#Obey me cocaine

[radarchives]

#mammon #submission #obey me nightbringer #thanks for submitting <3 #karasu on that sweet sweet crackj cocaine again #why are we calling him noodle boy

[asmo-cosmetics]

solomon, making a pact with asmodeus: haha. i am so clever and conniving. i have convinced this powerful demon into a contract with me in his weakened state. despite his abilities i have all of the power over him and he has none over me.

solomon, much time later, realizing he has been in love with asmodeus for centuries and has softened towards demonkind in general as a result: well, fuck.

#i am once again deeply tired of the “asmodeus needs to be saved solomon's pact was so evil” narrative #have you considered that asmo canonically does not care. and if anything respects him for it #he is a demon you guys. a hot guy being evil to him would be like crack cocaine #obey me! #solodeus #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! solomon

[aylasology]

Rocket Queen

A guitar solo and the finishing touches.

warnings : smut!! Fingering and oral. Using cocaine. Reader gets fucked in a recording studio 😭

notes : jeez this was long. This is a part of my rockstar!Robin x groupie!reader universe btw! Check her out here :) Here's my birthday treat from me to you 🫶

Heels tap on the hardwood floor as you watch her sing. Her hands shoved in the pockets of her flare jeans, blue eyes tinted red as her heart shaped glasses slip on the bridge of her nose. Robin Buckley is a rockstar in the flesh - and she is in her element.

Her tall frame stands by a microphone. Her voice has a rasp in it, a strong low voice that no one could compete with.

"I'm a sexual innuendo in this burned out paradise, if you turn me on to anything you better turn me on tonight."

Her eyes shoot to you. A shit-eating smirk on her face as she kept singing. You could remember how she wrote this song so vividly. On her bed, you sprawled naked underneath the sheets as she lay next to you with a pen and a notebook in hand. Tapping to a melody she hummed quietly. The notebook was on a blank page, scribbles and crossed out words on the other side.

Robin was convinced that this next album was going to be a hit. She was convinced that her vocals, and the band's distinct sound is gonna take them somewhere. She was strong in her belief and you couldn't help but believe it too.

You don't know what it was about her that made her so magnetic. It was something beyond looks, something beyond that voice that made you let her toy you around and use you. Maybe it was the thrill? The thrill of getting caught and getting outed? The thrill of finally getting touched by a woman? You couldn't lay a finger on it.

Their guitarist, Eddie Munson, started playing his riff, fingers fast in its movement as it moved against the fretboard. Stiff in her movement however, Robin's eyes squeezed shut, a serious look on her face as if she was deep in thought. You knew what this look meant, the look that said something was wrong. Something didn't align to whatever artistic sound she had in mind.

"Eddie wait."

Eddie stopped playing. A resounding, rather pissed off "what?" Slipping from his lips. Robin's eyes wandered in thought, eyes wandering to you. She looked you up and down, eyes wandering on the tiny skirt you've decided to wear. A thought comes to mind.

"Uh, just keep playing actually..."

After recording, a pair of hands snake from behind your waist, tugging onto the fabric of your shirt. Robin.

"Hey sweetheart..." She cooed, peppering kisses on the skin of your neck. "I can just eat you up.." she murmured in between the kisses. Robin always seemed so drunk in love when it came to you. You were never sure if it was love, but you were sure of one thing : you aroused her.

"Robin..." you chuckled as she had turned you to face her, pulling you in the recording booth. Everyone had dispersed out of the studio by now, the room suddenly so chilly and quiet.

"Shh, sweetheart..." She cooed. "Need something from you really quickly..." She murmured, pressing your back against a beat up leather couch, pushing a microphone next to you. "Gonna need a quick little fix 'fore I ask for a favor m'kay?"

A little nod was all it took for her to lay you down completely, pulling out a small plastic bag with white powder in it - cocaine. She lifts your shirt up, a small but demanding "bite" grunts out of her lips. Quick to obey, you bit the fabric of the shirt to keep it up.

She adjusts herself, straddling your hips as she sat on you, eyes hungry as she took in the sight of your body. The curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, your already erect nipples. Of course you didn't wear a bra.

She rips the plastic to form a little hole, cocaine on your belly and all the way up the middle of your breasts. You could hear her groan, the sight of you enough for her to completely ravish you.

"So pretty this way...just a pretty little thing for me to use..."

She bends down, pressing a kiss on your skin before sniffing down the powder. A hand on the curve of your hips, words slipping out of her mouth every time she'd sit up to just look at you.

"Such a perfect little slut....you gonna let me abuse you, honey?"

"Such a good girl for me...god, you're perfect."

And as a small trail is left in between the perfect globes of your breasts, her tongue prods out of her mouth, licking the skin and the cocaine off of it. Her eyes stare up at you, needy eyes that could tell everything she wanted to do to you.

"Robin..." You could only whimper, mouth waiting and cunt soaked in anticipation. The heat inside your skirt boiling.

She leans closer to your face. "I know, princess, I know..." She cooed, before pressing her tongue onto yours. The taste of cocaine landed on your tongue, a hand kneading one of your breasts and the other cupped onto your face.

Her kisses seemed eager, and they felt as though they were waiting for a reaction. And when she gains that soft moan from you, she pulls away, a string of saliva connecting each other's tongue.

"Gonna need more from you, sweetheart..." She groaned. She pulls away from your body, ordering you to sit up. She pulls your skirt down, a smirk on her lips as she feels your panties soaked.

"All this for me?" She teased, fingers tracing circles on the wet patch, your legs shaking in anticipation.

"Robin..." You cried, an awkward blush on your plump cheeks.

"Oh so you're blushing now too? Fuck sweetheart, you're just so cute..."

"Robin!" You groaned, absolutely having enough of the teasing. A chuckle erupts from her lips as she pulled the panties off. Her hands gripped onto your ankles, holding your legs up as her finger pushes in deep, slow strokes. A moan slipping from your lips.

"There she is..." She hummed, a chuckle slips from her lips as she watched your face contort in pleasure. She adds another finger, her pace moving quicker as she spreads your legs wider. "Gonna need you real loud for me sweetheart..."

Without waiting for a response, she pushes your legs further, you moan softly in pain, but she's fucking you too good for you to want it to stop. "Feel good sweetheart?"

"Fuck..." You cry out. "Yes..fuck...yes..." You moaned as you lay your head against the arm rest of the couch. A plethora of moans and cries falling from your lips as she spread your folds open.

And as a familiar, twisting knot forms in your stomach, her fingers pull away. A soft, but reassuring "We're not done yet..." hums from her lips.

She adjusted herself, keeping your legs spread open as she kissed your thighs and stomach. And before you could complain on how much of a tease she was, she dipped lower. Licking your sensitive clit before moving inside your folds immediately.

You moaned against the sensation. Robin's tongue was warm and eager and sloppy and it was perfect against you. It found and abused nerve endings, unbridled pleasure taking over your being.

Your fingers grasp onto her hair, hips bucking against her mouth as your slick and her spit seemed to drip on her chin and onto the couch. Your moans came out in hurried grunts. Your thighs squeeze her face, as suffocating as it was she didn't care - she felt as though she could happily die like this, head in between your thighs and a mouth lapping up pussy. Your pussy. Your moans continued to sound desperate, a slight crack in them and a rasp that only Robin could recognize. Robin was the only person who touched you like this.

The knot in your stomach comes undone, sticky fluids of your release all over her lips and cheek. She pulled away, letting you watch her swallow it all down. She leans close to your face, kissing your cheek. "You did so good, sweetheart..."

Before you could say anything, your body is instantly hit with exhaustion. Pretty eyes of yours fluttering shut as you lay there with a pillow on your head and another on your hand. A chuckle slips from Robin's lips.

"I'll let you rest, m'kay? I'll be here when you wake up."

And she was there in the studio once you woke up, tampering with the audio of their recording session from earlier. You could hear her play it, legs wobbly as you stood up and walked over to her.

You could hear the guitar solo in full blast, though another sound seemed to be playing alongside it. The sound of what could be considered as lips smacking together in a kiss, which then lead to needy and desperate moans. The moans held a crack in them, a rasp that bubbled from the throat. Desperate and loud, and...wait...

"Robin, was that...?"

"Yes sweetheart, that was you." She replied with a cocky smile, lifting your hand up to her lips. "You always told me how much you wanted to be a muse..." She muttered before kissing the skin.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley stranger things #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley fanfiction #robin buckley x reader fanfiction #stranger things #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley smut #aylasology #Spotify

[lyrichi]

I know that this account was suppose to turn into a shitpost headcannon account but y'all I fucking love chemistry so much I can't even

Like sometimes I wish that there were fics of MC in obey me verse just doing chemistry with Solomon

For one I'm down bad

And for 2 I LOVE CHEMISTRY 🥺

Like my fucking chem final is in a few hours and we get to make one paper of a cheet sheet

so I fucking crammed last night and did all of the imporntatnt chapter shit from my notes and the textbook

Back to om for a sec tho I'd totally write a fic abt MC just loving chem as much as I do but like idk the chem in devildom is dif for some reason so they have to relearn shit but also teach people human chem

Like bro I love chem sm 😭😭

I already have some ideas about what could be dif between the two realms;

The periodic table could be different because of exposure to different substances and elements, which in turn makes the organisation different

Like the transition metals are larger, the man-made elements don't exist, the F block is way smaller/larger because of the exposure to different substances,

Exposure to elements are higher - for example, exposure and access to elements like Argon and ones w higher atomic masses and such are easier to find and use in experiments

The safety protocols are WAY dif, like in chem classes they don't even have the fuckin lab safety thing doesn't exist (because they're fucking demons) so things are a lot more reckless

Labs tend to be -- bigger? Like more combustion and danger involved, rather than labs that'd be seen in high school chem classes (mixing Calcium Chloride and Magnesium Sulfate for example)

Yeah man idfk I just love chem

---

Ooh here are some little snippets 😍

Solomon and MC get paired together in a chem class with not very many instructions, only being told to make an explosion with the least amount of substances. So what do they do? Pour Lithium into water

At some point after MC decides to really live-in their room in the HoL (cause like really they're sleeping in the fucking hotel guest room) they receive some chemistry equipment from Solomon. One night they don't come down for dinner and one of the bros (you choose who) comes to see what's up and they just find MC hunched over their desk trying to organise substances without cross contaminating anything, which is very hard when most things come looking like cocaine

Alternatively, it's the middle of the day and they're doing some experiment involving having to force copper to oxidize, and somehow they make the air in their room extremely explosive (think that one scene in The Martian book) After realising this, they leave their room and sit outside their door while trying to air out their room. (Fan on high, windows open all the way, door open, etc) They get questioned, yadda yadda yadda, they get banned from doing experiments in the house

Fun one; they make elephant toothpaste for Luke after he asked about what they do

Super fun one; they pull a Nile Red and do some crazy shit like make paint thinner into soda and have one (or more) of the characters drink it and half way through them drinking it MC just goes "it's actually paint thinner"

MC correcting the shit out of a teacher in RAD and somehow ending up teaching the class. Then there's a video found online of MC teaching the class and they become the resident chemistry nerd and get paid to do other people's work (before Lucy shuts it down 🙄)

Yeah uh

I don't know man I wrote like half of this at like 7 in the morning before my chem final and my brain is still on chem

I'm on break now so I can do whatever I want now but yk

---

Oh yeah here are some clarification things for those who have no clue abt terminology 😭

Transition metals are the columns in the periodic table between column 2 and 13, it's the metals like silver, gold, copper, tungsten, etc

The F block is the elements shoved underneath the rest of the table that realistically start in column 2

More for curious people; mixing CaCl2 and MgS gives you a precipitate (solid) and liquid - more specifically MgCl2 and CaS (this is without balancing them)

Lithium explodes in water - don't listen to google when it says to wash it off your hands with water

Oxidizing copper will basically change its color and make it rust

You make elephant toothpaste by mixing dry yeast, warm water, dish soap, and 3% hydrogen peroxide

wooo ok

Yeah that's it idk I love chemistry it's so fun

<3333

aight

If anyone's interested in my chem cram sheet lmkkk <33333

drink your dihydrogen monoxide <3

Edit;

Here's my cram sheets for those who want it

#dude I love chemistry #chemistry #rant post #kind of #anyway #obey me crack #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me luke #obey me shitpost

[sinisterexaggerator]

I am not sure why I never posted this to tumblr.

