#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anyafest 2023!

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖𝐭𝐡 : 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐬 - 𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Cockwarming. Tit sucking. Age gap (Anakin is 43, Reader is 21) | Word count: 1.1k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Fourth day of the Anyafest let's go <3! I apologize for the delay. Had a doctors appointment.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“It looks nice…” Anakin compliments you from the couch, closing the empty boxes labeled «Christmas decorations». 

“Thank you,” You reply, stepping down the small stool. “Glad you liked it.”

“Luke and Leia will love it—” He scratched the back of his head nervously before letting his arms fall on his thighs. “It’s been a while since we decorated the house like this.”

“How come?”

“Well… they aren’t kids anymore, you know? Plus they spend the 24th with their mother, so I just hang out with Obi-Wan and his wife during Christmas.” Anakin piles up the boxes in the corner, making a mental note to return them to the attic. You nod, not sure if you should push the conversation or not— but your curiosity is too strong. The thought of Anakin spending Holidays on his own makes your heart clench with yearning. 

“This year you have me,” You say with a smile, placing the small ladder next to the chimney and walking to his side to wrap your arms around his back. Admiring the tall Christmas tree, you smile to yourself. “And not to brag or anything… but I did a great job.”

Anakin laughs, kissing the top of your forehead and wrapping his arms around your waist. “You sure did, dollface. You sure did.” He stares at the bright star on top of the tree, the ghost of a nostalgic smirk dancing on his chapped lips.

Despite the warm moment, Anakin was being 100% truthful before. Since his divorce, Holidays weren't exactly the same. The first years he had the twins all for himself, so the house was always a mess— a happy mess. He’d spoil them with toys, clothes, anything they could ask for and even more; back when things were easier and it felt like those joyful moments could last forever. His house was the meeting point and it was full of life, laughter and light. Nowadays… not so much. 

With the twins all grown up, almost of age and not entirely interested in spending Christmas with their old man, Anakin found himself binge watching Christmas movies with a bottle of bourbon and his favorite Chinese takeout. An awful combination but he found it to be comforting. Normally he’d pass out before the fourth movie and blackout drunk… but this year it is different. This year he has you.

“Anakin?” You pull him out of his trance, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “You alright? You zoned out.”

He shakes his head slightly, replacing the look of melancholy with a comforting expression. “Sorry— just remembering.”

Your eyes soften, of course he is. You noticed it while he unpacked the ornaments and decorations. The way he held the small handcrafted spheres that Luke did for him in elementary school, and how he smiled when he saw Leia’s old Christmas card. You could only imagine how it would feel to see your children distance from you. 

“I know we have been dating for just half a year…” You start, holding his hand and guiding him to the couch. “But I'm glad you are sharing a part of you with me. I love to hear your stories. They are lovely,” Cupping his face, you kissed him. It was a tender, soft kiss— the warmth he has been missing for years. “It is a pleasure to spend Christmas with you.”

“Come here, pretty princess,” Anakin sighs, pulling you over his lap and squeezing your waist. Your body clicks on top of him in a way none other than perfect. His nose nudges at your pulse point, inhaling you. “You smell nice, is that the perfume I gave you last week?”

“It is,” You nod, mindlessly dragging your hips back and forth. “Let me take care of you… You don’t have to spend Christmas alone this year.”

His large hand makes its way to the back of your head, bringing your face against his and melting you in a loving kiss. You can taste the whisky he drank before decorating and the faint tobacco from the cigarette he had in his lips when he picked you up— both flavors mixing to create the characteristic taste that excites your tongue. Anakin pops the button of your jeans, lifting your body so he can pull it down and press your pantie-clad core against the bulge in his black sweatpants. His calloused palms slide inside your sweater, caressing your abdomen and cupping your breasts, squeezing them and fondling them without restraint.

“I could get used to this,” Anakin whispers playfully, lifting your sweater and shirt all together so he can lower the cups of your bra, immediately attaching his lips to your nipple.

Your hips buckle involuntarily, bringing his face closer to your chest and clumsily looking for the little bow on his sweats, yanking it. He chuckles at your eagerness but helps you pull them down anyway, biting his lower lip at your surprised gasp. Of course he skipped underwear today. 

He wraps a hand around the base, pressing it against your clothed hole and pushing the fabric of your underwear against it. The cotton is nothing more than an annoying barrier to where you want him the most; with an exasperated whine you slap his shoulders, wordlessly begging. 

“Alright, alright— don’t throw a tantrum, princess.” Anakin shakes his head, clicking his tongue and pushing your panties to the side, sliding the tip in. He goes inch by inch, clearly teasing you. He’s halfway in when Anakin decides to pull out, enjoying the impatient moan that falls down your throat. “You are so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer he sinks back in, this time all the way. 

His cock stretches you just like the first time and it always is a marvelous feeling. He doesn’t move, no— he likes to feel every pulse and clench of your wet velvety walls. Plus, if he forces you to cockwarming him enough you'll be cockdrunk in no time. His mouth takes a small trip from your neck to your lips, using his thumb to force your jaw open and lick every corner of your mouth. You try to move your hips on your own, but he warns you with a small slap on your cheek. No moving is allowed until he says so. You really wanted to take care of him this time— but Anakin’s favorite hobby is to turn you into a brainless putty that can only beg for cock. His member throbs inside you and you feel it, he insists on fucking you raw so you can feel it, and you don’t regret a thing. 

The hand that slapped your ass sneaks between your bodies, pressing it flat on your lower stomach so he can feel the slight push of his cock. He’s always too big for you to handle— and yet you love to have your guts rearranged by him. There's something about old men that…

“You look so lovely all stuffed, baby,” Anakin caresses your hair, lifting his hips as if he was trying to push his member deeper. “Aren’t you the star on top of my Christmas tree?”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @darthgloris | @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @urmomsfav0 | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq | @https-luvaviva

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 : 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 - 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Oral (f). Masturbation. Brief vaginal penetration. Creampie. Exhibitionism. | Word Count: 0.8k

— a/n: I'm finally free and I'm no longer sick! I'll catch up with the 23 and upload 24 <3. Kissies and sorry for the inconvenience!

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

When Sam invited you to spend Christmas with his mom’s side of the family, you clearly weren’t expecting to be dragged behind the tall, leafy Christmas tree; the bright colorful lights bathed your face, highlighting the confused expression on your flushed cheeks. “What are you doing?” You whisper at your boyfriend, looking between the thick branches, making sure his mother or his aunts are still chatting in the kitchen.

Sam pushes you against the wall, his hip brushing against the tree and making some ornaments jingle softly. “I want to fuck you,” He states simply as if it was obvious— it kind of was. “It’s so stupid my mom is making us sleep in separate rooms.”

“We can’t fuck in the living room!”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Smashing his lips against yours, Sam slides his cold hands under your loose T-shirt, cupping your breasts and squeezing them. His erection rubs against your thigh, barely concealed by those ridiculous red checkered pajama pants his mother bought for everyone to wear… including you. His thumbs circle your nipples as he drinks your moans with harsh, demanding kisses. With your palms against his shoulders, you try to push him away to protest a little more, but it seems that he has other plans; one hand releases your chest, yanks the waistband of your pants down, bringing your underwear with them. “You better be quiet,” He threatens you before kneeling and burying his face between your legs.

His tongue traces your folds before using his thumbs to spread them. Licking his lips, Sam runs his tongue flat over your clit, flicking it repeatedly. The thrill of doing it behind the goddamned Christmas tree is making your head go dizzy, you should be ashamed, have an ounce of respect for his family… but right now you can’t seem to care when your boyfriend is sucking your clit with equal need. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to fuck you. Your hand reaches for his dark locks, tugging at them to grind against his face eliciting a quiet laugh from him, his hot breath hitting your cunt in a way that sends shivers from your head to your toes. 

“You taste like a whole fucking meal,” He mumbles, returning his tongue to your swollen nub and torturing you a little more. “This pussy is just perfect.”

Staying quiet becomes quite the challenge when you lower your eyes, no longer focusing on the white ceiling, just in time for Sam to pull his pajama and wrap a hand around his throbbing member, smearing the precum that trickled down the tip. 

“Sam—” You choke, furrowing your brows when his tongue slides in. Stroking himself quickly, Sam’s hips rock back and forth, seeking his own release while hurrying yours. The heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears mutes the laughs from the kitchen, his family being the least of your problems now.

The flick of his wrist speeds up as he returns his mouth around your clit, stimulating it until you are sure you are touching heaven itself— you are so close to coming, maybe it is from the adrenaline, the high risk of getting caught, or to be fair, Sam’s skilled tongue can be doing the trick. 

