#hayden replies

[bisexualeddies]

i don't care how hot he is, if my father figure is on the verge of death and my older boyfriend: dismisses my worry because my shitty biodad is still alive, makes it about his own daddy issues (that he claims not to have five seconds later because god forbid he admit to actually vulnerability) and then cracks a joke about hoping i have trauma because it would make me freaky in bed or whatever, i'm turning tail and running away. never mind the fact that plenty of people with daddy issues are entirely vanilla and plenty of people have great relationships with both their parents and are kinky little freaks... buck has mommy issues too and it never gave him a mommy kink.

i will say that i do not like it when the creators of media interact with the fandom but in this instance i will have to accept it because tim minear already cleared it up: it was buck who moved the conversation towards flirting knowing what the obvious joke was there and tommy only matched his energy

besides, it's obvious the joke wasn't even about any actual daddy kink, it was to make fun of the stereotype that people with daddy issues are attracted to older men and tommy is at least seven years older than buck.

i don't like saying this but you guys really need to go out and touch some grass. like, it's okay if that would be a no-go for you in a relationship but buck is not you and clearly he was into it so your own personal feelings don't matter 🫶 he's a grown man who can establish his own sexual boundaries with his boyfriend and also he's not real

[beckyslynchs]

You're so annoying

i've done absolutely nothing for twenty four hours 🧍‍♀️

[hayden-christensen]

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN Attends a re-release screening of 'Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith' for it's 20th anniversary | April 25, 2025.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

stop i loved your hockey player!anakin headcannons sm and i was wondering if you could write smut where hockey player!anakin takes out his anger on reader after he lost the game

hope you have a great rest of your day!!

ANAKIN SKYWALKER’s hips snapped forward, his movements gaining a frantic, desperate rhythm as he hovered over you, damp curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. Cheeks painted in the dark shade of pink, face scrunched in a mix of frustration, and his words spilled out like a frustrated rant more than anything else.

“You wouldn’t believe the absolute morons I had to play with today,” he muttered breathlessly, voice gravelly. He thrusted into you harder, only making your back arch involuntarily. “The new guy? Couldn’t keep the puck on his stick to save his life. Cost us two--fucking--goals.” Each word was emphasized with a particularly sharp thrust, leaving you gasping, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down.

“God,” he groaned, rhythm faltering for a moment before he adjusted his angle back, making you whimper. “And don’t even get me started on the ref. Blowing calls left and right--how does someone that stupid get hired?" His hand gripped the headboard "Should’ve handed him a goddamn whistle from a cereal box.”

You tried to respond - really tried - but all of your words were swallowed in your throat as his hips moved faster, the small room filling with the obscene sound of skin slapping. His lips parted again, a broken groan leaving them

“Ani,” you whimpered, reaching up to cling to his broad shoulders again. His skin was slick, his body practically shaking with adrenaline.

He dropped his forehead down and he began to pant, out of any air in his lungs “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m ranting, aren’t I?” His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your swollen, reddish lip. “It’s just--being here with you? Listening to you moan my name like that? It’s the only thing that keeps me sane after a day like that.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[myloveonherknees]

@/mothercain. “canada, i’m coming for u” twitter, 1 oct 2021.

[anon-188]

Could you write something like really angst with aj where like he went on a heist and she thought he was dead and like he apologises on his knees and then some like soft slow smut where he just keeps kissing her and apologises???? Thx

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: angst ❤️‍🩹 | wc: 2.3k

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional hurt/comfort, implied (but false) character death, panic attack symptoms, bruised!AJ (light), heavy angst, crying, soft!AJ, unprotected sex, heist/robbery mention, gun violence (briefly mentioned).

a/n: if you were trying to emotionally ruin me, congrats—you succeeded. but seriously, thank you so much for requesting this!! i hope you like it <3

also… wrote this while listening to code blue by the-dream. yes, i cried 😭

It was a typical Tuesday morning.

You had your shift at the diner—the one just a few blocks from the apartment you shared with AJ. Same regulars, same buzz of the overhead lights, same smell of burnt coffee and old grease that clung to your clothes no matter how many times you washed them.

And AJ, well… he had a heist planned. Bank job. No details. There never were. That was part of the deal. 

He just kissed you—a little longer than usual. Told you he’d be careful and that he’d see you later. No real goodbye. He didn’t believe in those.

And of course, you didn’t love what he did—hated that it was unpredictable, that it came with too many unknowns and too many risks. But AJ had never given you a reason to doubt him.

He always promised to come home—and he did. Every time.

