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fuckmyskywalker · 6 months

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Training — Tennis player!Anakin.

— CW: 18+. Smut. Female masturbation. Inappropriate use of a tennis ball and racket. Anakin is a menace and he is nasty | Word Count: 1.2k (not proofread!)

— a/n: A long time ago (August 5th) I did a post talking about Tennis player!Anakin but I never elaborated more. This feels like giving birth. A few weeks ago I played sum tennis and I remembered him and here it is. My new plaything.

“Anakin!” You breathe out, lowering your racket. Wiping beads of sweat away from your forehead, you flick your hand to the side while keeping your eyes on your boyfriend who is standing in the opposite court. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, dollface” He replies with a cocky grin. Of course, he is playing with you. He has years of experience ahead of you. Bouncing the neon ball he raises his racket to point at you. “You were the one who wanted me to train you, is it too much to handle already?”

The teasing edge of his words makes your blood boil. He always has to be the best in everything, to prove a point even if that means humiliating his girlfriend. You are about to snap back when he throws the ball again, raising his arm and smacking it with what appears to be all his might— which is terribly unfair. Sprinting towards the ball you swing your racket barely saving it. The match continues hit after hit and like every Thursday afternoon, you are reduced to a sweaty mess, panting, annoyed, and insulted while Anakin’s ego is boosted and he feels victorious even if he is clearly taking advantage of your lack of experience.

The loud sounds of the ball bouncing and your groans of frustration work in a strange way to pull the strings in Anakin’s head. Seeing you frustrated shouldn’t turn him on as much as he does; so he continues to torment you by throwing you harder responses that are almost inhumanely impossible to block and hit back. His pearly white smile haunts your every move and when you make the mistake of looking at his face instead of the way his arms and wrist flex with every flick and action, you watch his face contort into one of surprise and dread. With reflexes that even surprise you, you raise the racket just seconds before the ball collisions on your nose, making the metal edge hit your forehead and push you to the floor with a loud, dry sound due to the impact and the stun.

Anakin yells your name and runs towards you, almost throwing his expensive racket to help you rise to your feet. He tries to apologize but you cut him with a hard shove.

“I told you it wasn't fucking funny Skywalker!” You yell, dusting your white skirt off and picking up your equipment. “You are always trying to show off, it’s just me. I don’t want to play with you ever again.”

He follows you to the women's changing room, locking the door behind him and watching you throw your bag next to your locker. He tries to apologize again but you ignore every word, frustrating him. For once Anakin is trying to accept he did something wrong and you are not cooperating.

So, he does the only thing that might work. Kissing you, he presses you against the cold brick red lockers with his broad, athletic body; his hands instinctively land on your thighs rubbing your skin underneath the tennis skirt. It works though, and as he explores your mouth with his tongue, the kiss becomes an aggressive and steamy makeout session. The frustration is still palpable from your part and a wicked idea runs through his head. Grabbing your arm he yanks you to the large benches in the middle of the room and forces you down.

“You know what you need?” His tone is menacing. Using his knee to spread your thighs. “You need training…” Pulling your skimpy shorts down, he leaves the skirt on. “Perhaps you need to get a bit more familiarized with the equipment.”

Letting your shorts hang from your ankle, Anakin walks your bag and grabs your racket and a tennis ball, throwing it up and down. Something shifts in his eyes, and you could swear there’s a wicked aura surrounding him. Leaving the racket on your lap, Anakin takes off his cap and places it over your head, the visor partially blocking your view.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he picks up your racket again. He twists the object in his hand before bringing the handle to your lips. “Anakin?”

“Open your mouth baby,” He replies as if it was the most normal request ever. “You can trust me.”

Tentatively you lick the handle, sliding your tongue around and swirling it as if it was… well as if it was his cock. Anakin seems to notice this. “There you go. I bet you wished it was something else.” He slides the base further, coating the blue plastic tape with your spit. It doesn't take you long to figure out his intentions. After a few more minutes of strange, adventurous foreplay, Anakin removes the handle from your lips, a thin rope of spit connecting your lower lip and the base. Raising it to his face he licks some of your saliva, humming.

Caressing your inner thighs with the moist handle, Anakin slides your underwear to the side and rubs the circular edge on your clit. He lets the length of the plastic slide in between your folds and thanks to your spit it does effortlessly. He sees how your hips grind against it and he sighs in response. He has fantasized about this before… but seeing it unravel in front of him is a different story. The outline of his cock on his shorts catches your attention and you try to at least tease him about it— it’s so humiliating to be the only one moaning and writhing, but Anakin rubs faster and your poor, swollen clit can barely keep up. Your moans grow in volume and you throw your head back causing his cap to fall to the bench, your cloudy gaze calling him to play with you a little more. Your mouth hangs open and it’s hard for you to see straight and he knows that.

