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yanderedrabbles · 6 months ago

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Yandere Sugar Daddy

Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.

Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.

Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?

But he can never keep them around for long.

Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.

And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.

Hope your night got better - y/n

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.

And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.

And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.

Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.

He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.

You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.

You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?

No way baby.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.

It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.

You fucking owe him.

And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.

#Shoutout to the anon who requested this #I want a man to pay for my groceries too #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #Reader insert #Yandere Sugar Daddy #Fem reader

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verus-veritas · 26 days ago

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Claiming Privileges - Lachlan

(AI Generated - A different perspective on last week's story. I recommend reading the first one HERE to truly understand what's going on!)

I’ve always been a nobody, a shadow in the world of wealth, a gay middle-aged man who’s toiled for decades as a servant to Jaxon and his insufferable family. Their sprawling beachfront mansion, all glass and marble, has been my prison, its opulence a daily reminder of my place. Yet my eyes always lingered on Jaxon, his chiseled beauty a torment I both craved and despised. His lean, muscular frame, those sculpted abs glistening under the sun, stirred a hunger I buried deep, while his narcissistic cruelty fueled my hate. I kept my mask of obedience flawless, never letting him see the storm inside me.

Until one humid afternoon, when he demanded I rearrange a plate of tropical fruit to mirror his smug face, I muttered “narcissistic prick” under my breath. His hazel eyes caught it, narrowing with cold fury, and he vowed to have me fired within a month.

That moment snapped something in me. Decades of his abuse, his sneers, his careless power over my life—it was too much. Fury ignited, and I began plotting a revenge as meticulous as it was perverse, a plan that would unfold at his exclusive beach party, where I’d turn his world to ash.

The secret was mine before it was his. Years ago, I’d shared a family relic with Jaxon, a Native American concoction passed down through generations, a powder that could swap consciousness between bodies. I’d presented it as a curiosity, never expecting he’d use it, but now it was my weapon, a key to stealing his life.

As the party night arrived, I moved through the crowd with quiet precision, serving platters of exotic dishes to guests who barely saw me. My eyes locked on Jaxon, his shirtless torso a beacon in the dimly lit mansion, abs flexing with every arrogant stride. His dirty blond hair caught the light, and his low-slung swim trunks teased the V-line I’d memorized in secret. I savored each glance, knowing his body was my original target, a prize I’d claim before dawn. But fate had other plans.

I collided with Lachlan, a college twink dragged here by his sister, and everything shifted. He was stunning, his pale skin glowing under the soft lights, dark wavy hair framing a boyish face with pouty lips and sharp cheekbones. His lean frame was smooth, tight abs barely visible beneath a loose silk shirt, exuding a delicate, youthful allure. But his voice shattered the fantasy.

“Where’s the keto-friendly stuff?” he whined, his tone dripping with impatience. “Or, like, something actually worth eating? This is disgusting.”

I explained we didn’t have specialty diets on hand, my voice steady despite the sting of his dismissal. His brown eyes flashed with outrage, and he swept the tray from my hands, sending shrimp skewers and mango salsa crashing into my face. The sticky mess dripped down my chin, the crowd’s laughter a knife in my gut.

“Get this crap out of my face, old man,” he snapped, stomping a piece of shrimp under his designer shoes.

Jaxon, nearby, chuckled, his perfect teeth flashing as he clapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “Chill, man, he’ll clean it up. That’s the only thing he’s good at,” he told me, waving me off like a pest.

The humiliation seared me, my cheeks burning as I wiped the mess away with a napkin, the crowd’s eyes lingering with amusement. Lachlan’s tantrum wasn’t just rudeness—it was the entitlement of a spoiled brat who’d never known a consequence, his wealth a shield from accountability. He demanded a fresh drink, specifying some obscure artisanal brand, and when I returned with it, he barely glanced at me, already whining to his sister about the party’s “mediocre vibe.” His smooth, flawless skin and lean physique taunted me, a body as perfect as Jaxon’s but softer, more delicate, built for indulgence.