“I’m gonna come, don’t stop—” He nods at your words, slowing his pleasure to only focus on yours until it happens. Biting your lower lip, your climax hits you like a strong electric wave that lasts longer than you expected. The world spins around you, your mind drowned with the ecstasy and oxytocin that burns in your fingertips. 

“That’s it, dolly,” Sam whispers hotly, panting and already sweaty. Standing up, he guides his cock between your slick folds, pushing it and stretching you in a swift motion. “Shh, it’s okay— I’ll just come inside to save us the mess. Be quiet.” He says, thrusting quickly and fast before he grunts and presses his forehead against yours. His eyebrow twitches as his cock mimics it in rapid jerks, shooting his load deep inside you. You hold him, savoring the small intimate moment and humming at the familiar feeling of his cock filling you up. 

“You are insane.” You laugh, catching your breath— when you hear footsteps coming from the kitchen.

Sam’s eyes widen and he quickly presses his body flush against yours, holding his breath as his face presses next to yours. Thank fucking God the tree is tall and wide enough and covered in decorations to cover you both. You side-eye him with a terrified expression, if his mother finds you two… you can’t even imagine the embarrassment. 

Robin calls your name followed by Sam’s. No answer. She calls again, this time louder. Your heart stops beating for a second or at least it feels like. You two are screwed. 

“Leave them alone,” Sam’s grandma yells from the kitchen and you have never been more thankful. “Come back and help me with the turkey.”

Reluctantly, Robin looks around the living room and grabs the TV remote, the forgotten movie you and Sam were watching no longer concealing the noises you two made. She walks away, replying something to her mother you can’t quite catch. Sam exhales, relieved that he dodged the bullet.

“Sorry,” He chuckles, kissing your cheek. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

But it’s a lie, you know it will happen again.

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @https-luvaviva | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 : 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐫𝐲 - 𝐀𝐎𝐓𝐂 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Dry Humping. Virgin Anakin/Reader. Cumplay. Mentions of Anal. Slight exhibitionism. | Word Count: 0.8k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Happy first day of the Anyafest! (๑>◡<๑) I hope you like it. Every fic will be posted around 7:30 PM PST!

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Anakin panted against your neck, his big hands squeezing your hips as his crotch rubbed against your ass. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

Choking a whine, your hands tightened on the shelves of the archives. “But Anakin— you know we— we both promised to wait…”

“I know.” His soft hiss was translated to nothing more than frustration and pent up sexual tension. You both swore to wait until graduating to Jedi Knights to lose your virginity, but the more time your relationship progressed, the harder it was to keep that promise. Anakin constantly jerked off to the thought of finally fucking you properly, despite knowing that he still had at least six more months— even a year of waiting. All depending upon your schedules and performance. 

The silence and “privacy” provided by the farthest hallway of the Jedi Library proved to be more than sufficient, his hands were able to explore your body the way he likes, tracing circles and leaving burning caresses in their wake. It is always enough to turn you on but far from being able to fully please you. “You have no idea how much I need your tight pussy around my cock,” Anakin whispered, always the needy and impatient one. 

His virgin ass was filled with hormones, always ready to drag you to a forgotten corner of the Library, a storage room— even sneaking out his quarters at midnight to hide underneath your covers, to drag his lips against your neck and whisper sweet promises as his thumbs rub your erect nipples in circles.

He fumbled with his belt, dragging his pants low enough for his boxers to show, the outline of his hard member embarrassingly noticeable. With your face against the shelves you were unable to see him but you were more than convinced that there was a wet patch in the dark fabric of his underwear. Muttering some curses under his breath, Anakin did the same with your pants, running his palms over your ass, kneading it and spreading your cheeks and then yanking the elastics of every leg opening, so the fabric creates a similar pattern of a thong. 

Pulling out his cock, he slapped it against each of your asscheeks with a little grunt, smearing some droplets of sticky precum before tucking himself back in. “Please let me fuck your ass soon,” Anakin subtly begged, pushing his hips forward. “It doesn't count if I fuck your ass right?” It was as if he was talking to himself, too immersed in his own lust, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. 

Grinding his erection against your ass, Anakin hung his head back, his braid falling off his shoulder. There is something so erotic in his movements and how you seemed to choke every possible moan, he loves to see you struggling to stay quiet. Sneaking his hand in between your bodies, he reached tentatively for your clit, hovering over your arched back. 

It could be described as pathetic, humping you like a dog who wanted release; Anakin circled your clit as his hips grew in momentum, biting his chapped bottom lip to mask his groans of pleasure. Yes, a simple dry humping was absolutely pathetic but there was something so erotic in it that he was just spinning down in a tornado of sensations. The soft fabric of his boxers gave him enough stimulation but it became borderline painful, burning against his throbbing cock. The wet patch grew bigger, stickier— 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come—” Anakin shivered. “Can I come on your ass? Please, please, I really want to.”

Nodding frantically, you felt your own orgasm teetering. His middle finger joined his index on the torture over your swollen clit, rubbing it side to side harder, applying an even tighter pressure almost begging you to come with him. Your forehead rested over the shelf, the material of the placed archives scratching your skin. A strained moan was the only evidence of your undoing, legs quivering and muscles tensing, his name falling from your lips like a sweet prayer. Anakin couldn’t bear it any longer, his favorite music was the symphony of your orgasm.

Everything happened in seconds, too fast for Anakin to fully process it. Dragging his hips back he pulled out his cock just in time for the hot, creamy spurts of cum, covering your ass and even your underwear still tucked in between your asscheeks. 

“Sorry,” He said in between labored breaths. “Did I hurt you?” 

Giggling, you shook your head. Anakin was just as horny as he was caring. “It’s alright, darling, but…” You looked away, scanning the empty halls of the room. Your next words made him crook a smile, leaning closer to kiss your hot cheeks. “Do you mentioned something about fucking my ass?”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @darthgloris | @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @Nikitewksbury | @princessswiftie | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @urmomsfav0 | @anisgurll

— 🎄: If your account is crossed is because I was unable to tag it! You can check your blog configuration and privacy settings.

[fuckmyskywalker]

☆。*。Happy Anyafest!

— Hello! Welcome to the start of the Anyafest! To celebrate Holidays and my birthday, I'll be doing 15 days of fics. This is something I've been thinking for a while and something very special to me. This blog has been my special place for almost a year now and it has been such a wonderful and lovely experience! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy it! | — From December 15th 2023 to December 30th 2023!

☆ Taglist! / Navigation!

➼ December 15th : High and Dry - AOTC Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 16th : Piano Tiles - AJ (from the movie Takers).

➼ December 17th : Wrapped up - CW!Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 18th : Midlife Crisis - Dilf!Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 19th : Welcome Home - Luke Skywalker.

➼ December 20th : My favorite flavor - Anakin Skywalker [Eroguro, Gore].

➼ December 21st : Red - Darth Vader.

➼ December 22nd : Bouncing Bells - Sam Monroe.

➼ December 23rd : Last Minute Shopping - Dad's best friend!Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 24th : Mistletoe - Clayton Beresford.

➼ December 25th : Angel - Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 26th : Hungover - Trailer trash!Anakin Skywalker.

➼ December 27th : Icing - Luke Skywalker.

➼ December 28th : Movie Marathon - Luke Skywalker x Reader x Han Solo.

➼ December 29th : Warm - Obi-Wan Kenobi.

➼ December 30th : Happy Birthday! - Clayton Beresford.

— Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have a wonderful Holidays! 💙

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝 : 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: Age gap. Sexual innuendo. Dad's best friend!Anakin. Reader is in their early 20s, Anakin is in his 40s. Mentions of divorce. No smut. | Word count: 1k (not proofread)!

— a/n: I always write smut but somehow I wanted to change things up a bit.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to trouble you, dear.”

Anakin said as you fasten your seatbelt. 

“It’s not a problem at all, Mr. Skywalker.” You replied with a nod, offering him a soothing smile. “Holidays can be quite stressful, if I can do anything to help you, I will.”

Anakin sighed in return, patting your thigh affectionately. “Thank you, sweetpea. Your dad raised you well.”

His words shouldn't make you blush, neither should the brief touch on your thigh… but it does. You are aware of how wrong it is— Anakin has been your father's best friend since high school, he was there throughout your childhood and he offered your father a place to stay after the divorce. He had been nothing more than nice, always bringing Christmas and Birthday gifts, always showing interest, asking questions, offering a shoulder to cry… how can a man twice your age be more lovely and caring than any guy your age? 

