May I ask How would the mando!jedi!reader idea mc meet padme and Anakin?
It’d be funny if they met when they were young, maybe when the mc was a foundling with their master, maybe at a point between padme and anakin in age. <- this idea stemmed from the fact that anakin looked like he’d be a kid that said why over and over to anything
This reader insert idea feels very tsundere vibes to me
I’m so happy so you asked I have such massive brainworms about this I could talk for fucking hours about my plans for this story BUT ANYWAY
I ended up planning for MC and Padme to first meet per phantom menace era with MC being made to tag along with Obi-wan and Qui-gon so she goes with them to Naboo for the blockade and meets Anakin along the way BUT admittedly she becomes closer with Padme through some sort of Jedi cultural outreach mission I came up with after the end of their first movie.
So that would put her on Naboo for a prolonged stay while they’re both young and I’d like to think that under the right circumstances Padme would develop a massive crush on someone like Mando!jedi!reader (or at least the way I’ve gone about writing her lol). Like—ok so I feel like Padme liked Anakin so much because they understand each other in a way maybe no one else ever really did because of their stations in life but it was also so rushed in the movies which IS the start of their romance which we see a lot more in clone wars but I digress. Being that she could have so much more one on one time to talk and connect with Mando!jedi!reader I could really see them connecting and having that type of bond before actual romance that Padme and Anakin simply did not get in the movies. It’s a slow burn for them versus the fast paced version we get to see between Padme and Anakin at the start of their romance. Part of the reason I decided to include Anakin in this relationship was because I felt that Mando!jedi could be a great bridge for what we lost in the movies and what we could have gained had Anakin been more well adjusted into the Order.
I’m ranting now but AS QUEEN Padme pretty regularly asks for Mando!jedi’s assist in any matter that a Jedi could help in. And this would be around a generally peaceful time for Jedi all things considered? Maul is presumed dead and she wouldn’t have been old enough to be involved in more serious matters regardless of her master.
She’s also close enough with Obi-wan to have seen how his relationship with Qui-gon was in that it wasn’t exactly great (legends stuff I won’t get into) so she sorta helps with easing the pressure he might feel of having to take on a new padawan right into his knighthood and after the death of his master. And if there’s anything we know about mandalorians it’s that they are #protectorsofchildren and yk with Anakin being literally groomed by Palpatine she would be trying to keep him as close as possible.
I really really really want to make it super clear in my writing of her as a character that she’s been put into this box of being a Mandalorian and a Jedi, two very distinctive ways of life and has trouble navigating them. She’s super calm and collected when it counts but really she’s always fighting this battle between her creed and the code. Anakin and Padme are also in some ways supposed to represent this difference in character, like her struggles personified. She feels deeply for the two and despite their very clear feelings for one another not only does she feel that she would be violating the Jedi code she’d also be turning her back on the way of life she had chosen over the creed that she was literally born into.
Very complicated feelings for a very complicated (but not rlly) character.
Anyway I’m writing my way through phantom menace rn and it’s honestly kind of fun to be writing Padme as the sorta obsessive one in the relationship.
"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.
mentions of violence, confusing father/daughter dynamic, miscommunication (kinda), unhappy/ambiguous ending, platonic relationships (no romance)
a/n: inspired by a terrible falling out (if you’d even call it that) with my own father. more of a vent fic then anything
synopsis: you admit that you are a horrible daughter, but bruce finds a way to love you despite it all
w/c: 1215
You are a horrible daughter. A rotten, no good, absolutely unlovable woman with the inability to show even an ounce of compassion for the man who had given you house and home.
You don’t lie, or cheat, or steal. No, you do much worse.
You speak to others in a manner unbefitting of a woman with money. You dish respect as though it were a scarce commodity, unwilling to part with it regardless of time or place. You deliver hit after hit, physically and emotionally, to those who matter most to you. You care little for their feelings, knowing that at the end of the day, they don’t care, so why would you?
Your brothers, however many you have now as you’ve seemed to lose count, can attest to this. They can agree, and you’re sure they will, in the sole fact that you are a horrible person and an even worse daughter.
You harbor an instinct to kill, unlike your youngest brother. You abide by your own codes and conduct as closely as your father does his own, with only a touch more of your own womanly conviction.
You regret nothing. You wish and pray to whoever is willing to listen that your greatest enemies will die by your hand, that they suffer tenfold what they have caused, and that their deaths have purpose. That their deaths mean something beyond the end of their lives.
These urges show blatantly on your face, in cold, dead eyes, and a bloody grin that unnerves those around you. You are not like your brothers. You are much worse.
Your father wishes you were like him, enraptured by his own moral code, the same way you have become so concerned with your own. You think that for all the pain he has caused, the divine has sent you down to earth as punishment for his wrongs.
He must think the same of you.
You are a horrible daughter. Always bathed in blood that isn’t yours, going too far and yet not far enough. You stand there, watching and waiting for a kill that will never happen because you are too scared, too loyal to a man who hates you to your core, you’re sure.
You are a horrible daughter, and in this moment, as you lie in a pool of blood that is finally yours, you become absolutely positive of that fact. Doubts that have previously plagued you, ones that involve your father’s conditional love and care, have washed away, flooded into the same Gotham city drain that your livelihood has trickled down.
He will not come for you. He does not want you.
You are a horrible daughter. Bruce knows it. He lives by this fact. You know, you will die by this fact.
Bruce Wayne, the Batman, admits that you are a horrible daughter, and though not having done so to your face, you feel it in every breath he takes and in every move he makes. Eyes of a bat, not of a father, follow you keenly, watching and waiting for something to give and break.
