#Wake up! It's 'da first 'a the month!

[toxic-potions-productions]

Not only is it Pride month, & KNY Sunday is tomorrow, but it's also my wife's b-day!!!

So, of course I had to do something for this gorgeous girl

She's getting spoiled by her husband & wife, as she deserves

Happy birthday, Mitsuri!! You're truly such a beautiful young lady & I hope you have all the Sakura mochi you can eat today & then some! Since you absolutely deserve to be spoiled like the princess you are! Can't wait to see you tomorrow, sweetie! 🩷💚🩷💚🩷💚🩷💚

(No, I don't have a bias, of course not-)

[toxic-potions-productions]

It's finally here

Where is this year going????? How did we get here????

[ronancer4evr]

HAPPY PRIDE MONT TO THEM!! 🎉🎊💐💖😜😍

[4townglazer]

happy october guyssssss 🗣

[staryuee]

i love straight people 💗

happy april fools 😇

[toxic-potions-productions]

My respect for Amane: 📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈

true love

[ceebit]

sept oct nov dec please be kind

[toxic-potions-productions]

Said it before, but I'll say it again

I will always reblog this since my blog will always be an April fools safe zone 💗

reblog this if your blog is a safe space on april fools and won’t have any jumpers, screamers, or anything scary or anxiety inducing

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel���s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[toxic-potions-productions]

Asher after "More than anything" ended (Hazbin hotel)

Same, bro TwT If you listen really carefully to the rest of the scene, you can hear Asher crying in the background if he was canon LOL

What can I say? He's a weak man. He used to be my Hazbinsona for a reason (New one on the way! That will also STAY as my Hazbinsona this time)

Who else was bawling like a baby from this song? I know it's not just me

(You guys want a small SBP lyric comic of this song? Cuz it's absolutely fitting & I can't stop thinking about it with them)

[celestiamour]

₊˚✧ ❛[ every baby needs a da-da-daddy ]❜

ft. hugh jackman x f! reader — rpf

╰₊✧ some sweet softie who enjoys being home his baby little diamond toys┊1.2k words

song: every baby needs a da da daddy - marilyn monroe contains: no disrespect to hugh, this is purely fictional!! sugar daddy hugh & sugar baby reader, no smut, unspecified age gap, mentions of insecurity 

➤ author's note: happy late birthday to the daddiest of daddies & the dilfiest of dilfs! this is my first hit at writing rpf, so it might not be very good, but it was still fun to write! i’m not sure if rpf is something i’ll write again, but who knows!

