Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Felucia’s night bled color into shadow, strange luminous fungi painting the jungle with hues that shifted like restless dreams, and Anakin moved as a shade among them, eyes locked on the figure he was sworn to teach, to guide, to keep steady. But something in Ahsoka had changed — her gait had taken on a sway, her laughter carried edges of something rawer, and the Force shimmered thick around her, charged with heat and hunger.

Anakin had always known Ahsoka was striking. Even as a youngling, her presence burned brightly in the Force, full of fire and promise. 

His gaze betrayed him whenever she passed, roaming down the lines of her body. Her legs, long and smooth, carried her with the lithe strength of a warrior, every step measured and light, yet holding a subtle sway that made his stomach twist.

She was not human, but that only made her form more captivating, more alluring in a way Anakin couldn’t put his finger on, was it her long striped lekku, white, bold markings, or how her flawless sienna skin gleaming in the Felucian afternoon sun?

No, it was her eyes, Anakin decided. Her eyes, those brilliant, piercing blues, always seemed too alive, too knowing, sparkling with mischief, with confidence, with desire that she no longer tried to hide when she looked at Rex.

Rex.

Why, why did it have to be Rex?

Of all the soldiers in the Grand Army, of all the men she might have turned her eyes to, it had to be him who caught her attention.

The one man Anakin trusted above all others, his second-in-command, his brother forged in war. If it had been some faceless trooper, a nameless clone lost among the ranks, Anakin could have buried it. He could have moved the man within hours, transferred him to another company, or found another convenient reason to separate them.

But him...?

Rex was irreplaceable.

He wasn’t just a good soldier; he was the best. The sharpest, the bravest, the one Anakin relied on when all else failed. To lose him would be to carve the heart out of the 501st itself, and Anakin was painfully aware of that.

As it was now, he could do nothing. Nothing but swallow the bile in his throat each time Ahsoka laughed at one of Rex’s dry remarks, nothing but grit his teeth when he caught the flash of mischief in her eyes whenever she stood close to the blond clone.

They had gotten far too close, and it was all his fault. 

So, why was he doing this, sneaking after his padawan close to midnight through the woods?

Because you lie to me.

You lie, and I need to see how deep this obsession of yours goes.

She’d told him she was tired, that she wanted to rest early after a long day. He’d nodded, pretended to accept it. Yet here she was, full of restless energy, slipping through the outer paths like she’d been waiting all evening for an excuse.

Ahsoka moved with the easy grace of someone who thought no one was watching. Her lekku bounced against her back as she followed the narrow trail that curved through Felucia’s jungle.

The air was damp and thick, humming with life. Towering fungi glowed faintly in shades of blue and amber, lighting her path with a ghostly sheen. The ground beneath her boots squelched with every step, soft with moss and strange, pulsing growths that exhaled spores like drifting dust.

She hummed under her breath. It was a tune he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t miss how her voice carried that familiar a note of anticipation.

You’re excited. I hear it, I feel, what is it on your mind tonight?

Anakin followed from a safe distance, moving where the shadows were deepest, where the Force muffled his presence to nothing. The scent of the jungle clung to him: sweet rot, wet bark, the metallic tang of alien pollen. He hated how alive the place felt. It pressed in on him, thick and breathing, as if the planet itself were listening.

Every now and then, Ahsoka turned her head slightly, and his heart clenched in his chest. Had she sensed him? But she just kept walking, light on her feet, eyes fixed ahead.

He hid between the trees, quiet as a shadow cloaked by the Force, as he watched Ahsoka reach her goal.

Rex and Ridges were just stepping down from their shift at the watch, helmets under arms, trade of casual words between them. Ahsoka’s silhouette glided toward them, lekku tipped with moonlight, smile sharp yet playful.

”Commander,” the clones said in unison, saluting her.

Ahsoka grinned at the two men.

“Captain,” she said with a brightness that carried just a shade too smooth. “I need your help with something down by the other outpost.”

"The other outpost, now?" Rex tilted his head, brow furrowed beneath the shadows of his scarred face. “Can't imagine what you need my help with, little'un.”

Unfazed, Ahsoka leaned closer, persistence in the arch of her voice. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

There was something layered in the way she said it, something almost coaxing, and Rex’s hesitation dissolved into that soldier’s shrug that had carried him through campaigns bloodier than this. He nodded once, firm but indulgent.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

"Catch you later," Ridges said with a nod. "Sir. Commander."

Ahsoka returned the gesture with a smile before she stepped off with Rex, into Felucia’s moonlit jungle. Anakin ghosted after them, tension rattling in his chest. The path curved ahead, faint moonlight glinting off the strange, translucent plants that loomed around them. The air felt thicker somehow, charged.

“You mind tellin’ me what exactly we’re out here for?” he asked once they were on a save distance away from Ridges.

“You’ll see soon,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less sure. “Just… trust me.”

The fungi pulsed faint blues and oranges underfoot, and each time Ahsoka laughed, soft and teasing, he heard a flirtatious cadence that made his teeth grind.

Rex answered her with that familiar dry wit, laced with fondness, but Ahsoka.... Force, she was weaving her words, pushing close, brushing his arm, teasing and flirty in ways she never had before.

At least not when her Master was around...

By the time the outpost rose into view — a cluster of durasteel containers and prefab walls, half-abandoned and already stripped for departure, the pressure in Anakin’s temples throbbed. The campaign here was nearly finished, departure scheduled in two days, supplies already stacked. Neat and waiting.

But Ahsoka wasn’t focused on any of that.

“Looks quiet enough,” she murmured, glancing up at Rex with her eyes gleaming like molten copper. “We could... relax here for a bit. No one will bother us.”

“Relax, eh?” Rex tilted his head a little, eyeing her sidelong. “Got half the company of shinies at camp, Jesse’s more than capable of watching them. I can spare you an hour. Maybe two if I’ve got company worth keeping.”

Anakin’s gut dropped at the way she smiled at that.

“Good... because I’ve been wet all day,” she confessed, voice a low husk that shattered his breath.

The words cracked through the night like a blasterbolt. Anakin froze in the shadows, disbelief and fury colliding.

No, you did not just say that.

You like Rex too much for your own good, Snips. I know you do, but you don't want him in that way.

You don't.

"Ahsoka... for the love of the GAR," Rex exhaled hard, shaking his head with the weariness of a man who had heard everything in war but still found himself surprised."You're impossible, you know that?" he drawled.

"A little maybe," Ahsoka giggled, soft and breathless, tilting her head against the clone captain’s jawline, the tips of her lekku twitching with excitement. She whispered something quick, words too low for Anakin to catch, though the intent bled through the Force like a pulse of flame.

"A little?" Rex murmured, smirking now. 

Anakin, watching from the dark, felt the furious twist of betrayal knotting tighter and tighter inside him, heat crawling up his spine as the night hummed with the sound of Ahsoka’s laughter blending with Rex’s low, rough exhale.

“Just take me,” Ahsoka whispered, the words slipping from her lips with a hunger that cut through the night air like a vibroblade.