You find that in your hour of giving and breaking, he is absent. His love, his watchful gaze, and perhaps his hate are lost on you now.
And as you look up to the dim lighting of the room you know you will die in, you can admit wholeheartedly that you were a horrible daughter.
Bruce Wayne is your father, and he loves you. He thinks the world of you.
He has watched you grow, held you tightly as a baby in a way that he never had the chance to do with his other children.
Since your birth, you have been wholeheartedly his own child, a pride and joy that he carried on his shoulder earnestly. To show off to the world with a new sense of purpose. You were loved, you are loved.
You are his daughter, though no longer his only one. You are his and his alone.
He’s since resigned to the fact that he has shared his children among many parents. Richard, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, Damian, and however many more he’s seemed to pick up in his lifetime—he knows that they hold onto families far outside of his own, positive or otherwise.
Damian, who he knows is his child by more than just blood, still bears the weight of Al Ghul on his shoulders.
You are special, you are nothing like the others.
You are a Wayne and a Wayne alone. You carry the name with a grace Bruce has never seen before, perhaps has never acted upon himself. You do not bear the emotional baggage of a long-lost parent, nor do you find yourself craving that belonging to one. You are Bruce’s, and Bruce is yours.
You are his daughter, and he is your father, mother, confidant, and friend.
And yet in the ocean of faults and stresses cracking along the surface of his double life, he’s let you slip through the cracks.
You no longer watch shows together, no longer poke fun at the small and insignificant areas of life as you once did. No more do the two of you go out to the store in uniform and return home with a haul of snacks for the family.
Life has taken a toll on the both of you, and Bruce fears that he’s let you carry the brunt of that weight.
Bruce Wayne loves you. You are his daughter, there will never be anyone like you.
So when he sees you faltering, letting your hits connect heavier than usual, your posture curling in like a cryptid in the night as you wreak havoc on a dime-a-dozen criminal, he must say something.
He cannot let you fall into the same cycle of abuse and selfishness that he once did. Vengeance, or whatever it is that you seek, is what he makes it out to be. He knows this, it must be true.
The look in your eyes as he admonishes your actions throughout that night and the ones that follow will haunt him forever. They are not the kind eyes he’s seen in photographs and paintings, rather they are cold and calculating, filled with hate and a lust for blood. He fears what they mean, what they foretell for you and for him.
He wonders when you started looking at him like you hated him.
Yet, he finds himself missing those eyes as he stares at the blank ones on the cold slab of surgical steel before him.
Bruce Wayne loves you. He will pick your broken body up from the concrete floors, stitch you back together, and pray to a god he isn’t even sure he believes in. He will clean you, prepare you, clothe you, and keep you at the end of your life just as he did at the beginning of it. He will hunt down who has done this to you, hurt and betray his code a hundred times over if it means that you will look at him with hatred once more.
Bruce Wayne loves you, he is your father, of course, he does. But today, he wonders if perhaps he did not love you enough to keep you alive. If any of it mattered anyway.
a/n: wrote this at 2 am before a school night my bad for any and all errors I just couldn’t sleep without getting this out of my head
synopsis: you meet dennis whitaker in college and after a stressful day he wants nothing more then to help you as much as you’ve helped him.
w/c: 2100
Dennis Whitaker isn’t exactly what you’d call a playboy. He’s far from it, actually. From growing up in a nowhere town in a nowhere state where everyone knows everyone and everything you’ve ever done is plastered on Facebook by someone’s deranged mother, he could safely say that he was scared of doing anything. He was born, he grew up, and he got out. College was a whole other ordeal because not only was medical school no joke, but it also took everything out of him to not end up in a sleeping bag on the side of the road. He considers himself lucky that he snuck his way into the hospital’s empty floor the way that he did and even luckier that Trinity decided to take enough pity on him to lend out her extra room.
So yeah, not a lot of experience in that department. But it’s not like he hasn’t seen some crazy stuff. Working in an ER really brings out the most unsexy nature of literally every part of someone’s body. In the time that he’s started there until now he’s gotten peed on, taken suspiciously long objects out of many a rectal cavity, done a handful of breast exams on concerned patients, helped in a few spur of the moment births, and have had a concerning amount of closeup shots with many, many scrotums.
He’s had a lot of time to reflect on his experiences, which, while few in number, might have honestly helped shape who he is today. He’s kissed a girl, a one-off high school relationship that ended badly on prom night when he couldn’t bring himself to “get it up” in time. And then there was that one time in undergrad when he went to his first party and was promptly groped around the ass by someone he couldn’t even recall the name of.
He’d thought that maybe there was something wrong with them, that maybe he was just asexual or averse to sexual intimacy. Which was fine! He didn’t have to do these things to have a fulfilling life.
But then there was you.
He’d met you at one of the lower-level Theology courses he had taken on campus. The class wasn’t huge, something minor and more focused on writing than anything else, seminar style, if you would. Open to anyone on campus and usually quickly filled with hardcore religious studies minors hoping to whip themselves into shape before they graduate.
There, he learned that you were both in the same year and that you were dorming for free on a scholarship. You were taking the class for an elective credit because Classics had gotten full, and you could only have so many major courses on your schedule before you flipped your skull inside out to stop the headache.
He had to help you…a lot.
You weren’t one for biblical education or for the people who followed it so closely, but you’d always told him that he was the exception because he wasn’t some airhead going around and being weird about it.
Plus, you liked the free medical advice (which he refused at least 90% of the time until you pulled it out of him).
