Okay, so, Could you do prompt #69 with Padmé?
Once again, congrats on 100, Honey!
thank you!!!! and ur gonna make me act up with this mommy kink and padmé i swear to god
#69: "Come here, baby, let Mommy take care of you." + Padmé
warnings: mommy kink, wlw, sugar mommy Padmé, body worship, mirror sex, female reader, reader receiving oral
You don't think you've ever been miserable like this.
The whole day has been nothing but rude costumers and even ruder bosses. You are one strong gust of wind away from bawling your eyes out and not even feeling embarrassed over it.
You just want to go home and see her.
You hand the cab driver his ridiculously over-charged fee, not that it matters much — it's not really your money — and trudge past the Coruscant Guard member that stays outside the Senate apartments that Senators and the like will stay at when deliberating on a bill.
His helmet tips to you in greeting, and you offer him a tired wave and a not-all-there smile before entering the elevator.
Your body moves on autopilot. Bone-tired fingers press the correct button and your body sways with the movement of the elevator as it begins its ascent.
The elevator doors slide open with a faint ding that echos through the empty room.
It's late. Realistically, you know that she's probably in bed, hair already taken out of her elaborate braids and headpieces even though that's one of your favorite parts of staying the night at this apartment.
Your feet carry you on the familiar path to the master bedroom, where a bed fit for... well, a queen, is pressed against the back wall.
There, in the middle of the bed, is —
"Padmé," you breathe.
The sight of her is like a weight lifted from your shoulders. The sword that's been hanging over your neck since the sun rose vanishes from sight.
Padmé's face contorts into a frown and she sits up against the pillow propped up on the headboard. She sets aside the datapad in her lap. Your name leaves her lips in the sweetest of whispers, and you sway on your feet at the sound of it.
Fuck, it's so nice to be home.
"I had a really bad day," you mumble, scuffing your feet against the fine carpet.
Padmé pulls back the thick blanket and holds her arms out. "Come here, baby," she coos, "let Mommy take care of you,"
A shudder wracks through your body and your eyes flutter shut. Is it that obvious what kind of mood you're in?
You're straddling her lap with your face buried into her neck between one blink and the next.
Her hands, so slim and delicate, thread through your hair and scratch gently at your scalp. "What do you need, baby?" she whispers into your temple.
"Please, just..." your hips begin to move against hers, "take care of me?"
One of Padmé’s hands slip from your hair to grab at your hip in a surprisingly strong grip. "Take care of you?" She repeats, thumb swiping across your skin.
Under her grasp, your skin prickles in anticipation. Your breathing picks up as slender fingers begin to slide under your waistband.
Padmé's fingers dance across the fabric of your panties, ghosting over your clit with not enough friction. "Is this what you needed?" she asks, even though she knows it's not and she knows you need more.
Your twist your neck to bury your nose into her hair. The familiar scent of citrus and fresh flowers fills your senses, but it isn't enough to clear the storm raging in your head.
You think you sob something into her curls, because her hand pulls out of your pants and suddenly there's a warmth on both of your cheeks and your face is being pulled back to look at Padmé.
"Tell me what you need, my love," she whispers, thumb swiping across your cheekbone.
Gone is the teasing touches, and you feel unworthy to have the undivided attention of someone like Padmé Amidala.
"I just want to forget," you murmur, hands curling into the silk nightgown that's most definitely too expensive for you to even look at.
"Okay," Padmé agrees easily.
She always agrees too easily.
You think she'd hand over her Senate seat to you if you asked. Padmé would give you every credit she has to her name — which is a lot of them — and she'd give you the most lavish clothes and the most grand of mansions without even a second thought.
Your skin flushes with the heady feeling of being given such a gift like this. How in the hell did you manage to get so lucky?
Not that you would know, but Padmé asks herself the same question every morning she wakes up next to you.
With a strength that is no longer surprising to you, Padmé lifts you up and forward, laying you flat on her lavish Nabooian queen-sized bed.
Your eyes flutter shut as a gasp falls between your open lips, but Padmé doesn't let them stay closed for long.