The trip to the mall wasn't even a long nor tedious one. The only problem was the 30 minute line to the cash register… and even that wasn't a problem itself— Anakin made sure to keep you entertained, making you laugh and giggle again and again so you totally forgot you were even waiting. 

You weren’t allowed to carry any bags, of course not! Anakin carried the six bags in one hand, while placing a hand on your lower back as you two crossed the large street towards his parked vehicle. Despite your thick sweater, you could feel his fingers and how they left burning spots in their wake. A strange feeling of guilt crosses your mind— when you offered to go with him to buy some last minute gifts you didn't have such intentions in mind, but whenever you were alone with him, it was as if your mind flipped a little invisible switch that caused you to look at the man who was the closest thing to an uncle… the same way you'd seen a man. 

You avoid eye contact for a while, continuing your little chit chat until it becomes noticeable how silent you are. Or perhaps were you being paranoid? Only God knows. You feel suffocated inside Anakin’s black Mercedes despite the cold winter weather outside, and, unbeknownst to you, he noticed it.

“Hey,” Anakin called your name, stopping at a red light to turn his attention to you. There’s concern etched on his handsome face, and you cursed yourself for those lingering eyes that went from the small furrow of his brows, the slight wrinkles around his eyes, and the way his blue orbs scanned your expression. “Is everything alright? You are eerily quiet.”

“Yes,” Your reply was quickly, perhaps too quickly to even be believable. “Just… tired, I woke up early.” It was a lie, but it seemed to do the trick. Anakin nodded, although the worry stayed. 

Relieved to see he finally reached the residential area, you focused on the Christmas decorations in every front yard, not noticing how Anakin began to slow down— before stopping the car a few houses away from his. 

“Mr. Skywalker?” You asked but he quickly cut you.

“Anakin. Call me Anakin.” One hand remained on the steering wheel while the other touched your forehead with the back side. “Well you don’t have a fever, so there must be something else going on.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. If the car felt suffocating before, now it was a goddamned sauna. “I’m just tired, I told you.” 

“I don’t believe it.”

His tone changed swiftly as his hand traced your cheekbone, stopping at your chin to raise your head. Anakin leaned closer, inspecting your face, scrutinizing every detail. The atmosphere shifted, there was something else happening but you couldn't quite put a pin on it. The older man took a deep breath, before cutting the distance between your lips.

The kiss was barely a kiss, it was more of a gentle brush that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. A surge of confusion and excitement ran through your veins— it wasn't going the way you expected, but you couldn't complain either.

“Interesting,” Anakin whispered against your parted lips, his hot breath mingling with yours. “And here I thought you were getting sick.” He chuckled. How could he be laughing after he just kissed you?

Unable to mutter a single word, you stare at him dumbfounded. Your face is burning, he kissed you. And he acted as if it was the most normal thing ever.

“Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to kiss me?”

“But— you… you are married.”

“And?” Anakin shook his head, chuckling again. “I know your father tells you everything I say; you know I'm signing those divorce papers soon.” He was right. You did know that. If there was anything your dad loved more than cars and beer, it was gossiping. 

“But—”

“And don’t try to deny it. I've seen the way you look at me. You are quite discreet though, I have to give you that,” Anakin kissed you again, so casually it turned you into a dizzy mess. “You aren’t prancing yourself in short skirts, or trying to play innocent, or even doing that ridiculous thing of bending in front of me… no. You are a smart girl, not a slut. But you can’t hide that look in your eyes, how your whole face brightens when you are next to me, or the interest you have in me, and it’s quite flattering.”

Anakin talked while you stared at him with a dumb expression. You feel exposed and in the worst way— you could swear you weren't being obvious.

As if he was able to read your mind, he caressed your chin to soothe you. “I wasn't sure at the beginning. I felt… quite guilty for thinking of you in such a way, doll. But the more I observed you, the more I noticed those little details. And those little details only drove me crazy…” Daringly, his kisses followed a path down your jaw, smirking against your skin when you crooked your neck instinctively to grant him more access. “You drive me crazy.”

“Anakin,” You finally manage to speak. Your voice is meek and ashamed, you feel like a thief being caught and ready to be sentenced. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s alright, doll,” Once again, Anakin seemed to know what to do. Somehow everything about this man is correct. “There’s other sounds I'm more interested in listening to than words.”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @https-luvaviva | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡 : 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 - 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+, smut. Cheating. PiV. Both Padme and Anakin cheat. | Word count: 2.0k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Consider this a late Christmas gift because it's 2k <3. I normally don't like my fics but I can say I am proud of this one. Inspired by an unreleased song by Jules Paymer. Follow them ;).

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

Anakin stares at you from the other side of the large room, admiring how you carry yourself with such grace and confidence. His hand tightens around the glass of whatever the fuck he is drinking, he can’t really give a damn about it now. All he can think of is how much he wishes he could yank your hair and beat you up. Drag you to the center of the room and expose you, scream to the world how you ruined the best thing he would ever have. 

It’s time. He knows he has to be quick before you get away before he can get his stupid revenge. As he strides towards you, he can hear Padmé’s apologies ringing in his ear, bouncing inside his brain and making his blood boil. 

“I am so sorry, it was a mistake! I promise I didn't mean to.”

“It was an accident, Anakin. I was drunk— she means nothing to me!”

“Please forgive me. I just couldn't lie to you anymore. It was killing me.”

Sure, maybe fucking the woman your wife cheated on you with isn't the best approach, but that's the only thing he can think of right now. Thankfully Padmé skipped today’s event, probably at home lamenting herself and planning a very sappy and emotional apology, buying him gifts, and preparing a new set of tears to ask for forgiveness. Anakin knows he will forgive her in the end, besides her he doesn't have anyone else. How is he going to give up the only good thing in his life?

He is pathetic to even consider forgiving an infidelity, but what else can he do? It isn't often that his mind strings a coherent thought, and tonight exception.will not be the exception. It would be easier to give you the benefit of the doubt; to be fair, you weren’t aware of his marriage, and if Padmé was as drunk as she claimed then— no. He cannot give her the benefit of the doubt. You are quick to acknowledge his presence and Anakin doesn’t miss the way you eye him up and down, completely oblivious to the way his eyes are beheading you. He isn’t nice when he presents himself, in fact, he is quite harsh with replying to your questions. 

Your obvious interest makes him sick, so you think that with that pretty face and expensive gowns you can just get away with everything you want? Disgusting. 

“I thought Jedis weren’t fond of these sorts of events,” You speak in a sultry tone. Anakin can bet you think you are being so smooth and seductive— batting those long eyelashes at him. 

“Well, it’s nice to cool off from the stress every now and then.” Anakin gruffly replies, taking a sip of his drink trying to sound as charming as possible which on a normal day wouldn’t be hard, but Maker, his shoulders are so tense they hurt and his stomach is twisting with anger.

“Glad you can find a reliever,” You wink, and he can read what you imply— another type of reliever is thrown on the plate, it is up to him to bite it or spit on it. “You do look tense… General.” The way his title rolls down your tongue makes him sick. So you know who he is, did Padmé say something? Did she mention him at all? Did she even think about him as he was breaking his trust?

“Long day.”

The initial conversation is polite, he has to give you that. You don’t go straight to the point which he is thankful for, if you had tried any insinuation Anakin wouldn’t have been able to hold the impulse to crash his glass against your head. His internal struggle becomes hard; when he finds himself smirking at a snarky comment you make of another guest on the other side of the room, or when he sees you smiling at a very fake compliment he gave you… he feels nauseous— to not say ashamed— he can see right through you but you cannot see his real intentions. 

“I can’t imagine living on the edge all day,” You sigh, tapping your long, manicured nails on the oddly-shaped drink. “Must be quite challenging.

Anakin suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “You get used to it,” Is he being too harsh? Too scattering? How are you supposed to treat the person you now hate the most?

You offer him another drink which he reluctantly accepts, is this your preferred method? To force people to drink and then take advantage of them? Or is his vision of reality so distorted he isn’t able to pick up that you are the one tipsy? If any he would be the one taking advantage of you.

Anakin watches you drink without restraints, staining the edge of the glass with your dark lipstick. Is that the same color that tempted his wife? Or did you choose another shade that night? His sudden jealousy is clouding his judgment, not that he has much but still. 

After your third drink— although Anakin is sure you had a couple more before he decided it was time to talk to you— your tongue begins to lose. Your questions get bolder as well as your touch. Your hand lays on his arm when you laugh, your body slowly making its way dangerously close to his. Despite the sick feeling that rises up his stomach, threatening to regurgitate the lousy dinner he managed to eat, Anakin forces himself to place his gloved hand on your lower back with an unauthentic smile. He needs to play along because that’s what he wants right? To get revenge. 