You’d kept in contact with him for all of undergrad, and even up until he started working at PTMC, you’d ask him if he’d join you for some midnight food runs as you did all those years ago.
He cherished your friendship and found that he really enjoyed the small pockets of normalcy he got outside of the trauma center. It was a stressful job, and you took the load off on every offhand meeting you called him to.
So, when he noticed that during the final year of your PhD program, you were stressed beyond belief, he felt that it was his duty as your friend to help you out.
“Dennis,” your voice pitched as he lay his tongue flat on your clit. “Please.”
Your hands gripped the back of his head, the slow-growing curls that he hadn’t trimmed in who knows how long furled up between trembling fingers.
This was all so new to him. The grinding of your silken skin on his tongue, the half-lidded look in your eyes, hell, even the way he couldn’t stop curling in on himself, hoping for something, anything to take away the present ache from his cock.
“Please,” he spoke up, looking up at you from over your mound with those sad little eyes of his. Wet and pleading for release, for you and him.
He repeated it like a mantra, resting on his knees and praying dutifully into your cunt as you sat at the edge of your bed.
From where he was perched, he could see how the warm glow of your bedside table lamp illuminated the space behind you. The orange light gave you a halo effect so drastic that it had flashed him back to those years running you through simple religious studies.
You were an angel, a god, a goddess, whatever the hell you’d learned to live with now that it was all said and done. You were everything.
With your hands, you guided his head down from your clit to your opening.
He groaned at the taste of you, so wet and warm and so you he couldn’t help but thrust up into the air.
His cock, constricted in the layers he wore to get dinner with you, pressed painfully against his thigh, begging for you. Only you.
Out of sheer curiosity and the little that you’d instructed him to do as his first time ever doing anything like this, he couldn’t help but stretch the muscle of his tongue along the outer edge of the opening of your cunt, pressing kisses as he went.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
You let out a wanton sigh as he finally broke through the invisible barrier that was your pussy, teasing the inside of you with such grace you wouldn’t have believed him if he said he’d never done this before.
With his hands previously resting on the side of your hips, he let his right hand travel down until it came in contact with that plushy button you’d told him so much about. How to press it the way you liked, how wet you wanted it to be with his saliva, how long you’d wanted his lips to be there.
Now, with his tongue in your pussy and his thumb rubbing against your clit, you couldn’t help it.
Like a call to action, your excited screams drew him in, akin to a siren call.
Wetter and with revived devotion, he plunged in and drew his tongue in all sorts of ways, finding which one had you falling from your sitting position on the bed and onto your back, arched and wanting more than just the wet muscle inside of you.
God, this was a sight he wouldn’t have ever imagined being able to see you in, so pretty and wanting, so full of him.
His left hand, which he left on your hip, trailed down the side of your thigh, giving a few gentle squeezes as he lapped up the nectar you so gracefully blessed him with, and down the smooth plane of your leg.
Down by your ankle, he debated if this would be too much, if he did this, would there be any going back?
But, fuck, he was already eating you out and praying over your body as if you were some deity that had come down to bless his dull life.
From your ankle, he gripped the outline of his cock through his jeans, hard and hot to the touch.
“Dennis—I can’t—“
Your hips were starting to buck up, rubbing yourself over the rest of his tongue. From your hole, he went up and down the inside of your lips, sucking at your clit before picking up the latent drippings of your pretty pussy all for himself.
From following the precise directions you’d given him at the start of the night to sloppily lapping on the whole of you, Dennis had resigned himself to unbuckling his belt and stripping himself of the constricting fabric of his clothes.
Your legs were coming around his head now, pulling him further into you, blocking off any and all distractions. He belonged to you now. He sees it, you see it. He’s all yours.
With his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, he imagined how you felt. With his tongue, he did one final stroke through the entirety of your slit before replacing his thumb once more, suckling on your clit and running one, no, two fingers along your hole.
With a certain finesse that perhaps only a medical student could have, he made his way in and out of your pussy to the rhythm of his left hand jerking himself off.
“Fuck!” You cried out, tucking the back of your head deep into your comforter, arching your hips up, and seemingly running away from the overwhelming feeling of his tongue. He’d followed, because of course he had.
He wanted to talk, wanted to tell you not to run away from him, to let him drink you up for as long as time would conceptually allow him to, but he could only whine into your pussy, lamenting the ultimate detachment he knew he’d face sooner rather than later.
Then he felt it, a gush of liquid coating his hand and the bottom half of his face. The creaminess of your cunt extended far beyond what he’d felt previously on his fingers, with the only evidence besides his feelings being the glistening ring of white cum you’d left behind on him.
You came. You honest to god came with him, eating you out, the first time he’d ever done something, anything like this before.
He couldn’t stop, not now, not when he had pulled what he wanted from you after so long.
He’d enjoy the fruits of his labor, the hard work he put into making you his, and vice versa.
With his right hand, he pushed in and out of your pussy, latching onto your clit for a brief moment to lick at his fingers before dipping his tongue in once more and cleaning you up as best he could.
You trembled from overstimulation and want, your body not knowing what to do or how to go about doing it.
“Too much,” you spoke through a broken voice, pushing his head away limply.
“Please…” that was all he said all night.
Please let me in. Please I want to help you. Please let me eat you out. Please tell me what to do. Please cum on my face. Please don’t stop. Please.
And who were you to deny him the right of expressing himself?
You sat up, left hand supporting you, right hand pulling Dennis up to you by his hair.
“No, no, no, no…” he whined pitifully as you drew him away from his work. The shame of his precum-covered left hand and hard cock, not at all shocking you on the way up.