Lithe fingers crawl up your chest and close around your chin, getting your attention with a gentle jerk of her hand.
"Look," she whispers into your skin, lips pressing the softest of kisses down your newly revealed stomach with every button of your shirt she undos.
Your eyes fly open and —
You stare into a mirror that stretches over the whole ceiling.
Your eyes are immediately drawn to Padmé: the curve of her back as she crawls down your body, the swell of her ass as she readjusts herself overtop of you, the waterfall of curly hair that spills down her shoulders and back.
She's ethereal and yours.
"Look at yourself," Padmé reiterates, lips dancing at your waistband. "I wish you could see you the way I see you,"
A noise of disagreement leaves your throat, but it's replaced with a high pitched moan as Padmé finally pulls your bottoms and panties down.
Hands, perfectly warm against your skin, flatten against your inner thighs as Padmé forces your legs wider. "Yes," she insists, "you're beautiful. So good for Mommy,"
Your breath hitches.
"You always make Mommy feel so good," Padmé continues, laying flat between your legs. Her breath is hot against your fluttering cunt. "Can't I make you feel good?"
You're so torn. You want to watch her with your own eyes — you want to crane your neck and look at her with her face so dangerously close to what you want to most — but there's also something so entrancing about watching her through the mirror.
It's intoxicating to watch as she pushes your legs even wider, and one of her hands comes up to splay across your stomach.
"Yes," you whimper, writhing beneath her touch. Your pulse pounds in your ears and your mouth goes dry as you prepare yourself for your next words. "Yes, Mommy."
She presses a soft kiss to delicate junction where your thigh meets pussy, "That's my good girl," she whispers into your skin.
Padmé proceeds to ruin any train of thought you may have had by closing her lips around your clit. The tip of her tongue laves tight little circles around your sensitive bud while her hands hold your jerking hips down.
The gasp that is ripped from your lips echos through her bedroom, bouncing off the mirror above you.
It's a glorious sight. All you can do is watch through the reflection as Padmé buries her face into your cunt and throws herself into eating you out like she throws herself into her Senatorial work.
You're babbling, you think. Nothing intelligible. It's all cries of Mommy and thank you and you feel so good.
One of her hands leaves your hip to trace around your fluttering hole. Padmé doesn't make you beg before she slides two fingers, knuckle deep, into your cunt as she moans into you.
The vibrations paired with the sudden penetration have you wailing and arching into her mouth.
"Please!" you cry out, "'m gonna cum, Mommy, I'm gonna cum!"
Her other hand slides up to close around one of your breasts, kneading the skin and pinching your nipple with blinding accuracy.
You watch through glazed eyes as your chest heaves beneath her hand and your legs tremble around her shoulders.
You feel teeth against your clit as her lips stretch into a smile.
You hear the obscene squelch of your cunt around her fingers as she strokes that devastating spot inside of you.
"Cum for Mommy," Padmé commands before ducking her head back down to suck viciously at your clit.
You sob your pleasure as your release floods her mouth.
Padmé drinks you down with all the greed of a woman in the desert, lapping gently at your cunt until you're jerking away from her in overstimulation.
"That's my good girl," she whispers as she crawls back up your body. "Such a good girl,"
You waste no time in wrapping your arms around her waist while she lays herself over top of you. The grounding weight of her body keeps you from slipping away from yourself, and instead you are content to lay in the aftermath of your pleasure.
Padmé presses a sugar sweet kiss to your temple.
Mommy always takes care of her girl.
8 notes · View notes
1. a change which is a result or consequence of an action or other cause.
In which a Jedi woman with prescience capabilities discovers who she is and the effect of her, and her family's, presence on the galaxy.