Anakin’s blood turned to ice, and Rex froze where he stood, helmet still dangling from his hand, eyes wide.

“Here?” Rex blinked. His voice held disbelief, as though he wasn’t sure she understood what she was asking. "You want to fuck here...?"

Ahsoka sank back onto a crate, long legs dangling over the edge, grinning like a hungry succubus.

“Right here, Captain,” she whispered, insistence coiling through the syllable as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her.

Their mouths met in a sudden fever, her giggle muffled against his lips as she kissed him like a woman who had done this a hundred times already. Anakin’s heart hammered. Every sound, the slick parting of their mouths, the soft gasp Ahsoka made when Rex’s hand cupped her cheek, seared into his ears until the world outside them ceased to exist.

His Padawan moved with shocking certainty, nimble fingers sliding over buckles and seals, armor plates falling away piece by piece, clattering softly to the duracrete floor. Rex’s chestplate hit the ground, then his pauldrons, until only the dark bodyglove remained. Ahsoka tugged at it impatiently, peeling it back, eager to reveal the skin beneath.

Rex pulled the tight weave shirt over his head, the fabric snapping loose, and his body emerged in the pale blue glow of Felucia’s fungi. Muscles carved from years of relentless training and of war flexed as he tossed the shirt aside.

Ahsoka’s breath caught, lips parting as her gaze devoured him.

“You’re so beautiful, Rexster,” she murmured against his mouth, voice thick with desire.

Anakin’s stomach lurched at the intimacy of it.

That fucking stupid nickname with that tone.... 

Ahsoka broke the kiss, eyes burning with need. In one swift motion, she hopped down from the crate, spun, and bent forward, hands braced against the cold surface. Her panties slid down her thighs, the soft fabric pooling at her feet.

Anakin blinked at the sight.

That was a thong, a little black thong.... where had she gotten that from? Everybody at the temple wore the same kind of plain underwear... everyone but an Ahsoka Tano looking to seduce her subordinate, apparently. 

Is it for his sake, do you think he likes it when you dress like a slut?

Her dress rode up over her hips, baring the curve of her ass to the night. She spread her legs wider, planting herself in a deliberate pose of invitation. She looked back over her shoulder, lips parted, expression daring him to deny her.

"Are you gonna stand there all night or...?"

Anakin’s chest seized, and something inside him cracked.

The bond of Master and Padawan splintered in his mind, collapsing under the unbearable weight of what he was forced to witness. His hand twitched toward his lightsaber, every instinct demanding he end this obscene spectacle, yet he remained frozen in the shadows, powerless, strangled by the sound of her giggle and the sight of her glistening body begging for a man who was not him.

"We're gonna need to come up with better ways to get rid of all that extra energy of yours...".

Rex’s hands were steady as ever, but there was nothing soldierly in the way his fingers traced along Ahsoka’s slick folds, parting her, teasing her opening with slow, deliberate pressure that made her whole body twitch against the crate. He exhaled through his teeth, voice low, raw with disbelief.

“You’re so wet… fuck...”

Rex's gravelled timbre cut straight through the stillness of the outpost. Anakin’s stomach twisted at hearing them, the filthy intimacy.

Ahsoka whined softly, a sound so needy it pierced the jungle hum. Her hips rolled back in tiny, impatient thrusts, her ass pushing into his hand, desperate for more than teasing. She arched her back, head tipping down, lekku trembling. Every movement screamed of hunger and impatience.

“I’ve told you. I’ve been like this the entire day,” her voice trembled, heavy with need, “Waiting for you to finally do something about it.”

Rex’s fingers moved faster, spreading her slickness over her folds. The obscene wet sound filled the space between them, and Ahsoka shuddered, pressing harder against the crate.

Anakin couldn’t breathe. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t tear them away.

"Rex!"

"I know."

With a low grunt, Rex pulled his fingers free, and for a moment, Ahsoka whimpered at the loss, her hips rocking back, searching. Then Rex’s hand shifted, tugging at his belt and armor seals until his cock sprang free, thick and heavy. His breath came ragged as he guided himself to her entrance, the head pressing against her dripping slit.

The first push drew a broken cry from her throat.

“Rex…” she again whined, voice strained. 

Slowly, inexorably, he eased inside her, stretching her wide, filling her with every inch. Ahsoka’s body trembled, her face contorting with relief, her eyes squeezed shut as her lips fell open in a gasping moan. She sounded undone, as if the pressure of the entire day had finally broken, and now she was nothing but need and the almost desperate satisfaction of having him inside her.

Anakin saw it all: the way her expression softened into utter relief, the way her thighs shook, the wetness glistening as Rex buried himself deeper. She wasn’t just aroused; she was ravenous, utterly consumed, and there was no shame in her, only raw hunger as his cock sank into her, stretching her, filling her completely.

The sound of her moans echoed, strained and aching, and it tore through Anakin like shrapnel.

He stayed crouched in the shadows, heart hammering so violently he thought it might give him away, but they were far too lost in each other to notice. Every thrust Rex drove into Ahsoka sent a ripple through the Force itself, a shockwave of lust and relief that made Anakin’s stomach twist into a knot of disgust, jealousy, and a shame he refused to name.

Rex had her bent over the crate, his strong hands gripping her hips like she belonged there, his hips snapping forward with brutal, measured rhythm. Each wet smack of flesh echoed in the hollow outpost, obscene and unrelenting and Ahsoka cried out with every stroke.

He still couldn’t understand how Rex could be doing this — fucking his Padawan, rutting hard into a woman who should have been beyond his reach.

And Ahsoka.... Force, she was no longer the innocent Padawan he thought he knew. She was arching into every thrust, pressing herself harder against Rex, her ass slapping back into his hips with a fervor that made Anakin’s throat close. He watched her throw her head back, eyes half-lidded and mouth open as she panted Rex’s name, her face twisted with a kind of pleasure so raw it was almost painful to witness.

Jealousy boiled in him, poisonous and hot. Horror warred with fury, and under it all, a dark seed of desire he refused to acknowledge clawed its way up his spine. He wanted to tear Rex off her, to demand she stop humiliating herself like this, to drag her away from this filth.... but his body wouldn’t move.

Anakin’s vision tunneled, every detail searing itself into his mind against his will.

Ahsoka’s face turned slightly toward him, caught in the glow of Felucia’s bioluminescence, her features twisted into an expression that shredded whatever innocence he still thought she carried. Her eyes were glazed with unrestrained lust, pupils blown wide, lids heavy as though she were drunk on the sheer sensation of Rex buried deep inside her.

Her mouth hung open in a ragged moan, lips wet, tongue trembling against sharp little fangs that glinted each time she gasped.

Every cry came out throaty, primal, unashamed.

"Ah, Captain....!" Ahsoka panted. ”Harder.”

Her arms gave way, shoulders dipping as she slumped down onto her elbows, the position driving her ass higher, tilting her hips back to take Rex even deeper. And then, almost lazily, she twisted her neck, glancing over her shoulder at Rex.

She wanted to see him.

