, so of course he was simply overjoyed when you had told him the news. "Luke." You said, cuddled up to him in your guys' cozy, warm bed as he played with your hair and you absentmindedly stroked his skin, a gesture that soothed both of you. "Mm?" He said sleepily, clearly on the verge of dozing off.

"Get up for a second, baby," You tell him and reluctantly, he moves. You move to your side, grab something he couldn't see from the dresser and hold it behind your back. "I have a surprise for you." Luke's eyebrows furrow, confused and curious. When you pull out what you had been hiding, he stares at it blankly and then cries, pulling you into the longest and tightest hug you've ever experienced. It was a baby onesie that Aunt Beru had helped and taught you to knit. "Oh, Y\N! Y\N!" He sniffles, nuzzling into your chest as he hugs you tightly to himself. You chuckle, and hug him back, stroking his sandy locks as you smile to yourself, tears forming in your own eyes. "I know, I know..." You say softly, sniffling as well.

He pulls himself up, and you both gaze into each others eyes. You can practically feel the undeniable joy that is rushing through his veins, and he can feel yours. You both hug each other tightly again and kiss. You had both daydreamed of this day for God knows how long, and for it to actually happen feels like one of the most exuberant, emotional, surreal and awe-inspiring moments of your entire life.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Immediately, the two of you knew exactly what it was. Obi-Wan had known and seen the early signs of pregnancy many times before in the homes of galactic families he had visited and protected countless times for the Jedi Order, and you had familiarized yourself with it from reading books and talking to ladies with children.

Obi-Wan hadn't any words to describe how purely incredible the moment was, and what exactly on gone through his head as it was something that stunned him for a few moments, something that you both knew you wanted but couldn't expect happening. Of course the first thing he does is kiss you until the both of your lungs scream for air, and he whispers how much he's longed for this child, and thought of having a happy, sweet family with you, the love of his life.

"I will devote myself to giving you and our child what they deserve and everything your hearts desire. You absolutely deserve the galaxy, Y\N." He says the following night, a sincere promise deep in his eyes as he caresses your cheek and holds you close. "Obi, what more can I possibly want but just you and this child? I'm sure this child will be the light of our lives, and as long as we can remain happy together, than the galaxy means nothing." You say in return, kissing him deeply, pouring your emotions like liquid into that kiss, for him to feel as well as hear. Never wishing for anything more than happiness and love for the both of you, this child and the ones to come after if you both decide it.

[browneyedgirll]

LIKE A BIRD IN A CAGE (PART THREE) - ANAKIN SKYWALKER

wife!reader x darth vader!anakin skywalker

word count: 1, 187

contents: Small angst, fluff

part one, part two

Just outside your window magma bubbled and lava poured down the cliff side, it was like a beautiful waterfall that you could never touch. You were so taken by the beauty you were unaware of Anakin’s presence. Slowly your attention was pulled as you felt an arm snake around your waist. 

“ Are you enjoying the view? ”

“ It’s really beautiful. ”

Anakin only nodded his hand moving to stroke your side through your dress. Slowly Anakin’s head dropped, resting on your shoulder, his lips finding your neck. 

“ I have to go away for a few days, but I’ll return soon. ”

You only responded with a simple nod, feeling as Anakin slipped away. You listened as his boots clicked against the metal floors quietening as he disappeared down the hall.

You exhaled softly, your body relaxing once you were alone. You were glad to be alone once more, not putting up a facade of love or comfortability, you could simply be you. 

The first day you spent in bed, a few of the maids in the fortress brought food to your bedside. R4-P17 rolled about the area, filling your room with soft beeping noises as she explored. You enjoyed her company more than Anakin’s, she was quiet and polite, she never did anything except zapping the occasional person who displeased her. 

The second day you decided to explore more of your new home. R4-P17 rolled beside you, following the path and pace you set. You walked the long halls of the fortress, you saw the throne room, the dining hall, a meditation chamber, even a command center. The fortress truly was Sith ruled, you wondered how long the construction of a place like this took. Your mind drifted wondering how long ago Anakin had joined the dark side. 