By now, it was midday. The diner was packed, lunch rush in full swing. Plates clattered in the kitchen, silverware scraped across plates, and someone at the counter was complaining about their toast being cold. You were in the middle of pouring a fresh round of coffee when the flicker of movement on the mounted TV caught your eye.

You glanced up—just for a second.

Breaking News flashed across the screen in bold red. You almost looked away, used to the noise of it by now. But then you saw it.

Outside of a bank. Police cars. Barricades.

A robbery.

Your stomach dropped.

You grabbed a rag and started clearing a nearby table, trying to play it cool as you leaned toward one of your coworkers. “Can you turn that up?” you asked, your voice low, like you were just curious.

She didn’t question it. Just grabbed the remote and nudged the volume up.

The anchor’s voice filled the room, crisp and too calm.

“We’re following a developing situation in downtown LA, where a five-man crew has attempted to rob First National Bank. Law enforcement has confirmed that the suspects are still inside, currently refusing to surrender. There are reports of multiple hostages. No demands have been made.”

Five.

Your heart gave a painful thud. AJ. Gordon. John. Jesse. Jake.

No. No. It wasn’t them. Couldn’t be. 

There were a lot of five-man crews. A lot of banks. You clung to that logic like it could hold back the panic rising in your throat.

You stacked dishes with shaking hands.

“Coming in now… it appears shots have been fired. Officers are returning fire. We’ve just received confirmation—open exchange between the suspects and police.”

The footage shifted. Camera zoomed on gunfire erupting from the bank entrance, officers ducking behind vehicles, smoke and shouts and flashing lights in the distance.

Your movements slowed, heart hammering, as the anchor continued.

“We’re hearing now that the crew has been taken down. All five suspects have been neutralized. We repeat—all five suspects are down. No hostages harmed.”

The stack of dishes slipped from your hands and hit the floor hard, porcelain shattering into jagged pieces that rang throughout the diner. The sound turned heads, but you hardly noticed. You stood there for a second, frozen, until your coworker rushed over to help.

“I’ve got it,” they said gently, crouching down with a towel, but their voice felt far away.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, though the word hardly formed on your tongue.

Your body was already moving before you registered the decision. You pushed through the swinging door to the back, grabbed your phone with fumbling hands, and bolted through the alley exit. The warm air hit you in a suffocating way, but you didn’t stop. You dialed his number with shaking fingers.

Once. No answer.

You tried again.

Still nothing.

By the third call, the tears came—hot, blinding, unstoppable. You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, willing it to connect, trying to hold yourself together in the space between each ring. But the signs weren’t looking good. Not this time.

A few hours had gone by, and with each passing minute, your heart broke a little more. You sat on the couch, eyes flicking between your phone and the TV, trying to focus on the news, hoping for something—anything—but nothing new had come in. Just recycled footage. The same looping clips of the scene. The same headlines. 

He would’ve called by now.

You knew that like you knew your own name. He always did, even when he couldn’t say much. Even when he knew he shouldn’t. He always found a way to let you know he was okay.

But this time… nothing.

It felt like your body had finally caved under the weight of it all. You doubled over where you sat, arms wrapping around your middle like you could hold yourself together. But the sobs still came, raw and heaving, until your whole frame shook. You pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, but it barely helped. You didn’t want to fall apart, but it didn’t feel like a choice anymore.

And it was like that for hours. One minute, your tears came soft and silent, slipping down your cheeks in slow surrender. The next, you were gripping a pillow and gasping through it, the ache rising too fast, too sharp. Sometimes you’d pace the apartment, aimless and angry. Other times you’d just stare at the door, wishing it would open.

The sun eventually dipped below the skyline, the light shifting. Outside, the world kept going, headlights flashing past, voices trailing down the street, but inside—your world had stopped. 

Just like that. 

Hours later, somewhere, somehow, you’d found the strength to take a shower—an attempt at a distraction, at pretending things were okay for just a few minutes. But nothing could quiet the ache lodged in your chest. Nothing could stop your mind from spinning.

And then—

A noise. Loud. Something clattering.

You stilled, water streaming down your back, breath caught.

Another sound followed. Something heavier.

Without thinking, you twisted the knob off and stepped out, water dripping from your skin as you grabbed the nearest towel. You barely dried off, too focused on the pounding in your ears. Your hands trembled as you pulled your clothes on, movements fast and uneven.

You opened the bathroom door slowly, careful not to make a sound. The space was quiet. Eerily so. You crossed the room, heart thudding in your chest as you reached for the bedroom door.

Just as you opened it, you were met with a figure on the other side.

AJ.