Before he could argue his case or run away from embarrassment, you pulled him into a kiss.
It was nothing at all like he’d experienced before. With you, it was carnal and needy, wet and hot with your tongues caressing at the finer points of each other’s mouths.
There was no real pulling away, only brief stints where both of you would pause to breathe before getting back into it, head moving in tandem as you bit at his pouty lower lip.
With your tongue firmly in his mouth, Dennis felt the pull of something more, something much lower.
With his own hand, he followed the trail from your shoulder down to your wrist, and then it had finally dawned on him that you’d taken to massaging the tip of his cock.
“Wanna help you too,” You muttered into his mouth, hand pulling more of him to you.
This was intoxicating, it was addicting. It was never-ending.
“I—I probably won’t last that long…I—“
You shushed him with another kiss, pulling him further into your bed until your back was to the headboard.
When you finally pulled away for good, a string of saliva connected the two of you. It made his heart beat fast with a rhythm of desperation and want
You pulled your now wrinkled shirt off, revealing no bra and a world that Dennis had yet to open his eyes to.
dry humping, face riding, spit kink, dom/sub undertones, grinding
a/n: started this at midnight its now 4 i am in whitaker and abbot hell rn
synopsis: the sudden changes of transferring to the day shift for a few months are overwhelming and painful at best. lucky for you, dennis is always happy to help.
w/c: 3,404
You fucking hated working the day shift.
No, it had nothing to do with the people or the hours. It just had everything to do with the terrible habits you spent years building up to work as a nocturnal being in a hospital.
“Holy shit,” you dug your head into your hands as you finished charting for one of your patients. After two weeks into your shift change, you still hadn’t become accustomed to the early mornings and the pounding headaches that came with them.
“You doing okay?” Dennis came to a brief halt as he spotted your hunched figure on his way to the restroom.
“Yeah, just a headache,” you waved him off.
Lifting your head, you saw the concerned look on his face, layering over his eternally pathetic appearance.
“I could get you some water? Do you want me to check you out in one of the rooms? I mean, I can—“
“It’s fine, Whitaker.”
You chuckled at his overly helpful behavior.
Dennis Whitaker was too kind and too nice to look at. You wouldn’t dare have him go out of his way to help someone like you. At least, not after weeks of already doing just that.
“No—really. Let me get you something to drink, okay?” Before you could offer a rebuttal, he was off.
“Oooh, he’s got it bad,” Trinity stepped up to you now. Nosey woman…
“Oh, I’m sure you’d know all about that, right?” You raised a brow to her, watching her expression fold from one of content to something much more dismissive.
Yes, you knew how Dennis was around you, and unfortunately, how he was without you. Trinity didn’t like to leave out the details of what she may or may not have heard on quiet nights in their shared apartment.
There may have been a few times when he may or may not have helped you out a lot more than you needed here at the ER. Offering snacks he surely didn’t have the money for, keeping Robby off your back, even going so far as to take a few nasty priapisms off your hands at the start of your transition between shifts.
You were flattered, really, how much he liked talking about you even when you weren’t there. How much he seemed to think of you, even if you were miles away. It made you feel perceived in a way you hadn’t ever really felt before. Less forgotten, more admired in a sense.
“I’m just saying that Huckleberry over there wants you so bad it’s almost sad. Everyone sees it.”
You could see Princess and Perlah whispering between one another out of the corner of your eye.
“Coming from a walking HR violation, that’s not very reassuring.”
“Oh, c’mon,” she rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about rules and regulations? I thought Abbot drilled all that stuff out of you before your residency?”
In your defence, your work under Abbot as a student and then intern had been some of the most thorough lessons of your life. It wasn’t his fault that a lot of his life-saving measures could sometimes be considered unorthodox in non-military settings.
“Uhhh, since—“ you whipped your head around quickly, making sure the coast was clear. “Since Dr. Robinabitch has been on my case since the moment I got here. I have no fucking clue why or how, but it’s driving me insane, and I’d really like to get through these next few months without getting fired.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” shit. “He wouldn’t fire you. Get mad, maybe throw you a nasty look, but never fire.”
Dana leaned in, taking over the conversation. “And between you and me, Abbot would never let him do something like that.”
She patted your shoulders for extra measure.
Yeah, great. Cool.
As if that wasn’t the problem in the first place.
“I’m just saying that I feel like I’m walking a tight rope here and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t—“
“Got it!”
All three of your heads turned to see Dennis standing there, proud, with a fresh bottle of water in one hand and a sandwich in the other. He’d managed to nab you one from the cart.
“What an angel,” Dana raised a brow at you before heading back to her station.
“A real southern charmer,” you agreed, giving Trinity a look before taking the goods from Dennis.
“Really, thank you, Whitaker. You shouldn’t have.”
You took the food from his hands gently, allowing the tips of your fingers to trace along the edges of his own.
“No, it’s okay,” he stuffed his hands into his scrub pockets, seemingly shivering at the light touches between you. “I just…like taking care of you, I guess.”
“That’s sweet, Dennis,” you smiled at him, sickly and with a certain amount of saccharine allure that had the boy’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.
You were so pretty, so delightfully sweet in your loose scrubs and rolled up sleeves. It was hard to look at you sometimes, and how you’d so casually been able to assimilate into the lives of the day shifters. Him especially.
He remembers you from the Pitt Fest mass casualty event and how you’d worked like a machine that night. Where he felt that he was barely keeping up with the patient intake, you moved through the ER like a soldier. If Abbot or Dana or even Robby told you to do something and be somewhere, you’d do it with a precision he hadn’t seen from anyone his age. It was inspiring, immortalizing even.
