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Chapter Text

Shortly after they turn eighteen, Luke’s change finally begins.

According to the informational texts she’s read, her brother is a bit of a late bloomer. His nonsexual “warm” heats began at the usual time, right around when Leia’s own body began to change. Though, while she experienced the horrors of acne and period cramps, of sore breasts and awkward weight gain before it all eventually cleared up and evened out, her twin remained smooth-faced and slender — in her father’s words, angelic — even as he gained on her in height and his voice dropped in pitch. 

After the start of their respective puberties, the most discomfort her twin seemed to endure throughout their childhood was a quarterly period in which he would be moody and feverish for roughly four days, which he would then spend in bed watching holodramas with her or being read to by their father, all while being doted upon by their small army of clone guards and servant droids.

No matter which method of accounting one uses, compared to that of a beta woman’s, omega adolescences are easy. So easy.

Leia loves her twin more than anything in the universe. But that still doesn’t mean he doesn’t disgust her sometimes. It’s not Luke’s fault he was born the way he is, but as a Sith, it’s been drilled into her to utterly abhor weakness. Her Master sees to that.

So, ever since their sixteenth birthday — the median age for omegas to reach full sexual maturity, she’s read — she’s been counting down the days until her twin eventually blossoms into a full adult. She can freely admit that she’d love to see Luke truly suffer, just once.

She knows for a fact that their father is, too, for reasons she is too disgusted to name. The fact that he is their alpha sire is only one part of the issue. The part that truly boils her, that stokes the flame of incendiary rage and Dark Side hatred in the pit of her belly when she thinks of her Master putting his paws on her twin, is that Luke is hers. They are one being in two bodies, two halves of the same whole in the Force. She is him, and he is her. 

Leia detests her father. Which, of course, is all by Vader’s manipulative design, hatred being a core tenet of their religion. This only makes Leia resent him even more. 

She is a very good Sith. She is also very competitive by nature, so Leia makes it her mission to notice the change in Luke first — which she does.

Personally, Leia thinks alphas and omegas rely far too much on their noses, just in general, because it’s not his pheromones that first give Luke away. Rather, it’s his behavior. 

In the fortnight leading up to his bloom, Luke starts to create clumsy, rudimentary nests from the plush bedding in his lavish, comfortable quarters. Even he doesn’t seem to notice what he’s been doing; but Leia, who has been looking out with a shriek-hawk’s eye for the past two standard years, absolutely does.

Shortly after that, the onset of her brother’s first breeding heat becomes much more apparent, and the feelings they bring and infect their Force bond with inevitably makes her think about sex. 

She’s not a virgin herself — there’s an older smuggler she met earlier in the year that she now beds on and off on occasion, whenever the mood strikes her. He’s smarmy and overwhelmingly irritating, but the reason she continues to call him whenever Vader sends her to the Outer Rim is that he is incredibly eager to be held down and take her knotted plastoid cock despite being an alpha himself. It’s as if he annoys her just so she can put him in his place, and that makes her blood sing more than anything else. So, she puts up with the utterly annoying rest of him. She’s sure she’ll tire of him soon.

Conversely, she knows for a fact Luke has never been touched by another being before, not the least because their sire wouldn’t hesitate to melt them with the Force if anybody even looked wrong in her twin’s direction. But still, eighteen seems a little old to her for any human to still remain completely pure, even if she knows from her research that omega and beta sexual development are slightly offset, and that the final stage of Luke’s maturity has come even later than most.

It’s strange to think about at times, since she and Luke are so close. Again, she is him and he is her, and it’s… weird that they also can be so different in such a fundamental way. 

So, sue her. She’s curious.

The perfect opportunity to indulge this curiosity falls right into her lap about a week after she started noticing the signs in her twin, when they lay together among the fine silk pillows and blankets that make up the skeleton of Luke’s first real nest. Her beloved brother has always been a bit clingy and desperate for affection, but along with his sudden penchant for nesting, he’s become even needier than normal in the weeks leading up to his change. And because Leia’s singular weak spot is her brother, she has a bad habit of indulging him.

However, it’s here that Leia uses the opportunity to ask, completely unselfconsciously, and not without a hint of proprietary ownership, for Luke to draw up his nightgown and shimmy out of his briefs, so she can examine, up close, exactly what Luke looks like down there. 

Luke being Luke, he’s stubborn at first. One of his favorite activities in life is to test the limits of Leia’s patience with him, so his natural first instinct is to play coy and refuse her. He puts on the demure, flustered omega act, which Leia can immediately see right through and has very little tolerance for. Fortunately, it only takes her a little bit of coaxing and a stern word or two before he finally acquiesces to her request. Slightly unusually, he even lets Leia strip him of his briefs. She has an inkling the increased docility may have something to do with his oncoming heat, and she files that information away for later.

