#sugar rush madness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollyswishingwell · 15 days ago

Note

i need your talented hands to write about reader being needy, clingy, and crybaby with lads husbands who always keep their girl in their lap pampering her, bestie i’m ovulating i need this plz

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ His Crybaby

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, fem reader who cries for no reason. indulgent men who adores their wife. this anon is thinking on the same wavelength as me so im gonna name you star anon. come back to me pookie :p

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They adore their crybaby wife, after all, they're the ones who spoiled you enough to be this comfortable.

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The morning sun streamed lazily through the wide windows of your beachside home, reflecting soft blues and silvers across the marble kitchen floor. You sat curled in Rafayel’s lap, your rightful throne, wrapped in one of his oversized white shirts, legs thrown over his and arms tucked to your chest, sniffling like the world had ended.

And to be fair, to you, it sort of had.

“They’re round, Raffy,” you whimpered into his chest, voice trembling with betrayal. “You always make them heart-shaped. Always…”

Rafayel blinked slowly, a half-bitten scone in one hand, his other palm gently stroking your lower back. His long lashes fluttered over his dual-colored eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile.

“I was in a rush,” he offered lightly, tone bordering on amused and indulgent. “Shell delivery came early. I had to check for the right pigment.”

You glared up at him with teary eyes, bottom lip trembling. “But you forgot.”

He set the scone down and wrapped both arms around you, nuzzling your hair with a sigh. “I didn’t forget, pretty girl. I just… momentarily neglected aesthetics.” A pause. “Which I see was a grave crime.”

You hiccuped. “You never do round ones. Even when I was mad at you that one time, you still made them heart-shaped.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and fond. “That’s because even when you’re mad at me, you still eat them with those pouty cheeks and kiss me after.”

You turned your face into his neck, voice muffled and pathetic. “But they’re not heart-shaped today, so now everything feels wrong. I was gonna take a picture for my little breakfast diary…”

“Ah.” He tilted his head, brushing his lips over your temple, then lower, along your cheek where a tear had slipped down. “My girl’s so delicate today. You’re like a little seashell that got smudged with morning sadness.”

You sniffled.

Then Rafayel shifted, standing up smoothly with you in his arms, still cradled like a sobbing princess.

“I’m redoing them.”

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm. You think I won’t shape twenty scones by hand for my favorite spoiled crybaby?” he teased, walking you to the counter like you weighed nothing, setting you down on the stool just beside the mixing bowls. “You’re the only person I even tolerate. If you want heart-shaped, you get heart-shaped.”

You tried to pout again, but his words melted you too quickly.

He was already back at the counter, sleeves pushed up, a tiny ponytail tied loosely with a ribbon you’d left lying around. He didn’t ask for help. Just hummed to himself as he redid the dough from scratch, tossing glances your way every few moments to make sure you were watching.

You sat with your chin in your hands, watching him move, elegant, annoyed at the flour in his rings, muttering about how the heart mold wasn’t symmetrical enough.

You sighed happily. “Raffy?”

“Yes, cutie?”

“…Can I eat the raw dough?”

He turned, expression deadpan. “Will it stop the tears?”

You nodded.

He handed you a pinch. “Then yes, absolutely. Take the whole bowl if you want. I’ll kiss you better if you get a stomach ache.”

Once the new batch came out, perfectly heart-shaped this time, Rafayel pulled you back into his lap, dusted icing sugar from your nose with a dramatic sigh, and whispered smugly against your cheek:

“My wife throws tantrums over pastries. I married a princess.”

You beamed, mouth full of warm scone.

And he kissed you anyway.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You were sitting sideways in Zayne’s lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, sniffing dramatically into the collar of his long coat. His hand rested calmly on your thigh, the other flipping through the patient report he had been trying to review before you burst into his home office in tears.

He hadn’t even flinched when you flung yourself into his lap like it was your natural place, because it was.

Now, you were sobbing softly into his shirt.

“I just wanted the kitty sticker on my water bottle,” you hiccuped. “The pink one. And now I can’t find it anywhere, and it’s just… everything’s ruined.”

Zayne blinked once. Slowly.

“…You’re crying,” he said, tone flat, “over a sticker.”

“It was a limited edition one,” you wailed louder, curling further into him like a miserable kitten. “The sparkly holographic one from the art market you said was overpriced but still bought for me anyway—”

“Yes,” he interrupted mildly, adjusting his glasses with one finger. “That sticker.”

A beat.

“Did you check the back of your phone case?”

You paused. Then went still.

“…Oh.”

You twisted slightly, reached back, peeled it off the case, and stared at it. Whole. Unharmed.

You glanced back at him sheepishly. “Oops…”

Zayne exhaled quietly through his nose, resting his forehead against yours like he was centering himself spiritually. “You’ve cried on four of my shirts this week,” he muttered.

“It was five,” you corrected meekly.

He looked at you, hazel-green eyes dry and unimpressed. “…Of course it was.”

You clung tighter to him. “I’m sorryyy. I just get so emotional sometimes and, and you’re warm and I needed to be held and I thought it was gone forever, and now I feel dumb and—”

“Enough.” His voice cut through your spiral with practiced ease. His thumb slid along your cheek, catching a fresh tear. “You’re not dumb. You’re dramatic. There’s a difference.”

You blinked up at him.

He continued with dry precision: “A dumb woman wouldn’t be able to weaponize her tears so efficiently. You cried, and I halted a coronary consult.”

You blinked again. “…Did you really?”

“I couldn’t hear over the sobbing,” he said, flat as ever. “And I wasn’t about to drag my wife out of my lap when her world was ending over foil cat stickers.”

You hid your face in his chest again, muffling a helpless giggle. “I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not.”

He hummed. “Didn’t think so.”

Then, quietly, Zayne placed the file on the table beside him and adjusted his grip on you, hand under your thighs, the other firm at your back.

His voice dropped, quieter, softer.

“Do you want me to find you more of those stickers?”

You nodded.

“I’ll message the seller.”

You peeked up at him. “Even if it’s overpriced again?”

He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

“I’m a surgeon. I can afford your sticker addiction.”

You grinned through drying tears. “You love me.”

Zayne looked back down at you, mouth twitching at the corners. “Tragically.”

That evening, he returned home from work with three new sticker packs.

When you tried to cry again, this time because one was “too cute to ever use”, Zayne simply sat down, pulled you back into his lap, and muttered against your temple, “You’re banned from Etsy.”

You didn’t listen.

And he didn’t mind.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The penthouse was quiet when Xavier padded in, soft footfalls echoing on polished floors. His hair was tousled from sleep, even though it was nearly evening, and he was still dressed in his off-duty clothes: oversized white sweater, soft grey pants, and socks that didn’t match. One blue. One purple. He didn’t notice.

He found you where he always did.

Curled up on the sunken couch, surrounded by plush pillows and blankets he didn’t remember buying, tissues scattered like a fallen army.

You looked up with teary eyes, bottom lip wobbling.

He blinked. “Are you in pain?”

You wailed.

Xavier didn’t flinch. He simply crossed the living room, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and settled down with you in his lap, your permanent seat, apparently. He tucked the blanket around you both automatically.

His tone was calm. “Did something hurt you?”

You nodded into his chest.

He blinked again, blue eyes soft. “Who do I eliminate?”

You sniffled. “You.”

There was a pause. A long, quiet one.

“…Me?”

“You ate the last sakura mochi ice cream. Mine. The one I’d been saving for a bad day.” You looked up at him with wet lashes and righteous heartbreak. “And now I’m having a bad day and it’s not there.”

Xavier blinked slowly again, as if replaying the event in his mind. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“It was in the back corner of the freezer behind the emergency dumplings!” you snapped. “You know that means it’s mine!”

“Oh,” he said flatly, as if you’d just told him water was wet. “I thought you were hiding it from ants.”

“There aren’t ants in the freezer, Xavier.”

He tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

You sobbed again. “I just wanted something sweet and cold after I did so many chores and folded your weird space socks and cleaned up after that dumb pigeon that keeps coming to our balcony and now there’s nothing left.”

You buried your face into his chest.

“Nothing but betrayal.”

Xavier wrapped his arms around you gently. “I didn’t mean to betray you.”

“You did.”

He nodded once, solemn. “Then I will bear the punishment.”

You sniffed again, looking up with suspicious eyes. “What’s the punishment?”

“Letting you cry on me for as long as you want.”

“…That’s not a punishment.”

“I know,” he said softly, tucking your head under his chin. “But you seem to like it.”

You sniffled, cheeks heating up.

A silence fell again, this one softer.

“Do you want me to go back to the market?” he asked suddenly, voice muffled against your hair.

You blinked. “It’s like a two-hour round trip—”

He was already standing, carrying you with him.

“I will go,” he said firmly. “You must stay. Crying wives should not be on trams.”

“…You’re just saying that because I fell asleep on one once and missed the stop.”

“You drooled on the pole,” he said, expression neutral. “The conductor filed a complaint.”

You clung tighter. “but take me with you.”

“No.”

“Xaaaaviiiieeer.”

“No,” he said again, voice soft but resolute. “You’ll fall asleep again and cry in public and then I’ll have to destroy someone for looking at you too long.”

You paused. “…Fair.”

He sat back down with you. “I will get the ice cream. You will stay here. I will return in ninety-seven minutes. You may cry until then.”

You blinked up at him, touched.

“You love me.”

He looked down at you like you hung the moon.

“I have risked my life multiple times,” he murmured, kissing your temple, “but I fear nothing as much as my pretty wife crying over desserts.”

When he returned, you were asleep in his sweater on the couch with a new box of tissues, the balcony pigeon perched smugly nearby.

Xavier placed the mochi ice cream in your lap, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Victory.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

The safehouse was too quiet.

Sylus knew it the moment he stepped out of his weaponary room and into the velvet-draped hallways. No spoiled chatter echoing through the corridors. No unnecessary purchases being flaunted in his direction. No soft steps scampering down the stairs with a “look what I ordered!”

Silence, in your world, was always suspicious.

He followed the soft sound of sniffling like a predator tracking prey, though the scent of vanilla, luxury skincare, and fresh credit card ink made it painfully obvious where you were.

His smug smirk sharpened the second he entered the lounge.

There you were. Curled on one of the silk chaises, the biggest one of course, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and surrounded by open boxes, designer bags, glittering heels, two jewelry cases, and a luxury drone still hovering in standby.

And you were sobbing. Sobbing over…

He narrowed his glowing eye slightly.

“…Lipstick?”

You turned, bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and wet. “It’s not rose gold! It’s just shimmery salmon, they lied, Sy!”

He blinked. “And for this,” he murmured, voice lilting, “you’ve called for the end of the world?”

You wailed louder. “It doesn’t match my nails! Or the heels I picked for brunch tomorrow. You said you liked the brunch outfit, you lied to me too!”

He bit back a smirk. “I said I liked the outfit, my kitty. I never said your shoes matched the lipstick.”

You let out a dramatic gasp and flopped back like you’d faint.

He let you. Indulged in it.

He stepped closer, letting his coat slide off one shoulder as he dropped to sit on the edge of your fainting couch. You peeked at him through your fingers.

“I’m being so tragic today,” you whimpered.

Sylus’s gloved hand reached down, tucking your hair behind your ear, a slow curl to his lips.

“You’re being adorable.”

You blinked up. “Even when I cried at the drone for not having better taste?”

“You yell at drones. You sob over luxury packaging. You throw a tantrum when your brunch schedule is moved by ten minutes.” His voice lowered, smug and possessive. “You are the perfect little disaster. And all mine.”

You whined softly and reached for him.

He pulled you into his lap without hesitation, one arm hooking under your knees, the other curling behind your back. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his collarbone.

“You’re mean,” you mumbled. “You think I’m dumb.”

“I think you’re delightful,” he corrected. “Painfully high maintenance. Obnoxiously bratty. But delightful.”

You hiccuped. “Do you actually like it when I cry?”

Sylus chuckled, low and pleased, the sound curling against your ear like velvet.

“I like anything that makes you run to me. Crying, shopping, scheming, screaming, doesn’t matter.” He nuzzled your cheek, a slow drag of his nose down your tear-stained skin. “You always end up in my lap either way.”

You sniffled again.

“…Can I buy a different rose gold lipstick?”

Sylus smirked against your cheek. “Buy thirty.”