Michael De Santa x Trevor Philips.

Summary: It is nearing the anniversary of Michael's "death" though he never died. Trevor is drunk, lonely, reminiscing on his life, on his lost time ... and on his unrequited love. He goes to Michael to beg forgiveness for his many sins, though his apology turns into something more ... tangible.

Warnings: Trikey. NSFW / 18+ Blowjobs. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Drunkenness. Lust. Unrequited Love. Pining. Kissing.

Word count: 2,770

----------

It should have been me.

The Unicorn was lackluster; Trevor was on his twelfth beer of the evening; the bartender couldn’t cut him off, it was his establishment. He felt especially low this time of year. It was close to his best friend’s deathiversary, though not really. Michael hadn’t died, he was still alive, and it unnerved Trevor to no end.

A whole decade had come and gone; came and went, and T was worse for wear because of it. He had succumbed to drugs and alcohol, to smoking cigarettes and meth. He’d pop pills, deep dive into his subconscious on peyote, snort cocaine and pharmaceuticals, even heroine. Acid, mushrooms, Adderall, MDMA; ecstasy, but nothing filled the gaping hole - his soul was empty, and his heart had broken into tiny pieces long ago.

He was purposely reckless, feckless when it came to Michael; he was his weakness, though he tried to hide it behind an open, festering sore that resided deep in his center - behind snark and sass, snide remarks that were meant to injure, words full of acidity and retribution, yet they never quite expressed what he was truly feeling. It was nearly too much to bear – especially on days like today, nights like this, his resentment melting into feelings of inadequacy and total, all-consuming self-hatred of himself.

He threw the bottle in his hand against the wall, scaring the poor woman who worked behind the bar; he tossed her a fifty-dollar bill and left; he wasn’t so cheap he wouldn’t tip, even if she was employed by him.

He searched out his keys in his tight-assed hipster jeans, stumbling through the front door and past his bouncer. The man side-eyed him, cleared his throat, meaning to ask him if he meant to drive like that, but Trevor’s wrath was second nature, incomparable to many; if he died, so be it. It was no skin off his back.

T started the Bodhi within two turns of the ignition, cursing out “Start you piece of shit!” and the truck obeyed as if afraid to incur his hatred; if inanimate objects could talk, the Canis would have many a story to tell a listening ear.

It purred to life and Trevor sat there, breathing deeply, trying to regain some sort of focus or equilibrium. It wasn’t working. He felt … sad. Depressed. Venomous. All those missed years, those long days and even longer nights. He had cried, and cried, and cried … and that’s what he felt like doing now.

Trevor burst into tears, then he floored the gas. Swerving, speeding through redlights, green ones, skirting pedestrians, and even a few cops. They couldn’t keep up with him. He was drunk, but an expert driver; he had to be to make quick getaways. He led them through the streets of Strawberry until he made the trek to Rockford Hills; Michael’s lair, his secret hideaway, going by the name De Santa even though he didn’t have anyone to hide from anymore.

The driveway was empty, save Michael’s car; he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think his wife and kids were home. Maybe he was watching movies, eating popcorn, reciting cheesy lines written by his hero, Solomon. Whatever he was doing, he was about to get interrupted, as Trevor had a few things to get off his chest, and now was as good a time as any.

He parked around a corner, out of sight, just in case. One could never be too careful. He was coherent enough to take precautions, though only for Michael's sake.

He stumbled out of the Canis, lumbering forward, nearly falling, sobbing silently, trying to calm himself as he approached the wrought iron gate. It parted for him as if by magic; he didn’t wait, he slipped right in through the smallest crack as soon as it had opened wide enough; Trevor’s boots dragging as he tried to rub his eyes, the pain away, but he knew it was here to stay; the alcohol only made it worse.

He softly knocked at first, not knowing what he was doing, just knowing he had to talk to M; to him, the man he had fallen in love with at first sight all those years ago on a little runway somewhere up north; they’d shared a moment, or at least he thought they had.

His knocking become a fervid, ardent banging, though he didn’t mean to come off as desperate. His emotions were tied up within the sound, but suddenly his fist met air, nearly met with Michael’s chest, and he gasped as he was brought face-to-face with him.

He couldn’t help it - he was handsome, so ruggedly good-looking in his middle-age, charming, witty, and Trevor wished that he were his.

T fell upon his knees, clasping; grasping Michael’s waist and doing what he did best; beg for forgiveness – soak him in his tears. He sobbed without reservation, dirty, broken nails digging into Michael’s khaki shorts. He must have been relaxing, as he was dressed casual enough, though now he was all worked up.

“What the hell, T?!” He tried to move away, pull himself from Trevor’s steadfast grasp, put he was too powerful, his sadness giving him more strength somehow; tenfold what it sometimes was; Michael would know this from experience.

The man wouldn’t stop his heartfelt display, and Michael was worried the neighbors might hear him, jostling his legs beneath T’s iron grip, though he wasn’t going anywhere.

Trevor just kept on crying, the salty remnants leaking down his scarred and battered face, coating Michael’s clothes as he tried to pry his fingers loose.

“Trevor!!!” he finally yelled, loud enough for T’s breath to hitch inside his throat, glancing up at him with two sorrowful, reproachful eyes as the man asked him in his harshest, heavy-handed tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Trevor nearly choked, his words catching, his voice at a loss at first, but Michael deserved an answer, even in his drunken stupor, and he said the first thing that came to mind; the truth. It was too easy. “I don’t care that you tried to kill me, M. I love you; I always have. I just wish you loved me, too.”

“W-what?” Michael became quickly flustered, caught off guard, a small hint of a blush tingeing his cheeks red. Of all the things he had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them; far from it.

“It should have been me, not Brad. I should be dead. I wish it was me instead.” Trevor had shoved his forehead into the waistband of Michael’s shorts, his breathing hard and heavy as he began to sink down further onto the ground, lost in the tempest that was his irksome thoughts. In doing so, Trevor’s cheek lightly brushed against the soft mound of Michael’s cock beneath his clothes; it was unintentional, but it stirred within him something else; he felt desirous, even though he felt like dying.

“Trevor…” Michael paused, thinking hard, feeling guilty, and nearly jumping at the unexpected touch, the perception of his face raking against him. He thought it had been an accident, pushing it from his mind, a deep remorse overtaking him as he looked down at the top of Trevor’s balding head.

“… Don’t say that.” He let his instincts take over for a moment; T was sad. Most people would want to be comforted. He placed a hand softly atop his crown, just to rest there. That was all it took.

“I’m so… I’m fucking awful! I’m rotten. I’m a terrible person. I don’t deserve to live … Mikey … I’m so sorry. For everything.” Any attention that Michael gave him was lapped up like water by a thirsty dog; he leaned into his hand, his groin, and pressed his teeth against him. He latched onto the flaccid outline that lay in wait, sinking in his canines, his incisors, gently, awakening something there, as the silhouette began to ripen and get hard - just slightly.

“Mm-Mikey … Is … Amanda home?” he mumbled out, halfway to a moan.

The question threw him through a loop, but not as much as Trevor’s mouth, he was shocked he hadn’t waited for his answer; his fly was down.

Trevor nuzzled his nose against Michael’s blue and white striped boxers, continuing his impromptu mission, the whole of his mouth encircling his limp phallus through the thin, cotton fabric, as the beige flaps of his cargo shorts were pushed to either side.

The button remained intact as he groaned against him, Michael now partially hard, if not more than that, and Trevor was himself - those jeans of his not leaving anything to the imagination if Michael had been looking.

“Just… how drunk are you?!” What could he be thinking?! What was going on inside his head?! He thought to push him off; his fingers reaching out to grasp his shoulder blades. His nails dug in as he only half-heartedly tried to remove the man from his pursuit. “Trevor … we’re … outside for Christ’s sake… Someone’s going to see us!” He was most definitely concerned - for his reputation, the neighbors. He didn’t want to be talked about.

Trevor’s eyes rose to meet his and he suddenly released him. Michael backed away into the open doorway, nearly stumbling into his own foyer, as he caught the look of ardor held within his “best friend’s” gaze. It somewhat scared him.

Michael outstretched one wavering hand as if to ward off Trevor’s ardency, his fervent lustfulness; the drugs, the alcohol having sent him to a place of no return where his mind was overcome with passion, a zealous appetite for Michael, one that he felt he couldn’t stop nor was he sure he wanted to. “T … W-what are you doing…”

The man crawled forward on all fours, never having gotten up from his pliant position, offering himself in supplication; wanting to make up for all the years of abuse and mistreatment he had endured at Trevor’s brashness, his loudmouth, his forceful will, wanting to rob and kill despite M wanting to be a family man. He regretted pushing him far enough that he thought he had no way out, thinking perhaps a physical act of appreciation would be more than enough to show him he meant business; he had always loved him - he had said it.

His fingers clawed for purchase against the mixed red brick of Michael’s mansion, dragging his body forward, one knee after the other, his eyes wild, a burning fire dancing in their depths. His tongue dragged across his lips and Michael fell, his back pushed up against the stairwell. He meant to speak, but he was speechless, Trevor’s mouth being the one to exude words instead of his. “Now we’re inside Mikey… no more excuses.”

Trevor’s dirtied hands were at the button of his shorts; he released the clasp and pushed them down his thickset thighs. Michael was aroused, afraid, unsure of everything. He hadn’t been intimate with Trevor since their North Yankton days. If Amanda saw, if Tracey or Jimmy came home … he thought his life flashed before his eyes as his now hard, aching cock entered Trevor’s maw.

