#overstimmed

Anakin Skywalker x reader • Anakin x reader • princess!reader • protector!anakin • grinding • picnic setting • mutual feelings • first time • yellow dress • intense • denying feelings at first • Jedi code? don’t know her

since your parents pushed you into the spotlight as the new queen of naboo there had been a handful of awfully scary assassination attempts. you insisted that ‘I can handle it father’ or ‘you taught me well mother’ after every situation, despite all of your very ‘convincing’ arguments they asked to have a Jedi assigned to protect you. they had handpicked the greatest, the most capable—ANAKIN SKYWALKER.

ani? the little boy who would follow you around, hugging your leg and begging for one kiss? you thought it was foolish until you saw him. he had grown into a very capable young man. tall, strong and good with a lightsaber.

you felt at ease until the familiar flirting began. compliments, stares and comments with second meanings. the worst part was that you could no longer ignore it and brush it off as a little boy being annoying, now it was a very handsome young man hitting on you every chance he got. it made you second guess your original stance on him being ‘cute little ani’.

he accompanied you to every market trip, party and simple outing. today you wanted to have a picnic in this beautiful field you had heard about, something you would usually do alone now accompanied with Anakin. he stared at you the whole time he sliced up pears and apples for you, eyeing down your dress. you suddenly regretted the dress choice. you where now very aware of how the yellow dress pooled around your thighs and slightly clung to your chest. Anakin seemed extremely aware of the assets the dress highlighted too.

you tried to ignore his staring, focusing on chewing and swallowing the pear slices but the staring was becoming extremely hard to ignore. finally you turn to him and tell him sternly. “stop staring at me Anakin.” You say firmly. he suppresses a grin and shifts closer. “why?” he asks, as if he’s daring you. daring you to do what? your are not sure. “because your young, a young boy’s shouldn’t look at princesses like that.” you rebut, hoping it will stop him.

“I’m not a boy, I’m a man” his voice now sounding a little deeper than before hand. “No, you are not.” “so your saying if I was older you would let me stare?” he grins slightly, shifting closer once again.

“no… that’s not what—your impossible Skywalker.” you try to sound stern and mean but he sees past the act. he grins wider and tilts his head to the side, before he can say something sarcastic or flirty you interrupt. “you’re also arrogant” you shoot back. he doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at you shamelessly as if he knows it better than any comeback he could say with words.

you scrunch your nose and your hand flys out to slap his arm but he catches it. “Do you always hit boys you like?” he asks, fingers tightening slightly around your wrist. your cheeks flush bright red and you try to pull away but he pulls you back. “I do not like you Anakin.” you say, your stern voice now completely ineffective. “Liar” he murmurs. your eyes dart to his lips for just a second, but it’s long enough for him to know that’s he’s won.

after years and years, he’s won.

he slowly tugs you closer by your wrist and once your close enough he drops it to then cup the back of your neck. you find yourself no longer resisting him and his seduction. his lips meet yours, a sweet honey mixing with mint. his hand slides up from your neck to thread through your loose curls, holding you close. he prepares for you to pull away and tell him to leave but you don’t. he rides out the kiss for as long as he can as if it might be the only chance he has to kiss you.

finally when he needs to inhale he pulls back. he stares at you, trying to hide how surprised he is. before he can say something clumsy or stupid you pull him back in for another kiss, a kiss that seals how much you actually want him.

his hand slides down from the back of your neck to your waist, feeling the embroidered details and beads on your yellow dress under his palm. your own hands began to wonder and explore—not in a lewd way, at first. your fingers feel his chest and stomach through his tunic—tracing firm and soft parts of his abdomen. he groans into the kiss, the sound startling you at first.

you pull back and stare at him before he whispers softly with a sheepish smile. “that felt good” he admits, the cocky persona dropped. you nod and continue to kiss him and let your hands wonder and explore his body. his hands slide down to the small of your back and slowly guides you to sit on his lap—the action coax another groan from him. his hands are now on your hips, testing the waters of what your comfortable doing. you lean into his touch, he holds back the inner child in him that’s begging the scream “kriff yeah!” and instead he slowly slides his hand up your dresses skirt.

