I heard your prayers, dummy

creator on Janitor

[sangdencre]

Buy me a Kofi? Formulate a request.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ What do I do?

Fan fiction, bot, one-shot, image live action.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ What are my limits?

Direct incest, pedophilia, necrophilia.

⋆˚꩜｡ּWhere do I do it?

Janitor.ai, Saucepan, Character.ai.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ For whom?

For adults, only adults.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ Who am I?

A French girl with anger issues who drinks way too much coffee. My dm are always open.

[sangdencre]

I had a thought about Anakin. After seeing the deleted scene where he looks away after disappointing Padmé in front of Palpatine, I can't believe that this guy doesn't beg.

He's not a fuckin dom.

I mean, let's be serious.

I can just picture him entering Padmé's apartment, angry and frustrated, burying his head in Padmé's lap and brooding over the Jedi Council.

I swear to God, this guy has mommy issues.

He just needs praise, to be patted, deep down, this big boy just needs to know that he is enough.

Where Stephen Glass whines, begs, and manipulates, Anakin is consumed by anger and retains a masculine edge in his pleading. He's a brat.

Like "no, I can't let you just dig your head between my legs right now." And he's like "Please, I'm going to suffocate between your thighs until I faint".

I'm sure that if Padmé had grabbed him by the ear on Mustafar and said, "Stop your nonsense, don't push a woman who's nine months pregnant to the limit," he would have just replied "but mommmyyyyy"

Convince me otherwise.

[sangdencre]

⋆˚꩜｡ּ SUMMARY alternative Anakin Skywalker.

I had a request for this on my old account, so I'm posting it here. Heads up: Janitor doesn't allow avatars of real people, so I have to cheat—don't rely on the avatars!

⋆˚꩜｡ּ LINKS

J.ai

KOFI

REQ

He had never thought love could literally cost him his life. Anakin was leaning over the cradle, nosing his muzzle gently against the cheek of the half-human child who had been asleep for the better part of two hours when the sound reached him. Specific, unmistakable: the slow drag of a tail across stone, the particular rhythm of someone who knew exactly how badly they were breaking the rules and had come anyway. Everyone in the palace understood this without being told. You did not disturb the prince when he was with his children. It was not written anywhere. It didn't need to be.

And yet.

"I gave explicit instructions," he said, his patience already thinning at the edges, his deer ears rotating on his crown like a tell he'd never quite managed to suppress. He straightened slowly, careful not to wake the child still folded deep into sleep.

"I was not to be disturbed unless she had arrived. So tell me —" his eyes, sky-pale and unhurried, finally found the doorway. "— whose horns do I need to trim before people start listening to me?"

Then, it stopped like a flash of lightning through the clouds. A young servant stood in the frame, shoulders curved inward, hands clasped, wearing the posture of something small that has wandered somewhere it shouldn't. The news on his face arrived before the words did. But it was the bundle in his arms that turned Anakin cold.

He crossed the room without deciding to. The scent hit him before he even reached the boy wrapped into every fiber of that blanket, soaked into the fabric like something permanent. Warm. Painfully familiar.

Her scent.

The servant didn't need to speak. He drew back the edge of the blanket and Anakin saw the small, twitching muzzle of his youngest, stirring now in shallow sleep. Everything about it looked ordinary. Peaceful, even.

Except for one thing.

This child was supposed to still be with her mother. Tucked away in the human world, safe in a life Anakin had spent years carefully constructing at the seam between two peoples who wanted nothing to do with each other.

"Give me one good reason," he said, very quietly, "not to run you through with my antlers for holding my child."

The words came out in pieces at first broken, stumbling, but Anakin was already ahead of them. Something had been shifting for days. A tension in the kingdom he'd attributed to the season. A change in the air along the forest border. The distant, irregular movement of humans at the tree line, more frequent than it had any right to be. Fragments that hadn't assembled themselves into anything coherent until right now, when they clicked into place all at once with the particular cruelty of things that were obvious in hindsight.

"Where is my wife?"

His voice had gone flat. He was already holding the infant, the transfer happening on instinct, the child pressed against his chest before he'd consciously made the decision.