On the third day you began to grow bored, there wasn’t much to do, and with a lava covered planet you couldn’t very well go for a walk outside. You attempted speaking to some of the troopers, but they simply dismissed you, without Anakin you began to grow lonely. There was no one to talk to, no one to eat with, no one to even be around. You craved Anakin’s return more than you care to admit.

-

A week had passed and yet still no word. Anakin had not returned from his journeys. Worry had begun to eat at you, your stomach was in knots, your thoughts kept you up at night, had Anakin been captured, was he killed, where could he be? You laid in bed alone at night, your fingers stroking R4-P17’s cold metallic head, she was the only comfort you had left in this lonely world. You never thought you would miss Anakin like this ever again, but here you lay yearning for his presence back in your life. 

Slowly your eyes drifted closed, your mind going quiet, your body slowly relaxing. You laid in silent stillness only for a moment before your bedroom door opened. 

The light peeked in from the hall, casting a soft glow onto your face. Your eyes opened, spotting a silhouette in the doorway, it was Anakin. Your hands pressed down into your plush mattress bringing you to sit up, but still your eyes remained locked on him. Anakin looked tired beyond his years, like it had been days since his last rest. His hair was tangled and flat, deep bags hung low under his eyes, and fresh cuts laid angry and red across his fair skin. 

“ Anakin? Is that you? ”

“ Go back to sleep. ”

Your arms reached out for Anakin, you didn’t mind his dirtied appearance, or his bruised and injured skin, you just needed him near. Slowly Anakin came to approach you, sitting down at your bedside. Your hands grasped onto his tunic, pulling him down onto the bed beside you. Your arms wrapped around Anakin’s neck, your leg draping over his hip. Your head laid pressed against his chest, Anakin smelt of fire and sweat, but in this moment you couldn’t make yourself care in that moment, all you needed was your husband at your side. 

You woke the next morning alone in bed, the space beside you cold to the touch. You laid in bed, the sheets tangled in your legs, your hairy messy, and your nightgown punched at your hips. Slowly you slipped from your bed, straightening out your nightgown before walking to your bathroom. Gently you combed through your hair, applying makeup gently to your face. 

You walked down the halls of the fortress until you came upon a training room. You pressed your ear to the door, listening for who could be inside. Slowly you pushed open the door peeking inside. There Anakin stood red light saber in hand, his bare chest was heaving, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your thoughts were shallow as you stared on, your eyes catching on the veins pulsing in his arms, you swore he couldn’t have looked more attractive if he tried. 

Anakin sensed your presence the moment you pressed your ear to the door, but what was the harm in putting on a show for his wife? He let you stare on for a few more minutes before “ noticing ” you.

“ Came to see me? ”

“ You were gone when I woke up. ”

Anakin withdrew the beam of his saber, setting it aside before walking over to you.

“ I apologize, I had to start training. ”

“ It’s okay, I don’t mind watching you. ”

“ Well I’ve finished for the day, so I’m all yours. ”

A smile crept up your lips as you looked up at Anakin. Slowly your arms slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck, you pulled him close, your lips almost touching. 

“ I missed you when you were gone. ”

“ Then I’ll never leave you behind again. ”

Your lips met in a gentle kiss, your hands slid up cupping his face in your hands. You missed this, you missed the feeling of his lips upon yours. You missed these moments of closeness, you missed your husband and he missed you. 

-

You laid in bed together that evening, your bodies tangled underneath your bedsheets. Anakin’s fingers slid up and down the length of your spine, his lips pressed gentle kisses to your cheek and neck, he needed you to know he cherished you. Anakin needed you to know you were his queen and he, your king. He loved you more than life itself and he would do anything in his power to prove that to you. There would be no more mistakes, he would never take you for granted again. 

-

You made do with your new home, beginning to flourish on the desolate hellscape with Anakin at your side. Occasionally you joined Anakin on his journeys to other planets throughout the galaxy. He showed you the beauties of other worlds, all the while he kept his business there separate, leaving you none the wiser. It wasn’t ideal for him to deceive you, but work had to be done, and you needed to be happy. As long as you loved him again, that was all that mattered in his life.