You let out a soft yelp, startled by how suddenly he appeared.

His hands came up instantly, breathless. “It’s me—hey, it’s me,” he said, voice low, urgent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was drenched in sweat and dirt. Clothes disheveled, shirt clinging to him. His jaw was bruised. There was blood on his knuckles.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Then the tears hit.

Your shoulders shook before you could stop them, and your knees almost buckled as the relief finally broke through. You didn’t even realize how hard you were crying until AJ’s hands reached for you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, murmuring apologies over and over between shallow breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You clung to him for a beat, the shock keeping your limbs stiff before your hands pushed at his chest, not to shove him away—just to breathe, to see him.

“Where were you? What happened?” you asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.

AJ pulled back slightly, eyes red-rimmed, jaw tight. “The job went south. Another crew showed up. Same bank.”

You blinked, confusion crashing into you. “But the news… they said five. I thought—”

“It wasn’t us,” he cut in, shaking his head hard. “It wasn’t us.”

Tears kept falling, faster now, sharp and wet across your cheeks. You hit his chest once—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“Why didn’t you call?” Your voice cracked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I lost my phone, baby.” His voice dropped, rough and hoarse. “It was a fucking mess. I’ve been running for hours. The cops were everywhere—I just—I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, another wave of tears slipping free before you could stop them. “I… I thought you were dead,” you whispered, voice wavering as the words finally spilled out.

AJ’s brows furrowed, the pain in your voice hitting him like a punch. You saw it flash through his expression—tight, sharp, like he’d give anything to take the last few hours from you.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Again. Like the words weren’t enough but they were all he had.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. The tears kept coming, harder now, burning your cheeks as your body started to fold in on itself.

That’s when AJ dropped to his knees in front of you.

His hands found your hips gently, thumbs skimming over the hem of your shirt. He looked up at you, eyes dark with remorse.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said again, more desperate now. “I swear—I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t crying. But it was written all over him—in the way his hands pressed into your sides as if he were anchoring himself to you.

The moment he saw another tear slide down your cheek, AJ reached for your wrist, pulling you gently toward him.

He drew you in until your body tilted forward, leaning into him, your hands braced lightly on his shoulders. He didn’t let go.

"Don't ever do that again," you said, the words catching in your throat as the tears finally began to slow.

“I mean it.” Your voice trembling with the leftover fear that hadn’t yet left your body. “I don’t want to—I can’t—I thought I lost you.”

AJ stood, cupping your face in his hands. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed his forehead to yours as he murmured, “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

You nodded, lightly.

“I’m here,” he said again, quieter this time. Like it had to be said twice to make it real.

You didn’t answer. You just leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that said everything you couldn’t.

His lips moved slowly against yours, warm and weighted, thumb brushing along your jaw as the kiss deepened.

You pulled him closer, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. Your body pressed into his like you were trying to make up for all the time you thought you’d lost.

He moved with you, guiding you back into the bedroom, never breaking the kiss for more than a breath.

There, in the soft light, you tugged at his shirt while his hands slipped beneath yours, fingertips gliding over your skin. Clothes came off between kisses, slow and tender. Each movement was careful, but full of urgency. Not rushed, just needed.

His shirt hit the floor. Yours followed. His fingers grazed your hips as he helped ease your pants down, and you reached for his belt, working it loose while he pressed his lips to your shoulder.

As you moved to the bed, he laid you down gently, your back sinking into the sheets like they had been waiting for you both. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as AJ climbed in after you, settling between your legs. 

He kissed you again, lips lingering before he trailed them down, warm and reverent. He dropped a line of kisses to your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest. You felt his breath against your skin, felt the way he paused at your stomach, his hands smoothing over your sides with a touch that was apologetic.

When he moved lower, intent clear in the way he kissed just above your thigh, you stopped him, fingers threading into his hair.

He looked up at you, eyes soft, searching your face.

“I just want you,” you said, your voice quiet but sure.

He nodded, then began to crawl back up your body, never breaking eye contact.

His lips met yours again, deep and full, as he reached down between you, lining himself up.

He entered you slowly, letting your body take him inch by inch. Your hands slid over his ink-covered back, nails slightly digging in. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he sank into you, a shaky breath tumbling out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words barely brushing your skin as he hovered over you, voice rough with guilt.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing your chest to his, your mouth to his neck. You didn’t need to speak. Your body said it for you.

Your back arched to meet him as he rolled into you with rhythm, dragging against every tender place inside you. 

He filled you completely with each pass, pulling out just enough to make you feel the loss before sliding back in, deeper, smoother, with a groan he buried into the side of your neck.