“Oh, fuck, T…” was all he could think to say. His eyes rolled back, and then his neck. He was starting to remember. Amanda could never service him like this. She had tried, he had to give her credit, but his wife had never been as good as Trevor at giving head.

Trevor’s writhing muscle licked and slathered Michael’s rigid member, his hand moving to join his efforts as it wound around him. He pumped his cock like it was his own, shoving it as far back as he could stand it, the tip tickling his tonsils, a rough growl issuing forth from out of his larynx. It vibrated against Michael’s swollen flesh, and he thought he might cum any second now. He sucked in a deep breath and muttered out a light command. “Slow. Down.”

Trevor nearly cried again out of sheer joy and neediness; the fact he was allowing him to do this. There was nothing quite like the taste of M’s dick inside his mouth; he had a distinct flavor; one he had sorely missed.

He obliged, steadying his stride. He dug a hand in underneath his quarry and cupped his testicles. He weighed them in his hand like precious diamonds, carefully massaging the sac that held his sperm; the prize he pined for.

His suction became long strokes; his cheeks were hollowing out. There was such power within his jaws that Michael began to thrust. His hips had joined him in a patient dance. The one where Michael’s penis pumped inside his eager throat.

Michael couldn’t help himself; he grasped at his little bit of hair. His fingers snaked through the short, brown locks, clawing, carding, shaking as he felt a familiar tug that started in his bowels and rose up his engorged, blood-filled erection.

“How the fuck are you so… so…” He was going to say “good at this,” but couldn’t manage to get the words out. Instead, his brain recalibrated, trying to straighten himself out – but Trevor was just too persuasive, though he chided and berated him. “You’re such a…a dick…”

Trevor was getting sloppy now, his spit dribbling down his lower lip, sliding down his chin. He hadn’t come up for air, he wouldn’t want to lose his chance. If he even so much as took one millisecond to readjust, Michael might slip away, come to his senses, make him get off of him, when T was the one who wanted to get him off; he would do so before the end of it.

Up and down, back and forth, a perfect rhythm in balance with his jerking hips. Michael succumbed to a sound; it had escaped him; one of being pleased too well, nearly beyond anything he had ever felt from a call girl, a prostitute, his wife, Amanda.

Amanda …

The headlights of a car nearly eluded him, shining through the adjacent windows; Michael almost panicked, but in that moment, he came inside T's mouth. His cum rushed out of him in a torrent, collecting behind Trevor’s parted lips. He watched as the muscles in his throat undulated, guzzling his seed with every flex of Michael’s pulsing cock. He swallowed every bit, excited for it; enthusiastic. He made a loving croon of sorts before Michael scrambled backwards and pulled himself from out of his greedy gullet.

“Trevor!! A-Amanda’s… “

The garage door opened; Trevor heard it. He had been gazing into Michael’s steely blue eyes; they were hypnotizing, but then he faltered - he wouldn’t do that to the man. He had to leave, and fast. But first, a kiss.

He wiped his mouth off with the back of one tattooed hand, gruffly sweeping away the remnants of his meal. He leaned forward, snuck to the highest step that Michael had been propped up against, and planted a long, slow sensation across his lips.

He prodded with his tongue, and he was surprised when Michael allowed it. He let him taste him; it was a tease. He heard the rattling of keys.

Trevor stood and turned, running for the door that was still wide open. He wasn’t thinking, and he had slammed it closed. It made a sound loud enough for his wife to hear, as she came in carrying bags of takeout, staring at her husband who was standing unexpectedly right in front of her, sweaty, perspiring, suspiciously out of breath. And he smelled …

“What the fuck, Michael?!?! Did you have a WHORE in our house??!”

“What?! No! I …"

Amanda threw down what she was carrying and stormed in her leather thigh-high boots to the front of their garish mansion. She threw the door open, and Michael prayed to God in heaven; he was Irish Catholic, after all.

She saw something. He hadn’t waited for the automatic gate. Trevor’s boot disappeared beyond the garden wall and out onto the street.

She sighed, held her breath, took a moment to herself. It was better than a woman, and she knew this much about them. It had never been a secret, and she might never live it down. They had always snuck around.

Amanda faced her husband in the foyer, and he had used a hand to slick his hair back. He looked around nervously and she didn’t say a word. She calmly left the room, and Michael could only expel a haggard breath. His heart was racing, but he was unsure of as to why; was he afraid of his own wife, or how much he had liked it?

#Trikey #Trevor Philips x Michael De Santa #Trevor Philips #Michael De Santa #GTAV #GTA V #Grand Theft Auto V #Amanda De Santa #Angst #Unrequited Love

[bees--in-my--bones]

Silver Linings - Terry Silver Part 1 of 7

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

----- / Chapter 2

Character: Terry Silver x female reader

Summary: Terry has been spending far too much time away from home, and you've had enough of the dojo taking up all his time.

Warnings: fighting, manipulation, mention of cocaine, mention of violence, fade to black scene, but really nothing too crazy (surprisingly)

Word Count: 3400

A/N: This man makes me so insane. This was meant to be a one shot that went a little differently but I ended up outling a seven part series. oops. keep an eye out for those. anywho I've been reading a lot of @terrence-silver 's stuff and I just wanna tell you right now that's where the good Terry Silver writing is. I literally wrote that sentence then got distracted for 20 minutes looking at their blog. but anyway they characterize him far better than i ever could but here's my shot at it

While you didn’t appreciate being treated as an assistant, your husband had that glint in his eye that you knew all too well.  He was planning something, and whether it be trying to get a leg up on a rival businessman or purely just to spite someone, you knew better than to get in his way.  Best to let him have his fun, and it would all blow over in a few weeks at the most.

-----

Terry had come to you only a few days ago with a request:  Clear out the house and have the staff get to work.  You were hosting a charity auction.

So had you sent Dorothy, your personal assistant, off to make arrangements with the head of household staff, and kept your mouth shut.  Terry had been on edge more often lately since getting back into Cobra Kai, so you were positive that a more passive approach to his sudden burst of charity was far better suited to the situation.  In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing had something to do with his dojo.  Most things did nowadays.

Unfortunately, you were right.  

You hid your surprise and annoyance when Daniel LaRusso himself showed up on your doorstep, silently observing the fear on his face from your spot on your husband’s arm, as the karate champion turned car salesman turned sensei realized exactly whose home Eva Garcia had thrown her charity event at.

Again, you kept a stony facade when Terry outbid everyone for Daniel’s bonsai trees, then took the opportunity to spin another spiel about Cobra Kai’s expansion.

And no one would have guessed that you had even registered Daniel LaRusso’s outburst, the one that caused Terry to fall into the bonsai trees and send them flying, more than likely egged on by your husband himself, had you not leaned over to Dorothy with a murmured instruction.

“Have someone clean those up.  I want them in my office.  And place an order for a book on the care and keeping of bonsai trees.”

Weaving through the crowd, you made your way to Terry, who now had a considerable amount of dirt on his jacket, but was standing.  Eva Garcia was fawning over him, trying to ensure that he hadn’t broken anything.  You nearly laughed at the thought of your husband being “frail” in his old age, but that seemed to be the front he had decided to put on.  

Silently, you took his hand and led him away from the party.  You took him to your room, where you slipped his now dirt-covered jacket off of him and made him sit on the edge of the bed.  He obeyed every prompt from you without a sound, eyes watching intently as you moved across the room and into the closet, emerging shortly after with a different coat.

You set it on the edge of the bed, then grabbed a brush from the nightstand.  You slipped the ponytail off of his frazzled hair, which was met with some protest, but you batted his hand away, and he was silent after that.

Gently, you combed out the tangles and the frizz, and you felt him relax under your touch.  You did this daily, and you couldn’t deny that the trust he put in you to take care of him filled you with pride, even if it was as simple as brushing his hair.  “Do you want your hair back up?” you asked him, the first thing you had spoken this entire time.   

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, and although you missed the days that he more often let his long hair flow more freely, the way it gently curtained his face when he looked down at you, you obliged, expertly smoothing his locks back into his signature ponytail.  Not that you cared all that much anyway.  You had fallen in love with him with the ponytail, and you genuinely didn’t think he could do anything that would make him less attractive.

“I’ll be outside,” you told him, intending to leave him to put on the suit jacket himself, and effectively avoid rejoining the party at his side.  But when you began to walk away, you had barely even made it a few steps before he grabbed your wrist and stood up in one smooth motion, pulling you into him.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.  “What’s bothering you?”

So he could tell you were upset.  You weren’t surprised.  After all, you hadn’t tried too hard to hide it.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” you replied.  You smiled your best fake smile and took his hand in yours.  

He seemed skeptical, but did not argue.  You turned to face the mirror, and he turned with you.  The both of you were dressed in a matching deep blue, an undeniable team.

"Thank you for making the arrangements for today," he said in a gentle voice you had only ever heard him use with you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.  "It's going exactly as well as I hoped it would have."

You felt a twinge in your stomach at that statement, which was practically a confirmation that the whole point of today had been to interfere with Daniel and Amanda LaRusso.  But you didn't dare let your smile drop as you stretched up to his face to plant a kiss on his cheek.  "Anything for you.  But we better get back."

He looked away from the mirror, and his eyes softened as they found you once more.  "Right as always, my love."  He took the lead, and the two of you returned to the party as one.

It wasn't long before you were separated again, though, called in different directions.

You played the part of the passive bystander well, you knew that.  But you were an observer, and at that point, you were positive you knew exactly what was happening.  And with your husband’s observation skills being as keen as your own, you knew you had a matter of minutes to enact the plan slowly forming in your mind.  Grabbing two flutes of champagne off of a passing tray, you made your way over to Eva Garcia.

The glass of champagne outstretched, you gave her your most dazzling smile.  “How are you liking the accommodations Ms. Garcia?”

She accepted the drink, her friendly smile matching your own.  “Thank you, Mrs. Silver.  Your home is wonderful, and we're so grateful you and your husband were able to put this on with such short notice.”

“Of course!” you said, briefly touching one of your hands to hers.  “We were positively honored to do so.  But between you and me, I did far more of the work than Terry did,” you said with a wink.

She laughed.  It was a lie.  You had given one instruction and Dorothy and the rest of the staff had taken care of it.  But that’s not a story that added very much to your little game, and creating some sort of friendly solidarity with Garcia was your main goal.

“You both have been very generous hosts,” Eva responded politely.

“A little too generous if you ask me,” you replied.  This was the most pivotal part of the conversation.  Screw it up here and it all went out the door.  You raised your glass to your lips, eyes darting quickly around the room.  Terry hadn’t spotted you yet.  Good.

“Whatever do you mean?” Eva asked, her brow furrowing.

You sighed.  “In all honesty, I think my husband only wants a spot on the board.  I mean, the hosting on such short notice, the overbidding at the auction, the bit of theatrics he pulled with Daniel LaRusso…  They’ve been rivals for some time now, of course.”  You swirled the champagne around in your glass.  “Probably just wants a tax writeoff.”  You shrugged and took another, conspicuously large drink of the alcohol.  Eva blanched, and you knew you had her.  The host’s wife, slightly tipsy, slightly bitter, and loose of lip.  Like always, you played your part well.