you pull away, placing your hands on his chest to push him back slightly. “I don’t think… I don’t want that yet” you whisper softly. he pulls his hand out of your dresses skirt and nods. “okay, what do you want?” Anakin asks back in response. you think momentarily before deciding. “I like being on your lap…” you whisper before slowly rocking your hips. his eyes widen in realisation and before he nods quickly in agreement. “okay, same” he agrees

he starts to slowly help you rock and grind yourself against him, he begins to grow swollen and large under you. the feeling of his stiffness against your sensitive bud was heavenly. “that feels so good, oh star” you sigh softly. his arms wrap around your back when you set a good pace on your own. “y-yeah… mhm” his voice cracks slightly as he uses all of his strength not to explode.

he was trying his absolute hardest not to blow this. blow this opportunity to impress the girl of his dreams and possibly even make her feel good. he strains slightly, his large hands dig into your back. “kriff… sorry, this just feels really good” he groans. you whimper and nod your head. “I’m getting close ani”

he used to hate when you called him ani. it was such a horribly childish nickname. It made him feel like he was a tiny boy and not the man that he wanted so desperately to be. suddenly he loves it when you call him ani. it’s so incredibly sweet and seductive coming from your mouth. he smashed his lips against yours once again, this time with more heat and need. his hips buck up against you through his pants and your cotton panties. “Please, say it again” he asks, begs. you pull back with a confusion on your face. “Ani, say ani again” he clarifies between groans.

“ani, this feels so good ani” you whisper to him. he groans and then he bury his face into the crook of your neck. inhaling the sweet scent of berries that clings to your hair. the friction of your mound against his stiffness is so intense. he feels himself getting to a very familiar edge. “m-m’lady… I’m, kriff, I’m going to come” he warns. you quicken the pace of your grinding. “m-me too ani”

his whole body tenses before the pressure explodes. his hips buck and jerk, a guttural sound slips out. the bucking of his hips is enough to push you other the edge yourself. the sensation is unbearably good, you hold your breath for what seems like an eternity as you rock and grind your hips, riding out the first climax someone else has given you. your fingers joints ache and hurt from griping his shoulder so tightly. as you both slowly stop moving and moaning you finally let go of his shoulders and his hands loosened their grip on your back.

he pulls his face away from your neck to stare at you. his eyes are wide but not nearly as wide as your eyes are. you pull back completely but remain on his lap. your in shock at how fast this all happened, how fast the situation escalated to the both of you having a shared orgasm. it felt so right.

“this—this can’t happen again.”

“it won’t angel”

cw⪼ heavy angsts. smut. rough sex. angry sex. hate sex. guilt kink. emotional sex. choking. biting. marking. hair pulling. spanking. creampie. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. crying during sex. hurt no comfort (or minimal comfort). grief. survivor’s guilt. death of minor characters. self-hatred. possessiveness. toxic love. morally grey decisions. blood mention. swearing.

the rain is relentless, hammering the safehouse roof like it wants to bury every ugly secret you two carry. it’s been pouring since the mission ended yesterday—yesterday, when nanami kento made the call that killed two juniors. you still see it every time you blink: the special grade curse expanding its domain, the girl’s scream cut short, the boy reaching for his weapon too late. all because nanami hesitated. one heartbeat. one look at you pinned under that thing’s technique, and he chose you. again. always you.

the living room feels suffocating. you’re pacing in nothing but his white button-down, the fabric still carrying his scent from before everything went to shit. sleeves too long, hem brushing your thighs. he stands by the window, back to you, dress shirt half-unbuttoned and clinging to his damp skin, blond hair a mess from the rain and the way he’s been dragging his hands through it like he could claw the guilt out of his skull.

you can’t take the silence anymore.

“say it,” you snap, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “say their names. say you’re sorry. or are you just going to stand there pretending two people aren’t dead because you couldn’t stop putting me first?”

nanami turns slowly. his golden eyes are storm-dark, jaw locked so tight the muscle ticks. when he speaks, his voice is low, dangerous, barely holding together.

“their names were haru and mio. haru was twenty-three. he had a little sister turning eight next month. mio was planning to propose to her girlfriend after this mission. i read every file after the extraction. every message on their phones. every photo. and i still chose you.”

the words hit like a curse. your chest tightens, anger and grief twisting together until you can’t breathe. you step closer, fists clenched.