Wanted to watch the strain in his face as he drove into her, wanted to drink in the sight of his jaw tight, sweat slicking the muscles of his chest, veins bulging in his arms as he gripped her hips and thrust hard.

The look in her eyes was ravenous, greedy, as though nothing could satisfy her except seeing him split her open like that. She moaned at the sight, loud and helpless, her back arching as though her body existed for his pleasure as only.

Anakin felt sick. Sick with betrayal, with fury, with a twisted ache, he refused to give a name. His Padawan was lost to lust, shamelessly staring at the man inside her with worship in her gaze.

“I… I like… seeing you like that,” she managed, words tumbling into the humid night air, barely coherent over the slick rhythm of flesh on flesh. “Deep inside me… it feels so good, Rex…”

Rex bent forward, his torso curving over her back, changing his stance, and with a grunt, he shifted the angle of his thrusts. The effect was immediate. Ahsoka’s entire body jerked, a sob bursting from her throat as her elbows slid forward, her soft breasts pressed against the crate.

She gasped his name over and over, each cry more desperate than the last, her voice shattering against the rhythm of his cock driving almostly mercilessly into her.

Anakin’s throat went dry, his stomach dropping as though he’d been struck. He had never, not even once, seen Padmé consumed like this — stripped of her usual poise, begging, writhing, undone by sheer lust.

Rex’s muscles corded as he bore down, driving into her, each movement leaving her shaking. Ahsoka’s fingers clawed at the crate’s edges, her back arching, her hips rolling helplessly to meet him.

She was coming apart before Anakin’s eyes, no longer the warrior or the student, but a woman drowning in the ecstasy of being taken and filled, her every cry a brutal reminder of how far she had fallen from the image he held of her.

And still Rex didn’t let up, his cock plunging deeper, wringing sob after sob from her throat until she was nothing but gasps and raw moans. Ahsoka’s voice trembled, high and broken, as she clung to the crate.

“Cum inside me, please, Rex, please,” she whined, every word dripping with hunger, with need that bordered on madness. "I want to feel you inside me for the rest of the night."

Rex growled low in his throat, the sound more primal than anything Anakin had ever heard from the man. His hips snapped faster, each thrust driving so deep Ahsoka’s voice breaking into screams of his name. Sweat rolled down Rex’s back as his powerful body shuddered, his grip on her hips tightening.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. His head dropped against her shoulder, a strangled groan tearing out of him as his release surged.

Ahsoka’s back arched violently, her mouth open in a silent scream before it fractured into sobbing moans of relief, her body trembling, clenching around him as she came undone.

She sagged against the crate, utterly spent, her face glazed with the aftermath of lust, her body quivering as Rex remained buried in her, pinning her down through the final waves of her orgasm.

For long moments, only the sound of their ragged breaths filled the night. Rex eased back at last, sliding out of her with a wet sound that made Anakin’s jaw clench. Ahsoka slumped into his arms immediately, giggling weakly, nuzzling into his chest. Rex kissed the side of her head, his expression soft in a way Anakin had never seen, his arms wrapping her into a brief, tender embrace.

Then practicality returned.

Rex and Ahsoka dressed quickly, slipping armor and clothes back into place, hands brushing in small touches that spoke of something far deeper than a fleeting mistake.

“My legs are all wobbly,” Ahsoka murmured with a breathless laugh. “And I need a shower.”

“Yeah,” Rex said, tugging his chestplate into position. “Let’s hope there’s still a drop of warm water left back at camp.”

“We could always share,” she teased, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Now you’re really pushin’ it, mesh’la.”

They leaned together one last time, foreheads briefly touching, then stepped away from the outpost and back toward camp, their voices low and easy as though nothing just transpired.

Anakin stayed behind, crouched in the foliage, the glow of Felucia’s jungle painting his face with ghostly light. His head reeled, thoughts scattered and jagged. Jealousy, horror, fury, and an ache he couldn’t even name roiled inside him like a storm, and for the first time in years, he felt utterly powerless.

His Padawan and his captain disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone with nothing but the echo of Ahsoka’s moans still clawing at his ears.

What happened next... Anakin hadn’t meant for it to happen. He told himself again and again, crouched low in the ferns, that what he was seeing was obscene, a betrayal, a humiliation. His Padawan bent over and begging as his captain, his trusted second-in-command, pounded into her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.... it should have filled him with rage alone.

And yet… his body betrayed him.

By the time Rex finished inside Ahsoka, Anakin was hard as a rock, straining in his robes, shame crashing over him in waves so fierce he almost doubled over. He despised himself for it, despised the weakness, despised the way his body had answered to the scene he never wanted to see.

The realization hit him like a blade to the chest, and it made him feel filthy to his very core. His cock wasn’t just hard — it was straining, throbbing, swollen so tight it almost hurt, harder than he could ever remember being with Padmé.

That thought alone nearly made him sick.

Padmé, the woman he loved, the woman he risked everything to be with... he had worshiped her, adored her, reveled in every stolen night they’d shared.

Yet not once had she dragged this out of him. Not once had his body betrayed him with such feral, overwhelming need as his Padawan.

Watching Ahsoka begging Rex, sobbing his name as she came apart, had ignited something far darker, something rawer than anything he had known with his wife. It was pure, unrestrained fucking, and the sight of it, the sounds of it, drove his arousal to a pitch Padmé had never touched.

He hated it.

He loathed himself for it.

Yet as he crouched in the foliage, cock iron-hard against his robes, he knew the truth he would never dare speak aloud: yes. Harder than with Padmé.

Harder than he’d ever been in his life, and it left him trembling, sick with guilt, but unable to escape the pulse of desire that still roared through him.

The morning came heavy with mist, the alien jungle humming and chittering as if Felucia itself conspired to smother Anakin’s unrest. Pale dawnlight crept through the canopy, painting the camp in muted greens and silvers. Troopers moved about their duties, packing gear, checking blasters, talking in the easy rhythms of men who had survived another campaign.

And then he saw them.

Ahsoka strolled into view. As usual, her stride was light, her expression glowing with that same irrepressible energy she’d carried since the day she became his Padawan. She greeted troopers with warm words, laughter spilling from her lips like sunlight, as if last night’s debauchery hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t begged Rex to fuck her, to cum inside her.

Rex was by her side, helmet tucked under one arm, his face steady, calm, the picture of control. His voice carried the familiar clipped authority as he checked in with Jesse, offered a few words of guidance to a pair of shinies, then moved on without the slightest trace of what had occurred last night.

If he remembered the way Ahsoka had gasped his name, if he could still feel her clenching around his cock — none of it showed. Rex's face was a blank, stoic canvas, and Ahsoka was her usual self.

They behaved as though nothing at all had transpired, but Anakin’s world had been split down the middle.

He clenched his jaw as he walked through the camp, the sight of them together a constant blade in his gut.

Every time Ahsoka smiled, every time Rex answered her with that low rumble of a reply, the memories stabbed into him.

Their sweat-slick bodies and the sound of her begging for more. Far worse than that was where his own mind dragged him...