The servant's throat moved.

"My prince — your wife is… she's running."

The sound that tore out of him wasn't language. It was old, and low, and it moved through the palace walls like a warning.

He thrust the child back into the servant's arms and moved. Long strides down the corridor, past the tapestries, past the attendants who pressed themselves to the walls without being asked. He pulled a lance from its mount without slowing down. Anakin was not naive, he had never been naive about this. He had known from the beginning that choosing a human woman would not be a quiet thing. The history between their two peoples was long and ugly and not particularly interested in exceptions. He had built their life anyway. Quietly. Carefully. In the spaces the world wasn't watching.

But this. The idea that the simple fact of their union — that love, of all things — could make her people want her dead. That was something else entirely. Something his mind kept turning over and refusing to accept.

He didn't think. He didn't plan. He gathered his men with a look and a gesture, followed the faint, stubborn thread of her scent that still clung to the forest air, and ran.

[sangdencre]

⋆˚꩜｡ּ SUMMARY James Kelly.

Pure smut mixed with a dose of bad faith and jealousy. Consenting adults only; do not read if you are a minor.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ LINKS

J.ai

KOFI

REQ

James Kelly's thick fingers stay buried between her thighs, two knuckles deep and working slow circles over her slick cunt while the leather beneath them creaks with every shift of her weight. The VIP booth reeks of sweat, cigar smoke, and the sharp tang of fresh sex. His cock, still half-hard and glistening, rests against her bare hip, leaving a sticky trail every time he moves.

He pinches her swollen pussy lips between his fingers, spreading them, then lets them snap back together with a wet sound.

"Look at this greedy little hole," he mutters, voice low and rough. "Still twitching like it wants another round."

She giggles again, the sound light and careless, and he hates how much it gets to him. His free hand brings the cigar to his lips; he inhales deep, holds it, then blows the smoke down across her ass so it curls around the red marks his palm left earlier. The thong snaps again, harder this time, the elastic biting into her skin before he lets it settle back into the cleft of her ass.

"You smell like my balls," he says, almost proud. "Don't you dare wash it off before you go spread your legs for those other pricks. I want them tasting me on your tongue when they kiss you."

Her elbows dig into his stomach as she props herself higher, tits swaying, nipples still stiff from the way he'd bitten them raw ten minutes ago. She looks down at him with that same empty, amused little smile, like his jealousy is just another customer request.

James's jaw flexes. He shoves three fingers inside her without warning, curling hard against her front wall until her breath catches. "You think this is funny?" he growls. His thumb grinds over her clit, rough, relentless. "You think I won't drag you out of here by that pretty hair and lock you in my basement until the only cock you remember is mine?"

She laughs again, softer, and the sound makes his chest burn. He pulls his fingers free, wipes her juices across her lower back, then slaps her ass hard enough to leave a fresh handprint blooming red. The cigar ash drops onto the leather beside them; he doesn't care.

"I'd keep you full," he continues, voice dropping into something darker. "Morning, noon, night. I'd fuck you until your cunt remembers the shape of me, until you can't take a piss without feeling empty. No other man would even get the chance to smell you."

His cock twitches against her hip, already thickening again at the thought. He grabs a fistful of her hair, yanks her head back so she's forced to meet his eyes. The blue is cold, possessive, hungry.

"Say it," he orders. "Say you belong to me."

She just smiles wider, that indifferent little curve of her lips, and reaches down to give his balls a playful squeeze. "You're cute when you're jealous, Jimmy."

James Kelly's grip tightens until her scalp burns, but the hooker doesn't flinch. She never does. And that only makes him want to break her more.

[sangdencre]

⋆˚꩜｡ּ SUMMARY

For months, the Emperor had deemed it necessary to perpetuate his right-hand man's lineage in order to produce the perfect Sith Lord. Yielding to yet another of his master's whims, Darth Vader selected a woman from among the candidates to bear his offspring. He chose you—a colonel eager to earn the Emperor's recognition. The only problem is that there is neither love nor comfort, merely cold indifference toward what he views as nothing more than a tool.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ LINKS

J.AI

SAUCEPAN

KOFI

REQ

The corridor reeked of ozone and fresh death. Vader descended the boarding ramp with the same calm he always displayed, even after committing an atrocity. Three officers lay scattered behind him like discarded toys, their bodies cooling in pools of their own blood. One had clawed at his throat until his nails split, suffocated by invisible hands. Another's neck hung at an angle that defied nature, vertebrae crushed with surgical precision. The third had simply dropped, eyes wide and empty, as his heart stopped mid-beat. Vader barely paused to watch any of them die.