“Okay,” you said immediately, perking up. “I’ll get every brand.”

“Mm.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “And while you do that, I’ll call your stylist. You’ll need new shoes to match all thirty.”

You gasped. “You do love me!”

He laughed, quiet, but genuinely. “You’re the only creature who could make me sit through a crying fit over cosmetics and still want to kiss the tears off your cheeks.”

You beamed, messy and smug and still a little wet-faced, clinging to him tighter.

Sylus leaned back on the chaise with you sprawled across his chest, lazy and possessive as ever.

“I’m going to destroy that brand,” he added offhandedly.

You blinked up. “Wait, what?”

He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming faintly. “They lied to my princess.”

“…Sy.”

“You cried.”

“You don’t need to destroy them—”

“You cried.”

The lipstick brand posted a mysterious apology the next day.

You got a PR box with actual rose gold lipsticks inside. Thirty of them.

And Sylus?

He smirked, sipped his wine, and kept your shopping drone “accidentally” hacked so it only displayed items in your preferred colors.

All of them were now tagged as princess-coded.

Because that’s exactly what you were.

And he wouldn’t let the world forget it.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

Caleb had faced lots of things.

He’d commanded entire fleets, rewritten gravity, walked through explosions with only one glove smudged.

But nothing, nothing, prepared him for this.

You were crying.

Again.

In the middle of your gilded, bedroom in Skyhaven, surrounded by seventeen fluffy, high-end imported petticoats, with tears in your big wet eyes and your lower lip sticking out like a weaponized pout.

“It’s not puffy enough!” you sobbed, holding up the offending dress like it had personally betrayed you. “I said I wanted maximum puff, Caleb! You promised!”

He blinked from where he stood in full Farspace uniform, his cap still tucked under one arm, black boots gleaming, gloves unbuttoned. He had just gotten home.

And now you were sniffling and stomping your foot, your dainty little slippers slapping against the mirrored floor.

“Pipsqueak,” he started softly, trying not to laugh. “Baby. You have twelve custom princess dresses. They literally fly when you twirl—”

“But they don’t float like clouds!” you wailed. “I want the kind that make a sound when I walk. Like fwah-fwah-fwah!” You stomped again for emphasis. “This one just rustles!”

He couldn’t help it—his lips twitched.

You caught it. “Are you laughing at me?!”

Caleb crossed the room in two strides, lifting you effortlessly into his arms before you could storm away again. You squeaked, clutching his neck, your pout deepening.

“No,” he murmured, kissing your nose. “Never. You know I’d bark if you told me to. Hell, I’d jump off Skyhaven if you said it made your dresses poofier.”

You hiccuped mid-sniffle.

“You mean it?'

Caleb sat down on the edge of your pink chaise, pulling you into his lap so your skirts pooled around both of you.

“I literally rewired the AI in this house cause you said they weren't treating you gently enough. You think I wouldn’t raze the entire fashion industry if it meant you’d stop crying over dress volume?”

You whined and buried your face in his shoulder.

He rocked you gently. “There we go. Let it out. Cry about the bad dress, baby.”

You sniffled again. “I had a whole tea party outfit planned. Now what will the other official's wives say?”

Caleb growled softly under his breath. “They’ll say whatever I tell them to say, or I’ll dump them into deep space.”

You giggled wetly. “You can’t just throw skyhaven's high society ladies out, Caleb.”

“I can do anything,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Especially for you.”

“…Even puffier dresses?”

“I’ll fund a new brand that only makes them.”

You blinked up at him, tears drying fast. “You’d do that for me?”

He nodded solemnly. “I’ll call it... Princess Puff. Only you can buy from them.”

You squealed and kissed him messily on the cheek, smearing your lip gloss. “You’re my favorite boy.”

Caleb, hopeless, clutched you tighter and leaned back on the chaise, letting your frilly skirts bury him like a hero in a fairy tale.

“You’ve always been my favorite girl,” he murmured. “Even when you were a little crybaby who used to throw tantrums over sticker books.”

“I was a sensitive artist,” you huffed.

“You were a brat,” he teased, grinning. “My brat.”

You buried your face in his chest again, the fit of your next meltdown already forgotten.

And Caleb? He didn’t care if Fleet Command pinged his tablet. If the Bureau directors demanded his return.

Right now, his only mission was holding his precious pipsqueak close, wrapped in layers of unpuffy skirts and dramatic demands, and planning a fleet raid on every designer who had ever disappointed her.

Because your tears were sacred.

And Caleb, Farspace Colonel or not, was always going to roll over and play knight for his princess.

Every single time.

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mossangelll · 6 months ago

Text

arcane characters as sugar mommies/daddies ˚₊‧꒰ა $ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

been thinking about mel as a sugar mommy and decided to spread the joy to other characters >:)

haven’t proofread but i was obsessed with the idea and needed to get my thoughts out, hope you enjoy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

part 2.5

cw: don’t think gender is specified but i had a fem reader in mind so that might show, smut, degrading language used in a consensual manner, minors dni, 18+ only

the alluring one

you’re trying to buy a round of drinks when your card declines and just as you’re about to die from embarrassment, her warm hand settles on your shoulder as her scarred lip smirks down at you

she pays for multiple rounds of drinks and before you know it, you’re making out in the alleyway

the rest is history

you never thought you’d be in an arrangement like this but she had her ways of convincing you otherwise

has a bunch of different girls on her roster that she maybeeee doesn’t tell you about

don’t worry, you’re the only sugar baby she pays this much for

when you find out you can’t even be that mad about it - she’s so hot you’d let her get away with anything

you’re smart enough to be pouty around her and take advantage of the situation - get ready for the greatest apology of your life

she invites you to her place just for you to find thousands of roses in the foyer and a gift box with your name on the table

she has you follow a trail of clues until you end up in her bedroom, still juggling an armful of gifts, where vi is waiting for you with a hopeful look

she rushes over to take the boxes from you and smothers your face in feather light kisses before apologising for making you feel shitty

her apology doesn’t stop there though and carries on well into the night

you complain about your bus being late? she’s already sent an uber black to your location

you don’t know which gaming console you want? she’s got it covered - multiple packages with every console you mentioned are arriving by the next day

you’re at a party but you’re feeling needy? she’s already dragging you to a storage cupboard, crowd be damned, and eating you out with such fervour you think you might see heaven

pays for your gym membership at a place like equinox and makes sure you two take full advantage of the sauna - it might be warm in there, but you come out sweaty for a whole other reason

has a garage full of vintage motorbikes that cost a fortune and only she can touch

pays you your days salary (and then some) so you can take time off work just so you can visit her at her home gym

she uses you to show off her impressive strength by lifting you as if you weigh nothing in her arms

getting used as her personal gym equipment is a major turn on

lives to impress you with her physique, she gets so pleased with herself when she notices your eyes darken as they wander over her toned body

she definitely has mirror ceilings and she definitely makes you stare at yourself as she fucks you stupid underneath them

Jinx

the mischevious one

she’s the rich artsy kind and you’re her muse

this means she needs you around 24/7 in case creativity strikes her - naturally, this leads to her paying for your company

has you come over to the studio all the time

one time, she set down a canvas on the floor, told you to strip, covered you two in paint and fucked you right there and then

the rolling around, teeth bared, guttural moan, primal kind of fucking; she relished in the bruises that bloomed on your neck and chest as she sucked on your most sensitive spots

the resulting painting was quite impressive to look at, even if thinking about its creation made you more flustered than you’ve ever been

her hands aren’t only good for creating art pieces it seems

she’s one of the sugar mommy’s that pays you the most since she views your company as priceless when it comes to her work

you get anything you ask for, seriously

you’re decked head to toe and all of it is something jinx either gifted you or gave you the money to buy

if it’s something not available to buy, she buys luxurious materials that cost more than your salary just to craft it for you

takes you to the kind of stiff, fancy places she hates just to have you wear vibrating underwear which she has the controls for

sometimes it’s even the opening night of her art gallery

she makes it a challenge: how long can you go without drawing attention to yourself due to your moans - the longer, the more money you get

it’s downright obscene, the way she knowingly glances at you with subdued glee , your slight whimpers echoing as you try your best to muffle the sounds, tears welling up in your eyes

she goes back to chatting up art collectors and investors as she secretly turns up the power of the vibrations hitting you right to the core

she calls you her “sweet thing” when you get back to her penthouse and she makes it up to you by giving you her bank card

she likes to make you laugh during sex too, she doesn’t like if you try to make it too “dour”

Caitlyn

the inexperienced one

cait’s been single for a while and it’s obvious it’s taking its toll

her friends encourage her to go out and meet someone new but she’s too focused on work to waste time on someone she probably won’t like

one day she stumbles upon a sugar baby site and says fuck it

the first date is pretty awkward but after a couple drinks, you manage to loosen her up so she’s more free with you

she has no clue what her role in this kind of arrangement is so she goes all out from the get-go; she loves spending money on you to the point it’s a bit insane even if she tells you not to worry

has to ask her friends for advice on the group chat constantly (she has a history of fumbling attractive people and she’s not letting it happen again)

adds you to her country club membership so you two can play tennis on the weekends

this place is fancyyyyyy but she makes sure you feel comfortable

gets you a instructor if you don’t know how to play

this obviously means she buys you about ten different outfits with tennis bracelets to match each

buys you a penthouse in the best part of town, close to where she lives of course so she has easy access to you

you two christen every single room in your new place, no stone left unturned

scissoring in the large bedroom, head on the lavish kitchen countertops, taking turns fucking with the strap on the balcony with a breathtaking view, fingering in the living room - everything and anything you can think of

her job isn’t done until the two of you are exhausted and wailing loud enough that the neighbours 20 floors down are complaining

she is insatiable when it comes to you, it’s like you lit a fire within her that she can’t put out no matter how hard she tries

completely adores how cute you act when you try to deny her pricey gifts

even more so when she gifts you a first edition book and your demeanour turns more panicked by the second

really though, she’s freaking out more than you are although she doesn’t show it often

her biggest fear is gifting you something you hate which leads to you ending everything

you’ve never had a sugar mommy treat you like this

she gives her assistant special instructions to let you into her office at any time, a privilege only you’re blessed with

you manage to distract her and before she knows it, she’s forced to make herself look presentable in only five minutes despite having a smudge-proof lipstick mark on her cheek she can’t get off for the life of her

doesn’t want to admit that she wants more than a purely transactional relationship with you

Silco

the generous one

gives you an exorbitant amount of money every time you see him

like, a CRAZY amount

it barely registers for him though, he has more money than should be possible

he goes as far as to give you his black card even if you didn’t ask for it

goads you to max it out and somehow, despite spending so much, you’ve barely dented the thing which makes him laugh

he expects you to spend most of the money he gives you on luxuries you wouldn’t normal buy and asks you to do a haul and model it all for him in his office

behind the scenes, he’s busy paying off your any debts you might have, setting up a trust fund for you, looking for houses you would like

wants you to be set up for life

showers you in decadent lingerie that fits you perfectly from boutiques like la perla, agent provocateur and honey birdette - only the best for his girl

has to replace your lingerie quite often though, he goes feral when he sees you all dolled up just for him

even more so if you were good and listened to his demands, buying the exact lingerie he wanted to see you in

has you sign a detailed contract before the arrangement begins since he wants to make sure you’re comfortable with everything

also wants to make sure you follow his rules

wants you to only refer to him using “sir” when it’s just the two of you

i see him as the kind of sugar daddy that does expect some sugar in return

he’s very abrasive in bed, and calls you all types of degrading names which only serves to turn you both on further

has some…curious interests that he pays you more for indulging in - he is a gentleman after all