As I retreated to the kitchen, my cock stirred, a dark thrill overtaking my shame. Controlling Lachlan’s body, making his lithe frame mine, became my new obsession. My plan shifted at that moment. Jaxon would suffer, but Lachlan’s entitled arrogance would be my trophy, his life a sweeter prize.

When Jaxon announced his drug-fueled game, waving that ornate box, I slipped away to a closet at the mansion’s edge. My heart pounded as I mixed my own batch of the concoction, the earthy scent filling the cramped space. I lit an incense stick, its smoke curling upward, and shoved one of Jaxon’s sweaty socks into my mouth, the musky taste grounding me as I taped it shut. I bound myself to the wall, ropes biting into my wrists, and let the smoke envelop me.

My vision blurred, my body dissolving, until I snapped awake outside, seated in the circle of guests. I looked down, and there it was: Lachlan’s smooth, pale chest, his tight abs rising with each breath. I tugged at his dark hair, the strands silky under my fingers, a playful thrill sparking through me. His scalp tingled, his body alive with a youthful sensitivity that made my skin hum.

Across the circle, you sat in Jaxon’s body, staring at his abs with awe. I stood, Lachlan’s lean frame moving with a confidence he’d never possessed, and declared myself the real Jaxon, now in Lachlan’s flesh. No one questioned it; the lie slid into place effortlessly.

I explained the swap, the seven-hour limit, the freedom to explore, then excused myself, my pulse racing with purpose. Retrieving a hidden key, I unlocked the closet. My old body writhed there, Jaxon’s consciousness trapped inside, his eyes wide with terror. He couldn’t fathom how he’d gone from being in the living room to being bound in a servant’s skin. I leaned close, Lachlan’s cute face grinning wickedly.

“It’s me,” I whispered, relishing his horror. “I’ve taken your life, your identity. And now I’m going to fuck your perfect ass, pretending to be you. Who knows, maybe I’ll make you my boyfriend afterward, so I’ll get access to all those trust funds...”

His muffled screams vibrated against the sock as I turned on a gas valve, locked the airtight door, and walked away. A few minutes, and he’d be gone, one less rich asshole tainting the world. I’d dispose of the body later, a problem for another hour.

Back among the guests, I embodied Jaxon’s swagger, his narcissistic charm my perfect disguise. I led you on, my voice low and enticing, drawing you into the bedroom with a woman whose swapped soul didn’t matter. The room reeked of Jaxon, his musk and sex saturating the air, a heady blend that made Lachlan’s sensitive skin tingle. A massive bed with silk sheets beckoned, a full-length mirror reflecting the decadence. I peeled off Lachlan’s clothes, his smooth frame glowing in the dim light, and joined you on the bed. The woman moaned beside us, but it was you I wanted, Jaxon’s body I needed to break.

I leaned close, my breath hot against your ear, Lachlan’s voice laced with Jaxon’s arrogance. “Let’s have some fun with my body,” I murmured, my hand darting to Jaxon’s cock, thick and curved, already glistening with precum.

Your gasp spurred me on, and I stroked you slow, feeling the power in my grip. But it was when I positioned myself above you, guiding Lachlan’s lean frame with deliberate care, that my satisfaction peaked. I slicked myself with precum, pressing into Jaxon’s ass, the stretch slow and consuming. The pleasure was electric, Lachlan’s cock throbbing with a sensitivity that made every thrust a revelation. I fucked you with a rhythm that was all Jaxon—relentless, commanding, each deep stroke a claim on his perfection. His body yielded beneath me, abs flexing, thighs trembling, and I watched it all in the ceiling mirror, my reflection a college twink reveling in fucking a sex stud.

Your groans filled the room, raw and desperate, and I leaned down, my lips brushing your neck, tasting the salt of Jaxon’s sweat. My hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into his flawless flesh, and I thrust harder, the bed creaking under us. The narcissistic thrill consumed me, fucking Jaxon’s body while wearing his arrogance, knowing he’d never reclaim it.

Pleasure coiled tight, Lachlan’s cock pulsing with each drive, and when you came, hot ropes splattering your chest, I followed, my release a shuddering claim on his legacy. I collapsed beside you, my satisfaction a dark, pulsing fire.