It’s not hard to find an empty room in this ridiculously enormous building. Too many unused rooms that on a normal day would throw him into a useless rant about how poorly managed the Senate budget is, but then again— this isn’t a normal day for Anakin. What is extremely challenging is to continue with his plan; you let him do his move which makes him drown in self-doubt and loathing again. Was his wife the one who made the first move? Did she kiss you the way he was kissing you now? 

The dark red lipstick smears all over his lips, and Anakin swears he can taste bile on his tongue. It’s stupid. What did he even think this was a good idea to start with? He is fucking stupid. Bringing your body closer to his, Anakin parts his lips to deepen the kiss, shivering when your tongue comes in contact with his. Pushing you further against the wall, you mistake his intentions— he looks like he wants to merge his body with yours, and the misunderstanding fuels your desire. He is handsome, terribly so, so where’s the harm in having a little fun? His kisses are heated, rushed, he wants to be done with this as soon as possible. He wants to— what the fuck does he even wants to? Is this the moment of clarity? Maybe. 

Suddenly your lips don’t feel that bad. The taste turns sweet and it catches him by surprise, if this was what Padmé felt then maybe… Can he even blame her?

A kiss. No. Multiple. Contact after contact with Anakin's mind fogs. Your sounds are just as sweet as your lips, asking him for more, praising him, practically dragging him to the same mess he was never meant to get involved with. Clothes soon become a bother, but the situation isn’t ideal— nothing is. Your hands shouldn’t feel as good as they do— but fuck they do. Anakin gets greedy fast, a characteristic he probably will never be able to get rid of. A familiar burn builds up in his body, the only thing that wasn’t supposed to happen.

It’s laughable. It really is. 

“Please don’t stop,” You whisper against his lips in a way that makes his blood boil, bright erythrocytes then pump his cock until it strains against his black robes, you feel it, of course, you do. “Oh— Anakin.”

Sweet. His name sounds so charming when you say it with his hand in between your legs. He wants more. Why? He’s not sure. Nothing seems real right now and for an instant he forgets he is about to have sex with the woman who unbeknownst to her ruined his marriage. Your skirts are heavy, but the layers of fabric don’t seem to be a problem. He finds you dripping, easily sinking two fingers inside you, watching with half-lidded eyes how you arch your back. No longer sweet but sinful. Anakin pants, feeling pathetic for finding the slightest hint of enjoyment in what was intended to be revenge. 

“I can’t do this,” He mutters, withdrawing his hand. He can watch his fingers glisten under the dim light of the room. “I… I can’t.”

“Yes, yes you can,” Your voice is like a lullaby, broken and barely frustrated by the irruption. “Anakin, I need you.” Do you? Because he doesn’t know what he needs. The lines blur too fast for his mind to catch up and the next thing he registers is his trembling hand fumbling with his pants. “Please, Ani. Fuck me.” That damn nickname. The one that was reserved for the woman he loves, but if she had to share her with you for a night, it is only fair that Padmé shares that pet name with you too. 

This wasn’t supposed to be something pleasurable, now Anakin can see clearly how Padmé couldn’t say no. When he fully slides his throbbing cock inside your tight heat he crumbles. Now he has gotten his own taste. 

His thrusts are fast and eager, bringing one leg around his hips as his palm rests against the wall. You cling to his body desperately, moaning freely now— each sound pushing him closer to the edge he wasn’t meant to cross in the first place. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow, his tongue swirls with your sensually. No other touch had felt this addictive, plus the taboo of the secret he is holding, the one he will have to drag to the grave now. Anakin groans, biting your lower lip and tugging it with his teeth. Your pussy envelops his cock like a glove, tight and warm, so good and so bad at the same time. 

“Maker— you feel so good,” You moan directly in his ear, furrowing your brows and rolling your eyes in delight. His cock feels amazing, stretching you in forms no other man has done. Is this the type of man the Jedi Council is keeping away from you? “I’m going to come, Ani. Fuck— harder, please.” You beg. That’s all you do. More. More. More. You are insatiable. 

He is too far in— both literally and figuratively— to even deny you, which would mean he denies himself. He is close too, he can tell by the familiar clench under his lower stomach, how his balls tighten and slap against your sweaty body. He shouldn’t come inside, then he would be the same as his wife— or even worse. 

The brief clarity the Force itself blessed him with suddenly disappears when you come undone around him. It’s like a wave crashing on top of him, drowning him in a feeling he knows will never be experienced again. You look like an angel, a miserable comparison given the situation. You climax with a strained moan, mouth hanging open and cursing to the Gods he will never believe in— and he is following you just seconds after. 

Everything is ruined. Your makeup, your underwear, his dignity. Like a bitter reminder, the same apologies Padmé gave him over and over spun around his head with the same strength as his orgasm. Anakin rests his forehead against your naked shoulder, saliva trickling down the corner of his mouth as he struggles to catch his breath. He is fucked. He is so done. He is ruined.

He understands why Padmé cheated on him. 

— ❄️ Taglist! : @darthgloris | @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @tammy-baker | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq | @https-luvaviva | @sorryigotlipglossontheblunt | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡 : 𝐖𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐩 - 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Tit sucking. Mention of oral. | Word Count: 1k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Third day of the Anyafest let's go <3!

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“You are home early,” You say from the couch with a blanket draped over your lap. Lowering your holo-pad, Anakin eyes you as if saying ‘Why are you home early?’. “Bad day?”

His expression says it all. He just sits next to you with his arms crossed. Reading Anakin’s mood is not something hard, but finding out the predominant emotion can be quite tricky. He isn’t exactly used to vocalizing his emotions unless necessary. Patience has always been the answer. Anakin just stares at the wall and you can hear his breathing. 

“Do you think I’m a bad Master?”

Placing your pad on your side, you scoot closer to him. “What happened?” You place a comforting hand on his bicep, tracing the edges of his armor with a concerned look. 

“I feel like I’m not good enough to train Ashoka,” His words make you frown. That was unlike him. “I… I kind of messed it up today. I had my head wrapped around the mission that I forgot she is  still learning.”

“And?” You politely ask him to continue. He takes another deep breath before, looking at you with a mixture of guilt and remorse. 

“I yelled at her, and I felt terrible. I lost my temper… again.” Anakin sighs. “It wasn’t even her fault. She did everything I commanded and she did it flawlessly— I don’t know if I am being too demanding, or am I being too senseless—”

“Ani,” You stop his rambling. Your hand cups his cheek to bring his face closer to yours. “You are a wonderful tutor and Master. I understand stress can get a hold on you sometimes, I mean— Those types of missions aren’t easy” With a gentle smile, you kiss his cheek. “You can apologize, I’m sure Ashoka will understand. Remember that not long ago you were in her place. Stop self-doubting yourself.”

Anakin’s eyes soften and the ghost of a smile dances over his lips. He leans closer to meet your lips this time. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He whispers against your face. Pressing his forehead against yours, Anakin is relieved to once again find support in you. “What would I be without you?”

Standing up, Anakin gives you a curious look. “I know you would be lost without me, but wait a second. I think I have just the right thing to brighten up your mood.”

Fleeing to your bedroom, you fumble inside the boxes of leftover Christmas decorations looking for the big red ribbon roll. Anakin calls your name from the living room but you ignore him; instead, you remove your top, cutting a long piece of ribbon with your teeth and carefully wrapping it around your chest. Staring in the vanity mirror you twist it and maneuver it so it covers your nipples and squeezes your breasts together, before mindfully leaving a big bow in the middle. It’s a cheap plastic ribbon but at least it did the trick. The door opens and Anakin walks in, stopping in his tracks when he sees you. He calls your name with a chuckle, crossing his strong arms again. “What’s this?” His eyes twinkle with excitement as he takes slow, deliberate steps around you, almost circling you like a predator. Those same eyes eat you up and down. “Is this supposed to be my gift?”

“Call it an early Christmas” You shrug, extending your arms open for him to come near. He takes the message immediately and within seconds his hands are caressing your sides. His thumb traces small circles over your belly button, the cold leather making you shiver. “So, are you going to unwrap your present?”

“Maybe. I kind of want to look at it a little more.” 

He sits on the bed, bringing you to his lap and biting his lip as his eyes fixate on you. His lips kiss your collarbone, each little smooch getting him closer to your chest. With his teeth, Anakin pulls one of the bow ribbons, untying it as he pulls away. Your hands run through his short hair, twirling your index finger in the curl that always lays on his forehead. The bow finally loses and the ribbon falls around you, sliding around your hips before landing on the carpeted floor. 