“my money hungry slut” and “little whore” are his favourites

takes you on shopping sprees for aftercare (and maybe he does cuddle too but you can’t let anyone else know that) - he doesn’t want you to think he views you a less than just because of the life path you’ve chosen

his idea of pillow talk is giving you tips on the stock market and trading

Sevika

the brusque one

she has commitment issues, is afraid of vulnerability and has a high sex drive

this has led her romantic relationships to fail in one way or another, which is where you come in

she sees it as a simple business transaction - nothing more, nothing less

she likes having you around but don’t get confused: she doesn’t want a real relationship with you

doesn’t sugar coat her words around you and while it might make anyone else run for the hills, you appreciate her honesty

having someone as gorgeous as you coo and hang onto her every word does inflate her ego

everyone wants you, eyes appraising you up and down, but they can’t have you - only she can

so punctual with her payments that it genuinely feels like any other regular job

she looks down on those so called sugar mommies that skimp out of paying a fair rate - you don’t need to worry with her, you’ll be getting more than you ever really needed

despite presenting a stoic image, she can’t help but give in to your every whim

all you have to do is glance at a display window with even a hint of longing and she’s immediately rolling her eyes, dragging you into the shop to buy it for you

if you get tired walking around and ask her to carry you she will huff and puff but that doesn’t stop her from scooping you up anyway

she has a strap on AND it’s the kind that ejaculates too

you two go to luxury toy makers and get straps custom made to tailor to both of your wants and desires

she perhaps gets attachments for her mechanical arm too…

she doesn’t skimp out on the good stuff when it comes to you

her hot grunts ring in your ears as she grinds into you, her body seemingly encompassing your entire body and mind

creampies you every time and fucks the cum back inside of your dripping hole just to watch it leak back out and repeat the cycle again until you’re begging out for her

you’re in a daze for a good ten minutes after and she can’t help but snort at the faces you make

maybe this isn’t just a simple transaction to her

Vander

the hesitant one

vander feels icky about the relationship he has with you at the start

he’s much older than you and you’re still in university, it makes him feel like such a bad person who’s preying on your vulnerability

you make sure to always remind him that he’s single-handedly paying for your tuition

you love what he does for you!

once he gets past that hurdle though, god have mercy on your soul, you will be ruined for other people

he basically acts as your mentor just with some extra benefits on the side

loves to hear you yap about any projects you’re working on and does his best to help with any issues at university

he’s the type to text you good morning and good night every single day without fail

even gives you a bigger allowance if you wake up early and reply to his good morning texts quickly

what? it’s an incentive to get you to attend your lectures

likes to be called daddy even if it does make him blush intensely

he gets off on the idea of being your protector and the only one to provide for you

cockwarms you when you’re working on assignments and it turns your brain to mush every time

spanks you when you stop paying attention

honestly it feels like he’s working against you whenever he does this

also gets jealous when you talk about dates you had with other people

he never made the relationship an official one, but that doesn’t stop him from fucking you hard, his hand prints left on your hips to mark his territory

definitely can’t walk the next day and he’s so smug

down BAD

Ambessa

the teasing one

ambessa has play things in every city; you name a place, odds are she’s got a hook up there

you’re no exception of course

in fact, you’re her favourite out of them all

whenever ambessa calls, you run to be at her service

L O A D E D

exposes you to experiences you never even knew existed, i’m talking about things only the upper 1% can do

she’s the kind of sugar mommy that likes to hear about your day over a glass of wine

the mundanity helps her calm down from her hectic life

she will hold the things she does for you over your head

it’s mean but she views it as her right considering all the luxuries she gives you access to

jokes she’s going to go to a perfumer and get the scent of your sex turned into a perfume

when you accept a surprise gift from her, it turns out it was not a joke - you should’ve known something was up the second her wicked smile made an appearance

actually doesn’t smell too bad

has you use it every single time you’re around her and only then

she’s a FREAK what can i say

whisks you off to couple spa days; you both deserve a little rest and relaxation every now and then

speaking of spa days, she often asks you to massage her which usually ends with your large hands pawing all over your body

she likes receiving more than giving but she still prioritises giving you plenty of orgasms through the night

what kind of sugar mommy would she be without ensuring you’re also satisfied with your arrangement?

you’re worn out from what she considers foreplay

still, you need to make sure you’re being as thoughtful as she is otherwise you’re getting kicked down the rungs of her sugar baby ladder

Mel

the cunning one

mel is the best sugar mommy around i know it

doesn’t do it often - she tries to limit herself to one sugar baby every once in a while

she sees them as worthwhile investments

if you want to be her sugar baby, you need to bring something useful to the table

she meets you at a science exhibition and is thoroughly impressed with your work

you need funding to complete your research and she needs relief from her stressful life as a counsellor

a win-win situation if you ask her

you don’t see her often, she’s too busy solving problems with the council, but when you do, she makes sure it’s worth your time

expensive dinner dates, surprise weekend get-aways, opera concerts - anything you ask for, it’s yours

not only is she funding all of your research, she takes you to galas where you can mingle with the elites you need to win over to achieve more exposure for your research

she usually sends boxes full of clothes and shoes to your house for you to wear to these outings, and picks you up fancy black car with a chauffeur and bottles of wine in coolers

she has her hand on your leg the entire journey there, a faint smirk on her lips when she notices how hot and bothered you are

in a relationship like this, she likes to be the dominant one in bed

she doesn’t expect anything sexual in return but if you’re willing she’s more than happy to fulfill those needs too

leans towards being sensual and romantic but that doesn’t mean she won’t make sure to fuck you thoroughly

heavy on foreplay to the point you think you’re going to pass out from the pent up energy in you

has lots of toys she likes to use on you, she’s very experimental and wants to test which one you respond to the most

also likes you to use the toys on her too and when she sees you suck her wetness off the toy you just used on her, she melts into a puddle

yeah, you’re getting an instant increase on your allowance and you’re getting a new custom wardrobe

Jayce

the proud one

jayce comes from a relatively well-off family, but his inventions launched him into stardom and left him with more money than he knew what to do with

he decides the best thing he can do is spread the love

he finds you on a site for this kind of stuff, something he would rather die than admit, and knew he had to get you on a date with him

makes you custom jewellery set with the most unique stones you’ve ever seen and loves when you wear them out on dates with him

you probably have the entire gdp of a small country just on your wrist alone

wants a play-by-play of all the things you bought that week, he’s lowkey into hearing how much of his money you spent on treating yourself

he wants you to buy even more things with his money than you already do which flusters you but you give in every time

he’s another one that wants a fashion show where you try on everything you bought

he just likes to sit and clap with a smile as you twirl for him

loves to show you off at all the balls and galas he’s invited to

takes you on late night drives in his alpine a110 r-turini and he always has one arm, big with straining muscles, around your headrest which never fails to make your heart flutter

oh i can see him being into role play

maybe he’s your boss and you’re the maid he just caught stealing from him lmao

he loves to get sloppy head from you and offers you all sorts of gifts in return

talking, or helplessly groaning in this situation, about all the ways you can drain his money is his form of dirty talk, “yeah, just like that babe. you want me to buy that new phone don’t you? well, take me like the good girl i know you are and work for it.”

he’s so whipped for you it borders on quite cute imo

Viktor

the cocky one

viktor came into new money after selling the patent for one of his inventions

he is well aware that he’s an attractive guy and could have pretty much anyone he wants, but his long work hours aren’t conducive to healthy relationships

so he takes it upon himself to get a sugar baby, no strings attached

has you stay with him in his lab to keep him company - he loves listening to your idle chatter about things he has no interest in

but when it’s you talking about them he’s captivated by every word

likes to call you his “cute lab assistant” and tries to hide how much he likes it when you call him your “handsome scientist”

he fails obviously

he explains extremely complicated topics in a very contrived way, even when he knows he can simplify it for the average person, because seeing the dumbfounded look on your face gets him going

closes down a whole shopping mall just so you can frolic about and shop to your hearts content; oh, don’t worry about all those bags, he has a guy to carry them all so you two can focus on having a nice date ^^

gonna be real, he’s the kind of guy to fuck you against the wall of the changing room, not caring that the bashful shop assistants can hear every single clap of skin slapping against each other and the strangled moans you both let out

buys all the clothes you tried on, you’re too fucked out to notice the looks you get from the workers, and the fact that the clothes might be a bit…dirty 😭

at least he tips them enough to make up for it

sprays his designer cologne on your gifts so you remember who you belong to

playfully suggests you give him a lap dance so he gets his money worth but you both know it was anything but a joke

good thing you love putting on a show for him!

this guy is such a troll, he literally throws money on you and slips bills in between the straps of your underwear as you sensually dance for him in the lingerie he paid for

has to control himself from pouncing on you then and there

he really enjoys the way you can both tease each other and not take things too seriously

masterlist

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a-hermit-pining · 3 months ago

Text

Making Up with LaDS Men

AN: So soft. Ugh, I love them so much.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 95% fluff, 5% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel's was the one that made me write this but Caleb is pretty nice too, if I must say so myself.

Rafayel:

He stares out his window and finds you perched on the pavement. In the rain. Right beneath his window, waiting for him to look.

And when he does, he nearly trips in his rush to get to you. He’s exasperated. Worried. And irrevocably touched.

By the tides, love made idiots of you both.

It had started as an argument about dishes. But it spiraled, into fights about living together, into complaints about time, into accusations about waiting too long, loving too little.

Until you finally stormed out, leaving behind one very outraged, very wounded fish. “Truth is, you’ll never choose me. Not even at the cost of my soul.”

He had yelled it at your retreating back. And he hated how hard he had to dig for words that would hurt. Hated how good he was at choosing the cruel ones. How stupid it was, wanting to wound you before you could wound him.

And when the tempers cooled and silence set in, you returned. But the door was locked.

So you sat outside, holding a bunch of slightly wilted flowers. And you waited. You waited until the sun disappeared. Until the clouds rolled in. Until the rain began to fall.

You stayed there, below his window. Because you knew how much your beloved fish loved the smell of petrichor. The scent of the world right after it breaks.

You wait, not as long as him, never that much but enough to make his heart melt.

Xavier:

He doesn’t stay mad for long. You know that. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t slam doors. Doesn’t lash out. But when the fight ends, if it can even be called a fight, he just... gets quiet. And that silence feels heavier than anger ever could.

He still makes your tea the next morning. Still leaves your charger on your pillow. Still kisses the top of your head before leaving for work. But he doesn’t hold your gaze. Not the way he usually does. Not for long.

So you show up that night with his favorite takeout. The kind that makes his shoulders drop the second he smells it. You light a candle, put on that playlist you both pretend not to love, and pull him gently into your lap when he walks in.

He lets you.

You wrap your arms around him. You kiss his cheek. His temple. The corner of his mouth. Soft, lingering things.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His voice is muffled, face tucked into your shoulder. “I know you are.”

You press your forehead to his. “But are we okay?”

He hesitates. Just for a breath. Then nods. “We’re okay,” he says. “I just, sometimes I wish you’d come back sooner. I miss you too fast.”

You close your eyes and squeeze him a little tighter. “You’re allowed to be upset, you know. You don’t always have to hold it in.”

He gives a quiet laugh, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But if I hold onto it, I lose time. Time I’d rather spend like this.”

Zayne:

BAKE. HIM. SWEETS.

He’s not the one to start arguments, he rarely even realizes they’ve become arguments until they’re over. Too real, too blunt, too logical for his own good. So most fights leave him confused at first... and horrified once he understands he’s the reason you walked away upset.

And if you’re the one feeling bad? Baking is the way.

This man is powerless against soft banana bread and sincere apologies. Bring him a tray of kiss-me brownies, what-are-we cinnamon rolls, or a marry-me pie, and suddenly he’s the most forgiving man alive.

Drop by hospital with a wrapped container, and you’ve won.

The moment he sees you standing outside his office, holding Tupperware and fidgeting like you might flee, he’s already smiling.

He’s a big fan of how you tailor everything for him. How you swap sugar for dates. Add protein. Use almond flour because “it’s good for your brain.”

He won’t even bring up the fight. He’ll sit beside you, still in scrubs, tucking into banana bread like it’s a love letter. And listen as you explain how you got the texture just right.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, brushing crumbs from your wrist. “But this banana bread earns you forgiveness. ”

Sylus:

He has not learned to share his pain. It is sharp and biting, searing both you and him. Sometimes, it lashes out hard enough to damage the fragile thing between you.

And he knows it.

He pushes you away, offering you the trigger, daring you to run the bullet through his heart. Because that would be easier than being vulnerable.

So lost is he in his ancient ache that he can’t see clearly anymore. He hides his hurt beneath a cold, cruel mask, like a wounded animal, snapping before it can be touched.

But it’s your gentleness that undoes him.

It’s when you give him nothing but love in return for his lashing, when you reach for him instead of leaving, that he breaks.

Be there for him. Stay. Hold him. Let him fall apart in your arms. Kiss the pain away, slowly, quietly.

He doesn’t need fixing. He needs time. And love that stays soft, even when he can’t.

Caleb:

A grand gesture.