His hands never left you. One stayed on your waist, holding you. The other slid along your ribs, your breast, your neck—touches that soothed as much as they worshipped.

“I’m sorry,” he said again between thrusts, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was—I was just trying to come back to you. I’m sorry.” 

His hand slid up, cradling your jaw as he kissed you between movements—sweet, aching kisses that landed on your lips, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

You felt the apology in every push of his body against yours. He was deep, slow, focused only on you. On making it up to you. On being here. Fully.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his pace stayed steady, his breath catching every time you tightened around him.

Every thrust was a quiet plea. Every kiss, a promise.

He was here.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

tag list: @alealuvshayden @haydenchristensenisbae @sythethecarrot @apocalyptichero @ggyuslovie @anak1ns-wife @5secondsofmoxley @f1wh0recom @purplerose291 @i5hyv @endairachristensen26 @mvst4far

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, just let me know (comment or message me). i’m happy to do it! :)

links: masterlist

[ethelcainscloset]

I have been looking for this jackets like crazy, do you think you can help me please? 🙏

ethel cain wears vintage snap-on canvas jacket

[kenobster]

Watching Higher Ground right now. Falling hard for Scott (is anyone surprised). More gifs of him? Please? Only if you want to, of course! ❤️

I learned how to make GIFs purely because there were so few for Scott, ahhh, so I'm really glad to hear someone else has found joy in them. I hope you have enjoyed the show! And I totally will be making more GIFs, always. XD Anyway, a little fairy told me you liked Scott & Juliette, so here are some I made as a present for you. 🥰

~ Scott Barringer & Juliette Waybourne — A beginning, middle, and end. ~

[vitalphenomena]

@petitsdieu

BELARILIA—AT LEAST ITS ABOVE GROUND DESERT BIOME—HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME. Thanks to the atmosphere's nearly parasitic nature, he's thirsty, reminded of a childhood of nonstop basic needs never to be satisfied under unforgiving desert suns.

He tries not to think about home like that. A mother's love—his mother's love—usually consumes and brightens all other memories.

Anyway. He's grateful to be in one of the underground structures.

On a mission without his master, he shouldn't be letting his mind wander at all—but avoiding sentimentality, subconscious impulses—that's never been his thing.

"On behalf of the Jedi Order, I thank you for granting this audience." So fucking formal. He hates this shit, sometimes. "—on behalf of myself, as well. I wish our circumstances were—not what they are. I'm sure your brother's absence hasn't been easy, for the entire House of Ora."

[chicagocubsreactions]

LMAO not your icon being keegan in the bullpen

Until this team gets over .500, Hayden in jail in the bullpen is going to be the perpetual mood.

[bisexualeddies]

also i'm literally autistic and tommy doesn't have a monotone voice because he's autistic, he has a monotone voice because lou ferrigno literally cannot act.

i'm not saying tommy is autistic, i'm saying much of the language used to criticise tommy as a character has an ableist tone to it

i don't know if you guys know this but you can, in fact, dislike a character without harassing the actor who plays him. like, if the only reason you don't like him is because he isn't the man you wanted buck to fuck that's okay, you don't need to come up with pseudo intellectual and pseudo moral reasons for it. just be honest about it

[beckyslynchs]

oh no! i’m sorry we’ve never interacted 💔 my name is eris i would love to get to know you more if you’re interested 💜💜💜🫶

i would love to! i really like your vibe and think we could be friends 🫶 i don't know if we have many things in common tho :(

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: hockey player!popular!anakin x f!reader

ANGSTY-FLUFF ❦ (tbh dont know how to name it even 🧍‍♀️)

IT WAS REQUESTED!! But mostly just more hockey ani so i brought smth more 😏😏

At the same too loud, too lame party where people made out against every wall, puked in every bathroom, Padmé freaking Amidala watched with a little smirk to crossing her lips, how you left ANAKIN SKYWALKER's side for whatever reason. Maybe to get a drink, maybe to use the already disgustingly smelling bathroom; it didn't matter. As soon as she saw an opportunity, she used it. She cornered him by the kitchen. Lip gloss shining in its glittery pigment, matching to her clothes nails sharper than her own glare. Her arms were crossed like she was some tragic Greek goddess dumped by her mortal lover. Well, in her eyes, she indeed was.

"Hey, Ani."

He didn’t look up from his phone. "It's Anakin."

Her mouth twitched just for a second, before she reseted that honey-sweet voice. If he was going to play this game, she will too. Using all her dirty moves if she has to “You really think dating her is cute?”