“then why the fuck did you do it? why do you always do it? i’m not special, kento. i’m not worth two lives. but you keep making me the exception and it’s killing you. it’s killing us. every time you hesitate for me, someone else pays. and you just… keep doing it.”

he crosses the room in two strides, one big hand shooting out to grab your throat—not choking, but firm, pinning you back against the wall. his palm is hot, trembling with everything he’s trying to contain. his face is inches from yours, breath ragged.

“because losing you would break me worse than any guilt,”

he growls, voice cracking at the edges.

“you think i don’t know how selfish that is? you think i don’t hate myself for it every single second? i see their faces. i hear their screams. and still—still—when that domain started closing in, all i could think was not her. not you. i’d let the whole world burn if it meant keeping you breathing.”

tears burn your eyes but you shove them down with pure fury. you grab his wrist, nails digging in. “then hate me for it. hate yourself for it. hate us enough to make it hurt. because i can’t keep watching you destroy yourself over something you won’t stop doing.”

his control shatters.

the kiss is brutal—teeth clashing, tongues fighting, mouths devouring like you’re both trying to punish the guilt out of each other. you bite his bottom lip until you taste blood; he groans deep and slams you harder against the wall, hand tightening on your throat just enough to make stars spark behind your eyes. his other hand yanks the button-down open, buttons flying, fabric ripping as he palms your breasts roughly, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you arch and moan into his mouth.

“fuck you,” he snarls against your lips, voice wrecked and raw. “fuck you for making me this weak. for making me choose you every fucking time.”

“then do it properly,” you gasp, nails raking down his chest, leaving angry red lines.

“fuck me like you hate me. like you hate the fact that you’d trade lives for this. make it hurt so bad we both forget their names for a little while.”

he doesn’t waste time carrying you anywhere. he spins you around, shoving your chest against the wall, yanking the shirt the rest of the way off so it pools at your feet. your panties are torn down your legs in one vicious yank. you hear his belt, the zipper, the wet sound of him spitting in his palm before he fists his thick cock—already hard, flushed dark, leaking at the tipand lines up.

no warning. no mercy. he slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. the stretch is fire, tearing a cry from your throat as your forehead presses to the cold wall. he starts fucking you immediately—hard, deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes leave the floor, skin slapping loud and wet over the roar of the rain.

“is this what you want?” he growls, hips snapping forward savagely, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“me ruining you because i can’t stop choosing you over everything else? over haru? over mio? over every life i’m supposed to protect?”

you push back against him, meeting every angry thrust, anger and pain and desperate love twisting in your gut.

“yes—fuck—harder, kento. make me feel how much it destroys you. make me pay for their deaths too, since i’m the one you keep saving.”

he snarls, teeth sinking into your shoulder from behind, biting down hard enough to break skin causing it to leak streams of blood. the pain blooms hot and sharp, mixing with the pleasure as he fucks you deeper, grinding against that spot inside you that makes your vision white out. every thrust is brutal, relentless, the wet obscene sounds of your bodies echoing through the room.

“you’re selfish,” he pants against your neck, voice hoarse and cracking with every savage snap of his hips. “letting me love you when you know the cost. and i’m worse—i’m the monster who lets them die so i can have this. this tight, perfect cunt that owns me. that makes me willing to trade lives.”

tears stream down your face now, mixing with sweat and blood. the pleasure is vicious, building too fast, tangled with the guilt that’s choking you both. you come first—shattering around him with a broken sob that sounds like his name, walls clamping down like you’re trying to drag him to hell with you. your legs shake, knees buckling, but he holds you up, fucking you through the orgasm without mercy, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, still pulsing around his thick cock.