Maybe even a little hot.
Maybe really super hot.
Dennis gulped again at the memory of the first night you’d met.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you, maybe, need some help with anything else? I mean—“
Mohan called your name abruptly, motioning towards the triage.
You stood from your seat quickly, looking back at Dennis with a smile.
“Come find me when our shifts are over, and maybe we can finally talk about something that’s not work, alright?”
Without so much as another word from him, you were off.
So.
Here’s the thing.
You really like Dennis. He’s a sweet guy, really does have that southern charm that you melt for.
But god, did you like him desperate, too.
You liked his sad puppy dog eyes and how they begged for your attention. You liked how he had a hard time focusing on your face, trying to keep his gaze contained to the one part of your body that was socially acceptable to stare at the way that he did. You liked how he trembled a little when you grasped at his elbow or tapped his knee.
That being said, you weren’t sorry for what you were about to do.
“Can I touch you?” Dennis groaned out, bucking up and hoping that it was a signal enough of how much he wanted you. “I promise I won’t cum, I promise.”
You grinned, teeth baring down at him like some sort of predator savoring the catch of its prey.
You, washed and showered, out of your scrubs and in a loose-fitted lounge set. Dennis, wearing a set of sweats you’d had on hand that you knew would fit him and nothing else. Comfortable in the warmth of your home and your arms.
He had been resting against the headboard of your bed, back slumped against the surface as every part of you consumed his mind.
Without speaking, you brought your hands out to cup his face, supple and flushed red with desperation. With your ass resting pretty over his lap, you ground down, giving him what little he asked for. To touch you.
He huffed, hips stuttering in an effort to chase the feeling of your pussy through the thin layers of clothing each of you wore.
His hands, the ones he wished were groping at every inch of you, were bound tightly behind his back with an old t-shirt, the promise that he’d get all he wanted and more if he listened to you carefully.
Gently, you swiped your thumb over his lip, trailing down his neck, and resting the palm of your hand at the center of his chest. He was so, so warm, so shaky and soft, ready for you in every way.
“I’ll make it worth your while, baby, I promise.”
Swallowing his nerves, he nodded hastily.
Your smile returned as your hand traveled the length of his chest, ghosting over his nipples and following your own trail across the planes of his stomach. He wasn’t ripped by any means, but he was soft, pliable, even. The type of man you’d just love to get to know more of.
He twitched at that, motioning for his pelvis to knock into your own once again, earning a delicious moan from him as he finally got to feel the direct warmth of your most intimate body parts over his own.
You decided you’d take your time with him.
Raising yourself over his lap, you stood on your knees, looking down at him with a dangerous look in your eye.
Leaning over ever so slightly, you brought your lips to his for what felt like the millionth time that night.
Your tongues clashed, his savoring and sucking you further into him, hoping to bring you down to earth, down on him. You, who took his motivations in stride, leveled yourself back down on his aching cock and bit gently on his bottom lip.
The sounds of your lips smacking with the wet essence of your own saliva spurred him on, forcing his body to rut into your own, practically begging for more.
His clothed cock bumped hastily against your pussy, pumped full with blood and need. He wanted you so desperately, you could feel it with every hump and between every ridge of him.
Dennis broke away with a sputtering gasp. “I—I wanna feel it. Please.”
And only because he was so pretty like this, his lips swollen and eyes beading with tears, did you oblige.
You raked your fingers across his torso once more, though this time, you went much further south.
Your hand cupped over his bulge, rocking against it gently to feel the hot outline he’d left in his wake. Hard as a rock, you felt along the tip, gauging just how pretty you’d know it be. The reveal was taunting you at this point.
In the sweats, he was already twitching, leaving behind a wet spot you knew was a mix of your wetness with his own. The perfect combination of want and desire. Of you and him.
Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore, and you were sure he couldn’t either.
“You wanna feel it, Dennis?” Your eyes, half lidded and glazed over with arousal, peered at him.
He nodded, sweat beading down his neck.
“Alright then.”
You shimmied out of your bottoms, leaving only your thin cotton panties on.
Before settling down on his lap once more, you pulled at the drawstrings of his sweats.
The reveal of his cock was just as you’d imagined it. It was pretty, flushed pink at the tip, a long shaft on the thinner side with curly blonde hair neatly trimmed at the base.
Fuck, this guy was picture perfect.
You let him indulge in your hand for the time being, wanting to get a feel for yourself.
“Feel better?” You asked, smiling coyly.
Dennis let out only a breathy sigh as a reply, finally relishing in the feeling of your delicate skin rubbing against his own, even if it was just your hand.
You jerked him off, precum coating your palm just enough to earn a few egregious moans from him. He was leaning into you now, forehead pressed against your shoulder, lips nipping at the connection between your neck and shoulder. His tongue soothed over the snippier bites he took.
Gently, you pulled yourself over him, lowering your still clothed cunt over his cock, and started rolling your hips.
“fuhh—feels so good.”
Dennis met your movements with his own, rocking against your soaked panties with a renewed vigor from having finally been let loose of his bottoms.
His arms strained against the t-shirt latched behind his back. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin, to get rid of your panties, and hope and pray that you’d let him go where he’d never thought to go before.
For now, he could feel his cock slipping between the slit of your cunt, dragging against the sensitive nub at the top before making it all the way down to your hole. All through the near translucent cloth that shielded you from his heat.
He rolled his hips in sync with your own, meeting you halfway as your own moans and breathy sighs began matching his.