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who you kept at arm’s length at first, resisting the charms and allure of an older man who promised to treat you right and seat you in his lap of luxury. you’ve never been in such a relationship before (although you’ve always entertained it), much less being with an actor with as much renown as he did, so you tried putting him off by insisting you would only accept princess treatment and wouldn’t take anything short of the best. being a little bit of a brat would either put him off because he’s too old to deal with that or entice him even more with the challenge, and he’s obviously the latter because he would be more than willing to buy you an entire castle if you wished for it. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who quickly figures out that everything you were saying before didn’t hold any weight as you’ll feel guilty if he does something as small as being a gentleman who pays for your half of the meal, so you’re just going to have to get used to being spoiled. he might even encourage you to quit your shitty underpaid day job with all the rude customers and pursue something you’re actually interested in, whether that’s becoming an artist of any sort or seeking out high education to get the qualifications for your dream job, he’s more than willing to provide for you while you work towards your goals and will reward you every time you accomplish one of them. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who often needs to leave early for work, so when you wake up in your shared bed, you’ll find a few notifications on your phone: the first being a few hundred dollars he sent for you to treat yourself while he’s gone, the second being a cute dad selfie of the place he’s at, and the third being a message wishing you a good morning with the reminder for you to take care of yourself and that he loves you. if he’s traveling for a press tour, then he’ll give you the option to go with him or not because he knows it can be exhausting, but he’s willing to fly you out to his location at the drop of a hat because he constantly misses you so much.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who likes to take you out for fancy dinners every now and then, but he really prefers to stay in and make home-cooked meals with you. he finds that making food together is more of a bonding experience than simply eating together, and loves to hug you from the back and guide your movements with his hands on top of yours as you chop vegetables or something. also he’ll only buy the highest-quality ingredients, ones that could give you an aneurysm from a glance of the receipt alone even though he thinks it’s worth the price for the better taste and health benefits. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who surprises you with expensive jewelry and beautiful custom-made dresses which cost more than what you usually would be able to make in a month. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, just drops a shopping bag filled with glittery tissue paper in front of you with a smile waiting for you to open it. feel free to gasp and smack him for making such an impulsive shopping decision just because he thought of you when he saw it, but expect him to pout and pretend to be offended. nothing is “too much” for his darling.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who acts as your personal chauffeur and drives you around in which car in his collection you want, taking you to the mall, to see a show, to an outing with friends, and wherever else you want to go. the passenger seats are perfectly adjusted to your preferences and have your things sticking out of the side compartments with his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh, drawing circles into your skin while reminding you that you look perfect and don’t need to continuously fidget with your appearance. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who isn’t what you expected him to be considering his age. you thought he was just some old man who might have been a snob with his status, but he’s a genuine down-to-earth man. even with the salt peppering his hair, smile lines, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and glasses, he still laughs like a young man and has a sharp mind with insightful knowledge that came with life’s experience. not to mention his godly body which you get the pleasure of watching him work on, cheering him on when he lifts weights while you stand on the sidelines or even join him. he sometimes says you help keep him young, but you know that he’s the most extraordinary man you’ve ever met.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who, although you struggle to admit it, makes you feel insecure at times. he’s hugh jackman, the wolverine, the greatest showman— someone who is larger than life while you’re just someone who met and caught his eye by chance. although he doesn’t seem to mind what others think about your relationship, you aren’t blind to it and worry constantly about ruining his image to the public eye as well as those around him who may not approve of your unconventional relationship. it seems like something built on money rather than love, and although you felt that way at first, it’s clearly grown into something more than that.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who can see right through you as soon as you start having these thoughts, don’t think you can hide it from him. he’s very perceptive and will ask what’s wrong immediately, giving you his full attention and taking any opportunity for you to run away from this confrontation. he’s an open book with you and would like it if you were with him as well, but if you aren’t ready to tell him yet, then he’s fine with giving you room to gather yourself.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who feels his heart break into pieces when you tell him that you just don’t feel good enough to be with him. he’ll hold you and wipe away your tears which began to streak down your face once the words were out, assuring you it was never something that crossed his mind even once and how he wishes you could see how lovely you were in his eyes. anything he can do to change the way you think about this topic, he’ll do, and if you don’t think there is anything that can be done, he’ll compliment you even more frequently and put more time aside for you to show how much he really treasures you. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who becomes more open about your relationship when people ask about it, showing he isn’t ashamed about it and is very proud to call him yours. he’s fantastic at tearing down any negative rumors about you and deflecting criticism, protecting you by turning each question into a session praising how wonderful he thinks you are. there’s not much to it, he’s just some sweet softie who enjoys bringing home his baby little diamond toys and giving her the lavish life she deserves. 

[rebelliousstories]

Restored Once More

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 908

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Once Gambit had gotten back to his own timeline, he was certain there was only one thing he wanted to do, and with only one person.

Consider Donating: Here

Slow mornings were not something that came often for a member of the X-Men. Their lives were constantly full of danger and adventure. However that was not the case for the past couple of weeks for the couple. In a motel off the beaten path, as the sun was just beginning to break the horizon, they were starting to stir. Tangled with one another, the pair had been sleeping off another night of partying on Bourbon street.

Remy awoke first, and looked down at the woman in his arms. Sunlight was just now pouring into the room through the windows behind him, which bathed everything in a warm glow. While his body was shielding the majority of the sun from her, some did peak out from around his shoulders which just barely touched her own skin. It was then that she began to awaken much like her lover.

Her eyes blinked open, and took a moment to adjust to what she was seeing. Gambit was cloaked in warm sunlight. It made him look angelic with the backlighting. A halo of light was around his hair, highlighting every little stray lock of hair.

“Good mornin’, chere.” Remy murmured in a deep, gravely voice. The rumble ran through his body and into hers from where they were connected. She always did love how he sounded first thing in the morning.

“Morning Remy. How are you so awake right now?” Her head was burrowing deeper into his chest which caused him to chuckle.