Anakin gasps, giggling under his breath as your tits brush against his warm face. “Is this my present?” It doesn’t matter how many times he sees your chest, or your entire body for that matter— he always acts as if it was the first time. Amazed and excited. “Didn’t know I could eat it…” 

His tongue licks your left nipple, flicking it and sucking it. If there’s something he could do for hours is suck your tits, and he had mentioned it many, many times. He switches sides, biting and teasing until both nipples are erect and slightly swollen. 

“Yummy.” He laughs, rubbing his face in the middle and inhaling your scent, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. How can a man be so fascinated by a pair of tits? You have no idea. Anakin returns his mouth to your nipples, greedily sucking again as his hands grope and fondle your ass, slapping it playfully and sliding them inside your pajama bottoms to feel the soft, supple flesh. Your hips begin to grind against him, seeking the smallest hint of relief. Anakin grunts against your chest, enjoying this little treat. 

“Did you like your present?” You ask breathlessly and he nods. 

He releases your nipple with a soft pop, licking his lips sensually. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you—” He kisses your nipples, loving the way you jolt. “Or for your tits, now that we are on it. But I have another idea to make my day even better.”

He lifts you, always showing off his strength only to put you down on the bed. He settled comfortably in between your spread legs. “And what’s your idea, General Skywalker?”

“I already unwrapped a gift, but what if you wrap your thigh around my head as I eat your pussy?”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @darthgloris | @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @urmomsfav0 | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @tammy-baker | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟔𝐭𝐡 : 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡!𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. PiV. Age gap. Dirty talk. | Word count 0.6k (not proofread!)

— Anyafest + Taglist!

“I didn’t ask for your goddamned opinion, didn't I?” Anakin grunts, pushing your face against the worn out cushions of the couch. “When you have children of your own, you'll know how much of a pain in the ass they are.”

He slaps your ass, groping your hips to raise it higher. The position pushes his cock deep enough so you think he is rearranging your guts— maybe even making room for that child he always threatens to put in you. Anakin always says how you would—will be a wonderful mother. 

“Sorry,” You choke, not sure if you want to crawl away from him or press your body closer to his. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry!”

He slaps your ass again, tightening his hold on your head. It doesn't matter how good it feels to have his cock squeezed by your tight, slick walls. You simply cannot seem to shut the fuck up— which only makes his headache worse. His head—along with his cock— throbs painfully. 

The wisest thing would be to cut off the alcohol, but everyone knows Anakin is just as physically unable to stop drinking as he is to be a responsible father. 

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Anakin growls, cutting your airflow with his big hand. “I come home from spending the night with my stupid family, had to listen— fuck— my daughter yelled at me for hours, had to see my princess with her new fucking boyfriend, and now I have to listen to your damn sobbing?” His hips speed up, slamming his thighs against your ass with thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs. “Thought you wanted to be good for me, whore.”

“I do!” You object, twisting your neck to both breath and speak. “I just want to be good.”

Sure, this wasn't supposed to be the way you thought you'd spend the morning after Christmas, but something about being used as a stress reliever helps to soothe your need for validation and affection. You are happy to bring something positive to your boyfriend’s shitty life. 

Your body tenses and Anakin groans louder, his raw, deep voice making you moan again. He isn't loud when it comes to sex but he sure likes to run that filthy mouth of his.

“Fucking brat, you might as well be my daughter too if you are going to try and boss me around.”

“Everyone was talking shit ‘bout you too— guess they don’t like seeing Daddy happy.” You make him happy. Oh how lovely that makes you feel. 

“You are getting so fucking tight, God— you like to be used like a ragdoll? My precious toy to fill with cum?”

You do. You sure do.

The couch moves violently as he bullies your poor pussy, and you are sure the damn trailer is moving too, anyone who walks by could figure out what's happening in the inside, and Anakin doesn't bother to close the ripped curtains. The armrest of the couch hits the small table next to Anakin’s back, making it stagger and causing the mug of— now cold— coffee you brewed this morning to ease his hungover to fall onto the already dirty rug. The noise makes Anakin groan annoyed, slapping your ass again as if it was your fault.

“See what you do with all your fucking squirming?” He scolds you the way someone would talk to a child. “I should make you clean it with your tongue.”

You want to apologize, he already has much on his plate, right? You are supposed to make his life easier but there you go just stressing him more. Mindless apologies and «I’m sorry» mumbles fall down your lips, followed by a string of drool. 

“You'll be sorry when I'm done with you.”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @shellxrls | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @pockcock | @anisdoll | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq | @https-luvaviva | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡 : 𝐌𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 - 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Dead Dove Do not Eat. Noncon. Knife play. Blood. Dirty talk. Humilliation. Gore. Eroguro. | Word count: 0.9k (not proofread!)

— a/n: I know I'm behind, okay. I'm TRYING. Sorry if it sucks a little, it's 5 am.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

The crash against lightsabers was such a sweet sound to Anakin’s ears. Blue against red, the embodiment of good versus evil— but there wasn’t a sweeter sound for him than the sobs and cries emerging from your throat, paired with the skin-against-skin of his body against yours. 

His leather glove feels cold against your throat, pinning you on the floor, cutting your airflow tight enough to keep you motionless, but not enough to force you to pass out from lack of oxygen. “You filthy, separatist scum,” He growls, his saliva splattering over your face. His eyes are filled with madness and anger, as he submits his sworn enemy to the worst humiliation he can. “Once I’m done with you— fuck— You won’t be able to fight without remembering this moment.”

You wonder how the tables changed in a matter of seconds. Victory was on your side, or at least that’s what you thought— such a foolish thought. You shouldn’t have called victory so quickly. He was stronger than last time— filled with rage and resentment since you were the one who ridiculed him and broke his wrist the last time you encountered Anakin in battle. Now, it was the other way around and it crumbled every ounce of dignity you had left. You could hear the battle outside the room he caged you in, the distant blasters and yelling. Everything so proper of a life like yours— yet those sounds sounded so distant at the same time, the loud heartbeat ringing in your eardrums preventing you from focusing on anything else.

Anakin’s free hand let go of your hip to whip it across your face, delighted by the sob of pain and how your walls clenched around his cock. “You fucking sick bitch,” He laughs, leaning down to watch more closely how your face contorted in a mixture of pain and unwanted pleasure. “All that fighting and for what? You are just a whore. You are nothing.”

His cock bullies your tight hole, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. It hurt, the ache was in every fiber of your being and at some point, you wonder if this is all just a nightmare— but when he slaps your face again, it’s almost like a wake-up call. This is very real. All of this. Anakin reaches for the necklace around your neck, finally letting go of your neck for a glorious moment; the pendant with the Separatist engraving bounces with every thrust, which seems to catch his attention. His finger hooks under the black chain, yanking it and digging the material into your skin. Coughing, your body tries to fight one last time, only to be cut short by a sharp, rough punch on your nose. 

“Don’t fight it— There’s no way out of here.” It’s a promise, no longer a treat. You were never scared of Anakin. You always saw him as just a pathetic, pretty face. Always fighting for a pointless cause, competing without seeing the bigger panorama— until now. Every push of his cock breaks you a little more, despite the way your walls engulf him. It’s embarrassing how the wetness trickles down your thighs, how it coats his member with the unmistakable glisten of your arousal. Anakin lowers his blue eyes, which, unbeknownst to you, reflect a deep golden shade for a brief instant, admiring the way his throbbing length disappears in and out of you, along with the puffy, swollen sight of your pussy. Despite his restraints, he moans. A deep, gruff sound reverberates deep inside his broad chest, a sound that will be engraved inside your head forever. 

Your toes curl, and you hate yourself for that. Your back arches and a stream of gasps fall down your swollen lips. Blood trickles down your nose, perhaps it’s broken— but you have no idea if you’ll be alive after this. You are under his mercy— he is the God who decides if you live or not.

Anakin catches a glimpse of the blade that still hangs from your belt, smirking and yanking it from the metal hoop. The loud click echoes around you and for a moment you experience the strangest relief— anything is better than this. Even death. 

“I will k–keep my damn promise,” Anakin whispers, using the blade to cut the layers of clothing, freeing your chest. He growls at the sight of your breasts, swaying with the aggressive rocking of your spent body. “Every time you look in a mirror… you’ll remember me.”