Sooner than he would have liked, he began feeling that familiar tug in his gut, forcing him to begin the erratic movement of his hips, losing its perfect sync with your own.
He was close. So close.
“Can I…?” He trailed off.
You thought about it for a moment, feeling his pulsing cock grind against your clit in ecstasy. It was perfect, warm, and wet all in one. You could feel him, smell him even.
Your hands moved to push your panties to the side, leaving his bare cock to finally, finally rub against your silken skin.
“Want you to finish like this,” you whispered into his ear, letting your teeth drag along the shell as you went.
He shivered under your touch.
Like nothing he’d ever seen before, you began moving as though you had perfected the craft.
Lying your pussy flat on his dick, he could finally feel the direct warmth of your core alongside the pooling slick that collected between the folds in his brief absence.
As you began to drag yourself along his length, you all but milked the orgasm out of him.
For what you were sure were the few final moments of your shared pleasures, you gripped his shoulders and moved vigorously. So much so that the tip of his cock began catching at the lip of your opening. He was so close, he could feel it, taste it even.
So close. So so—
His body convulsed violently as he came, hips rocking into yours as warm cum splattered across his belly and your thighs.
His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him into your chest to suckle on the exposed skin from your top, which you realized now that you’ve yet to shed.
“Feel so good, Dennis…” you breathed out with a longing sigh, inching your hands behind his back and to the knotted shirt.
“Want more…”
He looked up at you, out of breath and spent.
You hadn’t cum yet.
At this realization, he nodded his head as fast as he could. Unable to form the words, especially after what was the most intense orgasm of his life, he made his devotion to you as clear as day.
He’d do anything for you, to you, with you. Whatever it took, he’d be there.
“I think,” you took a breath, releasing the shirt from his wrists. “You can finally touch me now.”
Like a bat out of hell, his hands sprang to pull your body even closer to his. His aching cock, begging for the release of any and all sensations, had been spent. Even so, he slipped his hands down the length of your back, gripping your ass and hauling you directly over his length once more.
At the risk of feeling overstimulated, he groaned in frustration.
“I think you have to give me a few minutes.”
He tucked his head by the collar of your shirt, leaving his hands to trail up from your ass and under the cusp of your bust. He was cupping your tits now, gently massaging the tender flesh of your torso.
Your eyes shone with a sick sense of anticipation. He seemed to be getting a sense of confidence in himself now.
“I got another idea.”
Dennis looked up to you with your words, his natural expression taking over with those shiny puppy dog eyes and natural tiredness all over again.
Dennis. Your Dennis.
You urged him to scoot further down the bed so that his head was just below the headboard and so that your core rested prettily over his chest.
On his way down, you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at what you’d left in your wake. His cock, though not entirely soft, was clearly spent and flushed from all the rubbing. His torso gleamed with his own cum, and his face, well, his face was now resting comfortably between your thighs.
With the new inclusion of his hands, he was finally able to get a grip on the softer parts of your body. Roaming over the expanse of your thighs and ass, pulling at the lips of your slit to get a better look at what he’d been pushing up into just moments before. He wasn’t examining you with some latent sense of curiosity, no, he was analyzing the most sensitive parts of you. Locking the formation away in his mind so that only he would ever know just how precious you were under all those layers.
“Having fun?” You chuckled at his surprise. So cute.
With your head, you motioned him to continue.
Apprehensively, he nodded and continued to poke and prod at the finer parts of you.
It only took a few moments before you got impatient.
“Look up here for me, Dennis,” you ran a hand through his curls, bringing his face to look up at your own.
“Huh?”
“Open up, yeah?”
You could see him gulp before carefully opening up his mouth. You tilted your head down ever so slightly before letting a glob of spit fall between the plush skin of his lips and directly onto his tongue.
He whined at the contact before finally, finally bringing himself to face your cunt and licking a thick strip from your hole to your clit. Your saliva meshing with his, all draped across your pussy in one long pleasurable movement.
Your back arched, feeling his tongue probe at your hole while your clit nudged against his nose deliciously.
You began rocking your hips back and forth, not so much unlike what he had done earlier. With as much energy as you could muster, you met his sloppy muscle just as he had previously met your wet pussy.
At your movements, he hastened his pace, devouring your cunt rather than simply eating or licking at it. He was going in with something to prove.
Pulling another hearty moan from you, he enveloped his lips around your pretty button and sucked harshly.
“Fuhckk,” you ran a hand up your shirt, pulling it off and gripping your own tit.
Dennis, with enough mind to finally look up at you, was blessed with the prettiest sight of all. You, in all your blissed-out glory, groping at your own tits, rubbing your fingers around your nipple, and pulling.
He knew then when it was finally over, when he could taste the essence of your desire on his tongue in tandem with the harsh bucking of your hips.
His hands, though trembling with excitement and adrenaline, eased you off of his face as you had finally come down from your high. He had enough mind to lick you clean before finally pulling away at your sudden gasps of overstimulation.
You took the spot next to him on your bed, both of you out of breath and covered with enough bodily fluids that it warranted another shower.
“You know,” Dennis spoke through a few heavy puffs of breath. “I’d do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“And…I really, really like you. A lot.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t do this often, but I want you to know it meant a lot to me and…and I don’t know where I’m going with this.” He let his palm fall over his reddening face.
“How about,” you turned on your side to face him, head resting heavy in your right hand as your left began rubbing circles on his chest. “I get you a water bottle and a snack this time.”