Now he did look up. But his expression was flat, nothing soft or smug she was used to during her relationship. His eyebrow barely raised themselves from their usual spot.

“She’s not even clean, Anakin,” Padmé pressed, fake sympathy dripping from every syllable. “I heard from Molly—who sits behind her in math—that her hair literally smells like old books and, like, dog shampoo or something.”

A brief pause. He blinked. She pushed harder, lips curling in a fake sweet, so deeply concerned little smile. “I mean, I’m just worried about you.." her hand shot up, lightly touching his arm "You deserve someone... clean. Someone who doesn’t wear the same hoodie three times a week.”

Anakin slowly put his phone away into his pocket to grab Padmé's venomous touch away from him. After that, not even a word left his mouth as he simply as that left her side. Just walked off. Like she was nothing, like she couldn't just ruin anyone's life in school, like she wasn't one of the brightest student who achieved more than anyone.

she quickly run up to him, pushing past people “She has lice, Ani. Like, actual bugs. I swear I saw her scratching behind her ear—”

"You're reaching, Padmé."

She stopped. “What?”

Anakin leaned against the random doorframe with his arms crossed now, just as unimpressed as he sounded from the beginning. “I’ve had my hands in her hair every day this week. If she had lice, I’d have lice. And last I checked?” He tilted his head with a grin. Ugh, talking about such stuff was as embarrassing as watching his friend try to win a girl over “Still clean.”

Padmé recoils a bit, jaw tightening. But she's far from done. If anyone has enough of seeing the anakin skywalker touching, kissing, walking near his new girlfriend, it's Padmé. Sure, she was the one to break up with him for a quick little fling with another hot, a little less popular, boy but that was not the main problem here. Anakin Skywalker was. Or rather, his ability to move on too quickly for her liking. He was supposed to beg, to fall to his knees and ask for another chance. But he did the opposite. And that is what Padmé will not stand for.

You should’ve stayed in the kitchen.

You told yourself that three minutes ago when you lost sight of Anakin. The music was too loud, the house too packed, and your cup of whatever soda-and-vodka mess Anakin wanted was already warm in your hand. So when you turned the corner to the living room, weaving through half-drunk students and stumbling couples, you didn’t expect your heart to sink.

There he was. By the drinks table. With her. Her fake laugh. Her lip gloss reapplied for the thousands time as if she was ready to make out with another boy. Her hand brushed Anakin’s arm like she still owned it. Like you were the guest in his life—not her.

You slowed your pace. The music drowned out their words, but you saw her lean in. Her eyes sparkled, lips curved into something wicked as soon as her eyes caught yours. You could tell by her body language—she was planting venom. Seeds of doubt. The kind that crawled into your brain and whispered you don’t deserve him. you’re not enough, that at the end of the day, its all fake; and that he is pretending to win her heart again.

And before you could even blink further, maybe walk up to them, smoothly brush it off - she kissed him. Right there. Full mouth with her fingers curling into his collar like she was still allowed to.

Your expression fell to the floor, a sudden freezing coming down on you. But it seemed not only on you. Anakin froze too. All wide-eyed. Stunned. But at the same time not moving. He didn’t push her off. And it was too late. It didn’t matter if he kissed her back or not. It was already too late.

You turned on your heel, throat closing up. Cup shaking in your hand until it hit the floor with a dull clink. Shoved through the crowd, trying to keep the burn in your chest from leaking out of your eyes. You barely made it to the porch before the tears threatened to fall.

You told yourself this was fake.

Because this was fake. So why did it feel like someone had stabbed your lungs? And why did you want to scream his name like it meant something?

“Wait.”

You didn’t. Well, at least not at first. Definitely not when the screen door slammed behind you. Not when you heard his shoes hit the pavement.

“Hey— stop, stop, just—wait.” His fingers finally wrapped around your wrist, halting you halfway down the sidewalk. You yanked your arm back instantly, the burn of betrayal crawling up your spine.

“Don’t touch me.” you snarled

Anakin froze. Breathless. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline—but none of it dulled the panic in his eyes. “It wasn’t—She kissed me. I didn’t—”

“Save it.” Your voice cracked and you hated that. You hated how weak you sounded, how your chest trembled like he hadn’t just broken every fake little rule you’d set together. Or maybe it wasnt so fake after all..

“It didn’t mean anything.”

You laughed; bitter, low. The kind that made his face fall completely when you turned around to face him. “Of course it didn’t. You’re not dating me, remember? This is fake. Everything’s fake. So of course it didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not what I—”

“No, really,” you bit, backing away from him, “because you stood there and let her. You didn’t even flinch.”