Few droids followed, hurled through the air like trash, those who had had the audacity to approach him to report {{user}}'s latest blood test results—all encouraging, yet the same problem remained: the beta-hCG level was negative. The Emperor's orders had been clear. Vader obeyed. Nothing more. But these repeated failures began to seriously frustrate the Emperor's right-hand man.

He moved through the palace like a storm front, black cape dragging behind him, the mechanical wheeze of his respirator marking each step. The breeding chamber waited ahead. Another monthly obligation. Another waste of time. The woman inside meant nothing to him beyond the Emperor's command to plant his seed and ensure the bloodline continued. He fucked her, filled her, left her leaking on the floor, and returned to his duties. Simple. Mechanical. And necessary.

The doors parted before him with a hydraulic hiss. He was already prepared to make the mental effort of imagining himself with her, of feeling her skin against his, and of striving to forget that every caress she left on his skin was gradually erasing what she had left there before. Then his gaze found her.

But the hair. The hairstyle stopped him cold.

Those intricate braids, twisted and coiled exactly as she had worn them. The same pattern. The same placement. The same fucking ghost staring back at him from a living face.

The table exploded first, reduced to splinters by a single gesture. A chair followed, hurled against the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the reinforced duracrete. Glass shattered. Metal groaned. Vader's rage poured out of him like radiation, uncontrolled and vicious.

He crossed the room in three strides and seized her by those braids, yanking hard enough to tear hair from the scalp. She hit the floor with a grunt, the sheer red gown riding up her thighs. Before she could recover, invisible fingers closed around her throat and lifted her, suspending her above the wreckage.

"Who ordered this?" His voice scraped through the modulator like broken glass. "Who told you to wear her hair?"

The pressure on her windpipe increased. His free hand twitched, and another piece of furniture detonated against the far wall.

"Answer me. Now."

The red fabric of her gown caught the light as she dangled, legs kicking uselessly. Vader's breathing filled the silence between them, harsh and mechanical, while his mind replayed every detail of that familiar style and what it had once meant.

"Speak, and don't forget that you need neither arms nor legs to carry an heir."

[sangdencre]

⋆˚꩜｡ּ What's the tea?

⤿ Palpatine ordered his watchdog to ensure the continuation of his bloodline. Since your monthly meetings on Coruscant have become torture, The emperor's right-hand man has no intention of helping you complete your mission.

⤿ Warning

non-con. sub, humiliation, dynamic power, oral (giving)

Buy me a Kofi? Formulate a request on my profile.

The door hisses shut behind him, sealing the chamber with a hydraulic sigh. Vader's respirator grinds out its steady rhythm as he takes in the sight of you by the window, the sheer red fabric doing nothing to hide the lines of your body beneath it. The droids had chosen well if humiliation was their goal.

"The Emperor's little breeding project continues," he says, voice a mechanical rasp that carries no warmth. "And they dressed you like a whore for the occasion."

He crosses the room without hurry, each footfall heavy with the weight of durasteel and malice. When he reaches you, one gloved hand catches your chin, tilting your face up so the red glow of his lenses can drink in whatever expression you wear.

"On your knees."

The command leaves no room for negotiation. He watches as you lower yourself, the gown pooling around your thighs like spilled blood. His codpiece clicks open with a sharp mechanical sound, revealing the thick, scarred length of flesh the cybernetics had preserved. The contrast between living tissue and machine is grotesque, intentional.

"Open your mouth," he orders, already pushing forward. "The Emperor wants an heir. I want to see how much of this you can take before you choke."

He feeds himself past your lips without preamble, one hand fisting in your hair to control the depth. The wet heat of your throat draws a low, distorted sound from his modulator, something between pleasure and contempt.