As he leans back against the small mountain of down pillows and shyly (which — Why? she wonders idly with a frown; Luke is hers, he should never be self-conscious around her) parts his lithe, bare legs, she lays her hand on his thighs and marvels at the feel of them despite herself. Luke’s flesh is so soft, even a little squishy, and so unlike the hardened and scarred muscle of her own legs. Even his body hair is pleasantly downy under her saber-callused palms. 

It hits her then — everything about her brother speaks of a life of luxury, of shelter and opulence and love.

(She doesn’t hate him for it. She doesn’t.)

Leia can’t help herself from raking her sharp nails hard down the interior of his thighs. Vivid, bright red lines bloom in their wake, and despite Luke’s petulant yelp at the treatment, the sight of them settles something deep in the back of Leia’s mind.

Once that is done, she finally turns her attention to the part of Luke she had originally wanted to see. The first thing she notices is how much bigger he is than her. His clit is more like a small cock; though barely larger than her thumb, it still pokes out from the cleft of his outer labia, protected by a hood-like foreskin. It’s similar to her own anatomy but distinctly alien at the same time. It’s also undoubtedly male in a way she can’t quite articulate.

She studies him in appraising silence, but after a moment, he begins to squirm. She tightens her hold on Luke’s thighs, digging her sharp nails into the milky flesh there to keep him still.

Ever impatient, Luke huffs. “Lee, are you almost done?”

“In a minute, Lulu,” Leia snipes back, cocking her head and leaning closer to her twin’s center in order to get a closer look. 

When she does, a sweet, tangy scent suddenly drifts past her nose. Her nostrils flare. Something in her mostly-dormant beta hindbrain begins to buzz lowly, and her eyes drift away from his little cock — his clit, for all intents and purposes — to the part of her brother’s anatomy that is much more familiar to her.

His cunt, even to her eyes, is appealing in an objective sort of way. It’s flushed and handsomely pink, surrounded by a thatch of coarse, dark gold pubic hair. It’s also noticeably swollen, which is the final unnecessary evidence Leia needs to confirm her suspicions that his body is readying him to finally breed.

Also… it’s…

A sharp smirk stretches wide across her shapely lips. “Oh, naughty Lulu,” she teases, her voice almost a squeal. “You’re wet!”

Luke sucks in a sharp breath, and his scent, now that she is close enough to him to smell it, goes slightly sour in embarrassment. He writhes in her hold, and she takes a sadistic sort of pleasure in pinning his hips back down to the bed despite her smaller size.

“I know,” Luke whimpers, a little miserably. “It’s so annoying. It’s never happened before.”

Leia blinks, her smirk falling off her face as her lips go slightly slack in surprise. She’s never read about that before. 

“Never?” she asks. “What about when you touch yourself?”

Luke flushes. “I… I don’t do that. Tsabin” — it takes Leia a moment to remember who Tsabin is; right, she’s Luke’s omega governess — “says it’s not… ugh. Why are you even asking me this? Unpresented omegas don’t do those things. It’s unbecoming,” he says, pitching his voice to a mocking, crisply accented falsetto while wrinkling his nose. “You know, perverted.”

Leia blinks again, before her expression suddenly turns thoughtful. All things considered, she doesn’t know much about omegas, but unpresented or not, she doesn’t see the harm in a little self pleasure. The Dark Side thrives on passion and hedonism. It’s why, despite everything, she does still love spoiling her brother, even if he does little to deserve it most of the time. 

“Well, that’s a load of banthacrap if I’ve ever heard it,” Leia says, releasing her hold on his thighs. Admiring the red crescents her nails leave behind, she runs her fingers through the patch of hair on his pubic mound.

His clit jumping at her sudden touch, Luke lets out a shocked giggle. “Leia, wait—”

“Relax, Lulu,” Leia purrs. “I wanna show you something.”

She can never resist an opportunity to lord her relative worldliness over him. Through their bond in the Force, she can feel Luke’s hesitance — Should they really be doing this? he thinks, not even aware of how loudly he’s broadcasting to her. But, she also feels his intense curiosity, his tentative excitement and the adrenaline-fueled thrill that they might be doing something their father might not necessarily approve of. And more than any of that, she can sense his overwhelming trust in her, trust that she would never do anything to hurt him, that she would always be one of his steadfast protectors. 

Whatever she has planned must be for his own good, that trust makes him think, and it’s that certainty, that sheer unconditional love he holds for her that suddenly makes her feel heady, as the possessive heat of the Dark Side suddenly begins to flow through her like electricity through a conduit. It gives her the confidence to bring the tips of her fingers to her mouth and wet them with her tongue, before petting them gently over the head of her brother’s clit.

Luke yelps, his whole body jolting like he’d been hit with a burst of their father’s Force Lightning. Opening up their bond a little wider, Leia can feel the way arousal suddenly coils like a molten spring in the base of his stomach, potent and unfamiliar and full of potentiality.