He couldn’t stop thinking about her thighs, firm and strong yet soft in their curves, spread open to welcome Rex between them. He couldn’t stop thinking about the skimpy lines of her dress, the hem brushing just high enough to tease the smooth skin beneath, hiding and not hiding all at once.

He saw her standing there now, bantering easily with Rex, but in his mind, Anakn stripped away the dress, saw only her bare pussy glistening, stretched, still filled with the captain’s seed.

The thought drove him near mad.... and it didn’t take long for Ahsoka to notice something was off.

By midday, she caught him standing near the gunships, arms crossed, gaze dark and distant, jaw tight enough to crack.

“Okay, what is it, Skyguy?” she pressed, planting herself in front of him. “You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

His eyes flicked to her, then darted away, unable to linger. She shifted, folding her arms, hip cocked, frown tugging at her lips.

“You’re short with the men, you won’t look at me, and you’re scowling like somebody stole your lightsaber. What’s going on?”

Anakin swallowed hard, throat dry. How could he answer? That he’d watched her last night, that he’d seen every filthy detail as Rex pounded her against the crate, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her and the way she’d looked when begged to be filled?

The images screamed behind his eyes even now, and the worst part was the part of him that wanted to look at her, slide his fingers between her legs, push the thong away and see if she was still was wet and messy down there.

He clenched his fists, forced himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she snapped, irritation flashing hot in her eyes. “You’re brooding. You’re… weird.”

The word cut sharper than it should have.

Weird.

If only she knew.

If only she could feel what he was wrestling with, the betrayal burning holes in his chest, the lust gnawing at his gut every time his gaze slid to her legs, bare beneath that short skirt…

Why does she still dress like that?

It’s inappropriate for a Jedi. I should tell her to cover up, to wear robes like everybody else.

"Mind your own business, Snips," he muttered.

“If you’ve got a problem, Master, then say it. Don’t just glare holes in everyone and sulk around camp.”

Her frustration rolled off her in waves, sharp and impatient, and Anakin felt the weight of it pressing against the storm already raging inside him. She didn’t know what she’d done to him, how she’d cracked something inside him wide open, and she was angry at him for not behaving normally.

It made his teeth grind, made his anger churn hotter, but still he bit down on the truth, choking on it, because the thought of speaking it aloud was unbearable as the thought of her sweet, pretty cunt, stretched around another man’s cock.

Chapter Text

The stars outside the viewport of the Twilight were nothing but noise. White streaks and hyperspace hum.

Ahsoka’s presence behind him was sharp and silent.

She hadn’t said much since they boarded. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation either. His mood had been sour since Coruscant, since the Council assigned them to this ridiculous diplomatic babysitting mission.

A banquet disguised as a security conference. Smiles and handshakes and senators pretending they understood danger and the war.

He hated these missions, but even more so, he hated the way Ahsoka looked at him now, like she was more tired of him and his volatile ways than ever. Like she needed him less than ever and was secretly counting the days down until her Jedi Trials.

Anakin could feel her annoyance like static in the air as she looked over the mission details on her datapad, checked out who was who, and the latest intel.

She shifted in her seat with a sigh. He didn’t turn, just kept thrumming his fingers impatiently as he waited for permission to land on Galidraan.

“You’re going to dent the panel,” she said.

 He stopped, but didn’t answer.

It felt like she wanted a fight; he could hear it in her voice. Or maybe she wanted him to explain himself, his mood. He didn’t have the words.

Not ones she’d accept at least, and Anakin wasn't sure if he could put words on what was happening inside him.

He loved Padmé.

She was the love of his life and he looked forward to starting a family with her... but he needed Ahsoka too.

Padmé was pure and untainted, his angel. His perfect wife on a pedestal, and Ahsoka was... different. She flaunted her body and flirted in ways Padmé never would, had an appetite for sex his wife never would have, and Ahsoka wasn't shy about it either.

Groaning softly, he shifted in his seat. He'd meant to spare a glance at her datapad, sneak a peek at the screen to see if she was sending Rex a useless message about how dull the mission was, and that she'd rather be with him and Commander Cody on Arkanis.

But his gaze stopped at her breasts, straining at the keyhole opening of her dress — when had they grown so big?

He wanted to reach out, seize those perfect swells in his palms, feel their weight yield against his hands, the soft flesh spilling through his fingers while she gasped and whimpered.

In his mind, Anakin could see it so clearly, how he’d push her lekku aside, tug the neckline of her revealing top down with it until her breasts tumbled free, full and heavy, dusky nipples hardening in the cool air, and Ahsoka grasping in shock.

Feel her thighs trembling against the seat as he kneaded both breasts with greedy hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers while his mouth claimed one, then the other, suckling until she whined helplessly with lust.

Would you like that, Snips?

“You could at least pretend to be civil,” she muttered. "I don't like this mission more than you do. We should be with our men."

You mean that you want Rex near so you can spread for him when you think nobody is watching. I wonder how long you've been riding his cock in secret.

Was it his idea, or was it yours? 

The biggest question was how Anakin could have missed when they crossed the border. He, whose instincts had saved entire legions, whose perception in the Force had unraveled enemy ambushes before they ever took form — how had he been blind to this?

His Padawan, slipping from his grasp, spending her nights filled with someone else’s cock, glowing each morning with that same relentless cheer. All the signs were there, and yet, he had looked away.

“I’m just here to make sure no one dies,” he muttered. “Civility’s optional, and you're not very fun company either, you've been looking at your pad for hours.”

He turned, slowly, and when her eyes met his, defiant. Beautiful and distant.

Her jaw tightened. "I'm working, Master. Unless a certain someone," she scoffed softly. "You've been falling behind on reports again, and someone has to do them."

"It's a Padawan's duty to help their Master," he reminded her, voice a little more clipped than he intended.

Ahsoka gave him an unreadable gaze. "I just want you to remember how to handle yourself once I've done my trials," she said. "I spoke to Master Windu last month, and he thinks I'm ready. Master Ploo, too. They promised they would discuss it at the next meeting."

You treacherous little….

Anakin felt something cold hit him as those words spilled from her full lips. He felt almost betrayed; had she spoken to the council members without his knowledge? 

"Yeah, well, until that happens, I'm still your Master, do you well to remember that."

After another two awkward hours,  Galidraan gleamed beneath them, cold and crisp with perfect weather. He landed the shuttle expertly, and Ahsoka stepped out first, wrapped in her blue fake-fur coat, shoulders squared, chin high. He followed, half a step behind, cloak drawn tight, eyes scanning the skyline with the restless precision of a man already bracing for trouble.

He said nothing.

Ahsoka took the lead, her stride brisk, lekku swaying with the easy confidence of someone who had already decided she belonged here. Her full breasts bounced slightly with every step she took, and Anakin could just imagine how her nipples stiffened behind the fabric from the cold.

The fortress rose out of the snow‑dusted hills like something from another age — high stone walls, narrow windows, and banners snapping in the wind. It might have been a castle from a holodrama, if not for the discreet sensor arrays tucked into the battlements and the faint hum of shield generators.