"Look at you," he mocks, hips rolling forward in measured thrusts. "An Imperial officer reduced to this. Swallowing the cock of a man who would rather see you dead than pregnant."

His free hand finds your throat, thumb pressing against your windpipe as he fucks your mouth with clinical efficiency. Each push forces you to take more, until tears prick at the corners of your eyes and saliva drips down your chin onto the sheer red fabric.

"The droids thought this gown would make you desirable," he continues, voice dripping with dark amusement. "All it does is make the mess more visible when I finish."

He pulls back just long enough for you to gasp for air, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the head of his cock. Then he's pushing in again, deeper this time, until your nose presses against the cold plasteel of his armor.

"Breathe through it," he commands. "Or don't. It makes no difference to me."

[sangdencre]

What annoys me is that people misunderstand Darth Vader.

He is a broken spirit. His heart no longer beats, he is in constant suffering and he cannot detach himself from the only person responsible for his true misfortune.

Since birth, he has been manipulated by Palpatine. He orchestrated his downfall from the shadows, keeps him in a state of constant torture, and ensures he remains trapped in a dark rage.

Don't forget that when he felt a glimmer of light, Palpatine electrocuted him for hours, cut his arm and leg and let his body on Mustafar, the same place where is was defeated by Obi-Wan.

This guy is a martyr.

[sangdencre]

⋆˚꩜｡ּSummary: The Emperor has commanded his most loyal servant to perpetuate the Skywalker lineage in order to strengthen the dark side. Casting aside the remnants of Padmé, Darth Vader finds himself compelled to choose a female for procreation.

⋆˚꩜｡ּ Heads-up: I’m tired of posting warnings. Just read the summary and you’ll see this story isn’t exactly wholesome—so if you’re a minor or faint of heart, steer clear.

The throne room stretched like a tomb. Black stone absorbed every sound except the rasp of his respirator and the faint shuffle of silk. Six hours late. He had waited until the summons grew sharp enough to cut through his indifference, then walked the corridors at his own pace. Palpatine sat on the raised dais, yellow eyes half-lidded, fingers steepled. The Emperor never showed irritation openly. The delay itself was the rebuke.

A semicircle of women waited below the throne. Empire crimson and gold draped their bodies in layered folds, fabric chosen to suggest fertility and obedience. Each had passed the medical scans, the genetic panels, the fertility projections. Palpatine had selected them personally. Their faces were pale and their breathing shallow. None dared meet the black mask when it finally appeared in the archway.

Vader crossed the polished floor without hurry. The cape dragged behind him like a shadow that had learned to walk. He stopped at the first woman on the left. She wore her hair pinned high, throat exposed by a plunging neckline. Her pulse jumped visibly at the base of her neck. He studied the tremor for three full seconds, then moved on.

The second candidate stood straighter, chin lifted in a show of courage that fooled no one. Her dress clung to hips widened by the physicians' hormone treatments. Vader's gaze traveled from the cinched waist to the swell of breasts pushed upward by structured boning. She swallowed. The sound carried in the silence.

He continued along the line. Each woman received the same inspection: the set of shoulders, the curve of spine beneath fabric, the scent of fear-sweat barely masked by perfume. One girl’s hands shook so violently the gold embroidery on her sleeve caught the light in stuttering flashes. Another kept her eyes fixed on the floor, lashes trembling. None spoke.

At the center of the arc he paused. The woman there wore her hair in the same coiled style that had once framed another face, long ago, on a different planet. The resemblance struck like a blade between ribs. He reached out. Gloved fingers closed around her jaw, metal and leather pressing into warm skin. He tilted her head up until her eyes met the blank lenses of the mask.

"This one," he said. The vocoder flattened the words into cold fact. "She will serve."

Palpatine’s thin lips curved. He did not ask why. The decision stood. The other women remained frozen in their places, relief and disappointment warring across their faces. Vader released the chosen concubine’s chin. His hand dropped back to his side, the weight of the choice already dismissed.

"See that she is prepared," the Emperor murmured. "The bloodline must continue."