Luke “there’s still good in you” Skywalker is 100% Padme “there’s good in him” Amidala’s son, and Leia “I recognised your foul stench when I was brought on board” Organa is a mirror image of Anakin “General Grievous, you’re shorter than I expected” Skywalker
summary. sukuna cannot stop fantasizing about you, the sweet waitress he frequents on his route. he’s convinced you’re too stupid to look after yourself, so he takes things into his own hands—which means showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night with the means to fuck you.
warnings. NSFW/MDNI, DUB-CON, dead dove do not eat, stalking, perversions, corruption, obsession, sukuna is NOT a good person with very fucked up thoughts, bimbo reader, making out, dominant sukuna, sukuna has a prince albert piercing and a tattooed dick LOL, submissive reader, degradation, rough sex, size difference, running from it, marking, manhandling, cunnilingus, piv, missioniary, unprotected sex, slapping, unsolicited drugging/feeding aphrodisiacs without consent, mentions of lot lizards.
a/n. this was requested by 🚚 anon here <3 please read the warnings and enjoy! art by @/knullkhan
TRUCKER!SUKUNA took the exact same route every single week. 9 bleak hours behind the wheel, transporting goods and parts from one side of the country, to the other. And thrice a week, he would find himself at a humble little diner. Food was pretty shit, but it was better than going hungry for another 200 miles.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a simple man. Stack of six pancakes for a late breakfast, three sides of eggs doused in ketchup, fried hash browns, and black coffee that tasted... off. It was decent. But what kept him wasn’t the food, no. It was the doe-eyed waitress that would serve him like clockwork every time. Skimpy little skirt that showed off the curve of your ass, your tits practically hanging out from your uniform when you leaned over to take the hefty tip he’d leave.
It’s not like TRUCKER!SUKUNA had a hard time getting some. When he needed to wet his dick, he practically soaked it. But he couldn’t find himself getting as hard as he did than when you were in his proximity. Lot lizard’s couldn’t do it for him anymore, his cock flaccid when he tried to fuck literally anyone else.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA began to look forward to his unconventional brunches. No, not for the eggs or hash browns or pancakes. But for the pretty girl waiting for him. It was clear you were attracted to him at least, seeing as your pupils would dilate when he’d walk in and your gaze would fix on his rolled cuff shirt strangling his thick biceps.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to fuck you. He wants to hear all the soft noises you make when his tongue flattens against your throbbing slit, how your tits will jiggle when he gropes you, how you’ll probably cry when he shoves his cock into you.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is at risk of losing his job. His loads arrive late for drop-off and inspection, because now he lingers after your shift. He’ll sit in the driver’s seat, staring at you through the diner windows, waiting for you to clock out. And when you do, he doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t even approach you.
No, TRUCKER!SUKUNA follows you home. You must be stupid seeing as you don’t notice the very same red truck with black detailing and flames parking down your block multiple times a week.
You need someone to look after you, TRUCKER!SUKUNA concludes. Someone to make sure you don’t fall into the wrong hands or bed, seeing as you’re too idiotic to sort this out yourself.
So, TRUCKER!SUKUNA spends the next few weeks keeping an eye on you. Making sure you get to work safely, that you receive enough of a tip to stash into your savings, to ensure you get home timely.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has done so much for you. He scrubs the five o’clock shadow growing on his chin and jaw, certain that he’s due for a reward now. If only you’d known how he’s watched over you, you’d want to thank him, right?
Your doorbell rings in the middle of the night, stirring you from your slumber. You stumble out in a see-through tank that hugs you just right, and skimpy panties.
“Sukuna…?” you rub the sleep from your eyes, which widen when you see he’s clearly been standing in the rain for quite some time now as his pink strands have fallen over his forehead and cling to the skin, his leather jacket glistening with droplets.
TRUCKER!SUKUNAthinks you’re an angel that’s fallen from the heaven’s to bless him.
“Are you okay? I didn’t see you at the diner today,” you grab his wrist, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind you.
God, if TRUCKER!SUKUNA wanted to murder you right now, he could. Because not only have you opened the door for a stranger, you allowed him into your house.
But, no. TRUCKER!SUKUNA has other plans for you.
“Ya live alone, don’t you?”
You squint. “Yes, I do.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA towers over you, gaze dancing across your face. He’s never realized how soft and supple your skin was. “What about your boyfriend?”
“…I don’t have a boyfriend,” you whisper, feeling your voice waver as he corners you.
Your back meets the wall, and TRUCKER!SUKUNA slams a hand down next to your head.
“You’re dim, you know that?” he reckons, the low timbre of his tone sending sparks up your spine.
“E-excuse me?” you gulp, peering into his crimson irises that have thinned into slits. You’ve never been this close to him, but you feel your stomach somersaulting at the close proximity. He smells a little like cigarettes and gasoline.
“Could have my way with you right now. Since ya let anyone into this place,” he finally breaks his gaze from yours and looks around. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“To the left.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA smirks from ear to ear, before lifting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.
You gasp, head nearly knocking into his broad back. “Put me down!”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, bird. I’ll be nice tonight. …Maybe.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kicks the door to your bedroom open, tossing you onto your sheets and taking in his surroundings. You two are exact opposites—seeing the soft pastels of pink and yellow and purple decorating your space, decorated with plushies and figures.
You land on your back, blood roaring in your ears as TRUCKER!SUKUNA tugs his shirt over his head. Not only is he absolutely fucking shredded, but his skin is littered in scars and thick black ink, the tattoos only making him look all the more terrifying.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA crawls over you, slow and calculated like a predator hunting it’s prey. He slots himself between your thighs and grips your forearms just to pin them beside your head.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA kisses you. Not soft, not nice like he promised. Demanding, bruising. He’s rough as his weight settles atop you, shoving his tongue down your throat and nibbling on your lip just to hear you whimper. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, swapping saliva. He groans repeatedly, enough to tell you he’s enjoying this.