“not enough,”

he growls, pulling out only to flip you around and lift you, pinning you to the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. he slides back in with one smooth, brutal thrust, eyes locked on yours—golden, wild, full of so much pain and love it hurts to look at. “look at me while i fuck you. see what you’ve turned me into. a man who’d watch the world end for one more second with you.”

he fucks you like that—face to face, angry and raw, hips slamming relentlessly while his mouth crashes into yours again. biting, sucking, whispering broken confessions between kisses:

“i hate you,”

“i can’t stop needing you,”

“i’d let them all die again if it meant this moment right now.”

you claw at his back, nails digging deep enough to draw blood as another orgasm rips through you, harder than the first. you scream his name, body convulsing, cunt milking him like it never wants to let go. he follows right after—burying himself as deep as he can, groaning your name like a curse and a prayer as he spills inside you, hot thick pulses that feel endless. he keeps grinding through it, fucking his cum deeper, marking you, claiming you even while everything is falling apart.

but he’s far from done.

he carries you to the couch without pulling out, drops you on your back, and spreads your legs wide. his mouth is on you before you can catch your breath—tongue licking up the mess he just made, sucking your clit hard while two thick fingers plunge back inside, curling viciously against that spot. you’re sobbing now, oversensitive and still furious, hips bucking against his face even as you push at his head.

“too much—kento—fuck, i can’t—”

“take it,” he growls against your pussy, voice muffled and furious. “take every drop of this guilt. every scream i ignored for you. every life i traded. come on my tongue like the selfish bitch who owns me.”

he eats you out like he’s starving for absolution, tongue and fingers working you mercilessly until you come again—shaking, crying, thighs clamping around his head so hard he groans into you. only then does he climb back up, cock still hard and slick with your combined fluids, and slide into you again—slower this time but no less deep, no less passionate. he fucks you on the couch for what feels like hours, flipping positions every time you come: you riding him while he grips your hips and thrusts up brutally, then bent over the armrest while he pounds into you from behind, hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave vibrant handprints.

the anger never fades. it fuels everything. every thrust is a confession. every bruise a promise. every broken moan carries the weight of haru and mio and all the ones who came before them.

when the couch isn’t enough, he lifts you again, carrying you to the bedroom. he throws you on the bed and follows, spreading you open and sliding back in with one long, deep stroke. this time he fucks you slower but harder, eyes never leaving yours, forehead pressed to yours as he rocks into you with punishing rolls of his hips.

“tell me you hate me,”

he whispers, voice hoarse from shouting and moaning.

“tell me while i’m inside you. tell me while i fill you up again.”

“i hate you,” you sob, weak legs wrapped tight around him, nails raking down his back.

“i hate that you choose me. i hate that i let you. i hate how much i love you for it anyway.”

he kisses you then—deep, desperate, passionate—hips never stopping. he comes again, flooding you with another load, but he keeps moving, fucking it deeper, keeping himself buried while he whispers against your lips how he’d do it all over again, how he’s damned and he doesn’t care as long as you’re here, warm and wet and his.

the night stretches on. round after round. against the wall again when you try to pull away and he yanks you back. in the shower where the hot water mixes with your tears and his cum dripping down your thighs. back on the bed where he eats you out until you’re bleeding begging, then fucks you face-down into the mattress, one hand pressing your head into the pillow while the other rubs your clit in tight, mean circles.

hours blur. your bodies are slick with sweat, cum, and tears. bruises bloom on your hips, thighs, and feet..? bite marks on your neck and shoulders, scratches down his back. every orgasm feels like penance and sin at the same time. he never softens for long—his cock stays hard from the sheer intensity of his anger and love, filling you over and over until you’re leaking his cum constantly, the sheets soaked beneath you.

eventually the rain starts to ease, just a little. you’re both exhausted, tangled in the wrecked bed, his cock still buried deep inside you even though he’s soft now. he’s holding you so tight it almost hurts, forehead against yours, breathing ragged and slow.

“they had futures,”

he whispers into the quiet, voice completely shattered.

“haru wanted to teach his sister how to ride a bike. mio was saving for a ring. and i took that from them. for this. for the way you feel around me. for the way you say my name when you come. and the worst part… the worst fucking part… is that if we had to do it again tomorrow, i’d hesitate again. i’d choose you again. and i hate myself for it more than i’ve ever hated anything.”

your chest cracks wide open. tears slip down your temples as you thread your fingers through his damp hair, holding him there.

“i know,” you breathe, voice raw from screaming. “and i hate you for making me the reason. i hate that part of me is grateful. i hate that i’d beg you to choose me every time too, even knowing the cost. we’re both monsters, kento. damned and selfish and so fucking in love it’s going to kill us one day.”

he kisses you slowly then—tender this time, but still laced with that deep, aching passion. his hips start to rock again, gentle but deliberate, sliding through the mess he’s made of you.