It would be very unfortunate to be interrupted by someone listening to your pretty noises and asking the guard to unlock the door… so Anakin continues with his backup plan— although, is it really a backup plan when he knows how loud you can be when you are about to orgasm?

Your eyes snap open when he stuffs—or tries to— your mouth with the tennis ball he still had in his hand. You completely forgot about it. The ball simply can't fit in, no matter how much he tries, or how much you force your jaw. “You gonna come, dollface?” Anakin huffs watching you from above. “You gonna make a mess all over your racket?”

You nod desperately, jerking your hips as the smooth plastic abuses your engorged clit. With your hands grabbing the edges of the bench so hard your knuckles turn white, your orgasm has you trashing on top of the metal furniture, rolling your eyes and choking with the ball in your mouth as saliva trickles down the sides of your mouth.

Anakin smirks, and it’s the same victorious, cocky smile that adorns his lips when he wins a tournament. Exhaling heavily, he brings the racket to his mouth and licks some of your arousal off.

“Do you think my racket would fit inside you?” He lets the item fall, bouncing with an eerie sound. “Because I want it to be extra lucky for my next tournament.”

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headfulloffantasies · 5 years

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Not So Different

5 things that are different between Spider-verses

The Spider-people kept in touch once they realised they could universe hop. Miles hung out mostly with Gwen and Peter B. They went for snacks, and walks in the park, and helped each other on patrols.

After a few weeks, Peter B invited Miles and Gwen over to his apartment to watch Star Wars. His universe was very bright, Miles thought. It was hard to see how the depressed Peter B could come from a world so full of colour. If Miles had his markers, he would love to sit in Central Park and sketch.

Peter’s apartment was cleaner than the first time Miles had been there. The dishes were put away and there was more than cold pizza in the fridge. It was obvious B was making an effort for MJ. They had been talking, Peter said. Miles was confident they’d be together again by the end of the year.

Gwen and Miles took the couch. Peter threw himself on the rug.

“Floor’s better for my back,” he said.

The movie started. Miles kept sneaking glances at Gwen in the blue light of the TV.

“I thought C3PO was silver.”

“Shh.”

“Ian McKellen played Obi Wan in my ‘verse.”

“Shut up.”

The comments gradually died off as the movie progressed. Miles was trying to figure out how he could casually sling his arm over Gwen’s shoulder without Peter noticing. He started to creep his fingers over the back of the couch.

They’d reached that pinnacle moment of the movie. “No… I am your father.”

Gwen say bolt upright and screamed. “Holy crap! He’s Anakin?”

Miles startled, almost toppling off the couch.

“I thought you said you’d seen this?” Peter asked without looking.

Gwen grabbed Miles’ arm. “Why is Vader not Padme?”

“Padme?”

“Luke I am your mother!” She yelled, waving at the TV. “What is this?”

Peter and Miles exchanged a glance. “Do you have a different Star Wars?”

Peter interrupted. “Gwen, tell us Darth Vader’s Story.”

Gwen took a gulp of breath and started, “Okay, so Padme fakes her death in childbirth and vows vengeance on the Jedi for killing Anakin and she becomes Darth Vader. She raised Leia but she thought Luke was dead until they meet up again.”

Miles sat in stunned silence. “That’s not how this one goes.”

Gwen flapped her hands, “But then where’s the battle for the crown?”

“What crown?”

“Leila’s a princess, and Luke should be a prince, yes? But they’re twins and no one knows who was born first so they don’t know who is supposed to get the throne.”

Peter frowned. “Does Padme not know which child was born first?”

Gwen scowled, “She was a little busy giving birth to the second. It’s one of the greatest mysteries of Star Wars!”

She stared back and forth between their baffled expressions. “The whole second trilogy is based around the Skywalker crown.”

“Your Star Wars sounds way better than ours.”

Gwen had to laugh when Peter B told her Tony Stark was a hero in his ‘verse. In her universe Tony Stark was the playboy billionaire creator of Starkbucks, the overpriced coffee chain.

Miles glared at the chalkboard menu on the Starkbucks patio.

“Pineapple should only ever be on pizza.” Miles spat.

Gwen sipped her pineapple mango frappuccino. “I like it.”

“Pineapple in drinks is weird.”

“I don’t get it man. It’s a fruit.” Peter said.

“So’s a tomato.” Miles shot back.

Peter drank his black coffee and made a face. Served him right. No one came to Starkbucks for real coffee.

Gwen waited until Miles took a big gulp of his drink, “In my universe we put pineapple in spaghetti.”

The spray of caramel chip macchiato was wide and satisfying.

Miles lay back on his bed and spoke into the phone. “You’re working in Hell’s Kitchen tonight?”