Grounding Luke through their bond, she rubs soft circles over and around the base of his clit. The pressure she uses is much gentler than what she treats herself to in bed, but she’s grown up knowing that Luke is, and always will be, delicate. That was one of the first lessons her Master instilled in her, back when he was only her father and sire. 

With this in mind, she slips her fingers along his rosy folds, gathering his slick, which has begun to drip from his hole in a steady stream. She doesn’t know whether to be fascinated or slightly disgusted. It’s a lot more liquid than she ever produces.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually never touched yourself like this,” she coos, overtly patronizing. “Are all omegas late bloomers like you?”

“I don’t know, Lee,” Luke grits out between the worsening pants of his breath. “Aside from the clones, you’re the only beta I know, and the only one with parts like—” He cuts himself off with a high whine as Leia lands a sharp flick to his clit. 

Her brows raise as a blurt of clear, watery liquid — precome — suddenly exudes from its purpling tip. 

Male, indeed, she thinks. She refrains from wrinkling her nose as she imagines how messy omegas must be during their heats. 

“I touch myself like this all the time, Luke,” she hums instead, pressing a kiss to the inside of Luke’s trembling thigh. His flesh jumps against her lips, as if the action spooked him. That sends a vague jolt of arousal down Leia’s spine, and despite herself and the fact that this is her twin, her brother, she starts to feel a tingle in her own groin. “Stay still. Let me teach you.”

“Lee…”

“Hush.”

Leia holds her brother steady as he begins to gasp and pant, his hips starting to make pathetic, aborted little bucks into the steady rubbing and tugging of her fingers on his clit. Every once in a while, she teasingly runs her fingers through his sopping folds, though she still doesn’t dare to enter his cunt. For some reason, that feels like a step too far for the game she’s playing. So she strokes Luke’s tense stomach with her free hand instead, feeling the muscles under Luke’s slight remaining baby fat go hard and tight.

Eventually, Luke’s hands turn to claws in the pillow beside his head, his cheeks flushed and lips parted as he pants in sharp, cut-off breaths. It’s kind of cute, in a pathetic sort of way.

“Ah… ah…”

“That’s it, Lulu,” Leia croons. “You’re doing so good.”

“Lei—ah!” Luke cries, head thrashing on the pillow. “Leia, I feel strange.”

His golden fringe is darkened by sweat, and the rest of his long, wavy locks are splayed around his crown like a halo. In moments like these, Leia can sort of see what their overly-sentimental father is getting at.

“That means you’re almost to the best part,” she says. “Don’t you trust me?”

Luke warbles, “I do. I do.”

Leia’s fingers rub even tighter circles around his clit, flicking and gently pinching the head in steady intervals. His chest heaves, his small, barely-there tits jiggling slightly as he struggles to gasp for breath. What air he does manage to take in starts to leave him in loud, wordless moans.

Quick as a serpent, Leia pauses tracing idle squiggles along the hair trailing up to his navel with her free hand in order to muffle her brother’s slack mouth. It would be… problematic, she knows, if their father were to catch them like this. 

Keening into her hand, all of a sudden he looks down at her with wide, frantic eyes, which have gone from glassy to electric with an abrupt surge of fear. That cuts through Leia with an arrow of pure, animalistic want, and suddenly she finds herself wet enough to rival her brother.

Sensing her momentary distraction through their bond, Luke weakly bats her hand away.

“L-Lee, wait!” he whimpers, pleading. Her answering grin is wicked, more like a knife-sharp display of nonexistent fangs than anything resembling an actual smile. In response, the pressure of her fingers becomes that much harder, the twisting pinches to his clit turning that much crueller. “Stop, I feel like I’m gonna—”

 “It’s okay, Lulu,” she assures him, her voice saccharinely sweet. “Let go for your sister.”

And, by the Sith, Luke does. 

The wail he releases is high and broken and loud. To Leia’s surprise, it sends a wave of pure, primal satisfaction thrumming through her as she watches him release a full body shudder, his legs jerking and clit squirting as his sloppy, drooling hole clenches around nothing. 

The door to Vader’s office is only a few measly meters from Luke’s. Though Leia has gone to great lengths to shield both her and her brother’s bond to their father, he still will surely hear the amount of noise his beloved omega son is making. Yet, the sheer sense of intoxicating power Leia feels at the way her twin soaks her hand and forearm with his pleasant, tangy-sweet smelling juices makes it so she can’t find it in herself to care overly much. The probability of her Master inevitably investigating them and catching them in a compromising position is a problem for later her.

“Leia, Leia,” Luke chants in broken, breathy little stutters. He presses his fists to his teary eyes, and Leia finally lets him close his thighs as he trembles through the aftershocks of his first ever orgasm.