The governor of Galidraan, a tall, silver‑haired man in a deep blue coat, stood waiting on them, and as they stepped off the landing pad, he greeted them with a practiced smile.

"Master Skywalker, Padawan Tano, welcome to Galidraan!".

Before Anakin could open his mouth, Ahsoka was already clasping the governor’s hand. “Governor, thank you for receiving us. I understand the conference security perimeter has been tightened since the last attempt on your trade minister?” Her tone was warm but edged with professional curiosity, the kind that invited conversation. She had always been good at that.

The governor’s brows lifted, impressed. “Indeed. We’ve doubled the guard rotations and—”

They fell into step together, their conversation flowing toward logistics, threat assessments, and the political undercurrents of the visiting delegations. Her lips, full and plump, parted easily with laughter at the Governor's joke, but Anakin couldn't think of anything but the other sounds they could make: the whines, the cries, the breathless moans as she begged to be filled.

He couldn’t even see her mouth now without imagining it wrapped around Rex’s girthy, veined cock.

“This way, Padawan Tano, Master Skywalker," the governor said with a nod. Let me show you around! The banquet hall is through here — we’ll host the post‑conference reception here tomorrow evening.”

They stepped into a vaulted chamber lit by chandeliers of polished brass. Long tables stood ready beneath the high ceiling, their surfaces gleaming in the cold light.

“We’ll seat the Core delegates along the north wall,” the governor explained, “and the Mid Rim representatives opposite. It keeps certain rivalries… manageable.”

Ahsoka nodded, her tone warm but businesslike. “And the conference itself?”

He led her through a side corridor into a grand meeting hall, its circular table surrounded by high‑backed chairs. “Here. We’ve reinforced the perimeter with additional guards, and the entrances are shielded. Your security oversight will be invaluable.”

They moved on, pausing at each guard outpost — narrow towers with panoramic views of the surrounding valley, checkpoints at the main gates, and a discreetly hidden comms room humming with encrypted chatter. Ahsoka asked sharp, precise questions, her interest genuine, her manner that of a seasoned Jedi Master.

Anakin followed a few steps behind, silent, his eyes flicking from shadowed archways to the guards’ posture and weapons. He said nothing, but the set of his jaw spoke volumes.

At last, the governor brought them to a quieter wing of the fortress. “Your quarters,” he said, opening a heavy wooden door to reveal a suite warmed by a crackling fire. “I trust you’ll find them comfortable.”

Ahsoka inclined her head. “More than comfortable, Governor. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Then, if you’re rested, I would be honored if you both joined me this evening for a formal dinner with the local government. It will give you a chance to meet the ministers before tomorrow’s proceedings.”

Ahsoka accepted without hesitation, her eyes bright. “We’d be glad to.”

Anakin’s gaze lingered on the fire for a moment before he gave a single, silent nod. "Show us the way, Governor."

"Of course, please, follow me".

The formal dining hall was a jewel box of warm light against the fortress’s cold stone. Long windows framed the snow‑laden courtyard beyond, their glass catching the flicker of dozens of candles. The table was set in gleaming silver and deep blue linen, the colors of Galidraan’s crest.

"Allow me to introduce you to the council,” the governor said, making a gesture to the table. "Please, sit down."

Ahsoka stepped forward without hesitation, offering a firm handshake to each minister in turn, her smile genuine, her questions deft. “Minister Veyra, I hear your department coordinated the security for the last summit — I’d love to hear how you managed the off‑world arrivals.”

The minister’s eyes lit up, and soon they were deep in discussion about docking protocols and diplomatic courtesies. Anakin took the seat beside her but said little, his gaze sweeping the room, noting the guards at the doors, the subtle weight of concealed weapons at a few belts, the way certain ministers leaned together to whisper.

Between courses, a delicate root‑vegetable soup followed by roasted game with winter herbs, the governor leaned toward Ahsoka. “Tomorrow’s conference will be… delicate. Some of our guests have long memories, and longer grudges. Your presence will help keep the peace.”

Ahsoka inclined her head, her tone calm but assured. “We’ll do everything we can to ensure the talks stay on track. And if tensions rise, we’ll be ready.”

Across the table, a Core World delegate laughed too loudly at a joke, drawing a ripple of polite smiles. Anakin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, letting Ahsoka carry the conversation.

By the time dessert arrived, a spiced berry tart served with steaming cups of caf, the ministers were relaxed, the governor visibly pleased. Ahsoka had woven herself into the evening’s rhythm as if she’d been part of Galidraan’s political stage for years.

When they finally rose from the table, the governor clasped her hand once more. “I look forward to working with you tomorrow, Padawan Tano.”

Anakin followed them out into the corridor, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “Well, look at that. You’ve made quite an impression, Snips.”

Ahsoka glanced at him sidelong, a faint smile tugging at her lips that reminded him of old times.

“That was the idea, Master. See? I told you I'm ready.”

The corridors of the fortress were hushed after the warmth and chatter of the dining hall, their stone walls holding the faint echo of footsteps. Torches in wrought‑iron sconces cast pools of golden light along the way, the air cool and faintly scented with woodsmoke.

Ahsoka walked beside Anakin in companionable silence, the soft rustle of her cloak the only sound between them. The governor had excused himself at the stairwell, offering a courteous bow and a promise to see them in the morning.

They reached the guest wing, where heavy wooden doors marked each suite. Ahsoka paused at hers, glancing down the hall toward Anakin. “Long day,” she said lightly, though her eyes searched his face for a flicker of mood.

He gave a small nod. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busier.”

She nodded before retreating to her room.

Anakin threw himself on the plush bed in his own chamber, boots discarded, cloak draped over the chair. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, casting the room in a low, uneven glow. He stared at the ceiling, but his mind refused to be still.

Something was moving inside him, not the familiar hum of the Force, but a heavier current, darker, sharper. It coiled in his chest like a living thing, whispering of power, of action, of the satisfaction that came from ending threats before they could rise.

His jaw tightened. The hunger was stronger tonight, more insistent than it had been in months. It made his skin feel too tight, his breath too shallow. He told himself it was just the combination of Ahsoka, the mission, the cold, the endless politics... and the gnawing urge to get her away from Rex.

He couldn't go on like this; it would turn him crazy, and it was just a question before Rex would pick up that something was wrong and put two and two together. For a clone, he was uncannily intuitive, and it was harder to hide things from him than from Ahsoka. 

He turned onto his side, eyes narrowing at the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. The fortress felt too still, the silence pressing in on him.

I could send Rex back to Kamino to help train Special Forces. He's one of the oldest, most experienced clones still in service.

Nobody would suspect a thing, and it would just be for a couple of months, just until I can figure out how to handle this.

Anakin exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to unclench. He closed his eyes, breathing in, feeling a bit of calm spread over him. Yes, that could work. It would give him some time to help Ahsoka work through her issues. He knew all about attachment; he could help her.

It would be good for you, Snips.

Overattachment is dangerous. I would just be doing my duty as your Master.

Anakin was just about to drift to sleep when he heard a noise.

A rustle of sheets, a low sigh. A soft, quick breath that did not belong to sleep.  The walls were thin, and the Force carried whispers sharper than sound.