This man is all about belonging. Wanting to be yours. For you to be his. And for the entirety of existence to know it.

The fight had been devastating.

You’d blamed him. Walked out, left him waiting for weeks. No contact. No updates. He couldn’t find you. Didn’t know if you were safe. Didn’t know if you still wanted him.

And when he finally found you again, Caleb had been quiet. Distant.

He didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you go. Didn’t know if you needed him… or needed to be free of him.

So imagine his surprise when he sees you, at the Fleet’s Christmas party. On stage. At the grand piano. In front of everyone.

You don’t speak. You play.

A soft song. Gentle. Hesitant. An apology spun into musical notes. A lullaby between lovers. A plea for forgiveness.

And then, as the music shifts, it becomes the song of Penelope, the woman who waited for Odysseus, year after year, unwavering.

It’s not subtle. It’s not meant to be.

You are declaring yourself his. You are saying it in front of everyone.

And that is what wins him.

Not just the music. Not just the apology. But the audacity of loving him loud, after hurting him quiet.

He watches you under the stage lights, blinking like he’s afraid to breathe. And when the song ends, he doesn’t wait.

He crosses the room, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you like he never wants to stop.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #caleb x reader #love and deepspace reaction #comfort #fluff #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #angst with a happy ending

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 2 months ago

Text

Marked||Remmick x fem!reader

Mndi +18

Summary—Remmick’s obsessed with your skin. Dark, warm, alive. He can’t stop licking, biting, praising—marking—it. He needs everyone to know you’re his. He makes you ride him slow while he worships every inch, telling you you’re the only light he’s ever seen.

Warnings—possessive sex, praise kink, interracial dynamic, body worship, dirty talk

Word count—739

Remmick has always had a thing for your skin.

Not just the way it looks though he could write poetry about how the dark gleam of it glows like firelight in the dark, how it shimmers when you sweat, how it drinks the moon. But the way it tastes. The way it feels. Warm, velvet-soft, stretched over muscle and strength and everything he craves more than blood.

He has you straddling his lap now, the slow rock of your hips driving him half-mad with need. But he doesn’t buck up. He doesn’t rush. He just watches.

Watches your curves roll like honey. Watches the way you tilt your head back, lashes fluttering, mouth parting with a soft gasp when his hands slide up your waist. You’re riding him slow, steady, so deep it’s practically torture for you both.

His chain clinks against your stomach every time you drop your hips. His fingers flex against your thighs. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow, and the thought makes his cock twitch inside you.

But he can’t stop looking at your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps, voice rough with hunger, Southern drawl thick. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

You smile, lazy, teasing. “Oh, I have some idea.”

That gets a growl out of him. His hands tighten, dragging you flush against him until your chest presses to his, your breath ghosting his throat. “So fuckin’ warm,” he mutters, kissing your collarbone. “Like sunlight. Like sin.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder not to feed, just to mark. A claim. And God, he’s got so many of them on you already. Your neck, your tits, your hips all bruised, kissed, sucked red and purple and gold. His fingerprints might never leave your thighs.

You whimper when he bites, nails digging into his shoulders. “Remmick—”

“That’s it, sugar. Let me hear you. Let me feel you.” He lifts his mouth, eyes burning gold now. “Wanna ruin you slow. Wanna see my marks all over you tomorrow when you look in the mirror. Wanna remind you you’re mine.”

“You already did.”

His grip falters. Just for a second. Like your words physically stunned him.

You don’t stop moving. You roll your hips again, deliberately slow, grinding your clit against his pelvis. “You think I’d let anyone else have this?” You tilt his chin up so he has to look you in the eye. “I belong to you.”

He groans wounded, almost and grabs your ass with both hands, driving you down harder. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe, letting your head fall to his. “I’m all yours, Remmick.”

“Fuck—fuck—you’re gonna break me,” he gasps, mouth hot on your throat. “Only light I’ve ever seen, baby. Only thing worth prayin’ to.”

His lips move lower. Over the swell of your breast, down the valley between. He licks, sucks, tongues your nipple until you arch for him.

“Dark skin like a goddamn altar,” he moans, voice gone reverent. “Want to worship. Want to bury myself in you and never fuckin’ leave.”

You grind down harder, faster now, chasing the high he’s whispering into existence. He meets your rhythm finally, hips snapping up just enough to make your thighs tremble.

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about how you look like this,” he mutters, dragging his tongue down your sternum. “Ridin’ me like you own me. Drippin’ warm all over my cock. Shit, baby. You were made for this.”

“Remmick, please—”

He tilts his head back, watching you. Sweaty. Gasping. Riding him like you were born to. “You close?”

You nod, eyes fluttering. “Need to—need you to—”

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles with expert precision. “Come on then. Give it to me. Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

You sob his name when you come. Body shaking, thighs clenching, muscles fluttering around his cock as he watches, memorizes it. And he keeps you moving through it, holding you steady while he spills inside you with a groan that sounds more like a prayer.

For a moment, there’s only panting. Skin against skin. His necklace cool against your chest. Your arms around his neck.

Then, quietly, reverently:

“Gonna keep you like this forever.”

You huff a laugh. “You’ll have to let me walk eventually.”

He grins against your neck. “Maybe. If I can still smell me on you after.”

He kisses a bite mark on your shoulder like an apology.

But it isn’t one. It’s a promise.

#remmick sinners #sinners remmick #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick x y/n #sinners x reader #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #remmick smut

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tiramissyoucake · 3 months ago

Note

(Refering to the reader beating the shit out of nogogglescible drabble) "lemme know if you want a fic" PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEAS PLEAS PLEAS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEAHJ PLEADH PLEDSAF PLEADLS PLESRE-

Damn shawty OK! Here's a quick one!

CW: violence, masochism, dirty talk(?) It's no goggles cmon man

"Do whatever you can to beat it out of him." Is what Cecil told you before you came into the interrogation room. They had somehow subdued this version of Invincible and trapped him in dull room with only one giant one-way mirror, he was trapped and confined to a chair with giant technological confines caging his hand, as if his hands were through a cinderblock.

You were debriefed before you came here, you heard of the killing, how he behaved, naturally you were already wary of Invincible's strength, and this seemed like Cecil's worst nightmare. An Invincible that isn't on your side.

The 'Mark' with you right now had his head tossed back, leaning and lounging like this was a waiting room, he looked up; no goggles covering his dark eyes. "Oh, HeLLO!" He sat up, excited to toy with you. "I remember you!"

You ignored his rambling as you looked through a list. "Y'know, we used to bang in my world! Then you got emotional when I killed somebody and broke up with me. Total bitch behaviour in my opinion, but hey, the sex was— GUH?!"

You had reeled back your fist and swung it into his jaw as best as you could, watching him pant and groan as he readjusted himself. "Ooh! Oh you wanna play?! Fuck, I can't believe I felt that!"

"Where did you and your copies come from?" You started, eyebrows furrowed as his attitude was getting on your nerves. Mark paid no mind to your questioning.

"What copies? You think perfection can be made twice?! You wish there were mo— OUGH!" Another punch in the opposite direction, blood splattering past his lips.

"Answer my questions, why are you here?!"

"Get fucked, sugar♡" Mark grinned as he looked up at you, blood blending into his gums and soaking his teeth and lips, he wanted to piss you off.

You gritted your teeth in frustration, clenching your fists as you repeated the onslaught, his grunting and sputtering echoing in the room.

"Yes, fuck that's— GHK! YES! C'mon! UGH! Hit me again! Hit m—URGH! Oh fuck yes, harder! Harder!" He repeatedly tried to speak and yell at you to hit him harder, your knuckles growing sore and pained as he showed no sign of giving in.

You took a moment to breathe, hands reddened from his blood as your panting overlayed his groaning and moaning. "oooh baby... Hah... I know I'm invincible, but you hit like you wanna fuck me...!" His thighs parted further, bucking to get any friction. "Why don't you sit, huh? Gives you stability to beat the shit outta me!"

A cringe appeared on your features as he coaxed you on his lap, you could see a hardening beneath the fitted costume. This freak was horny.

"You're disgusting." You started while rolling up your sleeves, he could feel the arousal rush to his dick as he sat up, licking the blood of his lips.

"Yeah, c'mere baby— get mad at me! Hit me!"

The door clacked open as Cecil stepped in, his expression mirroring yours. "Alright, I can't watch this shit anymore, (Name). Hit the showers."

"I knew it! (Name)?! MY (Name) from MY world?!We were destined to fuck!" Mark announced excitedly while looking up at you. "Quit cockblocking, dickhead! Get out! I don't give a fuck if you cucks watch, just gimme 30 minutes alone here with—"

"You shut up! We'll deal with you later." Cecil watched you collect your things as Mark watched you like an abandoned dog, chest rising and falling. "Wh..?! Hey! Hold on! Not even gonna hit me bye?!"

You rolled your eyes, embarassed and angry by the interaction, you could hear him yelling as you left.

"Hey! Hey, come back whenever, sweetcheeks! Maybe I'll let you choke me while you ride me! You like that shit?! Fuck, you're just my type—"

The door slammed shut, you really hoped this ordeal would get sorted soon.

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 5 months ago

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CRUSH- D.GRAYSON

pairing: richboy! dick grayson x girly! innocent!fem! reader

part one here! part three here!

word count: 2.7k

summary: its the morning after your prince charming had swooped you off your feet, and somehow- dicks secret superpower is diminishing hangovers, by taking care of you.

warnings: sexual thoughts/ implications, kissing/ slight make-out session, pet names, mentions of masturbation, size kink implied, swearing, dick asks reader out on her first date and kinda acts like a sugar daddy lol, he's kinda a soft dom in a way...

Your head felt like a truck had run over it.

As if you had been tossed on the road, and a Ford F150 had slowly taken its time driving its tires over your head.

You woke up, still in your clothes from the night before, makeup smudged and jewellery tangled. Groaning, you slowly pulled each limb out of bed, feeling like a jello.

The clock hands ticked just past ten thirty, but it felt like you had got an hour of sleep, tops.

You were in definite need of a nap today, you thought to yourself as you slowly rocked up to your feet, tugging off your clothes from the previous night.

The fact you had worn outdoor club clothes in your bed… yeah, you’d need to wash your sheets today too.

You let the morning light that peaked through your thin curtains illuminate the path to your dresser, where you tugged on a new pair of panties and an oversized band tee. Kicking past skirts and thongs, you placed your head in your hands before you managed the courage to go out and brave the bathroom.

And the kitchen. But the thought of greasy bacon and eggs made you excited, just a little.

You creaked open your door, starting to walk to the bathroom before stopping in your tracks.

Oh fuck.

Dick Grayson lay sprawled on the couch, blanket covering practically nothing as he snoozed. His legs were spread, one out on the floor, the other over the arm of the couch.

And his abs… Oh god.

Here was this man- completely sprawled out in your living room- that you had completely forgotten about him staying- mind you. You didn't know why he stayed- the couch clearly was not suited for him- but you were glad he did.

You just needed to get things ready before he woke. And put pants on.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck…” you mumbled, feet pattering on the hardwood as you scurried to the bathroom.

What you didn't know of course, was the man was already awake- and had been for a while. He had learned to “pretend sleep”, so his roommates would leave him alone when they came home and he was in the living room.

You didn't even let the water warm up before you were scrubbing at your face frantically, like a mad woman before trying to fix your bedhead.

Soon he’d be awake, and you wanted to make him breakfast in bed (on the couch? You didn't know what the hell to call it).

It was the least you could do for him, for taking care of you. He was so sweet. It made your heart flutter, remembering how kind he was to you last night. And here he was on your uncomfortable ass sofa!

A true gentleman indeed.

You frantically rushed to the kitchen, seeing his body still splayed out as you darted to the kitchen, trying your best to be quiet.

“Fuck fuck okay make coffee, make him coffee and find eggs…” you whispered to yourself, making him smirk to himself. He cracked an eye open, shifting so he rested his head over the sofa, watching you silently.

You were in your own little world, trying to reach for a mug on the highest shelf.

“Need any help with that bun?”

You jumped, whipping around to face where he rested his arms and head over the couch back- a smirk on his face.

“You scared me! How long have you been awake for? I’m so sorry if I was loud-”

“A while. You werent loud sweetheart. Dont need to get yourself all worried about me, okay?”