“There,” she says, sitting back on her heels, breezy as if nothing particularly galaxy-shattering or untoward had happened between them. “Not so scary, right?”

Luke sniffles, and, not removing the hands that cover his flushed and mortified face, he nods his head in shallow agreement.

Feeling strangely triumphant, Leia gazes down at her twin and admires her handiwork. His nightdress is gathered up around his shoulders, and he’s bright red, nearly the same color as a Mon Calamari, all the way down to his tits. His nipples are pebbled in the cool air of his bedroom, and Leia wonders what sort of lovely sound he might make if she twisted them until they hurt.

Her own hard nipples feel chafed beneath the soft fabric of her casual lounge shirt. Her cunt throbs, and every time she shifts, she becomes aware of just how soaked her briefs are.

Surely, she thinks, the Dark Side of the Force thrumming through her veins, it would be remiss to end the lesson now. She’s a good Sith, after all, and she and Luke share everything, including passion and pleasure.

And her brother has such a lovely mouth.

Chapter Text

Vader is not pleased when he catches his apprentice attempting to coax her twin’s face into the bare apex of her thighs.

Oh, he understands why she might be compelled to do so; the instant he enters his angel’s chambers, he can smell the unmistakable musk of young omega arousal, see the rudimentary nest he’d constructed for himself and his sister. They’re all glaring indicators of Luke’s long-awaited presentation, and the only thing less tempting than a youthful omega puppy on the cusp of heat is one lost in the throes of full-blown omegaspace, desperate and whining greedily for anything to fill their sloppy, grasping cunts. Even a beta as strong-willed as his daughter is no match for Luke’s preheat wiles, unwitting though they are.

Still, that doesn’t keep his anger toward his heir at bay. It floods through him like the Mustafarian lava that nearly took his life and his face nearly two standard decades ago, and had since left him partially dependent on a respirator. 

Darth Vader is the Emperor of the known galaxy. He won that right after killing his former master, once he’d gleaned the truth behind Sidious’s lies and discovered that his beloved wife had, in fact, lived long enough to give birth to his heir and his son.

He is self-aware enough to admit that he cares for both his children, albeit in radically different ways. His daughter, a jaggedly beautiful beta girl who mainly takes after her dam in looks and her sire in both raw power and temperament, is meant to be molded. She is both a weapon and his heir, both to the Sith and to the Galactic Empire he has built on the back of Palpatine’s farsighted ambitions. His son, on the other hand… 

The Force has made it abundantly clear that Luke, from the moment he burst into the galaxy only moments before his twin sister, is something that is meant to be loved, to be an object of affection, to be coveted, treasured, hoarded. He is meant to belong to a pack. 

To belong to Vader. 

This fact is encoded right into his son’s very biology. Vader is an alpha, and Luke is an omega. Other than his own mother, Vader has never been as close to an omega as he is to Luke. And now that his angel is on the cusp of full bloom, Vader understands intimately why they are so prized amongst the galaxy.

Luke is so very close to being able to fulfill his true purpose in their family. But until then, he is a delicate — albeit increasingly tempting — fruit that needs to be left to ripen before he is tenderly plucked off the vine of childhood. Vader will never forgive his daughter for attempting to steal a taste of Luke before Vader claimed first rights.

After catching her in the act of her transgression, Vader rips his apprentice off her brother by the hair and drags her to the dojo, where he forces her to run through unarmed drills against combat drones set to kill in nothing but her lounge shirt. In the meantime, he comforts Luke and personally reprograms the lock on his chambers, even though he knows very well that his son — who, despite being an omega, is still far too clever for his own good by half, much to Vader’s extreme vexation — will, within a rotation or two, find a way to override the new security measures in order to let his misbehaving sister back into his nest.

Despite his every effort to keep them separate from each other, Vader has never managed to keep his children apart for long. No amount of threats or punishment — or, in the case of Leia, torture — seems to be able to keep them from each other, at least not permanently. Luke and Leia are under the impression that they are a dyad, or at least something close to it. Vader isn’t sure, but over time, he’s come to accept the sheer strength of their bond as simply an annoying quirk of the will of the Force.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from keeping them temporarily siloed when necessary. Once the combat drones are rendered inoperable, Vader gives his heir the minimum amount of time to clean herself up and dress before sending her off on her least favorite errand, which is to act as his representative overseeing the negotiations regarding some tedious trade route dispute on the far reaches of the Outer Rim. It’s an errand that will take a tenday at least, if not the entire month.

Leia, of course, knew exactly what he was doing, and she doesn’t shield the utter resentment she feels for him through their bond, even as she lowers herself to one knee and solemnly vows, “I will not fail you, Master.”

“See that you do not,” he threatens, before sending her away with his usual utilitarian contempt.

With the issue of his willful apprentice taken care of, Vader then makes the executive decision to delegate all but his essential duties to various competent underlings for the next few weeks. He doesn’t know exactly when Luke’s heat will hit, but he wants to be able to give his dove his full, undivided attention at a moment’s notice.