“Mrs. Silver, if I understand you correctly,” Eva began hesitantly, but allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, “you believe Mr. Silver would not be suited to be on our charity’s board?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good wife if I said it quite that frankly…”

She nodded, but her voice was still unsure when she spoke again.  “I suppose I’ll have to take what you said into mind, but I can’t overlook the generous contributions Mr. Silver has already made to our group.  With him on the board-”

“Two million dollars, right now, if you cut all contact with my husband and his corporations.  I don't care who the position goes to.”

In all honesty you would choose Amanda LaRusso, out of spite, but you didn't want to sully her name with your bribery.

Eva’s eyes widened.  “Mrs. Silver!  What kind of game are you playing?”

You looked her dead in the eye.  “My husband is playing ringmaster right now, and everyone at this party is a clown in his circus.  I simply want to throw my own hat into the ring.  I don’t know what his plan is, or why he’s doing it exactly, but I have been married to that man long enough to know when he’s manipulating someone, and he’s manipulating the hell out of you right now.  I’m offering you a chance to get away from his scheming, with an extra two million dollars to boot.”

She set her mouth in a firm line.  You could tell she was a woman of high morality, but two million dollars was two million dollars.  “I would have to consider it.”

“That’s all I ask,” you replied.  You took a business card out of the pocket of your dress.  “My assistant’s number is on here.  Call her when you've come to a decision.”

“Mrs. Silver I-”

“My darling!”  A deep voice interrupted her, and a moment later you felt a kiss on your cheek.  Turning, you met Terry’s eyes and your face broke into a grin.  Despite your suspicions and scheming, you did love the man.  You wouldn’t have married him otherwise.

“My love,” you responded, and placed a kiss on his cheek in a similar fashion.  Your gazes did not leave each other for a tense moment.  To an outside observer, it was impossible to tell whether you were sizing each other up or simply swept away in a moment of romantic passion.  You didn’t quite know yourself.

“My apologies for the public display of affection Ms. Garcia,” Terry said, snapping his attention toward your guest and away from your eyes, but not without snaking an arm around your waist. “I got a bit excited at the sight of my wife.  I feel as though I've hardly seen her today.”

Or at all lately, you thought.  Not with all your Cobra Kai bullshit.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Silver,” she replied.  She seemed, for the most part, casual, but you could hear a hint of tightness in her voice.  “You two make a lovely couple.”

Terry grinned at this, and you smiled politely.  “Thank you very much, Ms. Garcia.  Y/N is nothing short of the light of my life.”  A small squeeze of your waist as he said this.  Threatening or affectionate?  Who could tell?

“I trust you’ve been enjoying the party?” Terry continued.  “We worked hard to put it all together, but I do think we pulled it all off well.”

Eva glanced at you.  “Yes, the whole organization is very appreciative.”

“Truly, it was our pleasure,” your husband responded.  “Now, I do apologize for this, but do you mind if I steal my beautiful wife away?  Some friends were asking for her.”

“Of course,” Eva replied, some of the tension dropping from her shoulders.  “Thank you both again.”

With a nod Terry guided you away from her.  “What did you talk about with Eva?” he asked.  His tone was light, and with anyone else in the world, it may have sounded like casual conversation, but you knew Terry Silver better than you knew anyone, and you knew that he was suspicious.

“I was chatting you up,” you replied.  “You wouldn’t have put this event on without some sort of goal in mind, so I figured I could put in a good world for you.  Talk about the work we’ve done together.”

“You don’t believe that I did all this out of the goodness of my heart?”

You laughed.  “That would be the day, Terry.”

“Hm,” was all he said after that, a faint smile on his face.  Unfortunately, Terry Silver also knew you better than he knew anyone, and there was a very good chance that he knew you were lying.  But he said no more on the subject, although you noticed he had plenty of excuses the rest of the day to be sure that you stayed by his side. 

—--

You hadn’t had the chance to talk to Eva again, Terry, however subtly, had made sure of that, but you were fairly certain you didn’t need to.  You had seen the look in her eyes when Terry approached you, and you knew that giving her the impression of a sleazy businessman with a wife who offered bribes would be plenty to keep Terry away from that organization.  Whether she actually took the bribe or not was inconsequential to you, so long as she got the idea that getting involved with Terry Silver would be getting involved with a lot shadier practices than she first thought.

You sat on the couch in your living room, sipping on some tea before bed.  It was a serene ending to a hectic day.  Your serenity was soon disrupted, however, by Dorothy, who entered the room, clipboard in hand.

“Is everything alright, Dorothy?” you asked.  “It’s awfully late.”

“Mrs. Silver, you’ve just received a call from Eva Garcia.  She says that she’s decided to accept your offer.”

“Hm.” you said, slightly surprised that she did accept after all.  “Dorothy, first thing tomorrow morning I need you to set up a transfer of two million dollars to Ms. Garcia’s charity accounts.” 

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, scribbling down the note on her clipboard.  “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dorothy.”

She made a quick exit, and you set your tea on the coffee table, laying back down on the couch, shutting your eyes with a contented sigh.  It did feel good to win, even if it was against your husband.

Footsteps entered the room.  “Dorothy?” you asked, not looking up.  “Is there something else?”

“Not Dorothy,” a deep voice reverberated in the otherwise quiet room, causing your eyes to snap open as you quickly rose once more to a sitting position.

“Terry!  It’s past one a.m.!  Where did you go?”

He smiled his ever-placating smile.  “It was just a small late night session with a few of my senseis.  I needed to prepare them with some new techniques for tomorrow’s classes.”

Your brow furrowed and you turned from him, now sitting facing straight ahead.  “Yes, the dojo.  Why bother asking when that’s always the answer?”

He sat down beside you, and ever so gently took your chin into his hand, guiding your face back to look him in the eyes once more.  You saw only love in them.  His hand didn’t leave your face, and he stroked your cheekbone tenderly as he spoke.

“I’m afraid that’s true, my love, which is why I’m glad you’ve waited up for me.  We see so little of each other these days.  I have a vision for these children, for the dojo, for our very methods of karate, a vision that has regrettably taken my time away from you.”  

Slowly, almost mournfully, he drew you in closer, placing a sweet kiss upon your lips.  Even all these years later, you still felt the same butterflies, the same rush of heat to your face as you did the very first time he kissed you.  Which is probably why you didn’t register the slow subtle movement of his hand down the side of your face, didn’t notice as his fingers wrapped around your throat.

His grip was as gentle as could be, his hand merely resting there, as he broke the kiss, but the threat was clear.  His eyes, tender only moments before, were now cold as ice.  

“You forget how long I’ve known you, my love.  I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You placed your hand onto his, deftly moving it so that your fingers interlocked.  You had neutralized his “threat” but the message was still there.  “What do you mean?” you asked.  Better to deny until you couldn’t deny anymore.

“Eva Garcia.  You paid her off.”

You took some silent offense to his accusation, however true it may be.  “What makes you say that?”

“I had my suspicions this afternoon, but Dorothy is quite loud.  Loud enough to confirm those suspicions at least.  I could hear your discussion from the entryway.”

“Damn,” you whispered, averting your eyes.

He pulled you in close, the gesture forgiving, even if he was upset.  “Why did you do it, beloved?”

Because none of that matters, you wanted to say.  None of the scheming and manipulation mattered if it meant that Terry cared more about the dojo than you.  What mattered was that you were in his arms, he was so close to you, and he was looking at you, really looking at you, in a way that he hadn’t in months.  All it took was one “My love,” one hint of the old Terry to send your defenses crumbling.

You buried your head in his chest and his arms wrapped tighter around you to hold you closer.  “I just miss you.  And I hate Cobra Kai.”

“You what?” came his reply, his tone dangerously low, not at all the comforting sound you would have hoped for.

“I hate that damn dojo and Danny LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence and John Kreese and all of it, because it’s taking you away from me and I don’t know what’s happening to you.”  You looked up at him, placing a hand on his cheek.  “What happened to the sweet Terry that played piano in the mornings and saved the scheming and manipulation for business deals instead of wasting all that energy on a bunch of children?”

His face shifted into what you could only call a sneer.  “That Terry was a facade.  He let the world tell him who he had to be.  I’m finally me again, darling.”  A bitter laugh.  "I was about to start a mindfulness app with some millennial internet personality for God's sake." 

“And I forgive you for that!”

He gripped your shoulders tightly.  “I’m alive in a way I haven’t been since Cobra Kai in the 80s.”

“You told me you were on cocaine back then!” you exclaimed.  You looked into his pupils trying to see if they were dilated.  Not being able to discern anything, you rushed pushed yourself off of the couch and rushed to your bedroom.  Terry only sighed and followed after you.  You dashed to his nightstand and began rifling through its drawer.  “Please tell me you aren’t on something, Terry.”

He took your hands into his own and shut the drawer, effectively calming the frantic state of your body, but not of your mind.  “I’m not on anything.”

“Are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

“You’re the one person in this world that I could never lie to.”

“Then promise me something, right now.”

“Anything, my love.”

“Just… be here.  Even when you're here, it’s like you’re not here.  Do your karate crap, destroy your enemies, truly, I don’t care, but I can’t keep going like this.  I need you.”

You saw the beginnings of a smile on the edge of his lips when you said that, and you knew that you had said the right thing.  If there’s one thing your husband enjoyed, it was the idea that you needed him above all else.  

Suddenly his hands were gripping your waist, tense and itching to move lower, and although his face was only inches from yours, you could see how wide his grin was.  “What do you say I prove it to you right now?” he asked, slowly backing toward the bed.

You gave no verbal reply, only captured his lips in a heated kiss before succumbing to him completely.

-----

A/N: I don't write smut, but I just want to say, smut definitely happened.

----- / Chapter 2

#terry silver x reader #terry silver imagine #terry silver x you #cobra kai x reader #karate kid x reader #cobra kai imagine #karate kid imagine

[thecameronchronicles]

White Lines

TW: Heavy drug use (marijuana, cocaine, and pills), drinking, rough sex, language, and degrading language. 

This is a bit shorter of a fic, hope you still enjoy!

SUMMARY: Rafe decides to put his two vices together; you and cocaine. 

WORD COUNT: 1600

*Requested*

White Lines

There was only one thing Rafe Cameron loved more than you. And this came in the form of a specific white powder that carried him to a high only ever synonymous to you. Your touch was identical to the thrill of the upcoming hit and nothing compared to how you’d feel wrapped around him but that high he’d chase every chance he got. But he had kept himself from reveling at both at once as it was a threesome he was afraid he’d overdose on in one way or another. At least this had been his train of thought until you’d craved the thrill of what you knew he’d never ask of you. 

You watched him claim the chair on the far side of the room, your eyes following him as he carried that dime bag from his pocket, only to find it apprehended between your fingers. A snicker brought your eyes to him as he cocked his head in warning. 