Words: 2474, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody, Darth Maul, Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s), Original Clone Trooper Character(s), CT-7567 | Rex, Dooku | Darth Tyranus, Quinlan Vos, Qui-Gon Jinn, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Jedi Council (Star Wars), Ahsoka Tano
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Original Female Character(s), Darth Maul/Original Male Character(s), CC-2224 | Cody/Original Female Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Darth Maul & Original Female Character(s), Original Clone Character(s) & Original Jedi Character(s)
Additional Tags: I have no idea how to tag, this is my first story, on AO3, canon is a bouncy ball that I will yeet into the sun, kind of, ish, Sort Of, Fuck you palpy, we don’t like you, No Beta We Die Like Clones, Attempted Murder, Amnesiac Child
I have another Rexanidala thing on the brain, specifically:
Transmasc Anakin and cis Padme get married, their biology means no risk of Accidents.... except then they invite Rex with them, and like... war doesn't make consistent birth control EASY, and Anakin's taking the pill because he hates the idea of any implants for Slave Trauma Reasons, but the clones are supposed to be mostly sterile and Anakin's been on testosterone for long enough that it's basically no risk, right?
...Anakin is really lucky that pregnancy is the LEAST dysphoric experience for him. It's very much "Well, this is inconvenient timing," but not triggering, thank the Force.
(Do not thank the Force. The Force is probably why you're pregnant.)
"Anakin's on T, the clones were supposed to be sterile, its fine!"
It was not fine.
If it’s not triggering then he probably gets caught up in thoughts along the lines of “Baby? Mine???”
But also there's a lot of. You know. "Oh god the Order is going to kill me."
With a delightfully awful little side of "what's going to happen to Rex if it comes out he's the other father?"
Anakin, to Obi-Wan: Heyyyyyyyyyyyy Master. I, uh... I fucked up big time. Help?
Obi-Wan: Did you kill someone you shouldn't have?
Anakin: Not recently.
Obi-Wan: Terrifying answer, thank you, what did yo--
Anakin: I'm pregnant.
Anakin: In my defense, we thought both of us were basically sterile.
(From an outside perspective, Rex being the father is also concerning as hell for power dynamics reasons.)
(I'm thinking it was a matter of "Drunk Rex hits on Anakin, is gently rebuffed because alcohol, Anakin brings it up when they're both sober like 'hey, so this is a thing you said and I'd just like to figure out how sincere that was? because, you know, if it was sincere I'm open to it, but if it's not we can pretend it never happened, no questions asked; you already know I'm married and perfectly happy with her so if it's not up your alley, there are literally zero consequences," because drunk confessions by the subordinate are somehow less "oh fuck, power dynamics" than most options.)
(But from the outside, it's uhhhhhhhhhh looks bad, Scoob.)
I think this might be an "everyone knows Anakin and Padme are together, but are assuming it's just a FWB situation where they hook up for stress relief instead of Actual Marriage" timeline so there's an added element to the rumor mill about, like, That Whole Situation because the assumption is that Anakin can't get pregnant from Padme, unless she's also...? Except, no, she's made statements before where she cited her own childbearing capacity as a way to press personal connection to a bill or law she was trying to get passed, so who...?
Rex is very excited about Baby and also terrified
Like. Magnitudes more terrified than Anakin.
Padme is worried for both of her idiot boys because hello they're in a war. If Padme got pregnant, at least the gravid partner wouldn't be the one that's entering battle fields near daily.
Anakin's panicking about getting kicked out of the Order, Rex is panicking about getting decommissioned and also about the babies, Padme's panicking about Anakin's reputation and Rex's safety and Anakin's safety and what this means for the Clone Rights bill and--
Obi-Wan's panicking about all of this. (He also tries to give Anakin another safe sex lecture but like. In Anakin's defense, Kamino said the clones were sterile.)
Ahsoka's being shielded from... most of the panic. All she knows is that Anakin is pregnant.
Anakin was already fairly motivated to end the war but all someone has to point out is that the baby is in danger and suddenly it’s like. Nightmare Man Determined To End War Singlehandedly
I just... whether it's transakin or magical mpreg or scifi mpreg or what, I really love Anakin getting pregnant, because he's just. He's a very specific collection of neuroses and nonsense that makes him Very Excited by the idea of Creating Life.
This is just another AU where I am indescribably happy with the idea of Rex holding a baby and being bewildered in the most delighted way because... he has a child. Somehow. He has a baby???
74 notes · View notes