Then, only a few short rotations after Leia’s shuttle exits Imperial Center airspace, it happens. 

He feels it in the Force before anything else. Ever since the incident, he’s kept part of his consciousness especially attuned to any changes in his son’s signature, occasionally prodding him for updates or providing comfort by wrapping Luke’s warm, pulsing light in the cool tendrils of his own dark presence as his puppy sorts through the disconcerting surge of emotion and the newly roused instincts that accompany his budding preheat.

So, Vader knows the exact second Luke blossoms, as an abrupt cacophony of need and confusion and more than a little bit of fear suddenly clangs through their bond with the intensity of a meteor strike and interrupts his morning meditation.

He grits his teeth, uneasily delves back into the murky depths of the Dark Side’s churning seas, and waits for as long as he is able.

It is, admittedly, a difficult task. As the rotation wears on, Luke’s roiling emotions mount to a head, his fear slowly morphing into full-blown panic while his need tips into sheer, mindless desperation. Each wave of unresolved heat sends a painful lance through the small portion of his heart where his son lives, which is the only part of Vader’s that’s still mostly unburnt by rage and grief. 

It’s enough to nearly drive him mad, especially in conjunction with the way his cock twitches beneath his armored codpiece with each buzzing pulse of Luke’s agonized Force signature. His biannual ruts notwithstanding, the majority of Vader’s libido died with Padmé. What’s left of it has slowly reawakened itself in recent years, but the intensity of the lust currently smoldering out from his alpha hindbrain in response to his son’s heat is almost wholly unfamiliar. 

Even from the time he had been called Anakin Skywalker, Vader has never been any sort of particular slave to his instincts. He thinks it has something to do with meeting his true mate so early in life, along with the fact that she had been another alpha. As a result, the primal alpha drive to breed had never been particularly strong in Vader. His wife’s ability to get pregnant in the first place, let alone carry twins to near-term, was a medical anomaly bordering on miraculous. What he feels now reminds him vaguely of the thrill he experienced the first time his wife knotted him during the rut she experienced shortly after their marriage ceremony, but with a decidedly more ruthless, dominating edge. 

(Every night, he recites his wedding vows as a form of penance for ever trusting Palpatine. With the exception of her ghost, he will never bend the knee or bare his neck for anyone ever again.)

His knot is half-blown beneath his clothes, and he can feel a wet spot forming on the interior of his smalls where his cock has begun to leak. His fangs feel huge in his mouth, the place where they meet his gums itching with the urge to bite down, to mark his territory, to claim. 

He’s barely hanging on by the thinnest of threads when finally, finally, his precious dove wails down their bond, Father! I need help! Please, daddy—

At the sound of Luke’s anguished mental cry, Vader lets out a long, relieved breath, the action easy in his pressurized mediation chamber.

I’m coming, my son, he sends back. Luke’s relief is palpable and immediate, and despite the way it pulls at scars on the bottom half of his face, he smiles.

Drawing himself out of the cold flames of the Dark Side, he reattaches the half-mask of his respirator and exits the hyperbaric pod. He does not run the short distance to Luke’s chamber, because that is something Darth Vader, second Emperor of the first Galactic Empire, simply does not do. 

That does not mean his strides are anything but brisk, however.

Using his override code, he unlocks Luke’s door and is almost immediately overcome by the cloying scent of his child’s heat, which barrels out of the room and nearly crashes into Vader like a wall. Only the sturdiness of his state-of-the-art leg prosthetics manage to keep him from stumbling back a step, but once he recovers, he charges into the darkened room with a lusty determination he doesn’t think he’s felt since the height of the Clone Wars. 

Mouth watering, he stalks directly toward the huge, canopied bed in the middle of the room. Luke’s amateurish attempts at a nest have been all but destroyed; blankets and pillows are strewn everywhere, no doubt casualties of Luke’s prolonged lack of relief. 

Vader remembers his own first rut, remembers the way he had writhed and thrashed in his bedchamber and almost destroyed his bedding in the process. Nobody in the Jedi Temple had thought to teach how to construct a sturdy nest then, but Vader will make it a point to teach Luke. 

He will teach his omega child so very, very many things.

In the center of the chaotic mess of linens is his son, naked as the day he was born and softly sobbing even as his hand jerks beneath the thin bed sheet covering his groin. 

What’s visible of his skin is kissed with a sweet, rosy flush and coated in a faint sheen of sweat. His shoulder-length hair is a womprat’s nest of tangles, and though the movement of his hand never pauses, his feverish eyes dart around the room in alarm the moment he senses another presence in his room.

However, he quickly locks eyes with Vader, and his whole body sags with relief.

“Father?” he croaks. 