Stopping abruptly, but keeping his cock buried deep, Anakin uses a strong, merciless Force grip to keep you still. Your legs and arms feel like they are being crushed under steel, itching your nerves and skin. With a trembling hand, the tip of your pocket knife digs into the skin of your right clavicle, puncturing the skin so easily it is almost laughable. Warm blood trickles down your chest, down to your ribs. Anakin ignores the cries of pain and the weak begging, nothing would stop him now. He drags the two oblique lines before connecting them with a small horizontal one, promptly carving the letter “A”. Letter by letter, your skin burns. By the time he reaches the letter “K”, the world around him is spinning. Your eyes blink hazily, as consciousness slowly leaves your mind. 

Anakin notices this and pats your cheek harshly. “Wake up. I’m almost done,” He continues, flicking his wrist to carve the last letter, making sure to dig the blade deeper when he draws the last line of the bright, red “N.”

His favorite flavor was victory.

— ❄️ Taglist! : @pockcock | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq | @https-luvaviva

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡 : 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 - 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝.

— CW: 18+, smut. DDLG undertones. Daddy kink. Age gap. Oral sex (f). | word count: 0.9k (not proofread)

— a/n: I realized I don't write much DDLG despite liking it a lot.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“Look,” You point at the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “Do you know what that means, Daddy?”

Clayton laughs, stepping forward and placing his hands on your hips. “I do, princess,” He raises his eyes to look at the mistletoe, shaking his head amused by your cuteness. “That's why you asked me to come upstairs?” 

You nod, reaching behind you to open the door of your bedroom. “Where’s my kiss?” There’s a very kissable pout on your lips and he is nothing more than a weak man. Clay is a helpless man when it comes to you, there is little he wouldn’t do for you— and of course, he wouldn’t deny you a kiss. Yanking the little fake mistletoe from the ceiling, he drags it by the white string while his lips attach to yours, pushing you backward until the back of your knees hits the edge of the bed. 

“If you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked for it,” He says between kisses, dangling the string in front of your face. 

“I know, Daddy. But isn’t it cute?” No, he doesn’t think a very invasive ‘Christmas tradition’ is cute. He thinks you are cute. His little girl is dangerously close to being confused by his daughter. His precious doll who is willing to do his every word and lay all her trust in him. That’s cute. Lovely. Damn desirable too. 

He agrees anyway, he isn’t going to ruin your mood. “It is, princess.” Clay kisses down your neck, hooking a finger underneath the wide strap of your nightdress and lowering one cup, immediately assaulting your exposed breast with his tongue. He adores how responsive and sensitive your tits are, he could suck ‘em for hours. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have to kiss you beneath the mistletoe, right?”

Breathless, you nod in response. You attempt to lift your legs to wrap them around his hips but Clay stops you. “Daddy?” You ask, confused. 

Instead of giving you an explanation, he picks up the white string again. Raising the little green knot on top of your lower body. “So if I put it on top of here, what does that mean?” You instantly pick up what he means. Clay laughs at your expression, swinging the mistletoe in the air with a devious grin. His cock throbs inside his expensive slacks, he can’t fucking stand how precious you are. “I don’t want to risk my good luck for the next year if I refuse such a proposal.”

Throwing the fresh little plant away, he can’t wait to devour you whole. Settling between your legs, he rides the long skirts of your red dress, spreading your thighs with his big hands. Something about his touch is always both reassuring and exhilarating. You can’t deny Clayton is far more experienced than you are and maybe that’s what dragged you into his life in the first place. The sweet yet dominating presence he has when he enters the room, laced with that gentlemanly aura that— maybe— money can buy. He licks the center of your panties, humming at the growing wetness that only a little bit of foreplay can cause in you. He also fucking adores that, how easy is to rail you up. 

Pressing his nose against your mound, he inhales softly, melting at the natural scent that belongs to you, so raw and delicious, somewhat mixed with those pricey perfumes he lavishes you with. Clay’s little princess isn’t going to spend a single day without being spoiled, either by his wallet or his tongue. It’s almost like an unspoken rule. 

Soon your underwear is discarded, probably landing next to the mistletoe at the corner of the room, so he can now freely spread your folds with his thumbs. He admires how your hole clenches around nothing, begging for attention just the way he likes. Granting you with that wish, his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing you before he coats his middle finger with your slick, circling your pussy maliciously. “Daddy—” You whine, desperate for more. Is that easy.

“Calm down, princess,” He says, his hot breath hitting your clit making you squirm. “Let Daddy have his fun,” He kisses your clit, promptly fulfilling the stupid Christmas tradition you thought would be a fun way to end the day. Sliding a finger, Clay is received with barely any resistance, sucking harder on your swollen bud. Your gummy, warm walls clench his finger, almost struggling to keep him close, but he knows you squeeze his cock harder than that— maybe because it’s way bigger and thicker than a single finger. It doesn’t take him long to add a second finger, spreading you further. For good measure, he pulls back and gathers spit in his mouth, smirking when the thick globe lands on your pussy, pushing it inside you with his fingers. Daddy likes it sloppy, Daddy likes it rough. Daddy likes it more when you scream his name. 

It’s your turn to grant him that gift, arching your back and panting while you fist the sheets, careful to not touch his hair. Daddy still has things to do, he always has things to do. But right now his job is helping you come undone on his fingers, on his mouth. 

“Go on, princess. Don’t you want to be Daddy’s good girl? Maybe Santa will bring you something big and long for Christmas this year.”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @darthgloris | @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @https-luvaviva | @sorryigotlipglossontheblunt | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡 : 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 - 𝐀𝐉

— CW: 18+. Smut. Fingering. Slight Exhibitionism (yes, again). Slight age gap (reader is 21, A.J. is 31). | Word Count: 1.3k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Happy second day of the Anyafest! Sorry for the delay. Had some little complications hehe.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“Where did you learn to play piano, Mr. A.J.?” You ask with a curious tilt, crossing your legs as you sit on the lid of the large black piano. His lips curl to a smile as he breathes a little chuckle. “What? I just want to know.”

“You are an inquisitive young lady,” A.J. replies, his pale fingers dancing over the piano tiles and maintaining a conversation with you without even looking, pure muscle memory. It fascinates you. Everything about him is mysterious and fascinating— he might be one of your favorite father’s colleagues. You know very little about him, you’ve known him for half a year and been captivated by him for half of that time. “How come your father hasn’t come looking for you?”

“He’s too busy chatting with Mr. Carter” You shrug. “Plus, the party was getting a little crowded, it is nice to find a quiet spot.” And to be alone with him, of course.

The empty music room was always a sanctuary, but when he is there showing off a talent you can’t still figure out completely, as if he was born with it— you seem to forget about the outer world. A part of you wishes he could feel the same but he has never shown signs of it. A.J. has never declined your presence either so you are at least sure that he enjoys having you around, whether it’s for courtesy for being his friend’s daughter or because he genuinely likes you. You have no clue.

“Must be tiring for a young socialite like yourself.”

The teasing edge of his voice makes you smile. You remain quiet for a little while, only enjoying the melodic tune coming from the strings underneath you. If you focus enough you can feel the gentle vibrations of the piano, a sensation somehow comforting. “So,” A.J. is the one who broke the silence. “What happened with that boy I saw you with last month?”

The question throws you off. He has never asked something so personal; you pout with another shrug, not really knowing what to say. “It wasn’t anything serious. I guess we were looking for different things. He wanted a compromise right away… and now that I think about it, he wasn’t even my type.”

“Oh, is that so?” He stops playing for a moment to crack his fingers, noticing how your eyes drift to the flex of his wrists and knuckles. “And what’s exactly your type?”

With a hum, you swing your legs. “I don’t know— I think he was trying to rush things, so definitely a rusher isn’t my type.”

“In what way?”

“He was talking about marriage after the second week.”

This time he laughs and you join him. Your laughter mixes with the music and you can swear you have never heard something more beautiful. “That is rushing things,” You were glad A.J. agreed with you. “And what else?”

“Well, a smart man never hurts anybody. Maybe older than me for a change.” It was a risky answer but you don’t have much to lose. 

“An older man?” A.J. quirks an eyebrow waiting for you to elaborate.

“Yeah, not much though. I don’t want him to be ancient. I think ten years older would be my limit.” You look away as you say these words— kind of embarrassed for highlighting the exact age difference between A.J. and you. 

A.J. seems to ponder your answer but his face doesn’t change much. After another round of silence, he stops playing again. Standing up from the small velvet stool he towers in front of the piano to close the lid. “Ten years isn’t much, I suppose.” You decide to try something bolder; turning your body, to face him fully. Your bare legs dangle over the piano lid, almost brushing his thighs. 