“Can’t do nothin’ to keep da Gambit down for long.” His retort was met with a puff of air being blown through her nose in amusement.

“Whatcha feel like for breakfast, mon amour? Sweet? Savory?”

“Can I have both and just eat you?”

“Nothin’ I would like more. But you promised us some fishin’ out in the bayous today. Please, chere.”

Remy nuzzles his head into the crook of her neck. She giggled as she felt the tickle of his stubble against her bare skin. He threw his leg over her, straddling her body, and continued his assault. Tickling her torso, the woman wiggled and writhed as she tried to get away from her boyfriend’s fingers. Sheets were thrown, pillows were tossed, and the two were rolling around on the bed like they were kids again.

“Okay, okay. Geez Remy, I’ll skip out on a nice breakfast so we can go fishing. You go start getting ready and I’ll make us something quick and simple.” Pressing a kiss to his lovely lips, she melted for just a moment into it.

“Merci, chere.”

With that, he left the warmth and comfort of the bed in favor for getting ready. For the past few weeks, this had been their routine. Plenty of slow mornings to wake up to the sun with nowhere to be on a set timeline. Being granted leave for a month following his return from the Void, Gambit knew there was only one place that he wanted to be and with only one person. Back in his home state of Louisiana was his version of paradise. He made sure that no Thieves or Assassins could mess with them during their stay as well.

As Remy hoped into the shower, he heard her groan as she, too, got out of the bed. His side was already starting to get cold but she did not stop to think about that now. Throwing on one of his discarded shirts, she strolled into the kitchen and began to make them some breakfast. It was a pleasantly cool morning, she noted, once she opened the window. Popping some bread in the toaster, she got to work on making her lover his favorite; spicy eggs and boudin. The latter being a treat that he did not get to have often living in New York with the X-Men at the school.

Glorious smells greeted Remy as he stepped from the steaming bathroom. With a towel slung low on his hips, he smiled to himself as he thought about his situation. Life was going great once more. Throwing on some jeans, Gambit left their room and headed towards the kitchen. He leaned against the frame as he watched his girlfriend cooking for them.

“Jus’ when I thought I couldn’t be more in love with you than I already am, chere.” His words startled her, making the woman jump briefly as she was at the stove.

“Whatcha doing without a shirt on mister? Trying to make us late?” She teased, flipping the eggs in the pan. Gambit just saddled up, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a few kisses to her cheek.

“No, chere. Jus’ wanted to show my appreciation is all,” came his reply.

“Well then, you can appreciate after breakfast. I didn’t make all this sausage for me, ya know.” It was then that he finally realized what she had on a plate that was now being passed over to him.

“Ooo, you spoil me, chere.” His smile was contagious, as was the kiss he placed on her lips in thanks.

Sitting at the table, they ate in relative silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but a rather nice and peaceful one. They were enjoying the calm, and the quiet. They were going to fishing later with not a care in the world. And no crazy big, world threatening, life ending peril to tear them down in their little slice of paradise.

[yan-lorkai]

Só lembrei da minha ideia agora, perdão mandar tarde assim

Você conseguiria escrever yandere! Azul, malleus e vil com uma Yuu que simplesmente não fica presa?

Não é como se ela quisesse fugir ou estivesse muito desconfortável, pelo contrário, elaate gosta deles, ela simplesmente so não fica presa

Tipo, o malleus prende ela em um quarto e meia hora depois ela tá andando pela diasomnia como se ela não tivesse feito a coisa mais impressionante do mundo, e quando perguntam pra ela "como vc escapou?" Ela só fala tipo "ah mano, o cadeado quebrou" como se não fosse nada

Muito obrigada, e time muito cuidado consigo mesma

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Translation: Can I have Azul, Malleus and Vil with a reader that always escape somehow? Like, she's super lucky and things tend to work for her. But it's not that she wants to run away or don't like them, it's just somehow she always escape.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Gonna reply in english, Sweetie! But omg have I told you already that I loved this? This is all so silly and they're so dramatic, help---. I was imagining so many scenes when I was writing those hcs that I sincerely thought for a whole second to write a oneshot instead. Glad I didn't because it would be lengthy as hell, not that I won't do it in the future 👀. Well I hope you enjoy, darling! <33

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, kidnapping (on malmal's part), Azul's insecurity + him guilty tripping reader, reader loves the yandere, technically fem!reader but no pronouns / gendered terms were used so everyone can read!