Despite the lovely picture he presents, the sandy hoarseness in Luke’s voice makes Vader’s lips tick down minutely. He takes note of the amount of water still left in the jugs he’d ordered the servant droids to leave at his son’s bedside and shakes his head, slightly frustrated with himself.

It’s clear now that Vader had waited too long and let Luke’s stubbornness get the best of him. Though his angel is certainly smarter and more capable than the vast majority of omegas, it’s clear he is still very much in need of an alpha’s guiding hand when it comes to making good decisions for himself.

Unable to wait even a moment longer, he finishes crossing the lavish bedchamber in only a few short strides. He doesn’t wait for permission to enter the remains of Luke’s nest, simply shucking off his armor, boots, and respirator so he can cuddle in close with his omega son.

“Father,” Luke mewls again, hands suddenly clutching hard at the starched fabric of Vader’s low-necked undershirt. 

His soft, uncalloused fingertips are wrinkled from the hours upon hours of ineffectually attempting to sate his own heat, and the sight and smell of them nearly make Vader drool. Swallowing the abrupt flood of saliva, Vader shushes him with a soft noise. 

He presses a kiss to Luke’s damp crown, before nuzzling their noses together. The sweet familiarity of the affection makes Luke keen. He presses even further into Vader, molding his small, slender form to Vader’s comparatively huge bulk, which is hard with both muscle and durasteel. 

“Daddy’s here, my love,” he murmurs lowly, swallowing a growl as his son’s knee accidentally brushes up against his erection. “What do you need?”

Luke shudders out a sob.

“It hu-urts,” he gasps, fresh tears erupting from his eyes and falling down the flushed swell of his cheeks. Vader rumbles and presses kisses to each of them, lapping up his angel’s tears and admiring the crystalline quality they give his huge, blue eyes. “I’m sorry, daddy, I’m just in so much pain, and I don’t know what to do. I’m so — I’m frightened it’ll be like this forever. I’ve tried to use my fingers, but they aren’t enough. I need something else, something more, but I don’t know—”

“Lukka,” Vader says. His firm tone and the order implied in the use of Luke’s Naboo name instantly derails his son’s impending omega hysteria. Immediately, Luke presses his plush, rose-bitten lips together, and in reward, Vader strokes a thumb across the sweep of freckles decorating the underside of Luke’s orbital bone. 

Luke purrs weakly at the action, greedily soaking up the comfort, and the sound makes Vader smile.

“I’m glad you called me,” he whispers. “You did the right thing. Daddy knows exactly what to do in order to make his puppy feel better.”

A few simple words from his sire is all it takes for the tension to relieve itself from Luke’s body, as if Vader’s assurance is the only thing he truly needs to live. The power of it makes Vader feel heady, nearly drunk with lust and possessiveness and love. 

Truly, Luke is his boy, his omega, and his angel knows it.

With a soft nudge from Vader, Luke rolls onto his back. After some urging, he lays his head on a damp, creased pillow, letting his limbs splay loose and languid, muscles exhausted from the ordeal of his heat.

He looks so much like his mother like this, Vader thinks with a happy sigh.

“Thank you, daddy,” Luke warbles, his hands curling into sweet, loose fists on either side of his head after Vader indicates he should lay them there. “What… what should I do?”

Vader smiles softly. He playfully tweaks Luke’s nose, before doing the same to one of his rosebud nipples. 

Gasping, Luke’s eyes fly open wide, his whole body jerking with the sensation

“Daddy—?”

“Just lay back, my dove,” Vader croons. “I’ll take care of you.”

Luke chews his lip, then says, “Oh…kay.”

“Can you tell me what you were doing before? Were you trying to use your fingers?”

Vader knows for a fact Luke was; the evidence of it is obvious. But he likes the way the question makes Luke’s face and chest go an even deeper shade of red. His son squirms in embarrassment, chagrin for a moment completely outweighing the thrall of his heat. It is, for lack of a better term, adorable.

Luke’s tone is quiet and slightly shamed when he admits, “I… tried sticking one inside. But it wasn’t enough, so I put in another. And that was okay for a bit, but then my wrist cramped, and then it didn’t feel very good at all.”

Vader thought as much, but still, he tsks sympathetically. He reaches down with his left hand — his only limb still made of flesh and blood — and carefully pets over his son’s damp, throbbing sex. He rubs the blunt, callused pad of his thumb over the twitching head of Luke’s clit, carefully drawing it out of its foreskin hood.

Head suddenly thrashing on the pillow, Luke sucks in a high, whiny breath before squeezing his eyes shut and harshly biting his lip.

“Okay, puppy?” Vader asks, not pausing in his ministrations.

“It’s — just a lot,” Luke admits, panting sharply through his nose. “I’ve only been touched there once before, a few days ago when Lee—”

Vader cuts him off with a guttural growl, pinching Luke’s clit hard in warning. Squealing, Luke tries clamping his legs shut, but Vader uses his own thighs to bully them open and keep his thighs spread.

