Pairing : Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader
CW: 18+, smut! minors DNI. p in v, protected sex, riding for the first time.
The second you sink down too fast, Anakin knows.
You wince, not enough to stop, just enough to power through it, and before you can even adjust, his hand shoots out and grabs your waist.
You freeze. Blink. Breath hitching.
“Off,” he says again, more clipped this time. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t raise his voice. But the tone? It makes your whole body lock up.
He lifts you off his cock, holds you there, just hovering, just out of reach, and stares up at you like he’s trying not to lose it.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
You swallow. “I—I was just trying to—”
“No.” His jaw flexes. “You were trying to rush through the stretch again. You were trying to take all of me before your body was ready. Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”
You feel small. Exposed. Still holding onto his shoulders, your thighs shaking in the air.
“I wanted to make you feel good,” you say quietly.
His expression darkens. Not angry. Just wrecked.
“Baby,” he breathes, still holding you there, voice rough. “Do you really think I want to feel good at the cost of you?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
He exhales sharply through his nose and lowers you back down, not onto him. Onto his thigh. Onto safety.
He cups your face in both hands, his thumb dragging along your jaw with frustrating gentleness, and his voice drops lower. Dead serious.
“You don’t do that for me. Ever. Do you understand?”
“You try to impress me by hurting yourself again,” he whispers, “and we’re done.”
Your chest tightens. “Wait—”
“I’m not saying that to scare you,” he says, cutting you off. “I’m saying that because it would kill me to watch you do that again. I need you to know that I’m not here for some picture perfect performance. I’m here because you’re mine. Because I want you.”
Silence. Just the sound of your breathing. Your hands tighten on his chest.
“Say something,” he murmurs.
“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
He groans like the words hit something deep in his chest and then pulls you forward, pressing your forehead to his.
“You think riding me slow, messy, real—that’s disappointing?” he breathes. “No, baby. That’s intimate. That’s what I fucking crave.”
You’re still in his lap. Still bare. Still trembling
And when he finally presses you back down, slow, controlled, it feels different this time. You sink onto him at his pace. With his hands steadying you. His voice in your ear.
“That’s it. That’s better,” he pants. “Feel that? That’s what happens when you trust me.”
You nod, gasping, adjusting your hips. And his grip never leaves your waist.
“Now ride me,” he says, hoarse and low. “The way I need you to.”
You grind, rock, move how he showed you and he lets you take it, lets you own it, until you’re crying his name and falling apart in his arms, your body shaking around him.
Only then does he fuck up into you, groaning into your mouth as he finishes inside the condom, both of you completely lost in each other.