“Baby- '' He threatened with your pet name alone as you parted its opening, dipping your finger inside of its recent parting, and taking it across your lips-but not for your consumption but his. You leaned in to him, pressing a slow kiss against him as he savored the entire construction of your mouth to take both your kiss and the cocaine-it’s bitterness only sweetened by the underlay of your lips. 

“Sit…” He ordered softly, tapping his knee as you obeyed, sitting on his far leg as he'd suddenly pull you into a straddle over him. A series of slow kisses left you temporarily dizzy before he’d withdrawal and allow a moment’s reprieve. His fingers pulled your dress from your torso, leaving you in only your lingerie, as he adored you for just a moment, before collecting the bag from your possession. 

“Come closer, baby…” He pulled you higher up his thigh, setting a new line within your clavicle before leading his nose along its conception. Kissing the skin beneath, you reveled in the mix of heat and need while his tongue collected any remnants with a thorough swipe of his tongue. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He nearly growled, fingers victorious in pulling the clasp of your bra free with one hand as he’d then set his middle digit against your bottom lip. Without the need for instruction, you parted your lips as he’d slip it inside, swirling it once, eyes locked, before taking his damp finger into the bag. Yet he wouldn’t try for another line as he was savoring his first initial hit, instead, he led it to your nipple. 

“And so sweet…” His tone was low, almost a groan, before he’d watch you produce your own drug of choice, a specific little blue pill to enhance your own sensations, your expression mirroring that embedded the smile set into its surface as he took it on his tongue, a deep French kiss exchanging it to you, as you were lifted and set onto the bed with a thud. Removing his own shirt, he’d flip you via your ankles, until a string of kisses onto your ass and ascending, then ended in a bite to your shoulder that made you wince. 

“Rafe…”

“Not high enough yet baby?” He questioned with a scoff as you only grinned at his words.

 “Ass up for me…” He kissed your hip in approval, taking in the view of your raised cheeks accented by the lace of your chosen panties. 

“Last line-”

“You never have a ‘last line’ Rafe-” He chuckled. 

“Last line until I have to fuck you…I can’t take it anymore…” He bit his bottom lip between his teeth at the thought before leading the corner of the bag along the base of your spine, over the dimples of your back, and stopped at the curve of your ass. 

The sensation of the powder itself was almost numbing before it was accentuated by the glide of his nose removing it with a steady inhale, following the slide of his tongue claiming its remaining dust. But where you expected to find him behind you with his cock at the ready, he would instead drive his lips between your folds, having already been dripping for him since before the night had begun just at the thought of this very thing. 

The effects of your own narcotic having begun to transcend your reality into somewhere far more peaceful than the pains left behind, you felt every nerve react to his tongue. 

“You’re so wet for me, baby…” You nodded, turning to watch him as his eyes fixated on you, dilated with the reach of cocaine holding him well within its grasp, but still with enough focus to keep his pace as his body began to accelerate in need, contentment exchanged for exhilaration and necessity for action. Sensing his loss of focus, you ran your fingers to your back, continuing until feeling his hair, as you tugged slightly, bringing him a renewed sense of focus. 

“Need to fuck you-Right now!” He groaned, your opposite highs, the ecstasy leaving you slowed and at peace, and the cocaine leaving him almost manic and quick, seemed to work in perfect fervor for what you both needed. As he pulled you around him, aligning his cock with your opening, your nails prepared at his shoulders as he pulled another pill from your pants, which lay in happenstance within reach. 

“One more for me, sweetheart…Want you to feel so good for me…” You nodded, sucking this second pill from his finger as you bit his lip while he used this as a guise to slip himself inside of you. Prior to swallowing your recent drug, he’d offer a French kiss, which added lubrication making it easy to swallow-a smirk leaving his lips as he knew you'd taken him with your vice just as he had taken you. 

“Faster, baby-I need it faster-” He pulled his nails into your ass, lifting you in the way he requested, your body slowing to the continuous effects of your pills and alcohol mixing in your subtle high. 

“Rafe…”

“I fucking love this pussy…oh shit…” He groaned, rooting up inside of you as he was ungodly in his pace, your body almost limp in contrast to varied highs. 

“I love your cock-” You responded, a low growl expressed from his throat as he pulled you  from the bed and over to that very chair, bending you over its arm, and returning in thrusts. 

“Then take it all, baby-Show me just how much you love it-” You gasped to the reach around of his fingers, pinching and teasing your clit, as he continued his motions. 

“Give it back to me sweetheart, come on…meet me halfway here-” But instead, you’d rise against him until your back was flush with his chest. 

“I don’t want it to stop-”

“You sayin’ I don’t last long? Huh?” His hand now came around your neck as you chuckled beneath him. 

“You laughing at me, baby?” You basked in the carelessness that the mix of pills and molly gifted you, the pleasure of his cock and added sensation of his fingers leading you through your high. 

“For that…you don’t get to come-” You turned to face him to offer a rebuttal as he bent you back over the chair, chest spread across its seat, as he pounded in and out of you. One torturous thrust after another as he’d speak your name alongside the curses of how you’d clench around him. 

“Rafe, I’m-”

“Nuh uh-” He grunted, rubbing your clit in ferocious circles, thrusting into you in bottomed out succession, only to withdraw each time you’d begin to tremble. A series of edgings and denied orgasms sent you into exhaustion as time began to blur in duration. 

“Please-”

“You gonna laugh at me again?”

“No…” You whimpered.

“Don’t know if I believe you, sweetheart…”

“Please, Rafe! Please…I need it…”

“My cock?” 

“YES!” 

“Then fucking take it-it’s yours, you know how to get what you want-” His breath was ceased as you now led the motions as he stilled behind you, allowing you the chance to lead, this relinquishment of control allowing him a newfound kink in temporary submission. 

“I know you can go harder than that-louder too…come on, baby, let me hear it-”

“Oh FUCK! FUCK, RAFE! It’s so good!”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, this laughter turning sinister and fading into a series of grunts as he regained control once again with a grip too harsh but a high too far in ascension to care. 

“Come for me baby, come on…I know you want it…come on-oh shit…” He struggled to speak through his own pulsations, the release of his cum validated in the warmth itself before he’d turn you to face him. 

“Come on my face-right now…” He dropped his knees, pulling you over his shoulders as he used everything within his remaining strength to bring your release to him; Fingers pistoning. Tongue vicious. Sporadic nibbles. Curls of his fingers. All of it working in unison for your legs to tremble on either side of his cheeks, bringing that perfect release in collection of his willing and now slack jaw. 

“Made a mess, sweetheart…let me clean it up…” His tongue returned to you, tormenting your clit now left sensitive, before he’d finally rise back to you, kissing you deep enough to taste your release, before he guided you back to the bed. Pulling a blunt from the side of the mattress, he sparked its edge as you rested your head into his chest, the perfect way to come down from such a high-just as you always had…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost

#rafecameron x reader #outer banks #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfiction #netflix #rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks smut #rafecameron #rafe cameron smut #obxsmut #rafecameronfanfiction #kook

[nohoney]

anonymous said: Love love love your Us series! I wanted to know if y/n would ever go out and get back at keigo/touya by sleeping with someone else? Especially after they just continue to hurt her on purpose when they found out about the drugs. (From the prev dabbles)

note: the reader in the main series wouldn’t go through with it but let’s explore anyway if she at least attempted to (¬‿¬ ) this takes place just right after the reader leaves the bathroom in pt 2 but she and keigo don’t speak in the bathroom to make up

pt 1 / pt 2

warnings: infidelity, drug use, angst

“Fine. I was checking on you, but you don’t want me.”

You turn away quickly from him Keigo, leaving him behind and keeping in a cry when you hear him drag the girl he was with into the bathroom. Touya was already cruel enough to point out that Keigo had gone out of sight for quite a while. You’re not stupid; they’re both giving you payback.

I didn’t even fuck anyone! You loudly scream in your head.

But now you were wanting to.

It’s a horrible cycle that you are participating in but it’s just not fair that they can do this to you. You can’t stand the fact that they had to take it a step further to make you feel bad. You never even wanted Shigaraki for more than just a plug! It was mostly about drugs!

All you wanted was more drugs so that you would stop feeling so bad over them!

Why wasn’t you crying and apologizing enough for them?

Fuck returning to Touya and fuck Keigo for being the same cheating piece of shit.

It’s almost reminiscent of the very first party Touya took you to. You’re upset as you snag a bottle off the liquor table and disappear to the upstairs of this stupid house. On the way with the bottle, you spot a lonely young man nursing a red cup in his hand; he looks meek. You think he’ll do.

“Hey,” you approach him and don’t really care the way he jerks in surprise, “do you think I’m cute?”

You’re given a once over and his face flushes before answering, “Yeah. I think you’re-“

“Okay, come with me.” you’re pulling him with your free hand to a room at the end of the hallway. He’s sputtering behind you but you don’t really have a care as you take charge of pushing him into the bedroom. The door locks and you take off the cap off the bottle to drink straight from the lip.

Ugh, whiskey.

Just like the first time too.

The young man still holds his red cup and you don’t even bother to ask if he’d like any. Whiskey pours into the plastic, mixing with whatever alcohol he was nursing. Being a little drunk will be necessary to go through with this. Maybe also a little sniff too.

You sit close to a bedside table and lay your phone face up, pulling the cocaine from your pocket. It doesn’t occur to you that you do it without having a second thought at this point. To be able to get through your hard moments and when you need to collect yourself, coke had always done a better job of comforting you these days. You cut a line neatly before looking over to your company and offering him one as well, “You want? It’s good.”

He politely declines and he’s wary as you make a second one anyway. You inhale both of them and now you’re a little more sure of yourself. The numbness from when you gummed earlier in the bathroom is starting to wear off so you collect coke off your phone screen to numb the inside of your lip again.

“Drink.” You tell the young man as you raise the whiskey bottle to your lips. He obeys and you realize that this is the first time in a while you’ve had a guy ever listen to you. No questions or anything, just immediate obedience.

It felt… different.

Actually not different. Maybe a little familiar…

The whiskey burns down your throat and it’s not a pleasant taste with the drip at the back of your throat.

You pat the edge of the bed in indication for him to join you. Again, with no question or complaint, he does as told and sits right next to you. “I’m really mad,” you say out loud, “and I wanna do something about it.”

“Oh um… I’m sorry you’re mad.” he tells you with uncertainty of what his part is.

Already the alcohol makes you a little loose in your mind and you think this is a good idea to follow through with. You take another shot for courage before settling the bottle down on the floor and taking his cup from your hands. “You ever go down on a girl?” You ask him as you swirl the liquid in the red cup. He face flushes but he nods his head.

Silently you open your legs, your eyes flicking down to the space in between.

“You know, I think you’re drunk-“

You raise a finger to his lips to hush him, “I won’t ask a second time.”

There is something very different about ordering someone else around and being given what you want. It’s satisfying when he does as told, going on his knees before you and kissing along the inside of your thighs first. You lean back slightly, letting one hand to support your weight while you sip at the red cup. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

“You’re pretty… really pretty.” He whispers against your skin  before pushing your dress over your thighs. “You’re… you’re really hot.”