“You think so?” 

“I know so,” Another smirk draws on his lips, but this time is quite different from any other you’ve seen. His left hand brushes over your ankle, his index finger tracing the strap of your heel. “I guess I’d be fine with dating someone ten years younger.” Your heart jolts at his words, blinking as if you couldn’t believe what he just said. A.J. chuckles at your reaction, raising his hand to caress your calf all the way to your knee. His hands are surprisingly warm, and you find yourself drawn to the feeling. 

“Mr. A.J.?” You whisper, leaning back slightly when he inches forward slowly. 

“Just call me A.J, dollface. I’m not that old.” His palm ventures to your thigh, his fingertips touching the hem of your red dress. “You know, red looks good on you.”

“Thank you” You mumble sheepishly. 

Hovering over you, his lips kiss your jaw chastely as if he were testing the waters. “You are a very beautiful lady, I’m glad you got rid of that boy.” Sliding his hand between your thighs, he touched the fabric of your underwear. “Tell me to stop and I will, okay?” A.J. whispers, returning his lips to your cheek and kissing it repeatedly. You nod weakly, spreading your thighs as much as the dress allows you to. His thumb traces your clothed folds, teasing you. 

He continues caressing you, taking his time despite knowing that someone could walk in at any moment. But something tells you that he isn’t going to stop anyway. Finally, he touches your clit, circling it deliberately. A soft moan from your part makes him smile again, you are not even surprised in the slightest that his hands are even more skilled in more ways than one. It feels like ages have passed until he finally moves your panties to the side, collecting some of your slick to continue his assault on your clit.

“So wet already… is this all for me?” 

“Yes,” You breathe, your thighs tensing with delight. He fucking knows what he is doing with that husky voice of his. “All for you.”

“Good girl.”

A.J. slides one finger, releasing a small grunt of amusement when your walls hug his digit tightly. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about this. Of course he has seen the way you look at him, always biting your lower lip, addressing him so politely and nicely, always batting your mascara-coated eyelashes… everything you do is alluring to him. Adding a second finger to the mix, he makes sure to lift his hand so the heel of his palm rubs against your clit. Reaching to remove his hat, he places it over your head. “You look gorgeous.” A.J. compliments you. His hat fits you a tad big, but you can still see him despite the dark brim. You want to thank him, to show him your damn gratitude for making you feel so good but you can’t. He crooks his fingers inside you, rubbing them against your G-spot and causing your whole body to jolt forward. 

“That’s it, good girl—” He coos at you, leaning down and moving his neck to the side to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. “Are you going to come?”

“Uh-uh,” It’s a dumb, mindless mumble but it’s enough. He speeds up, charmed by the wet sounds that your pussy makes for him— for A.J. that’s even more lovely than any tune his fingers can play… this is a different type of music; primal and raw, passionate and erotic. His favorite one. 

“Not yet.” He withdraws his fingers, kissing you again when you moan in discontentment. “Patience, dollface. Not here. Let’s go to a place where I can listen to you properly.”

You look at him with puppy eyes, pouted red lips, and a heaving chest. “My room is upstairs…” It’s an offering, and one he wouldn’t decline. A.J. smirks again, bringing his coated fingers to his lips and licking them clean. The action is short and silent but it speaks volumes.

“That’s better. And keep the hat, precious. I want to see you with it while you ride me.”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @urmomsfav0 | @anisgurll | @mortalheartache | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 : 𝐑𝐞𝐝 - 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐕𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Lingerie. Reader is a prostitute. Fingering. Use of the word whore (non as an insult). | Word count: 1.0k (not proofread!)

— a/n: Late again but what's new... I really liked this one. I'm actually proud of it.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

The bed was more of a luxury or an accommodation. It was just a piece of furniture that took up space in the large room— except for the weekends, that is. The weekends were reserved for a simple routine, one he, unfortunately, grew strangely fond of— a necessity that translates into the odd comfort of normality that Darth Vader never expected to go through again. 

He still wasn’t used to the feeling of the mattress sinking under his weight, and it was not like he could feel the soft duvets and covers with the thick armor that protected his body. But again, searching for that strange, comforting closeness, his hand traces the curve of your hip as you sit on his lap, straddling his big and cold thighs— boldly dressed in nothing else than dark red lingerie. The sight itself is provocative, he has to admit it. Vader traces a single finger up to your waist, his loud breathing seemingly relaxing at the touch. 

“Where did you get this?” He asks calmly, his index finger reaching the center of your chest. The leather feels cold against your warm skin, but he knows that if he takes the glove off, the metallic limb will be frigid. 

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” You shrug. “Don’t be too curious about it.” The response is casual but it doesn’t hold a teasing undertone, you know better than to tease him. Vader lets it slide, it feels… nice when someone does something thinking about you.

He stays quiet for a while, simply exploring your body and tracing the memorized paths with the leather you learned to love. Sometimes you wonder how it ended up this way— it was supposed to be a job, a job that turned into a routine and a routine that concluded with a small dynamic of submission and surrender. It feels like ages have passed when he finally lowers the straps of the delicate lace bralette, dragging it down your chest and watching the way your breasts spill free. Vader is quick to cup them with his large hands, palms brushing over the erect buds; you gasp at the contact, arching your back towards him as a natural reaction. He adores how responsive you are, completely opposite to other miserable “high-class” prostitutes he had the misfortune to waste his money on… not you, he still thinks every credit has been— and will be— worth it. 

He plays with your heaving chest, flicking your nipples and pinching them softly, dragging soft pants and moans from your wet lips. His eyes flicker from your chest to your face, admiring how it breaks with pleasure every now and then. You are oblivious to his staring, you have never seen him without his mask. 

“Red suits you.”

These three words, which possibly mean nothing to Vader but to you feel like the most abnormal confession, send a shiver down your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin. He notices it, he notices it all. Nothing can go unseen by him. The sensual torture over your chest continues, slow and deliberate until the air is struggling to flow through your lungs. Vader waited four agonizing days for this, and he is taking his time to explore the body he not only paid for— but the body that brought that sense of humanity back to his twisted mind.

Finally, he trails lower, lifting your body with an arm wrapped around your waist to cup your clothed crotch, although “clothed” would be a generous word to describe the tiny red thong that covered the last decency you had left. Or whatever decency a whore can have. The heel of his palm rubs against your throbbing clit, making you squirm and buckle your hips. Vader shakes his head, a silent command that means “patience”, this man has anything but patience outside these four walls— but you can’t bring yourself to think about that; all you can focus on is the way his fingers push aside the skimpy panties, sliding a single digit in. The stretch pushes the air out of your lungs, it always does. 

“Please” You whisper, perhaps a little too greedily for his taste. Vader clicks his tongue, and you can hear it, which both amazes you and excites you. Any sort of emotion that you can read either in little sounds, heavy breathing, or corporal language is enough communication. But, to your joy, he complies this time. His index finger thrusts in and out of your pussy parsimoniously, coating the dark leather with your slick, watching it glisten under the dim lights of his chambers. 

Underneath that stern mask, amber-hooded eyes fixate on the sight. He could tell you were enjoying it, not faking it just like any other prostitute would for a lousy amount of credits— which brings a warm, forgotten feeling to his chest that expands like branches, reaching the spot that could be considered occupied by his heart. Adding a second finger, the leather feels no longer cold, the furnace that your body is converted into helps immensely. 

Thrusting faster, your gummy walls tighten around his index and middle finger, gripping him like a vice. He can tell you are close by the way you wiggle and moan, each little sound growing in intensity in tandem with the push of those glorious, thick fingers. It doesn’t matter if there is flesh or metal underneath the damn leather, the only thing that occupies your brain is him. 

“You can let go,” Vader exhales, this time focusing solely on your face. He wants to see it break, to mix in that expression that he couldn’t tell was pain or pleasure— heightened by the taboo of being used by the Lord Sith himself. You don’t want to disobey, or you couldn’t anyway. “Come for me.”

And you do— oh, you do. Your pussy spasm, coating him in another wave of generous slick. Darth Vader curls his fingers slightly, rubbing against that other spot that heightened your orgasm. Your hands, unable to find another spot to hold onto, land on his broad shoulders, scrunching the coarse fabric of his cape underneath your trembling hands. Leaning forward, your eyes shut close, brows furrowed as your forehead rests against his helmet in a surprising yet welcomed act of intimacy. 

Red really suits you, just like black suits you. 