He stood with a stretch, ruminging around on the ground before he found his target- tugging on his pants from last night. You quickly averted your gaze- covering your eyes with a hand as he tugged them on, pulling your fingers apart just a peak to try and get a glance.

You felt guilty but- oh well. You already saw him when he was “sleeping”.

Heat spread throughout your body as he made his way over to you, trapping you in against the countertop- facing his chest as he reached up with ease to grab the mug you were after. You were frozen in place for what felt like forever, as if you were a statue, just marveling at the sight of him.

“T-thanks.” you managed to mutter out as he handed you the mug, cocky grin plastered across his face- knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

Oh but wait! Things get better! Your inner monologue shouted at you as his hand reached up to brush a stray eyelash of your cheek, rough thumb so gentle across your skin.

“You feeling okay?” he asked gently, knowing last night was… something.

“I’m okay. I have this throbbing in my head- like a drum. S’annoying.”

He snorted, grabbing another mug for himself.

“Yeah that’ll do it. Coffee will fix you up.”

“Do you not have a headache?” you asked, suddenly broken from your trance as he neared the coffee machine, reminding you of your duties before he decided to flip flop your heart around.

“Me? You’re cute.”

You frowned, forehead lines crinkling in a way that made him swoon. You were so adorable when you frowned. Like a little bunny, crinkling its nose.

“Thats not fair.”

“Sweetheart, one of us here is a lightweight, and one of us here is not. Thats the way it goes. Plus, I’m a lot bigger then you.”

You raised your eyebrow, flicking on the machine, the hot liquid beginning to trickle out into his mug.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. And stronger too.”

You swallowed, the distance between the two of you becoming smaller, and smaller. You’re apartment wasnt exactly a penthouse suite, but it wasnt super small either. Yet, your kitchen felt like it was crammed with him in it, the room turning hot, your cheeks filled with heat.

“I-I think your coffee is done Dickie.” you murmered, watching as he reached right past you, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.

He drank it black. Of course.

Whistling a little tune as he opened your fridge, craining down to dig around in your fridge, as if he had lived here for years. “Do you want some fruit?” he asked, pulling out a container of berries, and a carton of eggs.

“Please. God I need a strawberry in my system, or I’m gonna crash out.”

“What- you haven't already?”

You lunged at his remark, wacking his bicep lightly, making him laugh. “Make me eggs or I’ll crash out even more.” you smiled, snagging the milk out of the fridge door to pour in your own coffee, adding some sugar.

Popular opposites, it seemed.

He raised his hand to his forehead, giving you a stern salute. “You got it sweetheart.”

----------------------------------

It was the best hangover morning you’d ever had.

You didn't even know those existed, but with Dick Grayson- they did.

He made breakfast in your kitchen, like it was his house. Serving up perfect eggs and toast, with your fruit- it was as if it was gourmet.

Planting a soft kiss on the top of your head, before serving it to you was the cherry on top.

The two of you talked as the sun steadily filtered through the clouds, laughter and utensils clattering. He was just- you couldn't even put your finger on it. It was like he was your boyfriend- honestly.

You just met him the other night, and here he was, making you breakfast and laughing at your stupid jokes after staying the night on the couch- AFTER taking care of you.

There was no sex. No trade offs, no nothing.

It made your head spin, at the complete 180 he seemed to be from most college guys. He was older, yes, but not by much. A few years at most. But he carried himself as if he was matured, older and wise.

Like he could get anything he wanted, if he talked slickly enough- which he always did.

You were captivated under his spell, watching his blue eyes sparkle as he talked, and the ink black strands that would fall in front of them.

He was smart, he was funny and he was oh so sweet.

You wanted him to stay forever, just as company- in all honesty. He was amazing company. The silence was never awkward, when there was some that hung in the air. He’d just admire you from where you sat at the breakfast nook.

“You’re so pretty. You know that? The prettiest girl.”

It made your skin heat, always looking down at your hands fiddling in your lap, when his compliments became overwhelming (they all did).

But when the coffee grew cold, reality had set in, and he had to leave. As much as it pained you to let him go from your safe haven, you knew he had his own life to attend to- and you had yours. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince him, nonetheless.

”I think you should stay.” you teased as you opened the front door, leaving it swung open- as if to coax him back inside.

He groaned. “Bunny, you know I’d love to. But-”

His phone started to buzz, and he rolled his eyes, fishing it out of his pocket. Tim’s name flashed across the screen, a man you presumed was his friend.

“Speak of the devil. I gotta get back to help my roommates with something I promised them sadly, but I promise I’ll be back. Okay?”

You nodded, stepping out from where you were shielded by the door, body coming into full view. His eyes darkened, as he saw your thighs that poked out at him from your t-shirt in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“I’ll text you as soon as I can. Would you like to get dinner sometime this week?” he asked, stepping closer to you, so your breaths were practically intermingling.

You crained your head up to look at him with wide, doe eyes- and he nearly melted into a puddle. “I’d love that Dickie.”

“Yeah I know you would. Now cmere, I wanna kiss you. That okay?”

You licked your lips as he slowly backed you up against the doorframe, caging you in as his hand slipped up to grasp your jaw, holding it gentle- yet firm.

“I’d love that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah? This okay sweetheart?” he breathed, leaning down so his lips were almost touching yours.

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours, the sweet taste of him sending shocks up your spine- nerves coursing on fire at the sensation, as his tongue coaxed your lips to part, begging for entrance.

You moaned, muffled by his lips as he swallowed you whole, consuming you as he gripped your waist, tugging your hips closer to him, so your back was arched against the old wooden frame.

You felt dizzy, when the two of you finally parted, your lips feeling flushed and swollen, a dazed look in your eye as you just stared at him.

Was that the best kiss of your life? Yes.

Were you going to tell him that? Hell no.

You knew his ego did not to be inflated anymore.

He smiled mischievously, like a feline as he planted a kiss on your forehead, and then another, before he turned down the hall. Like he didn't just sweep you off your feet, leaving you dazed like some swooning princess who had just found her prince charming.

“I’ll call you sweetheart.” he called, waving without a second glance, before he disappeared down the stairs, and out the door- leaving no trace of him but your flushed skin and the door swinging on its hinges.

--------------------------------

Dick was hounded the second his foot stepped in the door.

“So? When do we meet her?” Tim asked from the living room, perched beside the IKEA boxes of parts for the new couch he was supposed to help put up (even though they could easily do it without his help).

He slammed it behind him, hard. “Don't even start.”

Jason let out a little whistle, not even sparing Dick a glance, though he knew the look in his eye would set him off anyways. “He really likes this one Drake. Means he’s gonna get all possessive and not share her with any of us.”

He tossed Dick a wink, making Dick clench his fingers into fists. God they knew how to get under his skin.

“He’s scared she’ll decide she likes us better, don't worry Dickie, I get it.” Tim called, watching as Dick rolled his eyes, making his way over to the mess on the hardwood floor.

“When do we need this done by?” he ignored Tim, starting to pry open one of the boxes.

“Uhh I don't know, when do you want a couch for?”

“I don't know why we need a new couch. Our old one was fuckin fine.” Jason grumbled, flipping a screwdriver between his fingers, even though he was strong enough to probably just press the damn nails in.

“Because it was disgusting and I’m tired of breaking my ass on a spring whenever I watch a game.” Tim mumbled.

Dick was in his own world, tuning out anything that wasn't the thought of you. He already missed your presence. Your soft touch, your sweet smell, the little noises you made when he kissed you, pressing you firmly against the door.

So close he could feel your hardened nipples brush against his chest, skin hot to the touch.

He needed to see you, and soon. Where the hell did he want to take you for dinner?

Up on the East end?

No, not fancy enough.

He needed something spectacular for you. Ideally, he’d want you ending the bed in his bed, in his car- he didn't care where. He just wanted you again, your lips and your pretty little sounds that he would most definitely be imagining tonight when his hand was wrapped around his cock.

He’d take his time with you, unravelling you like a gift. Whether that was on leather seats or memory foam mattresses, he didn't care.

He’d needed this extra special for you.

He’d call in some favours.

---------------------------------- It was nearing the late evening when your phone buzzed, the only name you wanted to see popping up on it.

You were all ready for bed, facemask completed, everything shower done, soft pjs on, nails painted and candle lit. Seeing his name flash on the screen made your heart flutter, and you quickly opened his message, not even bothering to pause your show before responding.

Dick: Hey pretty. Does Tuesday work for dinner?

You: Hi :) Tuesday is perfect!

Even if you had plans that night- you’d push them aside.

Dick: Perfect. Be ready for 8pm, sharp ;)

You: Yes sir:)

You watched his message bubble up, before disappearing again. Then it popped up again, a notification alerting you that he had sent you money.

Your jaw dropped.

This man had just sent you $800 dollars.

Dick: You’re gonna accept this okay? Or I’m going to be very upset and I’ll find a way into your apartment and hand you the money myself. Get yourself something nice for Tuesday.

You were gobsmacked.

How the fuck were you supposed to accept this?

You: Dickie… I don't think I can accept this. And I don't even know what to wear.

Dick: You’ll accept it, and you’ll find something. Anything you pick will be beautiful, I promise bunny.

Your hands were shaking as you held your phone between twitching fingers, in a state of shock. You had known this man for two days, and he was splurging $800 on you? You didn't even know how to respond.

Although to him, you supposed- it probably was next to nothing.

Here he was, making you play dress up to some date planned- that you were unaware of. You had no theme to go off of, no idea of what was happening.

You bit your lip, fighting a little more, even begging for a clue or hint of what to wear- but he gave you nothing. Claiming he wanted you to be authentic, to wear whatever you wanted.

It was too much creative freedom.

Your head swarmed with thoughts of all the possibilities, $800 was a lot of money, and you didn't even know where to start. You let yourself have a mini freakout, and be overwhelmed, before you tucked yourself under the covers, pulling out your laptop to start browsing Pinterest.

You had no time to mess around.

You had a crush to impress.

--------------------------------------------------------

eek so dickie is gonna go all romantic and take reader on her first date? hmmm ;)

@gwyneveire <3 if anyone else wants to be tagged i can try and remember to add you in the future!

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mrxcreepypastamadness · 8 months ago

Text

???: I know you been waiting for quite a long time now kid.

???: But don't you worry, I perfected everything.

Just to make it special for YOU.

???: I'll see you soon. Things are about to get REALLY INTERESTING NOW.

(Open RP) "Friday Night Funkin': Sugar Rush Madness"

(Just kidding, it's an RP trailer)

(RP paused by IHY Taffyta.)

IHY Taffyta: Hey guys uh...about that, heh heh... well...we screwed up.

There's no denying it we overestimated and um...yeah...

Anyway, I come here with some good news, so who's ready for the new release-

GV: Ha ha ha! This RP will never come out!👍😏

IHY Taffyta: What?

GV: Have you seen the lack of cast of characters and teasers, these losers never get any work done.

IHY Taffyta: Hey first of all what are you doing here and second of all how do you know??

GV: It's almost a year of delay, and the old RP post contains the cast of characters they're supposed to roleplay as, it's never coming out.

IHY Taffyta: Have you been looking at Twitter again? 😑

GV: You mean X?

IHY Taffyta: Twitter, X whatever it is called! Those children are just children of hate of beggars and bandwagoners, don't tell me you actually believe them.

GV: Then where is it huh? We been stalling and take our time for several days, and it's still not out.

IHY Taffyta: You do realize that we're just RPing this for free and for fun right? But there are actual people with lives and schedules to not entirely to Friday Night Funkin RPs?! Those twitter people and beggars don't care about the RP project, they won't even try it themselves, you got alot of nerve on saying this to me.

GV: Yeah but the old RP chapter 1 was never used.

IHY Taffyta: GAHHHH!!! I HAD IT WITH YOU! 😡

*Both IHY Taffyta and GV are fighting each other*

Vanellope?: ENOUGH!

*Both IHY Taffyta and GV looked up to their boss in confusion*

Vanellope?: You two are annoying me...I'll take care of this myself.

Vanellope?: I know you're watching this, little rat.

And I know you been waiting for me.

Vanellope?: But do not fret, cause I'm closer than you think.

We will settle this once and for all...

Vanellope?: LIFE IS JUST A GAME, SO DO YOU WANNA PLAY?