After you passed out in Jaxon’s flesh, I uploaded the video I’d recorded, our debauchery now immortalized online. Then I slipped into the bathroom, standing before the mirror. Lachlan’s smooth frame glowed, pale skin flawless under the dim light. I ran my hands over his chest, fingers tracing his tight abs, warm and firm. I tugged at his disheveled hair, watching it fall back into place, and stroked his cock until I came, splattering the mirror and licking it clean with a cruel laugh, mocking his “keto” tantrum.

I found the drunk in your old body next, luring him with a bag of “special” weed, lying about its effects on water. He stumbled to the beach, smoked it all, and drowned, sealing our fates. Neither of us could return to our old selves, trapped in these perfect privileged bodies. I was Lachlan now, forever.

—

As I head back, I’m yanked into the beach house by the guest claiming to be the real Lachlan, his grip tight with fury as he shoves me against a wall. The dim light spills over his borrowed face, some stranger’s features twisted with indignation, but I know who he is beneath. He’s raging about me strutting around in his smooth, lean body, my swagger outshining his own. I smirk, Lachlan’s cute lips curling as I peel away from the wall, stepping into his space.

My hands glide over my stolen skin, fingers tracing the pale expanse of his chest with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Oh, I’m just cute little Lachlan,” I purr in his voice, soft and teasing. “What do you mean?”

His eyes widen, shock flickering as I sway my hips, letting his frame move with a grace he never mastered. He stammers, trying to protest, but I cut him off, my tone dripping with mock innocence.

“Bet you wish you had a sexy twink body like mine.” I run my hands lower, caressing the tight abs I now command, squeezing gently as a soft moan escapes my throat. The sound’s all his, high and needy, and I watch his borrowed face flush, confusion warring with something darker. I step closer, my breath warm against his ear.

“I’m keeping this, you know. This cute, smooth body. It’s mine now.” My fingers trail up to his dark, wavy hair, tugging it playfully, then smoothing it back as I grin. “I’ll worship it every chance I get. Every day, every night, these hands will savor every inch.”

He freezes, mouth parting, but no words come. I press on, voice low and sultry. “I’m stealing your identity, Lachlan. I’ll live your life, the spoiled, entitled rich twink, throwing tantrums when I don’t get my way. No one will ever know you’ve been replaced.”

My hands slide to his shoulders, then down my own chest again, cupping the slight curve of my pecs before drifting to my hips. I spin slowly, letting him see every angle of his former self, the lean lines and soft skin glowing in the faint light.

“Look at me,” I whisper. “So perfect. So much better than you ever were.” He doesn’t know I’m speaking the truth, that his fate’s already sealed. Instead, his eyes darken with heat, a shaky laugh escaping him.

“That’s… hot,” he mutters, thinking it’s a game, a narcissistic roleplay I’ve spun for his pleasure.

I step closer, pressing Lachlan’s body against his borrowed one, feeling the unfamiliar heat of his temporary skin.

“You like that, huh?” I murmur, my lips brushing his jaw, tasting the salt of his sweat. “Me, dominating you with your own flesh?”

His breath hitches, and he nods, a hungry edge to his gaze. My hands find his waistband, tugging his pants down with agonizing slowness, letting them pool at his ankles. I sink to my knees, gazing up with his wide, puppy-like eyes, lips parting as I lean in.

My tongue flicks over the tip of his cock, warm and tentative, circling the head with soft, teasing licks. He groans, hands twitching as I take him deeper, inch by inch, Lachlan’s gag reflex making me cough until I adjust. The full length slides down my throat, and I hum, the vibration pulling louder moans from him. His borrowed face stares down, lust overtaking confusion, his own cute features gazing back with wicked intent. I pull back, licking my lips as I rise, my hands roaming his chest now.

“You’re loving this,” I say, voice thick with triumph. “Watching yourself take control.” I push him toward a weathered wooden table in the corner, guiding him with firm hands.

“Bend over,” I whisper, and he complies, eagerness in every line of his borrowed frame. I step behind him, running my fingers down his spine, savoring the tremble under my touch. “I’m going to fuck you with your own cock,” I tell him, letting Lachlan’s smooth hands grip his hips. He moans, pushing back against me, lost in the fantasy.