Your eyes flutter and you feel the coke in your brain now. It swims in your veins along with the whiskey. Your panties are pulled to the side and despite him being so shy initially, you gasp as you’re eaten out so sloppily.

He tongues at your clit and licks you up and down with enthusiasm that you wouldn’t have expected. A quiet fuck is gasped out by you and for a moment, you’re exhilarated. For a moment, you enjoy the talented tongue of a stranger on your pussy. For a moment, you forget how mad you were at Keigo-

But then you feel a soft bite to the inside of your thigh, lips closing around the skin and a soft sucking. It feels good and you think to let it happen but then you realize something. That even if you were to lord it over Touya or Keigo that you fucked someone back, you wouldn’t be able to keep this guy’s identity a secret. He’s innocent and unknowing of anything about you, just thinks you’re a random cute girl he’s getting lucky with. Because knowing your boys, they would find out who no matter what.

Touya’s already beat two men up over you, both way more than he really should have and you felt incredibly guilty when it happened both times.

They’d definitely hurt this poor guy.

You don’t want to do this after all.

“Don’t! Stop!” You jerk back and the red cup fumbles out of your hand. Whiskey spills all over you and all over the young man in front of you. You fumble apologies now that you realize what you’re doing. “I’m sorry! I don’t—I don’t want to anymore!”

He’s flustered too and he looks sorry, as if he thinks he had done something wrong.

Looks like you can’t give them a taste of their own medicine and a part of you is very upset over this fact. But you’re also too considerate to drag anyone innocent into your fucked up relationship with boyfriends.

Honestly, it is irritating that they don’t give the same courtesy to you. You’re upset because you feel guilty for attempting to cheat back and equally upset that you just can’t go through with it.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I not do it right?” He starts to ask.

“No! No, you’re actually good. Really good, truthfully.” you give him a genuine compliment over his performance, “I just can’t. My boyfriends would kill me.”

“Boyfriends? Plural?” He asks but the door knocks, and the both of you jerk in surprise.

“(Name)! Are you in there?”

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! It’s Touya!

You try to think quickly, looking around the room for any hiding spot. Whether for himself or you, you’re not sure yet. All there is a closet so you take the red cup and shove it in the guy’s hand, aggressively pointing to the closet for him to hide in, and again, he listens with no argument. Touya pounds on the door a few times and the lock starts to jiggle.

You take the whiskey bottle for one last big swig before placing the cap back on it.

The door swings open, a dent in the middle of the wood from Touya’s boot, and your boyfriends enter the room.

“Fucking hell! You had us worried and searching every goddamn room in this house!” Touya barks at you but you see that he’s more relieved than angry. His eyes naturally draw to your phone and the cocaine out on the table and he sighs to himself. “What did I say about-“

You burst into tears, audibly sobbing and holding the whiskey bottle close to your chest. Now the whiskey hits you and the guilt hits you even harder. Maybe you’re not really cut out for being a cheater. You want to hurt them back in the same way they hurt you but you just can’t.

It makes you feel so pathetic.

“Hey, hey… don’t cry dove. Is this about downstairs?” Keigo asks as he kneels down in front of you, “Look, nothing happened. I didn’t do anything-“

“Don’t lie to me! I already know you did!” You cry in between hiccups, “Just go away!”

He attempts to soothe you again but with no real apology attached to his words, “Hey, we won’t do that shit again as long as you don’t hide anything from us anymore. We only did because you lied to us first and it really hurt us.”

Touya pries the bottle out of your hands and pushes off your arms when you try to reach for it. “You’re drunk and you reek of whiskey. I can smell it all over you. We’re taking you home.”

A part of you wants to put up a fight just to be stubborn but the smarter part knows that you should leave right away. That poor guy is still in the closet and you’re embarrassed that you even tried to cheat back in revenge in the first place.

So you stay quiet as you’re led out of the bedroom and choose to not look back. You walk behind Touya and Keigo, quickly adjusting your panties underneath your dress and trying to keep your head down as you walk out the party.

You shower alone and inspect your body as you clean yourself. There’s a small hickey on the inside of your thigh from your attempt in the bedroom. You wish that more had happened, that you had gotten more guts to go through with it. You’re also grateful that nothing happened more than that.

Still though, they got to hurt you in the way they wanted and you…

You just have to take it.

━━━━✧

end notes: including my extra tags - also wanted to show case how the reader actually interacts with another man / cuz obviously when it comes to the boys she’s only submissive at this point / it wasn’t just her being drunk in the scene it was actually the old version of her that came out for a bit / pt 1 reader had a little more spine so i just wanted to bring her back for a hot minute

#REPOST #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #tw cheating #tw drugs #tw toxic relationship #us series

[duffslut]

Wife Sharing

Duff Mckagan x Reader x Slash

My Masterlist.

Word Count: 802

Warnings: Smut! Threesome. Minors Dni.

You were sitting next to Duff on the couch at his house, your boyfriend Slash was in a separate armchair, some cocaine pins were scattered on the floor, and you were already starting to get out of your mind after using the drugs.

Duff put his hand on your thigh suddenly while talking to Slash and started groping you, you pretended not to see the confused look Slash was giving you as Duff's hand climbed higher and higher on your thighs. You always wanted to know what it would be like to fuck Duff, your boyfriend was great, but Duff had something that turned you on without any effort.

- Babe? - Slash exclaimed nervously as Duff's hand groped your panties and all you did was spread your legs wider for him.

Duff looked into your eyes for the first time since you arrived at his house, his eyes seemed to burn with desire, he wanted the same thing as you.

- Sit down. - You said as soon as Slash got up from his chair, he looked uncomfortable but silently obeyed you.

Duff just pretended that his friend wasn't there while he unzipped his pants, you couldn't hide your surprise when you saw Duff's big and thick cock jump out of his pants, hitting his belly.

- Come on princess, swallow it. - Duff said gently as he stroked your hair, you promptly got off the couch, kneeling in front of him.

You masturbated Duff's cock with your mouth watering and looked back to see Slash's disbelief face before start sucking Duff's dick right in front of your boyfriend.

- Good girl. - Duff moaned as he forced his dick down your throat making you choke.

You rubbed your fingers in your panties and moaned with Duff's dick in your mouth, every time you remembered that Slash was in the same room as you, you got wetter.

You asked Slash to help you take off your clothes while Duff took off his jeans. Slash still didn't seem to understand what was going on.

- Why are you doing this? - He asked as he dutifully unbuttoned your blouse and bared your tits to Duff. - Am I not enough for you?

Slash looked really sad as he tried to bring you back to him by placing kisses on your neck. You didn't feel sorry for him, all you wanted was Duff's dick inside you, showing your boyfriend how you really wanted to be treated and fucked.

- You can learn from him, love. - You said, as you climbed back onto the couch and spread your legs next to Duff.

- You're a lucky guy, Slash. - Duff said, standing up and positioning himself between your legs. - What a fucking slut you got.

Slash seemed more and more annoyed with the way Duff talked to you, Slash was always so sweet and calm that sometimes you got sick of him, but Duff's arrogant and rough way turned you on, he was all you needed, and you didn't care if your boyfriend was there or not, you needed to have Duff fucking you deep. Slash was on your side the entire time Duff sucked you and fucked your pussy with his tongue, he watched intently at the way Duff sucked your pussy, as if he was thirsty for it.

You took Slash's hand and placed it over Duff's cock just as Duff was about to fuck you.

- Look how big he is babe. - You said to Slash, inducing his hand to jerk off Duff's dick at your entrance. - Why don't you help him get into my tight pussy huh?

Slash tried to refuse but you held his hand tightly, causing Duff to moan as he squeezed his cock.

- Do that for me. -You whispered to your boyfriend, and Slash looked at Duff in the eye as he started to slide his dick inside you.

Slash turned his attention to you as soon as Duff started his thrusts inside your pussy, his thick cock made you feel a delicious pain every time he came out and entered you with more roughly. You whispered love phrases to your boyfriend while his friend fucked you, filling the room with your moans and the noise of the couch swaying.

- Shut the fuck up bitch. - Duff told you, shoving his fingers into your mouth as he was about to cum.

- You can clean this up. - Duff said to Slash, coming out of you and pouring all his cum all over your pussy.

You held Slash's hair as he positioned himself between your legs, licking from your entrance to almost to your belly, wiping any remnants of Duff's cum from your pussy, As soon as Slash finished cleaning you, you came, right on his tongue, and then pulled him into a sloppy kiss, sharing the taste of you and Duff with your boyfriend.

#slash #duff mckagan #duff mckagan fanfic #slash fanfic #slash imagine #duff Mckagan imagine #slash gnr #duff Mckagan gnr #Saul Hudson #slash fanfiction #duff mckagan fanfiction #slash smut #duff Mckagan smut #imagines #gnr #slash oneshot #duff mckagan one shot #slash headcanon #duff mckagan headcanon #fanfics #stories #guns n roses #guns n' roses #x y/n #oc #slash x you #x you smut #duff mckagan x you #x reader

[embossross]

From His Mind to Yours

Chapter 1 >> Chapter 2

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: very very bad therapeutic practice; sexual harassment; references to masturbation; references to murder/drugs/violence

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, torture (not of y/n), and many more that I don't know yet

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~5k

A row of crude teeth marks mangles the shape of your pen. Do you nibble when you’re distracted? Agitated? Hanma waits for you to reveal the particulars of this tell. It’s Chekhov’s gun. Yet in the fifteen minutes since he first catalogued this weakness of yours, your pen has never strayed towards your menacingly, orthodontically straight teeth. It’s Chekhov’s gun but filled with blanks.

Hanma credits himself with a particular skill in reading people. He doesn’t worm his way into their head like Kisaki might or intuit how to inspire blind loyalty like Mikey. No, Hanma’s superpower is picking apart a person’s weaknesses. One. By. One.

You, however, are constructed so carefully, the gummy rim of pen is the only sign you have a beating pulse.

When Kisaki ordered him to see a shrink, Hanma obliged because obeying Kisaki is second nature after a decade as his number two. Time and again, Hanma has followed Kisaki blindly into battle or business. Nearly every time – especially in those early years – he was rewarded for it. So here he is.

Maybe filling the hours with the sound of his own voice in a sterile office is not going to relieve his demons, but orders are orders. Today’s order is to attend therapy.

While you explain to Hanma the particulars of your credentials – blah blah, top university, blah – he sizes you, his shiny new therapist, up and finds you lacking. You are young, probably overeager to prove you can rehabilitate one of Tokyo’s most wanted. An impersonal office to match your bland, impersonal clothing; conservative, probably to appease the sex freaks that frequent your office. Over-groomed with bobby pins digging into your scalp and threatening a migraine, nylons that would never dare tear, manicured nails with clear polish. You are pretty despite your best efforts to hide it. Still, there is something about the way you move, performative in your restraint.

You are either the most confident person Hanma has ever encountered or the most wildly insecure.

If you would just nibble on the damned pen, he would have his answer.