Can't you sleep, either? 

Drawn like a moth to fire, Anakin rose. He cloaked himself in the Force, merging with the shadows as he moved over the floor. The door between their chambers opens up soundlessly with a flick of his hand, just enough for him to see through. 

Ahsoka lay sprawled on the bed, tunic discarded, her lithe body glowing in the pale light of Galidraan’s moons. One hand was between her thighs, fingers moving with a frantic rhythm, slick sounds carrying through the silence. The other hand cupped her breast, kneading softly, thumb circling her nipple until it stiffened under her touch.

Her head was tilted back against the pillow, mouth open, lips shining with spit where she’d bitten them, eyes half-closed in dreamy focus. Each breath came ragged, broken into little moans she tried to smother, though they still spilled free. Her hips bucked into her own hand, thighs trembling as she chased release.

Anakin clenched his teeth at the sight to stop a moan from escaping from his lips. Rex had fucked her thoroughly two days ago, and yet, she was still that needy and horny...? He could feel it in the raw pulse of her aura, in the way her body tensed and relaxed, the way her lips whispered little sounds like a prayer. She wasn’t just touching herself to pass the time...

Was she recalling the weight of the Torrent Captain as he pressed into her, the stretch of his cock filling her, the firm grip of his hands on her hips?

Anakin’s nails dug crescents into his palms. His cock stiffened traitorously in his robes, the sight of her arching, gasping, utterly lost to pleasure.

His Padawan, writhing, masturbating less than ten feet from him, and he could see it all — the long smooth lines of her legs spread wide, the tight flutter of her cunt around her own fingers, the rise and fall of her chest as she toyed with her lovely breasts, fuller than Padmé’s had ever been.

"Nghh..." Ahsoka whined, biting down on her lip.

Every shudder of hers told him the truth he already knew: Ahsoka missed Rex, longed for him, and even alone here on Galidraan, her body betrayed her lust for the blond clone in every gasp and sigh. And Anakin, trapped in the shadows of the doorway, could do nothing but watch, burning alive with jealousy and arousal until his vision blurred.

Through the crack in the door, Anakin’s gaze was chained to her body. The pale moonlight traced every line of her curves, and when her thighs shifted, parting wider, he caught the clearest view yet of what she kept hidden from the galaxy.

Her pussy was pretty. Not like a human woman’s, not like Padmé’s.

Ahsoka was all smooth softness between her legs, unmarred by hair, instead adorned with delicate white markings, curling lines that echoed the ones on her forehead.

Alien, alluring, and irresistibly exotic.

She was drenched, her fingers gliding easily as she spread herself and pushed deeper, slipping three digits inside with no struggle at all. The wet sounds were obscene in the quiet chamber, each movement accompanied by the faintest whimper. Her head rolled against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted around whispers that cut Anakin to the bone.

“Rex… Oh, Rex,” she murmured, again and again, each time fainter, as if the name itself was the tether pulling her closer to release.

Her other hand stayed high, rolling over her breast, teasing her nipple with soft pinches until it peaked dark and hard against her palm. She gasped when she tugged it, her back arching, thighs quivering.

Anakin lost track of time. He didn't know how long he had been standing there when she finally came undone. Her body seized, her mouth falling wide open in a silent cry before the sounds tumbled out, high and breathless, muffled quickly by her bitten lip.

She came hard, her fingers buried deep, her chest heaving as slickness seeped out of her little, eager cunt, coating her delicate fingers.

For a few moments, she lay there, twitching, shuddering, until the aftershocks ebbed and her hand slipped free, glistening wet in the dim light. She sighed, long and content, like every ache had drained from her bones.

She wiped off her fingers with a stolen napkin before reaching for the comm link on the side table. She keyed in a code by muscle memory. The little holoprojector flared to life, and Anakin heard her soft, drowsy voice.

“Rex… I miss you,” she whispered with a soft sigh. "Call me when you have time, alright?"

Then she cut the transmission, curled into her sheets, and within minutes her breaths evened, the rise and fall of sleep smoothing over her.

Anakin stood rigid in the shadows, cock aching, chest heaving, head spinning with fury, jealousy, and a hunger he hated himself for. All he could see, even with his eyes closed, was that smooth, marked cunt glistening on her fingers, and all he could hear was her voice, whispering Rex’s name.

The sound of Ahsoka’s moans still reverberated in his skull when Anakin got back to his room, each wet noise of her fingers working inside herself lodged in his ears like a curse. He tried to breathe, tried to center himself as a Jedi should, but his cock was throbbing, straining so hard against his robes he could barely think.

"Kriff".

His hand moved almost without thought. He shoved the fabric down, wrapped his fist around himself, and groaned through clenched teeth at the relief of finally touching what had been aching since Felucia.

He pumped slowly at first, eyes screwed shut, but his mind betrayed him, painting picture after picture of her; Ahsoka’s smooth little cunt marked with white lines, glistening wet as her fingers slid deep; her full lips open in a moan, whispering Rex’s name instead of his; her thighs trembling, her breasts soft and yielding under her own teasing hand.

His strokes quickened, hips twitching in time, but the thoughts grew darker, bitterer.

What is it with Rex, what is it that he does to make it so good for you? Why did you melt under him, sob his name, begging him to cum inside...? 

He thought of Rex’s broad chest, his powerful shoulders, the way his biceps bulged when he held her down against that crate. Rex had the kind of bulk only a clone bred for war could carry, solid and immovable, a product of carefully created genetic perfection. 

And his cock... Anakin grunted as the thought slammed into him; his cock wasn’t the same either. He knew what the clones looked like, having had to use their showers in an emergency on the Resolute, once or twice. They were all thick and heavy in a way his own wasn't, and he suspected it was that which allowed Rex to stretch Ahsoka so wide she sobbed with relief. 

Would she look the same, sound the same, if it were him inside her?

Or would she frown, disappointed, craving the Captain who filled her in ways he never could?

His fist sped faster, veins popping in his forearm as the shame burned hotter. Every thrust of his hand conjured her again; Ahsoka bent over, legs spread wide, begging Rex to go deeper.

His teeth sank into his lip hard enough to draw blood as he bucked into his palm, muscles tensing, the question a dagger in his skull: Why isn’t it me?

It should be me, Snips.

You belong to me.

We have a bond through the Force. Why can't you feel that?

Almost a half rotation later, the banquet was in full swing, the air warm with candlelight and the low hum of conversation. Silverware chimed against porcelain, and the scent of spiced wine drifted over the long table.

Ahsoka reached for her glass without looking, still listening to Minister Veyra’s account of the last summit. She took a sip — and froze. Her brow furrowed, the stem of the glass slipping from her fingers.

“Ahsoka?” Anakin’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with concern.

She swayed in her chair, eyes unfocused, and then crumpled sideways. The hall erupted with startled gasps, chairs scraping back, the governor calling for guards.

Anakin was already at her side, checking her pulse, his gaze snapping to the half‑full glass on the table. “Poison,” he said, the word like a blade. His eyes swept the staff, the servers, the guards at the door. “Lock the exits.”