“I didn’t kiss her back!” he barked, frustration bleeding through now. “I was frozen—what was I supposed to do? Shove her to the floor? Start a scene?”

You stepped closer, jaw clenched. “You were supposed to choose me, Anakin. Even if it’s fake, you were supposed to look like you gave a damn.”

Silence. He stared at you. The boy everyone wanted. The so called hockey team god. The smug smirk gone, cocky confidence replaced by something terrifying: guilt. Real, devastating guilt.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered. “You dragged me into your mess, okay?. Your ex, your games, your shitty reputation. And for what? So you could stand there and let her humiliate me in front of half the damn school? Thats why you brought me here? Am i not enough of embarrassment for you, Mr. Perfect?”

He opened his mouth—but there was nothing to say. Yet the silence he gave you, was enough of an answer for you. It made you realize things that clouded your mind for past few weeks. It cleared everything out. As much as you enjoyed being Anakin’s (fake) girlfriend, the message was clear - you'd never outshine Padmé Amidala. Not when Anakin saw her as his sun.

“I’m done, Skywalker. Game over.”

Days had passed since that awful day. In school, you were a punching bag once more; a reason to be laughed at. You got used to it; after all, it wasn't the first time in your life people treated you such way.

Were you mad at Anakin? You preferred a word disappointed, broken, betrayed. You gazed blankly at the paper pinned to your wall; no attachments, no feelings - it said. Underneath, at the end of it all, yours and anakin's signature. How pity - you thought. Who would have known that romantic comedies are right? That even if you're pretending, you still catch feelings?

It was already raining when the knock knocked the thoughts out of you. At first you didn’t even move. Just stared at your desk, the biology book still wide open—pointless now, because there’s no way you could focus with everything spiraling like it was.

Another knock. Harder.

You sighed, dragging yourself toward the door, expecting maybe your neighbor or one of your parents coming back from their anniversary trip -

But your breath stalled. He was standing there. Soaked to the bone. Hoodie clinging to his frame, rain dripping from the ends of his messy, dark-blond curls. His eyes were wild, unblinking.

Anakin Skywalker looked like he’d been through hell.

“Open the door,” he said, voice rough. Strained.

You didn’t. You stepped out and slammed it behind you instead, tugging your cardigan tighter around your body. “What do you want?”

His eyes softened as soon as he saw you; they scanned your face, going down to your body, then up to meet your eyes. “You left.” His voice cracked. “You didn’t even let me explain.”

“I didn’t need an explanation, Anakin! I saw it. With my own eyes!”

“She kissed me!” he shouted, stepping toward you as his emotions took over. “I didn’t want it— I didn’t even fucking see it coming!”

“And yet,” you laughed bitterly, “you didn’t stop her. And then you stood there, like a goddamn statue, while I watched it happen!”

He ran a hand through his drenched hair, pacing like a caged animal. “You think I didn’t want to rip her off me?! You think I didn’t feel like shit the second I saw your face?!”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared!” he yelled.

The rain poured harder. Thunder cracked somewhere distant. You blinked, confused. “Scared of what?”

He looked at you like he was unraveling. Like this was the last thing he ever thought he’d admit. His voice dropped, raw and real. “Scared of losing you.”

That shut you up. Anakin took a breath in. “It started fake. Yeah. But it’s not fake anymore. Not for me. Not when you walk into a room and my chest hurts. Not when someone else talks to you and I want to rearrange their face. Not when you touch me and I forget my own goddamn name.”

Your lips parted, heart hammering in your chest, milion butterflies ready to erupt.

“I didn’t know how to say it before,” he went on, voice trembling, begging, “but I—fuck, I need you, okay?. I need you like oxygen, like my heart won’t fucking beat if I don’t hear your voice. And I’m not gonna pretend I can just—go back to the way things were before you.”

Silence; just the rain, falling between you. You stared at him. At the boy who once teased you for being a bookworm, who now stood drenched and desperate on your front porch, ruined by his own feelings.

“Say it again,” you said.

He blinked, now being confused. “What?”

“Say it again,” you breathed, voice almost lost in the storm, in the scene of it all. “But say it like you mean it.”

His jaw clenched. His chest rose. And then he surged forward, grabbed your face, and kissed you like the world was ending. When he pulled back, he whispered against your lips, “I love you, y/n..and im sorry i fucked up, and im sorry it went that way but fuck - i truly love you, alright? I dont want Padmé. I dont want anyone. Yes, at first it was about her but you turned my world upside down and i just--i just love you. I want you. All of you."