“I prefer to speak with the friends and family of my patients before sitting down with them for the first time,” you say – maybe the fourth time you’ve impressed this fact upon him in his brief time in your office. “And Kisaki-san told me that you haven’t been sleeping well. Have you ever visited a doctor for insomnia?”

“No.”

One-word answers. Just enough that Kisaki can’t accuse him of refusing to cooperate.

“Do you take anything prescribed for insomnia?”

“No.”

“What about self-medicating? Or…does your trouble sleeping correspond to the use of any stimulants? Maybe Methamphetamines?”

Hanma refuses to give you credit for a lucky guess. The meth could be classified as a pleasant mistake. The temporary brain bliss is almost as pleasurable as feeling his fist collide with skin, or the rush when a person’s skull turns concave under the force of his knuckles. It’s why he started using.

It also happens to make him trigger happy, neurotic and perpetually late to meetings. Hanma suspects the latter was the last straw for Kisaki. Overkill is one thing but tardiness? Kisaki is running a business after all.

“Mostly meth but also cocaine, Diazepam, weed, LSD. I could go on. I sell it by the kilo, might as well dip a finger in on occasion,” Hanma says.

You raise an eyebrow at his use of the word ‘occasion.’ The vast undersell of his drug use is visible in the effects from just last night’s bender. A suit and coiffed hair may fool the average person, but the telltale signs are there. Even now, he feels a stab of alertness from a popped Ritalin downed with vodka to dull out the edges.

“What about appetite? I heard mixed opinions from your colleagues. Some swear you should be dead from starvation at this point, others that you eat like a horse,” you say.

“You’re an educated woman, so you know the proverb: ‘eighth-tenths full keeps the doctor away,” Hanma says, only realizing afterward that he’d intended not to respond to your questioning.

“And methamphetamines suppress the appetite,” you say dryly. “How often do you drink?”

Hanma notes that you haven’t written anything he says down in the notebook resting on your knee. The pen is not just unchewed but unused. Paranoid, he does a quick scan for any bugs that might be recording this session instead. That would be a fatal mistake on your part.

“I drink as much and often as you think,” Hanma says.

You don’t comment at Hanma’s lack of answer or at his strange behavior as he pats beneath his chair to confirm a bug isn’t glued to the bottom. Satisfied that there’s no other place to hide in your practically empty office, he relaxes back in his seat.

“How would you describe your sex drive?”

The barrage of questions bring to mind a flood memories. Remembers his cheek bruising against a police desk and wrists chafed raw from handcuffs as his freedom is dangled like a toy. Hanma despises the arrogance and ritual of interrogations; the interrogator asking the wrong questions, smug on a god-complex that promises Hanma will break and spill his guts under glaring lamplight. Shut up and lawyer up is what Toman advises. Except, Hanma always leans into his interrogations, snapping and seething at the police and prosecutor until their questions trip frightened off their tongue and the power is thoroughly reversed in his direction. Therapy, it seems, will be no different.

Hanma adjusts his long legs wider, a manspread that immediately drew the eye straight to his groin and grins.

“Looking for a first-hand demonstration, doc?”

Your eyes flicker briefly to his crotch, and Hanma’s cock answers with a twitch. The victory arouses every part of him. It does not hurt that you are a meal for the eyes either. If he saw you at one of Toman’s many clubs, Hanma would not hesitate to press you to your knees for him. Cold as your eyes are now, Hanma suspects they would liven up when pooling with tears and panic.

“It’s a basic diagnostic question,” you respond coolly.

“See, but I don’t appreciate you wasting my time on questions when you know the answers. You spoke to Kisaki before, yeah? Which means you know full well that I fuck and kill and shoot up and all the rest,” Hanma drones, unfeeling even on the verge of speechifying. “You have a rulebook you’re following. I get it. You’re young. Maybe Kisaki should have found someone more experienced because I have better things to do than cry to you about how hard my childhood was. I was a bad boy, and now, I’m a bad man.”

“My age bothers you?” you say, glomming onto the question of your competency and leaving the rest behind as if it means nothing. Typical. “I’m only one year younger than you are. Do you believe you need another dozen years’ of experience to excel at your job?”

���I’ve left a trail of cold cases to prove just how good I am at my job, sweetheart.”

“And I’ve left a trail of happy patients to show how good I am at mine. Hanma-san, tell me, why do you think we’re here today?”

The clock above your desk shows another fifteen minutes in the day’s session, and Kisaki will be up his ass if he leaves early. None of the staples of a therapist’s office – bonsai tree, swinging balls, abstract art – are present to distract him. For the next quarter hour, Hanma will be trapped in a room as bland as a prison cell with a hot but painfully boring therapist.

And Hanma hates to be bored.

There’s nothing better to do than lean into the cat-and-mouse game, see if he can lure his sweet therapist into a trap.

“A trick question? The mind games are beginning already, huh, doc?” Hanma sneers. “I suppose I’m here so that you can finally put a diagnosis on what everyone already knows. Name what makes me such a monster to polite, tax-paying citizens like you.”

“Except, you’ve been working for more than a decade with Kisaki-san and never once has he suggested you see a therapist before, correct? I’ve heard in depth from your colleagues about your behavior. They call you belligerent, impulsive, manipulative, cold. Basically, they sing your praises. Say you’re a natural at your job, one of the best in Tokyo. Why would your boss decide those traits are a problem now?” you counter.

“I’m blushing,” Hanma says, mostly to save time as he thinks through your analysis. There is a reason he saw such immediate success when he joined the delinquent world, and even as Kisaki led Toman into the realm of organized crime, the skillset remained the same. “If you have all the answers, then share them with the class. What is wrong with me?”

“Wrong with you? Well, I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. It’s too early to diagnose you with anything, but informally, I’d say you’re a closed and shut case of Anti-Social Personality Disorder.”

“You’re diagnosing me with psychopath?”

“I’m leaning sociopath based on the interviews I conducted with your colleagues. But the distinction isn’t as relevant as the TV shows pretend. I’d say you meet the criteria if ASPD, just about a text-book case,” you say, matter of fact in a way that other patients might appreciate hearing bad news.

The label followed Hanma throughout the years. A rotating retinue of losers have called him a psychopath and then met the unlucky side of his gun or the punishment of his knuckles. The appellation doesn’t offend him, but neither does it resonate with him. Hanma never did care for TV or movies, but the serial killers and stalkers that haunted the public’s collective imagination are familiar to him, and he can’t relate. He has never once considered dismembering a civilian just for the sake of it or stalking a co-ed for the thrill of her screams. What he loves most is a fight against an opponent worthy of him, the risk to his own life that gets his blood rushing.

Still, Hanma knows that he sees the world differently than other people. It is almost like he walks through life wearing sunglasses. He and the average person see the same shapes, same sizes, but there is a distortion to the color, something only Hanma can see, and others miss. In his darkest hours, he admits it could be the reverse. Maybe he is missing what others find so obvious.

“The clinical definition of someone with ASPD has changed significantly over the years. How I like to think of it is sociopaths have a muted ability to empathize with other people. Not necessarily a complete inability – and in fact, your colleagues seem to believe you do hold care for a select few – but you don’t feel it as intensely or in the same way as most people. As a result, you engage in behaviors that make you struggle to fit into society. That’s actually a part of the diagnostic criteria. Criminality, manipulation, risk-taking or other behaviors that make you struggle to become say an office worker but make you excellent at…whatever you’d call your job. The destructive becomes constructive. We could spend weeks in this office trying to lessen your violent impulses, but for what? So you can be slower to kill for the Tokyo Manji gang? I don’t think Kisaki-san would thank me for that.”

Broadcast news and preschool teachers delude the masses with the promise that violence and criminality are the playground of a small, chronically ostracized group of poors and crookeds. The button-ups that go to the office every day, the housewives, and store clerks, they all trade in empathy and love and rainbow kisses or some shit. Hanma knows this is a lie. He has seen time and again the sadism of the everyman.

So, your mercenary assessment of sociopathy does not surprise Hanma, but it does intrigue him. He wonders how you would score on a psychopath test. Whether there is any feeling harbored behind your icy veneer.

If he slid his hand beneath your blouse and kneaded his finger over your breast, would you have a heart?

“So, I’m a high-functioning sociopath, and you wouldn’t change a thing about me. I’m flattered. That still leaves us with the mystery of why I’m here.”

“Is it really a mystery? You seem to have an idea.”

“Well, there was an…incident four months ago. I don’t want to sully your pure ears with the details,” Hanma purrs. He hopes your imagination fills in the blanks with the most savage scene imaginable. Even then it probably wouldn’t be as gruesome as the damage he left behind. It was sloppy and cost Toman a fortune to bribe the right officials to ignore.

“Anything you say to me here is covered by doctor-patient confidentiality. I am mandated to report if you present an immediate danger to yourself or others, so I would prefer you not tell me if you intend to leave her and commit a murder presently. That said, these walls don’t talk and neither do I, regardless. It’s just a preference,” you say, pointlessly.

Hanma knows full well you won’t talk. He will personally make sure of it.

“I’ve heard of mob lawyers, now get ready for mob therapists! How very new millennia of you,” Hanma guffaws. “Without going into the details, I saw an opportunity to win a negotiation with a powerful business partner. They had offered a deal that Kisaki accepted. The terms were set. I saw an opportunity with a little candid discussion to further sweeten the terms. I was right, of course. Our deal today is far more generous in our favor. But the aftermath of the conversation was a bitch to clean up and attracted some unwarranted attention from our friends at the Tokyo police department.”

To your discredit, you don’t react with a hint of fear to this confession. So far, his only success provoking you was when he questioned your credentials. He won’t forget that useful information.

“Impulsivity and risk-taking are typical in people diagnosed with ASPD. The research is actually interesting on the subject. It suggests that you could feel regret for the choice, especially if you face negative consequences, but you likely couldn’t use that regret to prevent yourself from making the same mistake again.”

“Like a toddler that burns his hand on the stove Monday and is dumb enough to do it again on Tuesday?” Hanma demands.

You don’t realize how closely you’ve danced to the edge with him. He meets people like you every day. You aren’t half so interesting as to excuse an insult, and he would have you crying for your life before you insulted him again.

“In over-simplified terms? Sure. There are two primary theories to explain the impulsivity and risk-taking behaviors of someone diagnosed with ASPD. The first is that your brain is just wired differently. The same brain rewiring that damages your empathy is also dampening your self-control.”

Hanma scoffs.

“I see you don’t care for that theory. My feelings exactly,” you agree. “I think there’s a simple explanation, and it’s why we’re here today. I think people diagnosed with ASPD – I think you, Hanma-san – are bored.”

Eagerly, you lean forward. Here, at the big reveal, you tip your hand and show your excitement. Your eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen them. Professional victory has thawed you and revealed the young woman, the human.

“Bored…is that a professional diagnosis?” Hanma asks.