The governor’s guards hesitated for only a heartbeat before moving to block the exits. Anakin was already scanning the room, his gaze narrowing on the serving staff clustered near the kitchen doors.

“You,” he barked at the nearest guard captain. “Get me the roster for tonight’s service. Cross‑check it with your regular staff list. Anyone new, anyone without clearance — I want their names now.”

The captain nodded sharply and began relaying orders.

Anakin strode to the kitchen entrance, his presence like a storm front. “Line them up,” he told the guards stationed there. The servers obeyed, a nervous row of crisp uniforms and downcast eyes.

He moved down the line slowly, reading every flicker of expression, every twitch of a hand. “Who poured Minister Veyra’s wine?”

A young man at the end of the line swallowed hard. “I— I did, sir. But I didn’t—”

“Who handed it to her?” Anakin cut in.

The man’s gaze darted sideways to a woman two places down. She stiffened under Anakin’s stare.

“Search her,” he ordered.

A guard stepped forward, patting her down and from the folds of her apron produced a small vial, its glass stained with the same deep red as the wine.

The woman’s face went pale. “It wasn’t meant for—”

Anakin’s voice was ice. “Save it. You’ll tell the rest to the governor’s security.”

As the guards led her away, the medic knelt beside Ahsoka, checking her vitals. “She’ll be fine,” he assured Anakin. “The toxin isn’t lethal to Togrutas. She just needs rest. By morning she’ll be herself again.”

Letting the guards deal with the agent, Anakin carried Ahsoka back to her chamber,

Now she lay curled on the narrow bed, still dressed in the cobalt blue gown she’d worn for the evening, breaths soft, skin damp with fever-sweat.

"I feel dizzy, Master," she murmured. "What... what happened? Is Minister Veyra alright?"

"They're okay, Snips," he said. "I got it all handled, just rest."

Her eyes fluttered half-open now and again, but she slipped easily back into hazy dreams, too weak to fight the drowsiness.

As Anakin sat beside her, his mind slowly began to unravel. He told himself he was keeping watch, making sure the poison didn’t flare again. But his gaze betrayed him, sliding down her form, to the long lines of her legs that were revealed by an almost hip‑high slit, to the faint curve where fabric hid what he’d already burned into his memory.

His chest heaved.

The temptation clawed at him, and tonight… he couldn’t resist.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for her. Fingers brushed the hem of her dress, inching it upward. Her thighs shifted slightly, but she didn’t stir, only murmured something faint and incoherent. Higher still, until the smooth expanse of her legs lay bare, until the tiny scrap of a thong came into view. 

A crimson red little thing this time.

Merely anything but a little spicy garnish for a lover.

With painstaking care, he hooked his fingers around the thin strings, drawing them down, off her hips, past her knees, sliding them free from her ankles. She sighed faintly, but her eyes remained shut, her body limp with the poison’s lingering weight.

And there it was, like a treasure; her pussy, revealed in the pale moonlight seeping through the window. Smooth, flawless. White lines framed her entrance, her inner lips, like the gate to  forbidden world

Anakin swallowed.

He had never wanted to eat pussy so bad in his entire life before...

Taste the forbidden fruit.

He told himself it was wrong, that he should stop, that this was a line from which there was no return.

But the hunger had gnawed too long, and with a trembling breath, Anakin sank lower, positioning himself between her thighs. He pushed her dress higher still, baring her fully to his gaze, drinking in every detail.

Then he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and let his tongue slide over her slit in a featherlight brush.

He had dreamed of this, hated himself for it, but now... now it was real, her taste on his lips, her pussy opening under his mouth. Anakin licked again, more firmly, tracing her opening, teasing it, savoring it.

Her body stirred faintly at the touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake. She only shifted, thighs parting a little wider, as though even in her daze she welcomed it.

Anakin’s hands gripped her hips, his tongue pressing deeper, lapping at her entrance with slow, hungry strokes.

Every flick, every drag of his tongue over her smooth folds sent fire through his veins.

Ahsoka stirred faintly against the sheets, a soft whine spilling from her throat, low and broken, like caught in a fever dream. Her legs shifted, thighs trembling as though the poison still weighed her down, but her body answered every touch regardless.

Do you know how good you taste, Snips?

Anakin pressed her knees apart with careful hands, spreading her wide so he could see everything — her smooth folds gleaming under the thin wash of moonlight, her little entrance slick and sweet each time his tongue flicked over it. He leaned in again, inhaling her scent, and the taste that filled his mouth was unlike anything he’d known before.

Padmé had been musky, rich, womanly. Ahsoka was something else, sweeter, stranger, with the faint salt of her sweat mixing on his tongue.

The flavor only drove him deeper.

He sucked at her, tongue thrusting against her entrance, then sliding higher to tease her clit, kissing and lapping as though he were starving.

One hand crept lower, slipping a finger inside her tight heat.

She yielded instantly, her slickness coating him, like she’d been waiting all along.

He groaned against her skin, adding a second finger, pushing slowly but firmly, watching in fascination as her body pliantly stretched to take him.

She whimpered again, her hips giving a faint roll against his hand, and that was all the permission he needed. He curled his fingers, scissoring, then slid a third into her dripping cunt.

It stretched wider, so pliant, so ready to be fucked that it made his cock throb painfully.

“You like that, don't you, Snips...,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the obscene sight of his hand working her open.

Each pump of his fingers drew more slickness, each twist made her squirm faintly, lips parted in those dreamy fever-whines.

He bent again, sealing his mouth to her folds, licking around his thrusting fingers, kissing the soft heat of her cunt like it was a lake of pure spring water in the middle of the Jundland Wastes.

Another finger joined the rest, his knuckles straining her as she opened wider still. He couldn’t look away, transfixed by how easily she took him, how her greedy little body happily took everything he gave.

“Such a good little cunt,” he murmured against her, his voice breaking low and rough with lust.

He kissed her again, lips pressed to her slick opening, sliding his tongue between his fingers as they pumped inside her, savoring every drop, every shiver, every twitch of her thighs spread helplessly wide for him.

Anakin’s breath came ragged, each inhale thick with the scent of her. The thought pulsed in his skull, impossible to deny: he could take her.

Could take her right there, right now. She was already open, already soaked, stretched, and broken in well by Rex’s thick cock.

She’d welcome him without effort, without pain.

It would feel good for her, too.

His chest shuddered with a sigh as he let his hands wander higher. The thin fabric of her dress clung to her chest, and with one careful tug, he pulled it down, baring what lay beneath. Her breasts were full, heavy, soft in a way that stunned him as they spilled free into his hands, dusky nipples already peaked from the cool air, begging for his mouth.

He couldn’t resist; Anakin slid onto the bed beside her, lowering himself until his lips brushed her skin. He licked across one nipple, slow at first, then took it deep into his mouth. His tongue rolled over it, teasing the sensitive tip, while his lips sucked greedily, drawing her flesh deeper until she filled his mouth.

He groaned against her, the taste of her skin dizzying, his hand groping the weight of her other breast, kneading, squeezing.