“Do it,” he gasps. “Fuck me. Fill me with my own cock.” He thinks it’s hot, getting off on the idea of himself overpowering him, oblivious to the reality.

My stolen cock’s already hard, sensitive from earlier, and I tease him first, brushing the tip against his entrance, slow and deliberate. His breath catches, a low whine escaping as I press in, inch by inch, stretching him with his own flesh. The heat’s overwhelming, tight and pulsing, and I groan, Lachlan’s voice high and needy in my throat. I move with purpose, thrusts deep and measured, letting him feel every stroke.

“This is mine now,” I growl, leaning over him, my chest pressed to his back. “Your youthful body, your privileged life, all of it.” My hands slide around, gripping his waist, then up to his borrowed chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. He’s panting, moaning, caught in the perverse thrill, still thinking it’s just a game.

“I deserve this,” I murmur, my lips grazing his ear. “Parties, wealth, every desire handed to me. And this twinkish body… fuck, so perfectly sensitive.” I reach around, stroking his cock in time with my thrusts, drawing out his gasps and shudders.

Sweat beads on his skin, mixing with mine, and the air grows thick with the scent of sex and salt. He’s lost in it, begging for more, his voice ragged. “Fuck me harder,” he pleads, and I oblige, slamming into him with a force that makes the table creak, his moans echoing off the walls.

As sunrise nears, I feel him tense, his borrowed body on the edge. “Cum for me,” I whisper, Lachlan’s voice a sultry command. “Cum for yourself.”

He does, a guttural cry tearing from him as he spills, hot and messy, his frame shaking under my grip. I follow, pleasure surging through Lachlan’s lean form, filling him with my release.

We collapse together, his borrowed arms pulling me close, and he murmurs, “That was insane,” still grinning, thinking it’s all play.

I nestle into him, letting the warmth linger, knowing his consciousness will fade when the magic reaches its limit. He’ll never know I meant every word, that his cute, smooth body and spoiled life are mine to keep forever…

—

Sunrise found me nestled in his arms, his consciousness gone when the swap expired. I rose, stretching Lachlan’s lean muscles, his body humming with a restless, cock-sensitive energy that felt like a drug.

I slipped into his identity, the spoiled college twink with a tantrum for every slight. When police questioned me about the deaths, I played dumb, whining until my new parents swooped in, coddling me into freedom within hours. Their indulgence explained Lachlan’s arrogance, every whim served on a platter.

A week later, I visited you, confessing Lachlan’s crush, my kiss leaving you hard in Jaxon’s body. A month later, I’m deep in Lachlan’s world, his friends embracing my newfound charm. I’ve become him, adopting his spoiled, entitled persona with perverse glee. I throw tantrums when my coffee’s not artisanal, demand the best tables at exclusive clubs, and revel in the deference of staff who once ignored me. Lachlan’s life is a banquet of privilege—private jets, designer clothes, parties where I’m the center of attention. His parents hand me everything, their indulgence feeding my new arrogance.

But it’s Lachlan’s body I savor most, a smooth, sensitive twink frame that’s always ready, always craving. Every night, I sprawl in his king-sized bed, silk sheets cool against my skin, and let my hands roam. I trace his abs, fingers circling each ridge, the skin soft yet firm under my touch. His nipples harden at the slightest graze, sparking a jolt that travels to his cock, thick and pulsing with need.

I stroke slow, precum slicking my palm, the sensitivity overwhelming, each touch a burst of pleasure that makes his lean frame tremble. I stare into a bedside mirror, Lachlan’s boyish face flushed, his dark eyes glinting with my triumph. When I cum, it’s a shuddering release, warm across his chest, the afterglow a drug I can’t quit.

I lie there, spent, his youthful musk filling my lungs, and embrace the wealth, the power, the endless desire. Jaxon and Lachlan are gone, their consciousness erased, and I’ve claimed their lives, their privileges, a perverse triumph I savor with every touch, every pulse of desire in this perfect, stolen flesh.

~ The End ~

#bodyswap #twink #revenge #identity theft #magic #dark #permanent #AI Generated

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