Malleus is a powerful wizard and he knows it. He could move mountains with the blink of an eye or make the seas stir, in fact, he would be more than happy to demonstrate everything he can do in front of you. He almost looks like a bird trying to impress its partner. So silly.

The problem is that Malleus is possessive, he wants you by his side all the time. He wants you to be the blood that runs through his veins, wants you to be the air he breathes and the water that touches his lips, that's why, after a few months of just being your friend, he takes the first step and asks you to be his lover. And he's a good boyfriend, a little clumsy and confused, of course, it's his first time in a romantic relationship, but he always tries to be better for you. He is almost perfect.

But not even that can tame the inner dragon that roars and breathes fire inside, far from it, having you so close makes Malleus more greedy. He just wants more and as usual he simply takes what he wants. Your moving into his room as he likes to call it happens at night, after you sleep so peacefully without knowing what is happening, his fingers gently groping over your skin, his lips connecting with your cheeks and forehead as he watches over your dreams. He can get used to it.

When you wake up and the first thing you see is your boyfriend and hear him say all those absurd things and feelings that have been building up in his chest, of course you don't react well. You're scared, confused but there's still love for him in your heart as you slowly turn away and hide yourself on his blankets, pondering.

But there's nothing you can do, not at that moment and controlling yourself as much as you can, you pretend that kidnapping people because you love them so much is considered normal - for someone who has lived a long time like him, Malleus certainly doesn't understand sarcasm, since he's overjoyed, kissing you and being content in watching you do completely mundane things.

By the way, even if you wanted to run away, appealing to Silver's good heart or Sebek's sense of justice is in vain. If their prince decided to do what he did then they won't stop him, instead they will talk to you, explain to you that things will be better if you just accept it. And Lilia will endorse this thought.

Now, after some time passed and you realized that you didn't care, it's not as if you're trying to escape per say. But as you were trying to open the doors to go outside for something, you applied a little more force and it opened. The same happened when you tried to open the windows, removing the padlocks from them with ease since they weren't even closed, letting the sun's rays illuminate Malleus's room. If Malleus was trying to keep you in his room he was failing horribly.

Your supposed plans to escape improving with each new attempt, but no matter how many times you "escaped" Malleus always seems to be two steps ahead, a smug smile on his lips.

He always knows that you will try to run away, just as he knows that after that you will come running into his arms as if nothing had happened, wanting the comfort that only he can offer. While your escape attempts are funny to watch, he asks you why you always escape and how, and your answer makes him laugh loudly. So you're not trying to escape, you just don't like to spend everyday in his room and away from him? Granted, he now takes you on walks in Diasomnia's gardens and through some ruins he has found. He also allows you to spend time with his brothers and father.

Now that he knows you're not trying to escape, Malleus will let you walk peacefully through Diasomnia and the campus but you know that somehow he is always watching you. At the end of the day you will return to his side.

⠀

Vil knows who he is and what he is capable of doing, what he is capable of achieving if he stays focused and persists in whatever is on his mind. And at the moment what occupies his mind is you, his sweet schatz. Loving you is the best thing that has happened to him, so soft and sublime, just like the books and movies suggested it would be.

And it's out of love that Vil brings you to live at Pomefiore after talking to you and knowing your opinion, he knows very well that his feelings of possession are unhealthy but in a world of villains, you learn to ignore that. It doesn't mean he doesn't first try to get your opinion on moving before he becomes a villain who stole your freedom in your eyes. And seriously, life in Pomefiore is better than in Ramshackle where you had to hope the roof didn't fly off and be careful with the stairs and the leaks and the hard mattress that made your back hurt.

You notice that Vil reveals his true colors slowly, switching this and that in your schedule to match his. Or doing your skin care himself because he likes the control and taking care of you, and well, you don't really care about that. Not even with the big changes he makes, as long as he still loves you, you follow him without complaining. And Vil realizes this, which is why he never imagined you would try to escape from him. If you can call this an escape attempt, that is.