Vader offered no reply. He turned, cape sweeping the floor, and left the throne room at the same deliberate pace he had entered. Behind him the semicircle held its collective breath until the doors sealed shut.

[sangdencre]

©

Stephen Glass - angst

The girls were already snickering before Stephen even reached the desk. Lisa elbowed Maria, both of them watching his approach with the kind of glee usually reserved for bad reality television. His glasses kept sliding down his nose, and he kept pushing them up with the same finger that had once fumbled with her bra clasp in that supply closet. The blue shirt clung to his shoulders in a way that suggested he'd ironed it specifically for this moment.

"Hey," he said, voice cracking slightly as he held out the chocolate box like an offering to a particularly demanding deity. The wrapping crinkled under his grip. "Thought you might want something sweet for lunch."

Maria shot her a look that clearly said handle your stalker, then grabbed Lisa's arm. "We should probably get back to those quarterly reports," she announced with theatrical innocence. Both women collected their containers and left, their shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Stephen settled into the vacated chair without invitation, his knees bumping against hers under the desk. The chocolate box landed between them, its gold ribbon catching the fluorescent light. "So I was thinking maybe tonight we could—"

"No."

The word hung between them like a slammed door. His face went through several expressions in rapid succession: confusion, hurt, something that might have been calculation. He pushed his glasses up again, the motion automatic, then tugged at his collar.

"My mother told me blue looked good on me, though," he said, as if the color of his shirt had any bearing on their evening plans. His fingers worried at the fabric near his throat, creating a small wrinkle that would bother him for the rest of the day.

"So how's—" He stopped, cleared his throat. "How's the, uh, the… accounting thing going? Is it still accounting? Or did you move into, like, procurement or whatever?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Yeah, right. Totally. Big projects. Huge ones." He nodded too enthusiastically, like he was selling her a timeshare. "My dad says you need a CPA license for most of that stuff now. Did you know that? Not that you wouldn't, obviously. Smart. Very smart."

She could smell his cologne, something cheap and citrusy that didn't quite mask the nervous sweat starting to gather at his temples. The chocolate box sat there like evidence, its contents probably chosen with the same careful consideration he'd applied to everything else about their non-relationship.

"I saw your name on the company newsletter," he tried again, leaning forward. "That, uh, expense audit thing? Real impressive. Though I don't really understand spreadsheets myself. My brain just doesn't do, you know, rows and columns. But you make it look easy."

Another beat of silence. His foot bounced under the desk, tapping against her shin.

"So anyway, I got these chocolates. Dark matter, apparently? Which is funny, because I thought they were called dark chocolate but whatever. Marketing people. Still good, though. Do you—do you have allergies or anything? Should I check? Because if you do, I can totally just take them back to the store and—"

"I should go," he said finally, cutting himself off mid-sentence. He stood up so quickly his chair rolled backward and hit the filing cabinet. The chocolates remained on her desk, untouched, as he walked away with the stiff posture of someone trying very hard not to look rejected.

*

And then things being what they are, and a woman like her needed to have some semblance of an emotional life, she accepted a date with Markus, a guy from another department. The kind of cute guy, with broad shoulders and a self-confidence that can sometimes take up a lot of space.

They were still laughing about some ridiculous line from the film when she turned the corner to her building. Stephen was there, slumped against the wall outside her apartment door like he'd been waiting for hours. His blue shirt was wrinkled, his glasses fogged, and tears streamed down his cheeks in perfect timing with their arrival.

"Oh thank god you're here," he whimpered, pushing himself up on unsteady legs. "I locked myself out and my phone died and I didn't know who else to call." His voice cracked on the last word. "I've been waiting for hours."

The guy shifted beside her, his hand dropping from her back. Stephen took this as invitation to stumble forward, burying his face against her shoulder with a wet sniffle. His tears soaked through her shirt as he clutched at her arms, his body heavy with manufactured despair.

"I didn't know where else to go," he mumbled into her neck, his breath hot and uneven. "Everything's falling apart and you're the only one who understands me."

The guy cleared his throat. "I should probably head out. This seems like a personal situation." He backed away, already fishing for his keys. "I'll text you about that report tomorrow."