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[myloveonherknees]

@/WOLFDRAWN. “ethel salem” twitter, 4 april 2021.

[anon-188]

Can I have another request pls? Just ignore it if you don't like my idea. A smut of aj x f!reader, fingering while he drive 🤭💞 the f!reader wearing a skirt and he loves that

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut ❤️‍🔥 | wc: 1.8k

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), possessive behavior, soft dom!AJ, fingering (while driving), light alcohol use, semi-public car sex, strong language.

a/n: thank you for further fueling my obsession with this man, as if i wasn’t down bad enough 😩

but seriously, thank you so much for sending this in!! <3 i hope you enjoy it :)

Tonight, you had a friend’s birthday party—one of those nights that always stretched long with drinks, dancing, and just the right amount of chaos. AJ was coming too. He usually didn’t mind these things. He’d post up at the bar, drink in hand, watching you move through the crowd with that smirk that said he liked having something everyone else wanted but couldn’t touch.

But tonight was different.

He was on edge, and maybe it started the second you stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, pausing with a quiet, innocent question.

“Does this look okay?”

Black top. High heels. That mini skirt. His favorite—the one he always said he liked but never really explained why. 

His jaw tensed as he looked at you, eyes dragging from the curve of your thighs up to the soft sliver of skin between your shirt and waistband.

He was hard just from that. From looking.

He didn’t even answer you. Just sat there, eyes heavy, tracking every movement you made.

“Is that a yes?” you teased, stepping closer with the smallest grin.

That was all he needed.

AJ reached out, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you in until you were standing between his legs. His hands didn’t hesitate. They didn’t wander either. Wander implied aimlessness—and there was nothing aimless about the way he touched you. His palms moved with purpose, gliding up your sides before settling at your waist, then lower. Once he reached your thighs, his touch changed. Grew rougher. More possessive.

He squeezed, rubbed, touched like he was working something out of himself with every motion. One hand left you only long enough to push your top up, just enough to expose your stomach. He kissed the skin there, slow but intense, like he couldn’t help himself. His hand returned to grip your hip, then the other slid between your legs.

Your gasp came instantly.

His fingers rubbed you through your panties, the pressure exactly where you needed it. Always too good. Always just right. Your knees almost buckled, but he kept you steady, held you exactly where he wanted.

But you didn’t have time for this. Not right now.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, fingers gripping lightly even as his pace picked up, each stroke of his hand between your legs faster than the last.

“AJ,” you breathed out, struggling to find your voice. “We can’t. We’re already late.”

“I don’t care,” he muttered, not even hesitating, not with the way your body responded to his touch. His fingers dragged another moan out of you like it was too easy.

You laughed, breathless. “I know you don’t. But—fuck.”

“Please. We have to go,” you said, voice barely holding together.

That made him pause. Of course it did. Please was the word. The one that always stopped him in his tracks when it came from your lips.

His hand stilled on your thigh. Then he looked up, eyes dark and brimming with frustration.

“Later,” you promised, leaning down to kiss him. It was risky, always was, but this time he let you pull away. He didn’t grab you. Didn’t stop you.

But the look on his face said enough. He would let you leave now, sure. But later? He was going to collect.

The night stretched on in a blur of flashing lights, pulsing music, and too-sweet drinks. You and your friends danced from one packed nightclub to the next, arms wrapped around each other, laughter spilling louder with every round. 

AJ was there, playing his part. He hovered close, his hand occasionally resting at your lower back or brushing your hip. He nodded along to conversations, raised his glass when someone toasted, even cracked a smile once or twice. But you saw through it. 

His jaw stayed tight most of the night, only easing when he stepped out for a smoke or brought a glass of whiskey to his lips. He didn’t say much, didn’t cause a scene—but he was pissed. That much was clear. And his silence? You knew it was for you. He was holding back.

You told yourself he’d be fine, that he just needed a minute. But then it happened.

A guy—some stranger who apparently thought confidence made him immune to consequences—bought you not one, but two drinks. Hand-delivered, no less. Right there with AJ standing at your side.

AJ's body tensed beside you as he shifted his weight like he was ready to move. To do what, you weren’t sure. But judging by the flash in his eyes, it wasn’t going to be subtle.

And that was it. That was your signal.

You thanked the guy politely and set the drinks down untouched, already turning toward AJ. He hadn’t said a word, but you didn’t need him to. You slid your hand into his and leaned in close.

“Let’s go.”

It wasn’t a question.