“then we burn together,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with exhaustion and love and unrelenting guilt.

“slowly. painfully. every night like this until there’s nothing left of either of us but this. because i can’t stop. i won’t stop. not as long as you’re here to take it from me.”

you cling to him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist as he starts fucking you again(again..?)—slow, deep, passionate strokes that feel like both punishment and home.

the rain has almost stopped outside.

but inside, the storm between you rages on.

he fucks you through the quiet hours of early morning—angry whispers turning to soft broken moans, bodies moving together like they were made for this kind of ruin. every thrust says i’m sorry and i’d do it again and i love you more than anything in this cursed world.

you take it all.

because nanami kento’s guilt, his anger, his desperate all-consuming love… it’s the only thing that still feels real.

and neither of you is ready to let go.

not tonight.

not ever.

it sucks tho because the consequences of him were just as bad as collateral damage..

fin.🏁

A/N👁️:one day i’ll become pro like those people who post 2 story’s every other day.

A/N2:im sorri if this is really bad angst i’m trying to step out of my comfort zone

Imagine a electricstim vibrator down your urethra and one up your ass and every time you try to talk your master just turns it on to rest if you can keep a calm composure and he does this for an entire day your outside and you’ve probably already came once or twice by now but he just keeps turning it up and up until your pretty much clinging to him in order to just walk while he taunts you like he isn’t stimulating every cell in your body at one time. And finally when you get home he ties you up with everything still in you and since your to exsuasted to fight back he hooks your dick up to a stroker, ball gags you and then sets everything to max and leaves you there for the rest of the evening.

God I could use a sadistc boyfriend especially one who like pleasure torture and overstimulation

⚠️ 18+ / MDNI / Diego Brando doesn’t fuck, he tastes & teases

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“FOSSIL PULSE”

PAIRING: Diego Brando x GN!Reader (rival scout caught in his tent)

KINKS: Overstimulation via Stand • Twisted body worship • Degradation & praise • Humiliation • Biting/marking

WC: ~450ish | MOOD: Dust, lantern-smoke, & the low growl of Scary Monsters

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Diego’s tent is a cage of shadows & heat. You’re on your knees in the dirt, wrists bound behind you with his own reins, leather biting skin. He circles slow, boots silent, scar twitching like it’s alive. Scary Monsters hums in the air, a low reptilian thrum that makes your teeth ache.

“Pathetic little scavenger,” he sneers, voice silk & venom. “Thought you could steal from me?” His gloved hand snags your chin, tilting your face to the cracked mirror propped against a saddlebag. “Look. See the mess you already are.”

In the glass: your lips swollen, eyes glassy, chest heaving. He doesn’t strip you, just rips fabric aside, exposing skin in jagged patches. His Stand manifests, skeletal claws, dino teeth glinting gold. They don’t touch. They hover, vibrating, a breath from your throat.

“Flawed,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “Every inch. Mine to perfect.” A claw traces your collarbone then bites shallow, blood beading like rubies. You whimper; the vibration intensifies, teeth grazing nerves without breaking skin. Pleasure spikes, sharp. Your hips jerk, he laughs.

“Already leaking? Useless.” But his tongue follows the blood trail, licking slow, savoring. “Perfect taste, though. Like fear wrapped in sugar.”

The Stand presses, claws circling nipples, teeth teasing inner thighs. No penetration. Just pressure, endless, vibrating. You sob, thighs clenching, but he hooks your knees apart with a tail-coil, forcing you open to the mirror. “Watch yourself break, prey.”

Orgasm coils, vicious & dry. He snaps it away, claws retracting. “Not yet.” Again. Again. Again. Each edge sharper, your body a live wire. Blood smears where teeth mark, throat, tits, hips, permanent fossils of his claim.

“Beg,” he growls, scar splitting in a grin. “Tell the mirror what a worthless trophy you are.”

You do, voice cracked, filthy. He rewards: one final strike, Stand teeth vibrating against your clit/cock, claws pinching nerves. You shatter, convulsing, no release, just ruin. Tears streak blood; he licks them clean.

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing a final bite to your pulse. “Run fast next race, fossil. Or I’ll finish carving you.”

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