You were creating potions in Vil's personal laboratory. Why? Because you wanted to show him what you had learned today, but the potion was so potent that it almost put him to sleep as soon as he smelled it. Needless to say, he wasn't happy about it, a little disoriented and with a growing migraine on the way, he thought that you were trying to put him to sleep to run away. But he was strangely happy to notice that you were feeling guilty and explaining what were your intentions as you make sure that everything's was alright with him. As an actor he knows how to recognize a liar, but you spoke the truth. So he decided to let it go.

It was just a single, terrible mistake, right?

Such incidents continued to occur. Sometimes even Rook had difficulty following you around campus, having to use his Unique Magic to be able to keep his eyes on you. Lady Lucky seemed to favor your above everyone else, helping you in your little escapades. You did a little bit of everything, you even managed to create a shrinking potion, staying tiny for a whole day and, instead of looking for Vil to fix this problem, you went out there into the world wanting to experience the spontaneity of the moment. One of these days you'll leave him gray with worry.

Despite the frustration bubbling within him, Vil sits you down at his dressing table to work on your hair and asks you about all these incidents, wondering if they were just tests to see how far you could push him to his limit before actually trying to escape. But when you explain your intentions to him, knowing that you're not trying to get away from him takes a weight off his shoulders. The whole situation becomes comical, here he was worried and with countless thoughts running through his head, a particularly potent potion hidden in his pocket and here you are, completely unaware of the effects you have on him.

He thinks it's ridiculous that he considered that you would run away when he stops to think about how you adore his affection, drink in his every word and savor his every gesture. You're a troublemaker but are still so dependent on him. Maybe he was a little hasty and now he can finally relax. This little quality of yours though both confounded and captivated him.

⠀⠀

Azul is above all a strategist. He plans everything from the way you will meet for the first time to the way he will steal something from you. Maybe a talent, maybe a skill, but something will become his to satisfy that strange feeling he has in his chest every time he sees you. Weeks of plans are thrown out the window as soon as one day you sit in his office chair, wanting to make a contract with him. And that is the unique chance he has been waiting for, regardless of what your heart desires, he is able to achieve it and in return have you.

If only it were that simple... It's only after his whole overblot fiasco that you finally start to get closer, you still staying by his side to help him rebuild Mostro Lounge. And months later, friendship became a relationship due to Azul's calculations and assumptions. In the end you had your wish fulfilled and so did he, having you as his partner was like a dream come true. Yet, sometimes he wonders what you see in him.

He doesn't let that thought stay on his mind much, preferring to spend time with you, thinking about you, heavens he's so clingy he can't even keep his hands off you, that is, when you're alone of course. You're so sweet to him, bringing him coins for his collection and asking him how his day was, it's nice to have someone who cares. But it's terrible to imagine the ways that anyone who has a beef with him would hurt you for his actions, so Azul proposes another contract with the intention of protecting you from possible threats.

The contract in theory is simple: to remain under the twins' watch and protection. Though, your friends and other people tend to avoid you because of this, because Jade and Floyd are too intimidating. You particularly find them funny with their very different mannerisms, hovering over your shoulders like two shadows, Floyd pestering you while Jade supposedly tries to control him. Azul thinks this is a good contract, whether you think so or not - he can be convinced otherwise through persuasion.

Something that Azul didn't foresee, however, was that the twins would get bored of playing babysitter and would drag you somewhere. Jade wanted to show you his terrariums while Floyd wanted to take you to see their house, neither of them answering any of Azul's messages or calls, not even you but that's because you were trying to get the twins not to fight each other. So your escapades happen because of them, because of that Azul knows that you're not trying to leave him and he recognizes that, but due to his insecurity, every time you return to him Azul seems about to start crying while he wrap himself all over you.

If you tried to run away he could at least do this and that to prevent it, instead he tries to make you feel guilty for making him worry so much. He was about to cut off his own tentacles and eat them if you took one more second to walk through that door, is that what you wanted? It must be, otherwise you wouldn't have run away without saying anything to him >:(

Cuddle him now. Or else, he'll gonna be cranky and fussy. He just loves you so much and he knows you love as well, so why do you do this? Just let him love you completely and wholly.

[yourstru1y4ever]

Day 23 - Father

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader Word Count: 590 Content: fluff and angst! (A little bit of that one two punch coming at ya!) You two have a daughter! Not a happy ending. Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!