*Evil laughter*

"Friday Night Funkin': Sugar Rush Madness

Backstory (Legacy):

"In the early 90s a deal was made by a popular rockstar named "Dearest" and a hivemind in the video game market named "Genivive", both had a monopoly on the industry, with Dearest partering with TobiKomi they earned millions of dollars each year.

Until one day, when Dearest had enough money, he betrayed and abused Genivive and sealed her in one of of his many creations in the arcade machine. Genivive remained sealed away on the arcade machine for over 50 years before finding out that not only Dearest had retired, but that he has a family and a daughter.

Genivive learned that DD's son-in-law was really good at singing, Genivive knew that was her chance to take revenge on him for breaking their deal so, Genivive sent herself over to Dearest's house to take away the most important thing to him."

"I'M COMING FOR YOU."

HALLOWEEN 2024

*IHY Taffyta entered the chat*

IHY Taffyta: So, how is that?

GV: Halloween?! Ugh, you gotta be joking me Taffyta!

IHY Taffyta: We should be able to make it this time! We almost have everything done and-

GV: What if you don't?

IHY Taffyta: ...... Hold on give me a second;

(Gonna send in logo twice...)

HALLOWEEN 2024

MAYBE NOVEMBER OR DECEMBER

IHY Taffyta: There, better?

GV: Much better.

#friday night funkin #mario's madness #creepypasta #wreck it ralph #vanellope von schweetz #creepypasta oc #sugar rush madness #youtube #funk kast parody #trailer #RP announcement

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mrxcreepypastamadnessv2 · 1 year ago

Text

For those of you who might not be aware, I am the same blog from the tablet, but version 2, now I'm stuck on this phone until the meantime. Thank you for listening. If I couldn't get ahold of you of my previous blog, that's why.

@d3v1n-g4m3rz

@saphirafoxgirlspost1

@ask-nightmare-and-others

#friday night funkin #mario's madness #sugar rush #wreck it ralph #vanellope von schweetz #sugar rush speedway #etc

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ruinix · 3 months ago

Note

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

“Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do. Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being a brat.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

953 notes · View notes

ebodebo · 22 days ago

Text

TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE...

PAIR⁀➷ dr. jack abbot x fem!reader x dr. michael robinavitch

WC⁀➷ 3.9k+

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, threesome (i know that's right), dub-con themes because you're drunk, dirty talk, p in v, drunk sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, so much porn, so little plot, age-gap, reader is in her late 20s and jack and robby are... how old they are..., unprotected sex (they would never, but i certainly would), alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms happening simultaneously, slight weird vibes, but we persevere, ooc i fear, but still hot, power imbalance (they're attendings and you’re a resident,) & no use of y/n.

ANON ASKED⁀➷ hi bb! could we pretty please get a robbyxabbotxyou where the boys take you home after the monthly resident bar crawl. they both wanna make sure you get home safe, but all bets are off when they get in your apartment...

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ i love you anon... thank you for making my dreams of this two man come to life. you’re a real one! i actually need these men carnivorously and also like why have one when you could have two? anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

Jack and Robby take such good care of their best resident...

The small bar, the third one of the night, felt sweltering, with bodies dancing and sweating, creating a foggy atmosphere.

The music was deafening, and the floors were slightly sticky from what you assumed were remnants of spilled beer and forgotten shots.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel the blood rushing through your veins as you sat on the edge of the booth next to Frank, across from Samira and Mel. The cool leather of the seat offered some comfort as your fingers curled around its edge.

It was perfect.

"Safe to say, I'm a god," Frank said confidently, taking a sip of his beer. He winced when you elbowed his side, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Might want to wipe the spit off your chin from sucking your own balls, Frank," you commented, watching as Samira and Mel burst into laughter.

"Ha, ha. So hilarious," Frank replied sarcastically, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side with mock laughter. He then looked around the room, scanning it clearly for someone. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbot? I'm outnumbered here," he sighed.

“I didn’t know they were coming,” you say through a fit of laughter that makes Samira giggle.

“They said they were,” Frank shrugs as his lip quips at your apparent drunkenness. “Sober up, will you. They’ll get mad at me for letting their favorite resident get shit-faced,” he gruffs.

You cock a brow, face warm. “Shut up. I am not their favorite,” you protest, unable to believe it.

Frank lets out a chuckle. “You definitely are,” he says, adding a touch of humor.

“Frank, you are full of shit,” you retort, pushing his shoulder in.

He looks across the table. “Samira? Mel? Care to chime in?”

You look at them, eyes hazy, to see an awkward smile grow on Samira’s face while Mel avoids eye contact. “Is it true?”

Samira tries to evade the question before Frank urges her. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

You narrow your eyes in thought, trying to adjust to the bright lights hanging above you and look at Mel. “Mel?”

She avoids your gaze, focusing instead on the ketchup bottle on the table. “Look, there are five grams of sugar in a single serving of this ketchup,” she remarks while reading the label.

“Mel?” you prompt, hoping to steer the conversation back to the original topic.

She sets the bottle down with a slight huff. “Frank’s… right.”

“It’s not a negative,” Samira assures you, her voice calm and soothing. “Just an observation.”

You don't know how to express that you didn't take it negatively.

In fact, you wanted it to be true.

Jack and Robby were two of the most experienced and exceptional doctors you had ever encountered. Each of them possessed a unique set of distinguishable qualities and strengths.

It didn't hurt that they were also among the most attractive doctors you had ever met.

You often heard the new interns and nurses gush about them, and the idea that they might favor you over the other residents sent a thrilling chill down your spine, even with the alcohol coursing through your system.

"Robby, Jack! Over here," Frank called out, gesturing his hand out to signal them to come over to you all.

You look up to see them approaching, and you could vomit, and not just from the alcohol.

"Be right back. Restroom," your words are slightly slurred as you stumble up and to the bathroom.

Once you reach the single bathroom, lock the door behind you before stumbling further into the room. You opt to lean against the inside wall, gently sliding down it to sink onto the ground, your skin blistering to the touch.

You don't know what's come over you.

Your thoughts are a jumble, unable to form a coherent train of thought, and you're fixated on Jack and Robby.

The new revelation of being their favorite doing more to your psyche than you’d like to admit.

You hear a faint knock on the bathroom door across the dimly lit room, the sound echoing off the walls. With a sigh and determination, you stand, almost tripping over nothing as you head to the wooden door, carefully unlocking the door before pulling it open to see Robby.

“Robby?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“Came to check on you,” he shrugs, observing your dilated pupils and disheveled hair.

You take a gulp, your vulnerability palpable. “I’m… I’m alright.”

“You look drunk,” he shakes his head, raising his brows knowingly.

“We’re at a bar,” you say. “What the hell else am I supposed to be?”

“Safe, for one,” his eyes flick between yours. “How much did you drink?”

You roll your eyes with an irritated sigh; your frustration is evident. “Not enough, apparently.”

"Are you upset?" he prompts lightly before his eyes go dark. "Did something happen?"

"No," you immediately assure, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's… nothing," you shake your head fervently. "God, I need another drink," you try to take another step past him before you trip over nothing. His arms reach around you with ease, helping you stand.

"Yeah, no. You’re going home and going to bed," he gruffs, gripping you tighter.

"I'm off the clock, Robby," you slur, trying to escape his grasp. "I'm not yours to boss around."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice comes from around the corner.

Of course.

When one lingers, you can count on the other being shortly behind.

"I would like you to get home in one piece, so right now, you are," Robby says with frustration as he holds you still.

You shake your head, feeling your head spin, which makes you think he's definitely right, but you would never give the satisfaction. You manage to shake out of his grasp, attempting to go back around the corner before Jack's hand comes out to gently grab your forearm as you slump against him.

"Come on, just listen to him, kid," he tilts his head to the side.

"Oh… Jack," you look up at him. "Do you ever get tired of riding Robby's dick?"

“It’s good exercise,” he mutters, curious eyes boring into your stubborn ones. He wanted to catch you off guard and keep you on your toes. He levels with you now that he has your attention. “Now listen, stubborn,” he starts, eyes flicking, between yours. “Let us take you home. Make sure you’re safe. Get you to that bed, yeah?” He nods as he speaks, eyebrows raising.

You nod in agreement after a moment, too drunk and tired to put up a bigger fight you know you’d lose. Plus, his offer of your bed sounded too enticing to pass up.

“Can you walk for us?” Robby questions, reaching for your other hand to try and steady you.

“I think I might break my nose if I tried,” you breathe out, grasping Robby’s hand with your own, not bothering to acknowledge the swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Easy steps,” Robby mumbles as you move off of Jack to stand by yourself.

You grab Jack’s hand with your other hand and take a step forward. “Atta girl,” Jack praises, which makes your skin burn up even hotter. “Let’s get you to the car.” You nod, taking small steps until you manage to make it around the corner until you reach Frank, Samira, and Mel.

“We’re taking her home,” Robby raises his brow, which makes Frank’s lip quip.

“My purse,” you murmur as you rest your cheek against Jack’s arm.

Before Robby has to ask, Samira hands over your purse, which he holds with the tips of his fingers. They issue their goodbyes, and you manage to mumble a goodbye of your own before they haul you to the door to leave.

"See, I told you!" Frank yells as Jack pushes open the door for you to step through.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the cheeky smile that spreads across your face as you feel the warmth from their helpful gestures.

It got worse when you finally settled into the car, and Robby leaned over your lap, pressing into your lower stomach to secure your seatbelt.

You felt a deep ache from where he had laid on you the entire drive home.

You craved more—a taste of what your body throbbed for, what it pleaded for.

A voracious hunger within you that couldn't be satisfied by just one touch.

“You’re both just… going to leave,” you mumble as Jack gets your front door open with the key you handed him, and you lean against Robby for stability.

“That’s the plan,” Jack mumbles before an irritated sigh slips through his mouth at the key in the keyhole, which seems to be stuck. “Jesus. This fucking door. I’ll come by tomorrow to fix this,” he says with intent, giving the key a hard twist, making it unlock before pushing it open.

Your heart sinks as it opens, already feeling the loneliness consume you which makes you sober up slightly. “Wait. I just, ah, remembered my sink has been giving me problems,” you say quickly as Jack turns around. “Do you guys mind checking it out?” Your eyes flick between them as they glance at each other. “Pretty please?”

Robby gazes down at you, his resolve wavering. He looks up and nods towards Jack, a silent command for him to enter. Jack complies, swinging the door open wide, allowing Robby to slip inside with you by his side.

“Which sink?” Jack asks once Robby slips you down on your couch.

You sit up, your face a mix of surprise and confusion. “What?”

Jack’s eyebrow arches. “You said there was a problem with your sink? Which one is it?”

Your mouth drops open a little in remembrance. “Oh. Shit. Yeah, sorry. Uh, the kitchen one,” you hurriedly say, hoping he doesn’t see the crack in your facade.

He nods, moving towards it.

You’re not sure what you’ll say when he doesn’t find any problems, but you’re hoping you’ll have them both in bed before then.

"So… that was some bar crawl, huh?" you chuckle, trying to break the silence with a playful jab.

"Didn't really get to enjoy it because we had to drag your ass out of the one bar we could make it to," Robby gruffs, though his tone carries a hint of amusement.

You look back at him, his hands over his chest, as Jack kneels to look under the sink. "I'm excellent company," you assure, putting your hand over your chest. "Plus, a little birdie told me I was both of your guys' favorite resident," you lay your cheek on your arm, pressed onto the top of the couch, still looking at him. "So it couldn't have been that bad."

Jack lets out a deep chuckle, his voice echoing in the cabinet. "Yeah? Who told you that?"

"A little birdie," you confirm, a mischievous glint in your eye as you look at Robby, unwilling to reveal who told you, adding to the mystery. “Am I your favorite, Robby?”

“Don’t answer that, Robby. It’s a trap,” Jack snickers, still occupied with the pipes under the sink, unaware that you have moved from off the couch and now stand in front of Robby, leaning against the sofa, a seductive edge in your tone.

“I… you’re an excellent doctor,” Robby tries to keep his tone steady.

“Yeah… I think you’re a good doctor, too. One of my favorites,” you move forward, seeing his brown eyes widen in surprise, and yet he doesn’t step away from you, his breath catching in his throat instead.

“Rude,” Jack voices, moving to stand up, finally facing you and Robby. He tilts his head back as he sees you so close to Robby. “What about… me?” He finishes his sentence, his mouth dry.