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @arzua10 | @tammy-baker | @haydensgirlaela | @bimbo-baggins86 | @jadeeeeqq | @https-luvaviva | @sorryigotlipglossontheblunt | @bunnylovesani

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟕𝐭𝐡 : 𝐈𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Mild food play. Tit sucking. | Word count: 0.8 (not proofread!)

— Anyafest + Taglist!

“Can you stop eating the icing?” You ask with a sigh, lowering the tray of freshly baked cookies on the kitchen counter. Luke rolls his eyes and lowers the bowl, but before he removes his sticky hands he dips his finger again. 

Sometimes he can be quite childish, and it’s sometimes adorable. He didn’t experience many of these activities at home— his life in Tatooine was pretty much like the local weather, dry and boring— so it’s fun and exciting to see him try and learn— even if that means wrapping his fingers and palms after he burnt himself with the stove. 

“Are you sure we are alone?” He asks, leaning against the edge of the counter, licking his lips. To be fair, the powdered sugar icing you did is really good. How is he supposed to keep his hands away from it? 

“Very sure. Han is at the market buying the groceries he ate last night, as for Leia, I think she is busy with some work stuff. She did mention it in the morning.” You place a large cloth on the cookies, waiting for them to cool down to decorate them. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh… nothing in particular,” He says, but you know Luke. He’s hiding something. He is a terrible liar. It doesn’t take him long to walk behind you and place his hands on your hips. His nose nuzzles against your neck, smiling softly. “Glad to know I have you for myself for a while.”

It’s surprising how jealous he can be sometimes. He is quite envious of those who can have your attention. If there is something you have learned about Luke, is that he wants you all for himself; sometimes you wonder form where this particular trait might come from; it is not like Leia shows the same jealous emotion, and if she does she is good at masking it— unlike Luke, who you can smell his jealousy from miles away. Luke likes to be the center of your attention, to have you next to him at all times, and it’s not really a hard task. 

“So that’s what you had in mind,” You reply, turning around to face him. Your palms lay flat on his chest, crooking your head to smile back and meet his lips. He tastes like that overly sweet icing. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”

“I know,” He shrugs. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Soon he is pressing you against the counter, licking your lips, and sliding his tongue inside your mouth. He isn’t as shy as he was when you started dating, which is something good. Getting Luke out of his little shell was the hard part, at first— now the difficult part is keeping his hands off you. Said hands reach down to squeeze your hips, moving to grope your ass and trail his lips to your neck. You let out a soft sigh, letting him have his fun. 

“I have an idea,” Luke suddenly breaks, lifting your fuzzy sweater and running his hand over your breast. “Do you think we have enough icing for the cookies?” “Uh?” Your mind was already drifting away from the damn cookies. “I think so, why?”

“You’ll see.” 

He pulls down one of the cups of your bra, freeing your breast and lowering his face to run his tongue over your nipple. He sucks it with his teeth and teases the bud with his tongue until it hardens, moaning deeply at the feeling. He had said it countless times, and you start to believe he could suck at your tits for hours. Removing his mouth with a wet sound that makes you giggle, he dips his index and middle finger into the icing, bringing it back to your chest and smearing it over your nipple, around the areola, and above the valley. If he could put a cherry on top you know he would.

“Now they really look like a treat,” He laughs, licking his lips before diving in again. In reality, Luke is making more of a mess than cleaning, but then he’ll have more places to lick the icing off. 

He sure is having fun, moaning against your sticky skin and grinding his very noticeable erection against your thigh. Your fingers run through his sandy locks and tug on them gently, making him whine. His mouth suckles on your nipple desperately, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. He doesn’t stop until he has cleaned all the icing, only to lift the other side of your sweater and repeat the same action on your other breast. 

Hanging your head, you moan his name, arching your chest to press it further against his flushed face. Luke grabs both breasts and squeezes them together, pinching your right nipple with his hand while biting on the left one.

“You are going to eat all the icing,” You giggle breathlessly, biting your lower lip. “And I don’t have any more powdered sugar.”

“Then call Han and tell him to bring more.”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @offthethirlwall | @pockcock | @shellxrls | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @anisgurll | @arzua10 | @haydensgirlaela | @bunnylovesani | @glazelilies | @slvttedoutmars

[fuckmyskywalker]

❄️ 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝐭𝐡 : 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 - 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Blowjob. Mild rimjob. Cum play. | Word Count: 0.8k (not proofread!)

— a/n: There is no excuse. I legit forgot to finish it and I got the flu so I'm stuck in bed coughing like a dog.

— Anyafest 2023 + Taglist!

“But what if he hears us?” Luke asks, looking side to side as you kneel between his legs. “If your brother sees us he is going to beat my ass.”

You scoff, lowering his white boxers and wrapping a hand around the base of his cock ignoring the way his breath hitches. “Relax, baby. Han won’t find out. He passed out in his room.” 

He tries to protest again but it quickly dies when you slide his cock down your throat. This isn’t the welcoming he had in mind but it sure is… eventful. Luke bites his lower lip to stay quiet, he knows not even a bomb threat could wake up Han but still— he is terrified. Reaching for a pillow he scrapes his short nails on the fabric while biting the back of his left hand. “I really think this is a bad idea…” He pants, spreading his thighs further.

Ignoring him, you suck the head, hollowing your cheeks and keeping your eyes on him. It’s so pretty how easy it is to get the blonde flustered and blabbering, and he makes such pretty noises… definitely the loud type. His breath grows heavier until he can’t resist any longer, groaning loudly, Luke arches his body towards you. You pull back with a scolding look, slapping his thigh softly. “He will listen if you moan like that.”

“S–Sorry!” Luke whispers, his cheeks red like flames. “It just feels so good—”

“I know it does. But shut up.”

Returning your mouth around the head of his cock, Luke gasps at how soft and warm your lips feel. Your tongue licks against the sensitive spot beneath the tip, making him quiver with pleasure, determined to tease him, your hands caress his thighs, moving higher and to his sides. Luke immediately gets the message and lifts his hips slightly, granting you easier access to reach his asscheeks. His hips buckle involuntarily, thrusting his cock deeper. You gag but you are determined to make him lose his mind— regardless of how nasty things got. Luke’s head hangs from the backrest, panting and letting go of the pillow to grip the armrest tightly. He feels like he is floating in a cloud of euphoria; a feeling only you can cause on him. Only you can make his mind drift away from everything else but this moment— even forgetting that his friend is in the next room, completely oblivious of his younger sibling skillfully deepthroating him. 

 You couldn’t help but moan around his cock, enjoying the way he becomes putty in your hands with a simple blowjob. Teasing him further, your index finger began to circle his thigh hole, making Luke’s entire body jolt and choke with his own groans and moans. He is being a little too loud now. It was a sensation he wasn’t entirely familiar with yet— something strange yet incredibly erotic. His hips were moving on their own now, thrusting against your mouth with increasing intensity. 

“Wait, I’m close,” He mumbles, trying to warn you. He looks over his shoulder again to the hallway, hoping his fucking best friend doesn’t cockblock him. “Please— I can’t hold it any longer.”

Perhaps you were feeling generous tonight because instead of edging him as you would normally do, you increased the pace slightly, your wet tongue dancing around his cock. Your index barely manages to slide inside his hole when Luke finally breaks, pushing your head with his palm all the way down until your forehead practically brushes against his lower abdomen. Closing your eyes to fight the natural gag reflex, your toes curl when he releases his hot seed, painting your throat— it amazes you how much the blonde can come, some of his cum escaping the corners of your mouth and trickling down your chin. Swallowing greedily, Luke wipes the sweat off his forehead with a sigh, helping you stand up before fixing his pants. 

“You are crazy,” He smiles, pulling you closer and bringing you to his lap, kissing you and unashamedly tasting his own essence that lingers on your tongue. “That was— perfect.” His blue eyes fixate on yours, filled with adoration. Something about Luke and his pathetic capability of falling in love with anyone who showers him with attention. 

“Yeah?” You reply with a giggle, rubbing your nose against his. “Well, take it as a welcome gift after a long mission.”

Both of your smiles disappear when one of the hallway doors opens— the figure of Han emerging from it. He rubs his eyes, yawning before looking in your direction. His eyes widen when he sees you on top of Luke. “What is going on?” He asks, voice groggy but utterly confused. 

Luke blushes, gripping your hips harder. You scoff and look away. “None of your fucking business.”

“So you were making those noises?” Han looks disgusted but says nothing else, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

“Wait—” Luke turns back at you, still slightly dazed by his orgasm. “Did he… he thinks you were the one moaning?”

— ❄️ Taglist! : @pockcock | @anisdoll | @wifeofasith | @anakinsgirlfriendreal | @haydensgirlaela