A/N: Sorry not sorry for making it angsty. . . but I am sorry for posting day 23 five days late!! EEK! I'm gonna try my best to catch up with Tuna-Tober don't worry!! - YoursTruly

The first thing Satoru hears this morning isn’t the birds singing outside. Slowly opening his eyes, the bright light shines through your shared bedroom. He brings a hand up to block the sunlight and can’t help the smile forming on his face hearing the laughter down in the kitchen.

“Don’t!” He hears you say and he shuts his eyes, trying his best to pretend to be asleep again.

Quick little footsteps come and he feels someone join him in bed, crawling over and patting her hands on his chest.

“I know you’re awake Dad!!” She whines, “My eyes tell me so!!”

Satoru dares to crack his eyes to see his daughter pouting. She was the perfect mixture of you both, while his Six Eye technique was passed down to her, her kindness and wit was all attributed to you. He fights the smile forming on his face as he tries to close his eyes again, however she notices and gasps dramatically.

“Mommy!! Dad’s being mean!!” She cries out, crossing her arms and turning away from him. She can feel movement behind her and before she can move away Satoru wraps his arms around her, giving her lots of little kisses on her face.

“Dad no!! You were being mean!!!” She tries pushing away from him but he doesn’t let go.

“Nope, this is what happens when you wake me up this early in the morning,”

“Satoru, it’s almost noon,” You say as you finally join your family in your bedroom. He loosens his grip on your daughter and she wiggles out of his arms, running to stand right next to you. You smile at her and hand her a tray. 

Satoru sits up in bed giving you a questioning look but you shrug your shoulders, smiling at him.

She walks over very carefully before placing the tray on his lap, “Ta-da!” She grins at him.

“Thank you hon,” He smiles back at her but you can still see the confusion on his face so you tell him, “Breakfast in bed,” and he nods his head.

“Ah, what’s the occasion?”

“Just cuz!” Your daughter says as she hops into the bed once again.

“Well thank you,” He says, giving her a quick kiss on the crown of her head. She sticks her tongue out at him as she makes herself comfortable by his side.

He shakes his head and looks back up at you. You’re dressed simply, wearing a robe over your pjs that you wore the night before and a pair of slippers but to Satoru you’ve never looked more beautiful in your life. You’re practically glowing with pure joy and as you walk over to him Satoru hears a loud blaring sound right next to him.

He looks over at his nightstand and tries to turn off the alarm but it keep blaring louder and louder until-

He wakes up with a jolt, alone in his bed, his alarm still blaring beside him. His eyes dart around the room panicked, trying to find you again. All he can feel next to him is just his bedsheets, the alarm the only sound in the apartment, and no sweet smell of pancakes waiting for him in the kitchen.

He wipes his hand down his face and he turns off the alarm. Maybe in another life you would have married him, maybe have a kid, but not when Gojo had to be the strongest.

Maybe in another life you two would have been perfect for each other. . . but this wasn’t that life.

[thecapricunt1616]

Daddy!CarmyxA sick lil baby 🥺

Ok call me deranged but there was the cutest lil baby angel when I was out at dinner tonight, coughing her little heart out!!! My first thought was

‘What in the world is that sick little angel doing out of the house’

And my second thought was

‘If Carmys little princess was coughing this way, he would’ve gone to the ER in tears. ‘

More BTC

ok so the baby is about 20 months, at the point they can verbalize they aren’t feeling good. Carmy wakes up one night, dead of Chicago winter, I mean it’s that nasty dry cold. The cold that you go outside to grab the mail and your nostrils are sticking together. And when he wakes, he hears his baby fussing on the moniter.

Now it’s not her normal fuss, and that worries him. First thing he hears her and he freezes, like he clutches his girl in fear freeze, because why does cub sound like that??? And when he hears her little whimpers and whines of discomfort he is up faster then could make your head spin.

When he makes it to her nursery, she’s stood up in her crib, sniffling, a big pouty face on. As soon as she sees her daddy she knows she’s gonna be taken care of and just lets go. She’s sobbing, sniveling.

“Da-dada- dada feel sit. Dadas I feew sit” and his heart it just achesss. He’s like

“Yeah princess? You feel sick, mm? You want some cuddles from dada?” And he picks her up ofc she lets out all of her frustrations right away since she now felt safe that daddy was here, sniffling and wailing into his bare chest and letting out tiny whimpers since her little body aches and head pounds.