Luke’s eyes fly open, wide with alarm. “Father?”

“You sister shouldn’t have touched you like that,” Vader intones through his teeth, possessiveness practically steaming from his nostrils like smoke. “Not before your heat.”

Luke sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, sunshine,” he grits out, clenching his jaw and releasing some of his incandescent anger back into the Force. Right now, it has no place in his angel’s nest. “Leia should have known better. But from now on, I’ll be the one to teach you all you need to know about how to use your body.”

A tense beat passes between them. But then Luke sighs, and he relaxes slightly back into the mattress. “I understand. Thank you, daddy.”

Smiling tightly, Vader nods and proceeds to continue stroking Luke’s clit. He smears Luke’s precome over the head, and soon after, the scent of Luke’s slick grows thicker, richer, full of the same kind of sweet spice Vader remembers coated his tongue the last time he tasted Padmé’s cum while she was pregnant. Vader breaths harshly through his mouth, and it takes all his self control to ignore the throb of his increasingly impatient knot at the base of his cock. 

Luke’s moans only grow incoherent and desperate with the attention, his thighs squirming against Vader’s legs where they’re pinned open, toes curling even as release remains agonizingly out of reach. His back arches, his body suddenly going tight as a bowstring as Vader briefly encloses his whole clit in the bottom half of his fist, creating a slick, tight tunnel for Luke to frantically thrust into as if he were in possession of a real cock instead of the useless, vestigial nub all male omegas are born with.

After a few amusing moments of hopeless puppy rutting, Luke collapses back onto the bed with an anguished wail. 

“Daddy,” he bawls, thoroughly broken and clawing at any part of Vader he can reach, clearly driven feral in his need for orgasm. “I’m so-orry. It hurts so bad. I need — I don’t know—” He lets out a wordless cry of frustration, weakly thumping his fists against his sire’s hard, broad chest.

Vader smiles softly down at his son, who in so many ways is still the same stubborn, restive omega pup Vader used to spoil with abandon. But Luke is all grown up now, and under the firm hand of Vader’s tutelage, he will learn patience soon enough.

He sets his hand on Luke’s lower stomach, right over the charming trail of hair leading from his sex to his navel. He knows most alphas prefer omegas hairless, but Vader’s tastes had never particularly run toward accepted convention. The fact that he carries another alpha’s bite is proof enough of that.

“You need a knot, sunshine,” he soothes lowly, petting over his son’s cramping womb. “The only way to sate a heat is for an alpha to breed you.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, Luke’s face twists in abject misery.

“But—” he blubbers through a fresh wave of tears. “But I don’t have an alpha, daddy. There’s no one—”

Vader grasps Luke by the jaw. “Luke, look at me,” he says seriously. He shakes Luke’s head a bit, urging him to make eye contact with his alpha before. Luke’s gaze is bright and feverish, and the sight of it makes Vader salivate all over again. “I said I would help you, didn’t I?”

Beneath the bruising grip of his sire’s fingers, Luke’s chin trembles, brows furrowing in confusion. “But… daddy, isn’t breeding, y’know, sex? We shouldn’t—”

Tired of his son’s airheaded nonsense, Vader gives in to the urge to lean down and capture his mouth in a bruising, dominating kiss. 

Luke freezes up under him. In response, Vader purposely scrapes his alpha fangs against the tender skin of Luke’s lips. He gasps in pleasure-pain, and the opening allows Vader to lick his way into his son’s mouth and taste his omega in a way he’s only allowed himself to fantasize about until now.

The reality is better than anything he could ever hope to dream. Luke is like sweet wine; divine, intoxicating, even as he lays stunned beneath Vader like a limp fish. Vader is quick to rectify that, however, massaging Luke’s heat-swollen bonding site with quick, efficient strokes. 

The effect is immediate. His son gentles into sweet compliance, melting into the mattress from his Vader’s guiding touch and clumsily returning the kiss. 

Vader pulls away and examines Luke’s eyes. They’re so dilated, only a thin ring of shimmering blue remains around his pupils. If that wasn’t evidence enough, their hazy sheen is a clear indicator that Luke is teetering right on the edge of omegaspace.

Excellent, Vader thinks.

He leans down to Luke’s ear, nostrils flaring as he inhales Luke’s heady omega pheromones. They stoke a fire in Vader’s belly. His usually well-behaved hindbrain abruptly snarls to be set free of its leash.

“My love, daddy is only helping you,” he whispers, reveling in Luke’s soft whimper as he tries to get impossibly closer to his alpha father. He latches onto Vader’s exposed scent gland, and Vader’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as his son begins to suckle on his scarred bonding site. He fights to keep his voice steady as he continues, “You have a need. It’s biological. What sort of alpha would I be if I let my omega puppy suffer like this? Let him hurt? When it’s just you and me, it’s not sex, sweetheart. Family helps each other, right baby?”