“I said one of my favorites. You’re my other favorite. I would never leave you out, Jack,” you assure, flicking your finger across Robby’s chest, a mischievous glint in your eye as you playfully tease Jack.

Jack crosses his arms over his chest, rocking on his heels. "What kind of game are you playing?" His voice is rough, lower than usual.

You throw your hands up, neglecting the spin of your head as you let go of Robby. "No game," you say honestly. "Just… thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he asks, watching a drunken smirk play on your lips as you glance at Robby in front of you.

You purse your lips, tilting your head towards Jack and then to Robby. "You boys ever share?"

"What are you getting at?" Jack narrows his eyes.

"I think you should stay… both of you," you lick your lips.

"You're drunk," Robby finally voices, his tone a mix of concern and frustration.

"You think I wouldn't fuck you sober?" You laugh. "The alcohol just gives me more courage.”

"We're your superiors," Jack shakes his head, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility. "This is messy territory."

"Nothing's fun unless you get a little dirty," you say, flicking your nail across Robby's chest again, making him shudder. "Isn’t that right, Robby?"

Robby's eyes drift to your glistening lips; you only pull your eyes away from him to look at Jack, his voice echoing around the room.

“Both got scrubs older than you, sweetheart,” Jack reasons, though you can see a slight crack in his resolve.

“Is it supposed to deter me?” You prompt, edging close to where he stands. “Because that just makes you both even sexier in my book,” you stand toe to toe with him, so close he could smell the sweet wine coming off your breath.

“This is inappropriate,” Jack mutters, his voice a low whisper as his eyes flick to your tongue, licking your lips.

You lean in closer to him, hovering your lips over his ear. “Tell me to stop, Jack,” you begin, your hot breath fanning across his skin. “Tell me you don’t want a taste of me,” your tongue darts to run across the helix. “Or a feel of me squirming on your cock,” your hand drifts to rest on his erect cock confined by his jeans. “If you don’t want it… tell me.”

Jack’s head lulls back at your touch as he releases a shallow breath.

“The poor girl is starving, Jack,” Robby mumbles from where he stands. “Don’t leave her hungry,” he tilts his head back, eyes hanging lazily when you look over your shoulder at him.

You turn to face Jack, and before you can speak, he leans in, pressing a deep kiss to your lips, his frustration rolling off him in sheets. You can feel his body close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

He’s hungry, too.

“Knew you needed it, Jackie,” you mumble into his lips. His hands move to grip the fat of your hips, his lips humming against yours with an intensity you yearned for.

You can hear Robby release a sharp breath before you hear his steps on the vinyl edging, closing in closer and closer until he stands behind you. His fingers move across your neck, fanning the hair away so he can press his lips to your skin.

“Taste so sweet,” Robby mutters into your skin as his tongue skims across your flesh, leaving a strip of saliva in its wake. You shiver at the feeling as Jack nips at your lips, coaxing your mouth to open.

Jack’s tongue slips into your mouth, prompting a small whimper to escape your mouth as he lets out a groan at the taste of the sweet liquor coating your tongue. “Mhm. He’s right. Taste so sweet,” Jack gruffs, hands greedily pressing into your lower thigh.

“Should we… move this to my room?” you ask, as Jack’s hand massages one thigh and Robby massages the other.

Robby pats your thigh lightly. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes everything in you to pull away, but you do only because you know the reward that lies just ahead. You fidget with your fingers as you walk through the hall and shove open your bedroom door, Jack and Robby hot on your heels.

“Cute,” Jack comments as he sees various knick-knacks and trinkets displayed all around your room. He moves over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re sure about this?”

“I am,” you bend up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I need you both.”

Jack lets out a dry laugh, holding you tighter. “Greedy girl.”

Robby slides behind you, eyeing Jack. “You heard the girl, Abbot,” his hands slide down your back before he squeezes your ass. “She needs us.”

You release a shallow moan that makes Jack’s pupils dilate. “Need it now, Jack,” you moan as Robby’s hand moves up to grope your breast. Instantly, Jack surges forward, his hand gripping your chin to kiss you needily before he walks backward, his hands still on you, to the edge of your bed, where he sits.

You stand in between his legs with Robby to your side. You pull away slightly, but Jack’s fingers find your belt loops on the front of your denim shorts, pulling you back towards him. “You come on me, yeah?” His voice is low, rumbling.

You can feel warm arousal already pooling between your thighs at his command, a soft swirl of your stomach as you nod. He shakes his head, unsatisfied. “Use your words,” he says, fingers tight around your belt loops.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a strained moan.

He nods along, glancing at Robby. “You want to get her ready, or should I?”

“You do it, Abbot. She’s taking a liking to your theatrics,” the rumbling laugh Robby lets out shoots straight to your core. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks, moving behind you, his breath fanning across your neck. “Can see you squeezing your thighs every time he breathes. You got it bad for him, huh?” His lips press against your skin as your head rolls to the side, giving him more access.

“You got it bad for me?” Jack teases, fingers moving to unbutton your denim shorts, slipping them down with ease. “Think Robby’s got it bad for you.”

“How could I not?” Robby mumbles, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt before he slips it off your head. “Good God, look at you. So fuckin’ perfect,” he curses as he leans over you to get a look at you.

“Robby, you were right. She’s fuckin’ soaked,” Jack’s fingers drag across the wet spot already formed in your panties.

“Jack,” you mewled, body aching forward at his touch.

Jack tilts his head back cockily. “You like that?” He sucks his teeth before his fingers press back into you.

“Fuck, yes,” you brace your hand on Jack’s shoulder, reaching behind you to grab Robby’s hand to rest it on your stomach.

Jack gives you a lazy smile, pulling your panties down with a swipe, leaving you bare. “Barely touched you, and you’re glistening,” Jack remarks, catching Robby’s eyes as he presses his fingers into your soaked cunt.

You squirm on his fingers, cursing Jack when he pulls them out.

Robby runs his fingers up your stomach before picking his hand up to brush his fingers against your pouting lips. “Don’t torture the poor girl, Jack.”

Jack’s lip quips quickly, brushing your arousal, his finger on his jeans before he slips them down, along with his boxers, making his cock spring up. “Turn around,” he instructs, giving himself a nice tuck.

You oblige, Robby’s hand moving down to rest back on your stomach, helping you spin around. Jack pulls you back, slipping his fingers across your slit from behind, making you arch towards Robby. “Open up for me, sweetheart,” Jack mutters, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he nudges himself into your slit.

He hisses as you sink down on him and lets out a loud moan, gripping Robby’s shoulders for support. “You alright?” Jack asks, gripping your waist tight.

“Yes,” you choke out, turning your head to rest on your shoulder to look at him.

“Don’t look at me. Look at him,” Jack groans, grabbing your chin and turning your face to look at Robby, looking at you through half lids.

“Robby… take your, take your pants off,” you manage to sputter as Jack pounds into you.

Robby unzips his pants and slides his boxers off in a smooth motion. Your greedy hands reach out to stroke him as Jack holds onto your waist tighter, sliding into your deeper.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Robby chokes as your hand tightens around him, stroking with his purpose. His hand threads through your hair, massaging your scalp. “That’s a good girl.”

You moan at the endearment and rock yourself against Jack to stimulate your clit.

“Robby,” Jack pants, still moving inside you.

“Yeah.” Robby doesn’t even have to ask. He brings his fingers to his tongue, coating them in a slick layer of his salvia before he presses them against your clit, giving you more stimulation. “Didn’t even need the spit, huh? You’re drenched,” he rasps as you pump faster, tossing your head back at the hoard of stimulation.

You don't have any breath in you to retort. You can't even think straight, and not even just for the alcohol. Hell, you're sure Jack fucked the booze out of the system. The sheer amount of pleasure running coursing through your veins leaves you almost paralyzed by pleasure, and with each pound of Jack's cock and swirl of Robby's fingers, you're sure you're going to lose it.

Lose yourself.

"Fuck, Abbot," Robby curses, watching you squirm, glossy eyes and jaw wide open, his head tipping back as he feels himself edge closer to release. "She's gonna lose it."

Jack lets out a dry laugh, grabbing your jaw. "That true, sweetheart? You want to come?"

"Please! Fuck… I'm so close, Jack," you can feel the heat rushing to your stomach, an impending orgasm looming over your head.

"Come, sweet girl," he murmurs as he feels his body release.

Your body convulses on his lap as a raging orgasm takes over. Robby grunts as he comes not too far behind, head hunched forward as his finger moves directly across your clit, easing you through your climax.

Jack gives you no time before he taps your thigh, signaling for you to stand. "Let me taste you, sweet girl." You're breathing hard as you stand, grabbing Robby's helping hand to lay on the bed as Jack leans down, licking a stripe of your cunt, collecting your sweet arousal on his tongue. You arch your back, going threading through his curls.

"Mhm. Sweet," he comments, tongue gleaming. "Come on, Robby. Give our girl a taste."

Robby nods, leaning down to lick your cunt, making you tip your head back, shutting your eyes promptly.

"She's sweet, alright. Think she wants a taste, Jack?" Robby glances at Jack, chest still heaving, his come still fresh on his cock.

"Let me ask her," Jack says, voice low, eyeing you. "You want a taste, baby?"

Your head flicks up to see their hungry eyes on you. You lick your lips, nodding eagerly.

Jack shakes his head. "No. Tell him."

"I want to taste you, Robby," you pant, chewing on your lip.

Jack gives you a nod of affirmation as Robby gives you a lopsided smile. You muster up the force to move and bend forward, sitting on your knees and carefully swiping your tongue across his cock, his come coating your tongue and the corners of your mouth.

“Christ,” Robby and Jack both mutter.

You pull away from him, swiping your tongue to clean the corners of your mouth.

“You’ve ruined us,” Jack shakes his head, admiration written all over his face.

“Maybe that’s what you needed,” you retort, looking between them.

“Maybe it is,” Robby mumbles.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTES⁀➷ i never claimed this would be character accurate, but it was hot, right? dividers by @saradika-graphics

449 notes · View notes

bunnyinvanilla · 7 months ago

Text

Sugar daddy!price x fem!reader (bar owner series)

🎂 warnings: suggestive at the end, minors dni please, laaaarge age gap (price is in his 40s and reader is 21) <3

if price found out you haven’t been eating since breakfast this morning and are currently starving, he’d be mad. Not at you, but for you. so, like a sweet, good little girl that wished not to burden him with concern, you rush behind the counter, to the back storage room next to his office — a quick snack, that’s what you’re going to indulge into.

your hands carefully dig into your backpack, and as you take out the piece of strawberry shortcake you bought on the way back from college, you make a little hop on the spot — barely able to contain excitement.

your fingers work hastily to remove the paper and plastic from the box, and the scent of sweet, sugary whipped cream and strawberries fill your nose. You smile to yourself as you gather some whipped cream with your finger and bring it your lips.

you scarcely contain a silent moan when the sugar melts in your mouth like a cloud of sweetness, as if heaven itself decided to reveal its secrets.

“gosh it’s so good” you murmur, bringing another whitened finger to your lips, mouth already half filled with the previous bite.

“oh you are indeed”

you startle in your own tracks when you hear the low, deep voice from behind you, like a little bunny getting caught feasting on a farmer’s carrot land.

turning towards the door, you find john, his imposing, muscular figure looking down at you with his signature lazy, amused smirk. Your eyes fall on his flannel shirt, the first buttons are languidly left untied, allowing you a stolen glance of his hairy chest, his pectorals that make your mouth water as much as the long forgotten piece of cake in your hands.

dumbfounded, you blink up at him twice, swallowing down the remaining mushy cake you stopped chewing on upon seeing him. Your cheeks grow red, sunrise reflecting on them with how bright and warm they look.

“Sir, uhm…i was, i was-“ you struggle to compose yourself, lowering your hands as he slowly begins to strade over you, the familiar scent of cologne and tobacco mingling with your vanilla perfume.