And truthfully, you were ready. Your buzz had dulled, the party haze fading into exhaustion. You were danced out, smiled out, done. But more than that, you didn’t want to keep watching AJ pretend. Pretend he was fine, pretend this night hadn’t been wearing him down from the start.

Because deep down, you already knew what was bothering him. You could see it in the way he gripped the steering wheel on the drive back to his place. 

The car was dead silent as it moved down the interstate, headlights cutting through the dark. AJ’s sour mood filled every inch of space, heavy and unmoving. He hadn’t uttered a word since you left the club.

So you leaned over, slow and easy, letting your hand find the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair, scratching lightly at the base. Soothing. Testing.

“You gonna stay mad all night?” you asked, soft and teasing, lips tugging into a little smile as you glanced up at him.

He didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead, eyes on the road. 

You sighed, though there was still a small smile playing on your lips. Your hand drifted lower, gently reaching for his right hand. You guided it away from the wheel, pulling it toward you until his palm met your thigh. Still nothing.

But then his fingers twitched. He started to rub small circles into your skin, his thumb dragging lazy lines. A light grip followed, just enough to feel the weight of his hand again.

You leaned in a little closer, letting your voice drop just enough.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” you said.

You didn’t wait for a reply. You moved his hand beneath your skirt, placing it exactly where you knew he wanted to be.

AJ exhaled, slow and rough, the sound laced with a quiet hum, low in his chest.

His grip on the wheel flexed, but he didn’t stop you. His fingers pressed against you, slow at first, rubbing over your panties. You were already warm. Already soaked. His touch only made it worse.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking from the road to your thighs, spread just enough in the passenger seat. His fingers moved in tight circles, pushing into the fabric, dragging moans from your lips in quick succession.

You rolled your hips forward, riding his hand as much as you could without pulling him off the road. Your breath hitched, soft at first, then sharper.

“Lift up for me,” he said, voice rough with restraint.

You did, just a little, just enough. 

He slipped his fingers past the waistband, under the lace, and straight into you. Two fingers, deep and unrelenting, curling just right. You gasped, eyes fluttering closed, head dropping back against the headrest. 

As his pace quickened, one of your hands reached blindly, gripping the edge of the seat beneath you, mouth open and moaning his name with each pass. Your thighs parted wider across the seat as his fingers curled again—and you couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your orgasm crashed into you hard and loud—back arching and your legs shaking. Your head tipped back, breath caught, body pulsing around his fingers.

AJ finally started to slow his hand, easing you down with a few deep, dragging strokes. But you weren’t done.

Not yet.

Before he could pull away, you reached for his hand, guiding it up to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking softly, tasting yourself on his skin. Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

This time, AJ looked. Really looked.

His gaze held on you longer, darker, hotter. There was something in it that made your stomach flip—something dangerous and full of promise. A silent vow for what he planned to do to you once you were back at his place, just ten minutes away. Then, finally, he looked back at the road—like it took everything in him to do it.

A second later, the car began to slow. Too early for his exit.

You blinked, confused, glancing at the road ahead. Nothing. No traffic. No lights.

He pulled off to the shoulder, engine humming low.

You turned to him, brows pulling in. “AJ?”

When his eyes met yours again, even briefly, that look was still there.

And you realized it wasn’t a promise anymore.

He had made a decision.

AJ threw the car into park, the shift sharp and final. The moment it clicked, his seatbelt was off and his hands were on you. He reached for your buckle next, unfastening it in one swift motion before pulling you into him. There was no pause, no space between thought and action—just his hands on your face, his mouth on yours, all tongue, heat, and frustration.

You barely had time to catch up before he was guiding you onto his lap, hands gripping your thighs as you climbed over him. The center console dug into your side, but neither of you cared. His mouth found yours again, hot and urgent, while his hands fumbled with his belt and zipper. You reached between your bodies, helping him, then adjusted your skirt and panties just enough before you lined yourself up.

When you sank down onto him, AJ groaned—the sound vibrating in his chest.

That sound told you everything. That this was what he needed. What he had been holding back. Something he couldn’t even wait ten more minutes for.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice raw as his hands slid over your thighs.

Whatever had been gnawing at him all night disappeared with every roll of your hips, every thrust into you. The frustration, the tension, all of it melted beneath your touch, your rhythm, the way you gave him exactly what he hadn’t asked for but so clearly needed.

You.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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[clayberesford]

*Just finished work for the day and now heading to Starbucks to write a bit and have some tea before I go home. It's been a long day in the office. I am feeling a bit better than I was this morning though. I hope Sam will be free to meet up with me for a bit too. I really miss her*

//open RP