At that, he gently detaches Luke from his neck. He looks completely blissed out. 

Vader chuckles. “My love, don’t you agree?”

Luke blinks, clearly quite unable to focus. “Oh. Right. Of course,” he sighs, a bit loopily.

Ignoring the pull of his scars as he grins, Vader draws Luke close again and tucks him against his scent gland. “And if daddy needed help, you wouldn’t hesitate to come to my aid, would you, sunshine?”

Against the crook of his neck, Luke shakes his head. “Never,” he replies, adorably fierce. “I’d do anything you asked. I love you, daddy.”

Vader’s smile widens; in reward, he presses his thumb harder into Luke’s bonding site. As his son purrs in pleasure, Vader begins to undo the fastening to his trousers, finally giving his cock some modicum of relief. 

“Now, I loathe to see you in pain like this, angel. Help me by letting me help you.”

“Okay, daddy,” Luke acquiesces, sweet as uj cake.

He’s pliant as a ragdoll as Vader rearranges him. He folds Luke’s flexible legs up to his chest, putting his tiny, dripping cunt on full display for his hungry gaze. It leaks slick like a faucet, clenching around nothing. 

Vader thinks it looked starved of a knot. Ever the indulgent sire, he wastes no further time lining up the fat, dripping head of his cock with his son’s hungry hole.

“Remember to breathe,” is all Vader says before splitting his son apart in one brutal thrust.

Luke howls. His whole body jerks in pain and shock, eyes popping open wide as his virgin cunt clenches down like a vise around Vader’s cock, fluttering and spasming as if Luke can’t decide if he wants to draw his father deeper or to expel him from his body completely. 

Vader doesn’t give him a choice, forcing him to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Fortunately, Luke’s heat makes him pliant, and he soon melts into it, just like an omega should. With a snap of his hips, Vader forces himself somehow even deeper, all the way to the root, his heavy balls hitting Luke’s ass with a wet slap.

Luke’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his drooling tongue lolling out of his mouth as the half-swell of Vader’s knot forces itself past his taught rim and butts against his sweet spot. Panting hard through his nose, Vader can sense the way his pupils dilate when he sees the way his angel’s tight lower stomach suddenly bulges out. 

Reaching up, he presses a curious hand against the lump and is immediately rewarded with an inhuman strangled noise from his son. It makes Vader let out a feral snarl of his own.

Holy kriff. He can feel himself.

“Daddy!” Luke screeches, somehow finding enough coordination and strength of will to thrash in Vader’s caging hold.

Teeth bared, Vader pins his willful omega down with the full brunt of his superior body weight. “Be still, omega,” he orders harshly. “Don’t be greedy when daddy is helping you. Be a good boy and take what daddy thinks you deserve.” He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in; Luke yowls as Vader’s half blown knot once more catches painfully on his taught rim. “Be sweet,” he growls, thrusting again, building the start of a punishing rhythm. “Be grateful.”

Luke gurgles something that might’ve been an affirmative, but it’s lost as Vader grips him by the chin again and forces his tongue into Luke’s mouth.

The slap of skin on skin echoes off the cavernous ceiling of Luke’s childhood bedroom as Vader begins to fuck him at a brutal pace. Vader rips his mouth away from Luke with a ragged gasp, a line of spit connecting their chins.

“No other alpha gets to know you like this, sunshine,” Vader pants, roughly palming one of Luke’s small tits, which are only just beginning to bud with the onset of his heat. “Not like daddy. Only daddy gets to knot you like this from now on.”

At a loss to do anything but just hang on for the ride, Luke nods frantically, gripping his father’s shoulders for dear life, nearly clawing holes in Vader’s undershirt. “Daddy,” he gasps through kiss-swollen lips. “Daddy, pluh—”

“Say you’re mine,” Vader orders harshly, crazed amber eyes glowing in the dimness.

Luke whines, high and confused. Yet still, like the perfect omega he is, he says, “I-I’m yours.”

Something inside Vader roars in possessive victory, in celebrating the claim of a long-awaited prize.

“Say it again, Luke,” he barks through sharp, feral teeth.

Luke clenches his eyes shut as Vader spears his cock deep inside him.  “I’m yours,” he whimpers, once more beginning to lose himself to the haze of heat and omegaspace.

Vader snarls. “Tell me you love me.”

“I luh-love you, daddy.”

High on pheromones and the seductive whispers of the Dark Side, Vader’s blood sings. Finally allowing himself to be caught up in the animalistic maelstrom of his instincts, he ravages Luke’s mouth again, biting his lips, swallowing his tongue.

As he pushes himself deeper and deeper inside his omega son, carving out a space inside him that only he and his knot will be able to fill, Vader thinks, The Force is correct. This is what omegas are truly made for.