He hushes her while he bounces her gently, walking briskly over to the bathroom off her nursery and opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing the baby mucinex, perfectly dosing it out as he football holds her and by memory tells her the Goldie locks and the three bears story.

After your daughter woke you up by scream crying Through the monitor you hear “There was a big Daddy Bear, a middle-sized Mommy Bear, and a sweet tiny little Baby Bear, just like you princess! She wasn’t much bigger than Goldilocks herself.” He explained, squirting the medicine in her mouth and hushing her as she cried at the taste and swallows on instinct, holding her on his shoulder and kissing her head gently as he continued the story.

“The first chair was a biiiig chair! This was Daddy Bear’s chair. The next chair was a middle-sized chair. This was Mommy Bear’s chair. The last one was a liiitle itty bitty chair. That was Baby Bear’s chair!” He gasps “that was your chair! Did Goldie sit in baby’s chair?” He jokes with her and went out to the living room where another monitor sat and you could hear everything.

“Dada” she reached up at his face, her little voice raspy and horse. She coughed a bit, her little tongue sticking out and nose scrunching. He sat her up as she did, patting her back sweetly to help her get all the nasty sick to break up from her lungs.

“Dada is here, sweet girl, you want snuggles, mm? Little cub want some kisses?” He cooed and held her in a sitting position against his chest, laid back on him to where her breathing sounded much easier and comfortable. He stroked her little baby belly gently with his thumb, head fallen back on the back of the sofa.

You fell asleep to your little girls wheezy sick snores, being sure to wake up far before Carmy and had a nice warm bath with her with the ‘baby’s soothing vapor bath crystals’ Nat dropped off on her way to cover for him at the restaurant to clear her poor little sinuses.

Let’s just say daddy couldn’t look left or right for a few days with the way you found him trying to keep princess Bear upright and comfy in her sleep.

[r0-boat]

Whb Kings as Monsters

Thank you @aet-tsu and @da-shrimping-station for the inspiration from your cute art and you're writing.

(I wanted to do them as pets but you two already got that covered so now they're monster hybrids just pretend they are your 'pets')

Sfw

Part 2 here with belphegor and Asmodeus

Satan

tiger hybrid/Weretiger! You saw this hybrid in the daytime while you were shopping, sitting at side, and the heat. His tail swishing, his shirt was off, trying to keep himself cool. His ears folded back. You walked inside the store, coming out with a bottle of water and some food, bringing it out to What you thought was the cat hybrid. He seemed to worry of you at first, but when he noticed you had food, His eyes widened, looking at the cooked chicken and back at you.

He looked pleased, His smile wide as he drank the water and ate the chicken. Poor thing must have been hungry! Well, you are so glad to feed a hungry mouth. That night, You heard scratching at your window; it was the hybrid from before! How the hell did he get here?! Did he follow you back????

It is now been one month, and the cat still will not leave. He plays idly on your bed, sleeping. You thought he was just a normal hybrid. However, you were greeted by something horrifying the next full moon. This hybrid was not a cat!!! You see that now. You now stare at the giant wear tiger now curled up on the floor of your living room. You thought this thing would kill you, but it has taken quite a liking to you. However, you are still getting used to the random temper tantrums, and your house getting destroyed because of it...

Despite being a tiger hybrid. He still acts like a cat. Laying in sunspots, making biscuits with your pillows(destroying them). He even brings you dead things mostly; it's a wild game. You hope to God he doesn't bring in a human corpse one day; your weretiger is just an oversized cat. Well, you don't know why you're surprised.

Satan is practically attached to your hip He goes wherever you go even to the bathroom. And you can't help but smile when your big cat starts to rubbing himself against you purring. When you stop petting him he demands you to keep petting him.

Mammon

A dragon, an ancient dragon waking from its slumber, its den filled to the brim with riches of the old world. Now here, as he walks among the humans using magic to make him appear human, He sees that this new world's wealth has changed drastically. He hungers for that wealth. However, he must lie low. With that, he comes to you bearing golden gifts, of course.