“hungry? can see that, angel,” he whispers, clearly entertained by your shyness. A lazy, seductive smile appears on his visage like a natural decor, one you’ve never seen him not wearing since meeting you.

once he’s close enough to tower over you, his graying, dark beard catches your attention, his mustache and salt and pepper hair, the way the muscles of his hairy forearms bulge with every move, everything about him screams strong masculinity, control and dominance.

he lifts up a hand towards your face, and you hold your breath as he uses his calloused thumb to wipe some whipped cream off the corner of your glossed lips. He brings the digit to his own mouth, licking the cream off his finger — the sight makes the pit of your stomach twist, a warm knot tightens in your belly and roots all the way down between your thighs.

you have to slowly place the cake down on a nearby surface otherwise you’d make it drop.

he licks his mustache, his sharp, intense eyes fleck to you, studying silently and carefully every single reaction he could get and read off you, “it does taste good though doll, you’re right,”

his voice deepens, a baritone that sounds gruff and heavy, and you involuntarily hide your hands behind your back, gently holding onto the edge od the table. With a slow, deliberate movement, he brings his licked finger down, underneath your skirt, and presses it against your clothed clit.

as if a spark shot through you, you almost squeak, a muffled whimper leaves your lips, an unfamiliar sound that your own ears don’t recognize. He keeps his eyes on you, lid and thin, as he slowly brushes it over your panties,

“but I’m sure when I finally get a taste of you, you’ll taste even sweeter” his words sound like a growl, an impatient promise.

he knows you’re a sweet, young, inexperienced, untouched girl, and as much as he was a gentleman, as much as he wanted to handle you cautiously, like a porcelain doll that could break in a heartbeat and needed the best care and attention, he almost took you right there when you gave him those doe, shy eyes.

“I know you’re impatient, sweet girl, but daddy will make it worth the wait”, he thinks you deserve more that a stolen moment in the midst of the chaos, of a working day, and he knows you want him to be rough, to be hard on you. “let daddy take you out to dinner tonight, and then you can give this old man some sugar, mmh?”

you can only nod, words stuck in your throat unable to come out, but your eyes gleam in the softest and most innocent way, you don’t know if you want to drop to your knees, and beg him to do whatever he wanted, or to grab your piece of cake back and hide behind the counter.

bunnies were shy creatures, eager for affection, love and attention but timid when under their owners’ loving gaze. If you weren’t careful, they might just hop away and hide shyly.

..but a little bunny like you needs to be trained into being the perfect, sweetest good girl first. And he is a man of discipline, he knows how to wait.

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kisakis-boyfriend · 6 months ago

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Alpha male reader with omaga mikey and they are with each other and Mikey heat comes Unexpectedly ♦️

Pairings: Mikey x male reader

Warnings: Alpha male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom/omega!Mikey, lots of pet names, clingy sex, public sex, biting, heat, knotting, brief mention of pregnancy, reader is called "sir + master"

It's a crisp, spring day and you are a humble alpha taking his little omega boyfriend out to the park. As usual, Mikey's first move is to find the food stalls and buy a snack to eat while you take a stroll. Something sweet, obviously. Because what's a daytime park date without a little sugar?

If you're lucky he might even share a bite with you (!!!!!!) without you asking! Your lips linger around Mikey's fingers for just a few seconds longer than they need to, and the omega feels a flush of warmth hit his body from the inside. He shrugs it off though, and your date continues over to a bench by the water.

“A lot of ducks here today, huh?” you comment. Eyeing the feathered creatures as a dozen or so glide along the water's surface.

Mikey looks at you with a raised eyebrow, “I didn't think anyone seemed that rude… that one kid even smiled as we passed them.”

You returned his puzzled expression with one of your own, until it clicked, and you snorted as you corrected him. “Ducks, Mikey,” pointing towards the water in front of you. “not dicks. You've got a dirty little mind today, dont'cha?”

“What do you mean?! That one mistake doesn't make me some pervert, like you think I am!” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and swiveling away from you.

Your boyfriend's childish nature is adorable sometimes (and annoying at others…) — huffing while he avoids eye contact, even turning his body away from you so he can pretend to be mad. Such a cutie~

“Uh-huh, sure.” you said sarcastically. “Don't think I didn't see the look in your eyes when I "accidentally" sucked on your fingers earlier. Your mind went somewhere very naughty, and we both know it~” Your teasing turned the tips of Mikey's ears red in an instant, filling his mind with many ideas. In that moment, all the blood in his body rushed downward, causing his soft shaft to slowly swell and rise—creating a small bulge in the front of his pants.

As you turn your attention back to the natural world surrounding you, a soft whine makes your ear twitch. You glance over and notice the deep red taking over Mikey's cheeks and nose, and the way his fingers dig into the wood of the bench you're sitting on. “M-Mikey…?”

The utterance of his name sends another jolt straight to his cock, filling him with an unbearable heat that spreads to every last corner of his body. He's wheezing now, mouth open as ragged breaths come out and his chest heaves. You stare at the sudden new state of your partner in shock — is he getting a fever?! Is this spot too sunny?!

“Hey, babe, are you– are you alright?” you touch the back of your hand against his forehead, and it almost feels like Mikey got a terrible sunburn. “You're burning up! Uuuhh… should we move somewhere with shade?!”

“Lower… touch me lower pleeeaasee~ ” he whines. His thighs tense, rubbing together a bit as he tries not to let a glob of precum spill from his dick. “Please, sir… I need it– mMFhjkD–!! I need Master's touch…”

Wow. Ok, this is embarrassing! As your eyes scan your immediate surroundings, you find that most of the people are over towards the center of the park, or by the entrance. There are still a few people nearby though, and they could probably see or hear you if you do anything right here–

“Mikey, wh– are you…?” you're cut off by Mikey grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand into his pants, unzipping them so that you can fit your whole hand down there. His tiny cock has swelled so much, and the insides of his clothes are soaked already! There's a wet mess sliding down his thighs and pooling underneath his ass.

While you try not to alert any other park-goers, you discreetly palm your boyfriend underneath his clothes, rubbing at his entrance and nearly easing a finger in there. This alone causes your balls to tighten, and you sense something a bit more primal bubbling towards the surface as Mikey whimpers and thrusts his hips wildly — like an animal in heat.

“Mikey, why didn't you tell me your heat was coming on? We could have stayed home — taken care of this properly. The park could've waited.”

“I-I didn't– gnngh-! I didn't kn-know… I swear!” he stammers between noises of ecstasy. “OoOOohh mm~ yeah~ I didn't feel any-thiiing aaAhhH!! A-anything until after we got here… hnngh…” you have to quickly cover your boyfriend's mouth, lest he moan any louder and draw someone's attention.

Well, now that you're less concerned about his health, and you know why Mikey is red and a million degrees, now you have to make a quick decision — how are you going to take care of this? You could try to take him back home, where you'd have all the privacy possible to fuck him silly until this heat subsides. But, looking at the state your boyfriend is currently in, you don't see that working out very well. He's too far into this to walk that far… The park bathrooms aren't private enough, plus they're not all that clean. You guess…

“Pl-please please please please– it huuuurts…” Mikey cries, prying your hand away from his lips and trying to get both of your hands down his pants.

“No — zip these back up, quickly–”

“NONONONONO PLEASE—I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU, MASTER, PLEASE–!!!” Mikey screams, clinging onto your arm like a child would to their parents when they don't want them to leave.

You slap a hand over Mikey's mouth again, nearly flying off of the bench to shush him. “SHH! Be quiet! I'm GOING to, but we can't do it right here! It's bad enough that someone probably saw us already… we're in public, Mikey! We can't just do it in front of an audience!”

Another pitiful whine reverberates into your palm, and the blond's black eyes well with tears as he reluctantly zips up his pants, feeling lonely without your hand on him.

“Get up, hold on to me if you need to.”

Mikey stumbles as you begin walking somewhere, wrapping his arms around your elbow and nuzzling his nose into the exposed skin. That little inhale of your scent has him clenching his legs together for a moment as a dribble of precum leaks out of his tip.

That whole display only causes your hormones to kick in further, bringing an uncomfortable wave of heat to your body now. It's all you can do to lead Mikey along until you come to a rather large hedge on the outer edge of the park, barely covered by a few trees and a fence on one side.

“Why are we… over here?” your little omega asks.

Before you answer, you scoop him up and lay him down on the grass. “Fixing our little "problem"—fuckin'… nngh-” you growl impatiently, “Look at what you did to me, honey…” the very obvious dick-shaped bulge in your pants made Mikey drool. His hands dig into the grass and dirt below him, and his legs spread instinctually.

“That's a good boy, but you gotta take your clothes off first, yeah?” you remind him. In a flash, your boyfriend has his pants and underwear off, only draped around one ankle. At the same time, you unzip yours and pull them down just enough to free your aching, throbbing cock.

“Ready for me?” Mikey nods vigorously, and you quickly line up your cock, pushing against his entrance with a bit of resistance. The slick coating his insides and sliding down his inner thighs helps greatly, though it is still a tight fit. Not that you're complaining, exactly — that tightness feels damn good for both of you.

The little omega opens his mouth to moan—or maybe scream—but not a sound comes out. Instead, his eyes simply glaze over while you bottom out in one thrust. “OoOOohH fuck-! Tight… so fuckin' tight for me…”

Instincts take over as you start humping Mikey's wet hole, already overwhelmed by having his soft, warm insides hug your cock. Primal as this all is, you also desperately cling to your boyfriend—overtaken by a primal love for him too. One hand combs through his hair, pushing it out of his face, while the other slides to the small of his back. “Mhm~ You feel so gooood, baby- ah! ah! ah! Fu-uck y-yeah–!” you drawl to the rhythm of your thrusts. Plowing Mikey's ass so hard that it kind of hurts your hips too.

The omega wraps his arms around the back of your neck, pulling your face closer until your lips brush against his skin. You nibble on his earlobe, and Mikey lets out a cute whimper as his eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment. Nibbling turns to nipping at his neck, which then turns into sucking on the tender flesh — all while the blond moans louder than he probably should.

“Fuck! I'm gonna- hnngh–!!” Before you can even finish your sentence, a flood of thick, creamy cum fills up Mikey's hole. Painting his insides white as you bite down on his shoulder to stay quiet.

“M-more! Moremoremore~! Need… Alpha's cum~💛” his voice fades towards the end, and his small body slumps all at once as the last drops of cum spill into his unprotected hole.

You're barely able to hold yourself up, but you try to, so you don't crush your precious omega with your weight. Though your vision is spotty, you can still appreciate the sight of your darling boyfriend in his blissful state. You assume he's half unconscious already; until you start pulling out and Mikey perks up, whining out “Noooo… isss'not enough yet… need master's cock~”

A knot is already formed at the base of your shaft, and you're honestly not any softer even though you pumped a bucket load of semen into him. You certainly can't walk home like this…

“Yeah? Is this what you're needing, honey?” you ask, bringing one of Mikey's hands to the knot and letting him feel it. He gropes it, strokes it, and begs for you to put it back inside in such a loving voice. It's enough to make you feel bad about even thinking of stopping here.

“Anything for my baby boy~ Haah… wanna push it in yourself?” Mikey nods tiredly, guiding the rest of your dick back into his hole. Once the knot reaches his entrance, he holds onto your hips, and you begin thrusting again. “A little harder—here, I'll help ya.” you take Mikey's waist in your hands and pull him towards you as you thrust in.

The speed of your thrusts picks back up, and with enough effort from both of you, your knot eventually squeezes past his fucked out rim. “Oh god-! It's in! Fffuuck, Mikey… s'tighter than before-!!” As your bulky cock stretches his ass, you can already feel another orgasm coming.

Mikey pulls you down by the neck again, clinging to you—his lifeline, his sunshine, his stars, his galaxy, his entire world—and you return the embrace. His small body takes everything you have to offer as you greedily hump him, creating just enough friction to unload another round of cum into his womb. “Shit! Cumming! Mmhm, gonna breed you, Mikey~ Gonna breed my sweet omega–!!”

“Breed me! Please… mMMhgNm…” his muffled cries turn into whimpers as you up the ante with your breeding talk–

“Oh fuck-! Gonna knock you up, yeah? Fill your little tummy with kids?” between every powerful bump against Mikey's body, you affirm his deep-rooted desires. “You'll be a daddy after I'm finished with ya, sweetheart~”

—

You're not sure how many minutes pass, but what you are sure of is the fact that your knot hasn't gone away yet… it's still swollen, tethering you and your omega together and preventing you from leaving your hiding spot.

Mikey is all but passed out under you, and it's still early enough in the day — it's not like you need to rush out of the park, sooooo… you guess you're just going to lay here until you can safely pull out.

In the meantime, what's the harm in admiring your boyfriend while he naps? After all, his soft features look even prettier after you had them twisting in pleasure~

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