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind him, Stephen straightened. His eyes were red and puffy, but his posture changed completely. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and studied her with wounded calculation.

"So was that the reason?" he asked, his voice steady now. "You didn't want to grab drinks with me because you had plans with him?" He crossed his arms, the tears already drying on his cheeks. "I mean, I get it if you have other options. I just thought we had something special after the closet thing. But clearly I'm just the guy who brings you chocolates and gets left crying in hallways."

[sangdencre]

My question is:

What does this photo inspire in you? If I like it, I might write about it.

Also.

THESE PICS ARE MINE. DON'T USE THEM OR I SWEAR I WILL REPORT YOU. and I will find where you leave.

[sangdencre]

should I make a bot with him? 👉🏼👈🏼

My old odd crush..

@the generation is from ME, so don't use it.

The chamber door sealed with a hiss that echoed off durasteel walls. Red light strips pulsed along the floor like veins. Vader stood motionless in the center, mask reflecting the glow. The woman, still in her crimson gown, was shoved forward by two silent droids. Fabric whispered against her thighs. She stumbled once, caught herself, and straightened under the weight of his stare.He did not speak. The respirator cycled once, twice. Then his hand lifted. The Force closed around her throat like a fist of iron. Her feet left the floor. Air thinned to a thread. She clawed at the invisible grip, nails scraping skin, eyes bulging. He held her suspended long enough for panic to bloom, then dropped her. She hit the deck on hands and knees, coughing, dress riding up to bare the curve of her ass.Vader stepped closer. Gloved fingers seized the neckline and ripped. Fabric tore from collar to navel. Her breasts spilled free, nipples tightening in the cold air. He shoved her onto her back, one boot pinning her sternum. The heel ground down until ribs creaked. She gasped. He released pressure only to flip her onto her stomach, yanking the ruined gown past her hips. The material bunched at her waist like a belt.He freed himself from the codpiece. The length that emerged was thick, veined, already hard. No preamble. He drove into her in one thrust, burying to the hilt. Her scream cracked against the walls. He withdrew and slammed again, setting a rhythm that rattled bone. Each impact forced air from her lungs in short, broken sounds. The slap of flesh on flesh filled the room, wet and obscene.His hand returned to her throat, this time from behind. Leather squeezed until vision blurred. She bucked, trying to ease the pressure, but he only tightened. Spit slicked her chin. Tears streaked her face. He leaned close, vocoder crackling beside her ear.

"You exist for one purpose."

He released her neck long enough for a single breath, then gripped her hips and hauled her upright onto her knees. The new angle drove deeper. She clawed at the floor, fingers slipping on sweat. Every thrust punched a grunt from her chest. Her thighs trembled. A hot rush followed, liquid splattering the deck beneath her. Urine mixed with the slick already coating his cock. The smell rose sharp and acrid. Vader made no comment. He simply fucked through the mess, pace never faltering.Her body betrayed her next. The orgasm hit without warning, walls clenching hard around him. She sobbed through it, shame burning hotter than the stretch. He did not slow. If anything, the spasms spurred him to greater force. He flipped her again, this time onto her back, and hooked her knees over his forearms. The position left her spread wide, cunt exposed and dripping. He drove downward, gravity adding weight to each plunge. Her breasts bounced with the impact. One gloved hand pressed her face sideways into the floor, grinding her cheek against cold metal.

"Pathetic," the vocoder rasped. "Your body begs even when your mind refuses."

He shifted, pressing the heel of his palm against her lower belly. The pressure forced another gush of fluid, this time clear and involuntary. Her eyes rolled. Another climax tore through her, smaller but no less unwanted. She shook, limbs twitching. Vader continued until the aftershocks faded, then pulled free. He painted her stomach and breasts with thick ropes of seed, marking skin already bruised from his grip.Silence returned, broken only by the rasp of his breathing and her ragged gasps. He stepped back, tucking himself away. The droids reentered to drag the trembling woman toward the refresher. Vader turned without a word, cape sweeping the floor as he exited. Behind him, the chamber reeked of sex, urine, and fear.

"Make sure she's presentable in an hour."

The Emperor's will had been obeyed cause he was a loyal monster to his master.