You are thinking that you haven't woken up yet. It's handsome man a suitcase full of solid gold bars coins and pearls asks to live with you and be yours. This man with a big grin swears that he can protect you. Dream or not, You are very much considering taking the money replacing all that furniture from Satan's rampaging is tiring.

The dragon's eyes widen when he spot it a familiar figure. Your cat boy (tiger) hisses immediately pouncing on the man. Even with the tiger's sharp terrifying clause It did nothing against the dragons almost indestructible golden scales. "I swear my friend you get shorter every time I see you!"the dragon laughs.

With his endless amount of wealth all of you move to a bigger house with a bigger yard. Mammon studies human money and how to acquire it. Mamon bellows in pride when he talks about his riches, and goes on and on about tell excited he is to add more wealth to his collection. And how he could take good care of you, His chosen master.

Since this time living with you, he has been liking you every day more and more, especially how tiny you are. He likes to pick you up and haul you around. Maybe he could even convince you to go flying with him.

Leviathan

A Naga, You're not sure why or how he's here. He just showed up in your garden. Underneath your wooden deck, He looks hurt. You finally have to lure him out with food.

He glares at you, and when you get close, he snarls, telling you to back away and don't touch him. But at the same time, he's the one who comes to you; he gets close, watching you intently. Even as he kisses and threatens to kill you, You try your hardest to tend to his wounds. Finally convincing him to let you touch and take care of him.

Over time, he slowly warms up to you. You notice how he gets possessive over You don't know much about monsters well except for dragons and were tigers. However, you did hear about Naga's being possessive over mates. But that shouldn't be right... How could this monster see you as his mate? He looks like he wants to kill you half the time.

Sometimes he has his whole body wrapped around you, trapping you in this coils, making sure no one else sees you but him. Keeping you like this calms him. Having you so close to him, like this, he feels like you were all his. Your warm human body is addicting to him.

Your other monsters hate him because he's practically claimed your room. Satan and him have brawls for your bed. And, of course, Mammon loves to provoke the Naga.

Beelzebub

Mothman/moth hybrid (hear me out): You heard a knock at your window. You see a handsome man with moth wings and antennae waving to you, giving you a wink, and gesturing at you to open the window. At this point, you are not surprised. Immediately opening the window. The first thing this winged man did was kiss you on the forehead and hug you. Next thing you know, your Levi tackles him to the ground, squeezing the lights out of him. He only stops when you tell him to.

Apparently, they know each other. As your are pissed off, Naga hides in your closet. You asked him how he found this place, And he said confidently, "I smelled you!" Moths find their mates by senses of smell. And he thought you smelled good, so obviously, you are his mate. You are not deterred by the fact that you already have three other monsters lined up for that title.

Beel Only shows up at night, leaving during the day sometimes; he's gone for days at a time. Only to just show up randomly, sometimes with random souvenirs as gifts. He is really good at blending into human society. They're already hybrids walking among the streets, and he does not need to do much.

He will always find you because no matter how bad his memory is he will always remember your scent.

Beel and Mammon, who are eager to learn about humans, Go out together. Beel teaches him all he remembers about humans. Sure, Beel and Mammon are no different parts of human societies, but they get along pretty nicely compared to the other two.

Lucifer

Vampire. He has already lived among the humans for quite some time. How you met him? Well, You haven't been out with people for a while now because of you certain somebody's usually chase them away, whether it be a friend or a date.

This person has already been your friend online and the two of you set up for a little date night. You thought it odd that he didn't order anything else but wine and drinks; however, He was paying for the meal, so you did not think anything of it.

Lucifer had no intentions with you in fact, he found you quite charming. He was not one of those vampires that lure people into their home as their prey; no, He is a doctor. If he needs blood bags, he will get blood bags without harming humans.

You got a little tipsy and he invites you to take you home. Forgetting about your four other things you agree... You're greeted at the door with a dragon with his arms crossed puffing out his chest a snarling yelling cat a hissing snake ready to pounce. And Beelzebub laying on your couch waving at you. Apparently, they know this vampire. Why does this keep happening?

Since you're already friends with his 'acquaintances' He drops the bombshell, which is honestly the most normal thing you've heard all week, that he is a vampire. Well, he is not ready to drink from you just yet (since he sees that as an intimate thing). He does drop by in his back form, which you had fun squealing over, and picking him up and petting him, which he reluctantly allows you to do.