When you squirm, TRUCKER!SUKUNA presses his knee into your sex. You try to run from the mind-numbing bliss, but he doesn’t allow it. Heat settles low, your panties damp with slick and leaving a wet stain across the flimsy fabric.
You can barely breathe—chest heaving up and down, pushing against his bruising grip on your arms, but the man is a reinforced tank that refuses to budge.
When he finally pulls away, all breathless and wrecked with a flushed face and a sleazy grin, you know you’re in for a long night.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA plays with the strap of your tank, before tearing the fabric down the middle. You gasp, but he flicks a pebbled nipple with a click of his tongue. “I’ve given you enough money t’buy a millon of these, brat.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA latches his lips onto your perky tits, leaving bruising love bites across your unmarked skin, groaning as the tent in his jeans only grows suffocating.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA wants to be gentle. But gentle isn’t what you need, no. You need a guiding hand—one that keeps you in place when you fuck up and directs you where you need it. Reprimands you, punishes you. “Don’t fight it,” he groans low and wrecked, dragging his tongue up the shell of your ear. “Let me in.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA slots his head between your thighs, peppering soft kisses against your skin to get you to trust him. Glossy, wide eyes stare back at him. Uncertain, unsure. The first kiss he presses against your clothed clit has you bucking. “Already so wet f’me, hm?”
Your panties are torn down the middle of the gusset, and then you’re devoured like TRUCKER!SUKUNA has been starved for weeks. Suckling, nipping, biting. Spreading, teasing, lavving. You keen, tears biting your waterline as he works you open on a single digit. “S’like you’ve never been fucked… Have you? Been fucked? Can’t help but think a pretty thing like you has already been broken in… but the way you’re, fuck, squeezing n’ sucking me in… got me thinkin’ otherwise.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA works you through an orgasm, stars blotting out behind your eyelids as his tongue flicks your hooded clit and fingers stretch you wide, nestling deep and prodding those sweet spots. You orgasm again soon after the climax. Then another. And another. You start to lose track, thighs burning and core sore.
TRUCKER!SUKUNA barely allows you to catch your breath before he’s kissing you sloppily—your juices slathered all across his lips and chin soaking into your mouth. You taste him, and you taste you. “Gonna fuck you raw now, little bird.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA has a massive cock. After tugging his belt off, the metal clasp hitting your bedroom floor, and freeing himself from his briefs, do you feel your stomach swoon. It springs upwards with a slight curve. There’s a double band of black ink rings at the base, buried in pink pubic hair that looks rough to the touch. Bulging veins that run thick with molten lava dance across the length up to a weeping tip piercing with a horseshoe ring.
“Y-you have a-?”
“Prince Albert,” he smirks, all proud of himself as he strokes his dick. He cocks his head, muscles flexing as he watches you squirm. “You scared?”
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you shake your head timidly.
“Good. It doesn’t bite. But, I do.”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA splays his large palms on the backs of your thighs as he spreads you open, his dick rutting forward while he glides himself through your folds. He rests his dick on your abdomen, captivated in the size difference. “Gonna feel me in your lungs like this, woman. So fuckin' cute,” he teases as he runs his hands across your body.
When he’s noticed that you’ve had enough foreplay, he presses his unprotected tip against your entrance. You grip the sheets, your breath catching in your throat. When TRUCKER!SUKUNAnotices your inability to breath properly while he feeds his cock to you, his calloused palm meets your cheek, slapping some sense into you. “Not gonna fuck you if you’re passed out, brat,” he grumbles, leaning down to dig his teeth into your collarbone. “Where’s the fun in that?”
TRUCKER!SUKUNA is a rough fuck. You can barely accommodate to his girthy size, but he continues to push deeper, stretching you out until all you feel is him. His thrusts start off slow, shallow. But when he’s grown impatient, he punctuates each groan with a deep stroke. You cry out, fingernails raking crimson trails to match his eyes down his biceps and shoulder-blades. “Tryna’ milk me for everything I’ve got, woman?”
It doesn’t help that his cock is fucking you senseless, but the cold, metallic feel of his piercing swathed in precum bumping your G-spot has you convulsing and screaming out his name. His grunts, barely contained nor controlled, vibrate through your ears as he pumps in and out and in and out of your drooling hole.
You’re not sure how many times you hit your peak that night seeing as you passed out at some point and woke up to a barely legible note scribbled on a napkin from TRUCKER!SUKUNA, saying he had to get his affairs sorted.
But, you know TRUCKER!SUKUNA won’t be gone for long, at least not with the aphrodisiacs you’d been slipping into his coffee at every visit to your diner.
if i had a dick. . . it’d be a cool 6.5, im 4’11 so in comparison to my height i’d be packing. moderate thickness definitely a weight too it. cut obviously. not super veiny, maybe one or two.
slight curve upwards as well. same color as my skin tone so a pretty dark brown <33 love bein’ dark-skin baby. the tip is the color of my lips so a cute brownish pinky shade. i’d probably be a grower, 5 inches soft which could be a problem if ppl r tryna catch my print. but once im doing my thing its a pleasant surprise. i’d keep it trimmed but not hairless bc hairless genitalia is weird TO ME PERSONALLY.
hmm don’t think i’d be a shooter tho? maybe for the first initial spurts but that’s about it.