“Yeah,” Gwen sighed over the speaker.

“Why don’t you ask Daredevil for help?”

The phone was silent for so long Miles thought the universal signal must have dropped.

“I’m not going to Murderdock.”

“What?” Miles sat bolt upright. “Why do you call him that?”

“He’s a murderer. The kingpin of New York.”

“Holy crap,” Miles breathed. He couldn’t match mild mannered Matt Murdock with Daredevil most nights. Nevermind thinking of him as a criminal mastermind.

“Wait, what happened to the real Kingpin? Wilson Fisk?”

“Murdock killed him.”

“Matt, no.” Miles groaned.

“You know yours?” Gwen asked.

“Yeah, he’s a lawyer. And he’s blind.”

“So’s mine. Blind lawyer criminal scumbag.”

“Gwen, I’m so sorry.” Miles loved his Matt Murdock. Guy was a puppy dog until you let him loose on the streets in his costume. He brought Miles snacks on their team-ups. He had a laugh like a seal barking.

Miles scrubbed a hand over his face. “It seems like all my heroes are their worst selves in your ‘verse.”

“Yeah…” Gwen trailed off. Miles fidgeted.

“Gwen?”

“What if this is the worst universe?” She asked quietly. “What if I’m the worst Spider-person?”

“You’re not,” Miles assured her.

“But you’re right. I’ve got no Iron Man, and Captain America hates me, Daredevil’s a criminal, Harry turned himself into a monster, and Peter…”

“I’m sorry,” Miles could think of nothing else to say.

“I just,” Gwen’s breath hitched. “I just need one person to be on my side. Just one.”

Miles’ heart skipped. “You’ve got me.” It passed like a confession over his lips.

A soft glow pulsed next to his head. A white gloved hand pushed through the light. Miles took it and pulled. Gwen fell through the tear in the universe. Miles wrapped her in a hug as her shoulders shook.

Miles was jumping to visit Peter B’s Central Park. Peter didn’t see how the park could be any different from his, but Miles insisted.

“The colours are different. Like, more saturated,” he tried to explain. Peter didn’t get it. But he took Miles and Gwen tagged along. They stopped for ice cream and watched the ducks while Miles scribbled in his notebook. This was nice. Peter leaned back on the bench with a kid on either side.

Miles tossed his ice cream trash in the bin. “Yeet.”

Gwen scoffed. “It’s yote.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you seriously say Yeet?” Gwen leaned around Peter to make a disgusted face at Miles.

“Yes,” Miles closed his notebook.

“I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

“Wait, what about Kobe?”

“Kobe?” Peter was lost. “For accuracy?”

“No, it’s Lebron,” Gwen corrected.

“I love Lebron James,” Miles said the name in a weird voice.

Gwen scowled. “I recognise the meme you’re trying to do, but it’s Serena Williams.”

“No!” Miles groaned.

“What do you have against the greatest basketball player of all time?”

“She plays basketball?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. The Raptors won the championship because of her.” Huh. Remind Peter to ask if she played women’s basketball or if the NBA was a mixed gender sport.

“She’s a tennis player here.” Peter offered.

“She’s a swimmer in my ‘verse.” Miles nodded.

“No!”

“Wait, what about the pikachu reaction meme?” Miles asked to Peter’s bewilderment.

“Oh, ‘cause of the face he just made?” Gwen poked Peter’s cheek. He batted her away. “It’s not pikachu, it’s bulbasaur.”

Miles nodded. “Ok, cool. What about Galaxy brain?”

Peter stood up and walked away. The two could bicker about internet fads all they wanted. He was going to feed the ducks.

“What do you mean penguins are extinct?” Peter gasped.

“I don’t know, man,” Miles held his hands up. “There was an earthquake and Antarctica sank or flooded or whatever and now there’s no penguins except in captivity.”

Peter scrutinized Miles through squinted eyes. The kid liked to mess with him. Penguins couldn’t be extinct, right? That was a joke?

“Um, can you put me down?”

Peter hadn’t even realised he’d lifted Miles up by the front of his hoodie. Peter carefully set Miles back on his feet.

“When did this happen?” Peter demanded.

“I don’t know,” Miles shrugged. “Like, thirty years ago?”

Peter gasped. “Does that mean you’ve never seen a penguin?”

“Um, no?”

“Field trip,” Peter grabbed Miles’ arm and yanked him through the space between universes. If he focused, he could materialise them right outside the zoo gates. Actually, they should grab Gwen too. Did her universe have penguins? Who cared. The zoo was the perfect place for the kiddies to get closer. Peter could just slip away while they were watching the gorillas or whatever, and presto, instant date. Peter smiled to himself. He was such a good matchmaker.

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