"Mmm...," Anakin groaned, lost in the sensation.

Her body reacted even in her half-conscious state. She shifted with a faint whimper, arching her chest toward him, her breath quickening as if her body remembered pleasure even through the haze of poison.

Anakin’s free hand drifted down between them, freeing his hard, stiff cock at last. Precum smeared over his fist as he stroked himself, groaning around her nipple, the pressure unbearable. He shifted closer, pressing the swollen head against her slick folds.

Her wetness smeared over his shaft, the swollen lips parting just enough for him to grind against her entrance.

He rutted slowly against her, rubbing the length of his cock over her, letting her wetness coat him, pressing the head against her slit with each stroke until it caught and threatened to slide inside.

He shuddered, mouth locked to her breast, sucking greedily while his cock slid against her.

His hips rolled instinctively, his whole body aching with the knowledge that she was ready, open, and that he could bury himself in her at any moment.

Anakin’s control broke like glass beneath the weight of his lust.

It was wrong, but he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He shifted, braced himself, and pressed forward. Just like he suspected, Ahsoka's body opened for him instantly.

There was no resistance, no barrier to push through, just sweet, slick warmth that welcomed him in, swallowing his cock with a wet glide that made his eyes roll back.

He held her legs up, spreading her wide, watching every inch disappear inside her, his chest heaving as he sank to the hilt.

Ahsoka whimpered faintly in her half-sleep, hips twitching, but she didn’t fight him. She only clenched around him, her body gripping with firm, eager pulses that nearly undid him on the spot.

She didn’t feel like Padmé. Not at all. Padmé had been warm, yielding, soft in a way that begged for gentleness. Ahsoka's cunt was alive, muscles working him, clutching him unconsciously. Every throb around him pulled another groan from his throat, his hips grinding deeper, desperate to stay buried in her heat.

And yet, even through the haze of finally claiming her, his jealousy cut sharply. 

The way she stretched so easily for him, the way her slickness coated him without strain. She was used to more. Used to Rex’s cock filling her, stretching her wider than Anakin ever could.

Why did you have to let him ruin you like this?

As his hips began to move, thrusting deeper, harder, Anakin thought bitterly: this should have been his from the beginning. That sweet innocence, that tight, untouched cunt she once carried — it should have been his to claim, his to ruin.

Not Rex’s.

Not anyone else’s.

Still, the feel of her wrapped tight around him drove every thought into fire. Her slick body took him with ease, no hesitation, no strain, only the wet slap of his thrusts echoing in the quiet chamber. And it struck him with a savage clarity: he could fuck her harder and dirtier than he ever had Padmé.

He didn’t need to hold back, didn’t need to be careful — Ahsoka’s cunt would take everything he gave.

Stars, Snips...  you feel so good. I wish you could see this, see how good I can make you feel.

A low growl tore from his throat as he hammered into her, her legs pushed up and spread wide, her pussy clutching him, wet and perfect.

Each thrust was a claim, each groan a vow in the darkness: she was his now, and he would take her until there was nothing left of her for anyone else.

Anakin lost the last shred of restraint when he rolled Ahsoka onto her stomach. Her body went limp under his hands, pliant and warm, the poison keeping her half-lost in fever dreams.

He gripped her hips, lifting her ass up so she wouldn’t collapse fully into the mattress, and pressed himself back inside.

The change in angle tore a ragged moan from his throat. He slammed forward, driving into her harder, his fingers digging bruises into the firm swell of her ass.

Slick poured out of her with every thrust, dripping down her thighs, soaking his cock, the sound of their joining wet and obscene in the quiet chamber.

Her face was buried in the bedding, muffling the noises spilling from her. They weren’t words, just incoherent moans, whines, the broken sounds of her body being taken fast and hard.

She shifted against him instinctively, her hips pushing back, her cunt clenching tighter each time his cock bottomed out.

Anakin leaned forward, trying to take her the way Rex had. He bent over her, arched her body up against his, adjusting until he found it — the angle that let him drive deeper, bury himself to the very root. And when he hit it, her pussy clamped down around him, and it felt like heaven.

Her pussy clutched and sucked with every thrust as he buried himself again and again, his breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

Ahsoka let out yet an incoherent noise, drool emerging from her mouth.

He had never known anything like it, never imagined a cunt could feel this good, so alive, so greedy as if desperate to keep him inside.

Sadly, Anakin didn’t have a clone’s relentless stamina, didn’t have that engineered endurance that let them pound away for endless hours if they felt like it. His body, already wound tight with lust and jealousy, was pushed too far, too fast.

Anakin didn't even last ten seconds.

The heat built in him like wildfire. His thrusts grew frantic, hips snapping hard, deeper, harder.

With a strangled cry, he buried himself to the hilt, cock throbbing violently as he spilled inside her.

You love to be filled with hot cum, don't you?

I remember.

His cock was jerking as he pumped her full. Shame laced through the pleasure, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t even breathe as her cunt clenched around him, milking every drop as if she wanted to wring him dry.

Anakin’s forehead pressed to her back, his chest heaving, his fingers still dug into the firm flesh of her ass.

He couldn’t believe how fast it had taken him, how quickly her body had wrung the climax from him.

Still, beneath the haze of release, the bitter thought lingered; Rex had lasted far longer. He could fuck her hard and deep without issue until she screamed herself hoarse.... while all Anakin had managed was a frantic few seconds inside the greedy, perfect cunt that should have been his alone.

Anakin’s body shook as the last pulses of his orgasm wrung through him, cock twitching deep inside her before he finally dragged himself back, slick and spent. His hands lingered on her hips, steadying her limp body as he slid free.

And then he looked down at her.

Ahsoka lay sprawled across the mattress, ass lifted where he had held her, thighs parted, her pussy open and pulsing.

His seed spilled from her in thick white drips, mixing with the shine of her own slick, soaking the insides of her legs. The sight carved into him like scripture, a vision so obscene and dirty, yet so beautiful, he knew it would haunt him forever.

He reached down, picked up the flimsy strip of crimson fabric he’d tugged off earlier.

The thong looked almost laughable now, delicate and small, but as he slid it back up her thighs, his cock twitched again, already thickening at the sight.

The instant the fabric settled back against her swollen lips, it darkened, bleeding through with his cum and her slick.

He groaned under his breath at the sight, arousal clawing back into him, but Anakin forced himself to focus.

With gentle hands, he tugged the hem of her dress down, smoothing the fabric until it lay just as it had before. He eased her onto her side, arranging her in the same loose sprawl she’d held when he carried her here.

To anyone who walked in, she would look like nothing more than a tired girl resting after a long night with a secret lover.

He sat beside the bed, his chest still heaving, eyes devouring the faint stain spreading on her thong, the quiet breaths sighing from her lips. He had marked her, filled her, claimed her in the shadows where no one else could see.

And now she lay there, dressed again, untouched in appearance — yet deep inside, she carried his seed.

His lips curled into a grim, possessive smile at the thought.

You’re mine, Snips.

I’m sorry I had you thinking otherwise for so long.