“Funny,” you say, and it sounds like you mean it. “The other side of the boredom coin is depression. We’d need to run through the diagnostic criteria before I can diagnose you officially, but I bet you qualify. In fact, I bet that when you wake up on a lazy day, one where you have no morning appointments, nothing to organize your morning, you lay in bed for minutes at a time, unsure what to do. Should you take a shower? Watch porn? Make breakfast? Shoot up? Call someone? Who? How do you decide what to do with your day, when every option promises the same yawning boredom as the next? How am I doing so far?”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Follow me, Kisaki had promised. Follow me and I’ll make your life exciting. At fifteen years old, Hanma had almost given up on life. A high school dropout, he watched boys his age jerking off to cartoons and crowing over the trials and tribulations of their school club, and wondered what universe they were living in. Hardly anyone could reach him. Even the other delinquents offered only the occasional challenge.

Kisaki entered his life and presented something valuable: stimulation. He taught Hanma to slow down and appreciate the build up to the big moment. The calculated staging of a plot to destroy someone else, culminating in the delicious high of battle, the last-minute pivot as your enemy reacted in ways you couldn’t predict. It kept him alive and entertained for years. But now…

…Now, Toman sits atop the criminal world as the uncontested conqueror of Tokyo. All of their enemies have long since been crushed. The occasional upstart contender is defeated within a month of entering the ring. Their work is focused on fine-tuning an already smooth criminal operation, optimizing profits.

What is the point?

There are so many hours in a week, in a day! And there are so few activities that bring the rush he needs.

Hanma doesn’t care for money. Stealing something feels better anyway. He doesn’t stake his pride on the success of Toman. Time has made him fond of a number of the top executives – Kisaki and Hakki particularly – but their company only interests him for a few hours a week.

Sex helps. Drugs help. Underground boxing rings help. But none of these things inspire him to get out of bed every morning.

He is unanchored. He is an addict whose supply is dwindling. Or, more accurately, who has adjusted to the product and can no longer achieve the same highs as before.

Sitting across from your pretty, blank face, and confronting the truth, Hanma feels split in half. He wants to slap you for seeing him so clearly when no one else has ever dared look.

Yet another part roars in celebration. He feels hyper-present. The fog of boredom is in retreat.

“Well, I’m certainly not bored now,” Hanma drawls with a smile. “You know, I’ve read in the papers tragic stories of some poor sap falling out of bed, bumping his head, and waking up a full-blown psychopath. Is that true? Do you think that’s what happened to me?”

You shrug. “Have you ever suffered a traumatic brain injury?”

“Sure, dozens,” Hanma smiles. His fighting style is all offense. Getting concussed is a non-event to him.

“Has there ever been a significant change in your behavior, personality, or perspective following one of these brain events?” you clarify.

“No.”

“Well, then, I’m inclined to put this more on your childhood,” you say.

“Spoken like a true shrink, though you might be onto something. Mommy was an alcoholic, Daddy was a diddler, and all the neighborhood kids picked on me. It was real said,” Hanma intones in a tragic whisper.

“We can save your childhood confessions for when we’ve built up more of a rapport,” you say, leaving the bait untouched.

“Boo! Who’s boring now? Actually, going back to that brain injury thing. I think that would be pretty entertaining. Could I take a decent citizen, no a step beyond, a monk, bonk them on the head and turn them into a violent psychopath? That would be pretty fun to watch. I may just have to try it out.”

Hakkai’s sister owns a spa outside Tokyo, in the mountains not far from a shrine. There ought to be one or two stray monks he could abduct for an experiment. All in the name of science, of course.

Again, you prove unbaitable. You don’t chastise him for his evil ways or wiggle in your seat. Instead, you ponder the logistics of the scenario every bit as seriously.

“Hmm…let me think about that for a moment. The challenge is it’s common for people to change dramatically after a traumatic experience, not from brain injury but from the adrenaline and the psychological impact. So, if you attacked a temple of monks, you would expect drastic behavioral changes, even if their brains weren’t rewired to psychopathy. You’d have to know about their daily patterns beforehand as well for comparison, so you’d have to surveil the place for weeks if not months. And even then, it’s more of a one in one thousand chance.”

“That’s not a problem. One thousand monks it is!”

“I’ll be on the lookout for that headline. One thousand monks mysteriously bashed on the head,” you banter.

Hanma isn’t joking. In fact, he’s trying to unbalance you, but you laugh like what he’s said is genuinely hilarious. In that brief moment, everything about you relaxes. Your posture slackens, ankles crossing to reveal a scandalous sliver of ankle. Modestly, your hand flutters to cover your mouth, but he can still see the stretch of your lips. Best of all, you tap your pen briefly to your lips, a second short of a little nibble.

Hanma sees the real you in a burst of unrestrained honesty. The same way you saw him earlier.

There is a temptation to let the moment linger with this foreign version of you, but your momentary flash of vulnerability is too valuable to pass up. Hanma leans forward to mirror your posture.

“Let’s say I agree with your hypothesis, and say yes, I’m bored. What then? Do you teach me how to appreciate the little things in life?”

You sober, resuming the professional veil.

“No. There may be some medications – a mood stabilizer or anti-depressant – that help. And, we could certainly work on developing some tools for when you are bored, so that you don’t do something destructive to break the monotony, but the main priority would be to help you find things that stimulate and entertain your need for an adrenaline high. That way, you don’t wake up wishing yourself or others dead. Instead, you would go out and stimulate yourself. Something like…car racing maybe? I will have to think on it a bit.”

How…droll. Disappointment crashes into Hanma like said racing car – of which he already owns two. After teasing him with your uncanny insight into his brain, you followed up with mundanity.

He despises you. Yes, he hates people like you. You could offer him no more than a monkey dancing on a string. Well…you were pretty. You could have one additional use.

Vindictive at having his hopes dashed, Hanma snaps back, “Car racing? Your cure for me is car racing? You know there are plenty of other ways I could start getting my kicks. What do other sociopaths do to get off? I could start stalking women, maybe start with a pretty, little therapist? That could keep me plenty entertained. I wonder how you’d scream when I’m breaking through your window.”

“Loudly. I live on the eighth floor. Regardless, you already get the thrill of holding power over others as part of your job, and you have plenty of sexual stimulation. I don’t think terrorizing me would offer you much novelty. My scream would sound no different than anyone else’s,” you say, brutally dispassionate.

“Spoil sport,” Hanma mutters.

There are a handful of people in the world who could rebut him so casually. He senses no fear in you, and against his better judgment, his interest piques once again.

“You wanted to scare me, and you didn’t. How does it make you feel when you don’t get the reaction you want?” you ask.

“Hard.”

For good measure, Hanma thrusts his hips up. Your eyes dart down before you remember yourself and redirect your gaze to your notepad. You scribble something down. Maybe too ashamed to meet his gaze?

“Our time is up,” you say. “I think this was a strong start. We’re agreed on the problem, which is always the first challenge. Now, it’s just a matter of coming up with a therapeutic solution. Can I show you out?”

Something hisses through Hanma’s brain, not quite angry but close. With the session over, he realizes how effortlessly you controlled the tone and topic even as he tried to disrupt or stonewall you at every turn. He had been reduced to a naughty schoolboy throwing paper airplanes at the teacher’s back.

Hanma can’t let you end this session on your terms as well.

“You’re just going to throw me out into the cold after making my cock hard like this? You’re in the services industry. My service should end with a happy ending,” Hanma mocks.

He palms his own thigh, drawing attention to the magnitude of his person. The threat is ninety percent air, but Hanma thinks he might cum immediately if you watch him touch himself. Or better yet, if you jerk him off with your delicate, moisturized hands. He loves putting a woman’s manicure to good use.

“I need to speak to Kisaki-san for a few minutes about your therapy anyway. Feel free to sit here as long as you like,” you say dismissively.

“You tease.”

As your heels click out the door, Hanma sinks further back into the plush of the armchair and thinks. He has always been excellent at picking out others’ weaknesses. So, while it could be his imagination, he believes his gut when it tells him your parting expression at his antics…it was fond.

When you close the door behind your office and Hanma, it’s not like you breath some great sigh of relief, but you can’t deny your breathing comes easier. The air in the room had been oppressive, like Hanma took three great gulps of oxygen for every one you managed to steal.

There is no time to celebrate, however, because in the waiting area awaits yet another predator.

“Kisaki-san! I apologize for keeping you waiting. Can I offer you anything to drink?” you say in your softest voice. You pegged Kisaki as a man with limited expectations of women and no appetite to expand his worldview.

Possibly the most dangerous man in Tokyo sits in a narrow, plastic chair in your waiting room. It feels wrong to greet him from a position of height, and you wait for him to stand before drawing closer. Like Hanma, he is dressed well, though with less flare than your potential patient.

“No, your receptionist handled that,” Kisaki waves away your drink offer. “You’ve had the opportunity to meet him now. Will you take on his case?”

Unbeknownst to Hanma, that had been less therapy session than interview. Work like this pays well but presents particular risks, and you never rush into a potential mistake. You would rather gather information until you saw every angle, and then act accordingly. Today’s meeting with Hanma is the final step in your risk assessment.

“I think I understand him and how to help him. That said, he showed more aggression towards me as a person than I expected,” you said, taking special care in your choice of the word ‘aggression.’

“He can be intimidating,” Kisaki says on a ghost of a smile.

“If I’m going to take on his treatment, I’ll need double.”

There. The final piece in your negotiation. Naturally, you intended to raise your prices at the last moment, but double is a legitimate reaction to Hanma.

You hadn’t expected him to be so…charismatic. His voice did half the work, deep in a way that made your gut clench and teasing in a way that made your pussy clench with it. He showed less of the superficial charm you expected from sociopaths, likely because he didn’t seek your validation. He toyed with you, yes, but like you were still on the shelf, a toy he hadn’t committed to buying. In his disinterest, he held nothing back, bantering so fast you struggled to keep up the entire session. Clinging to your professional script, you could barely keep up with his questions.

It excites you.

Then, there is the threat from the end of the session. Even now, he remains in your office. Is he actually jerking off? Or was that a taunt to strike fear into you? Probably the latter. If the former, you ought to hire a locksmith to add a third set of locks to your door.

Transference is always something you guard against and shut down at the earliest signals. You are not a friend, lover, or mother to your patients, and you can be callous in knocking that reminder into the deluded.

Yet with Hanma, how are you supposed to make any progress if you can’t engage his attention? He repeatedly tried to introduce a tit-for-tat into the conversation, showing the most interest when the conversation turned back on you. A little transference, just a little, might make him more susceptible to therapy.

All of this plays out in your head as you negotiate terms with Kisaki. Finally, he concedes to your price.

“I expect results,” Kisaki says. Unlike Hanma, he doesn’t need theatrics to make the threat heard loud and clear.

You hold his murderous gaze unflinchingly and reply, “My professional career would be destroyed if word ever reached the psychiatric board that I took this case. So, you have collateral in the event you’re unhappy with my work. But you won’t need it. You’ll see results.”

“I better.”

When you fall asleep rereading your case files that night, Kisaki’s words echo in your ear and invade your sweetest dreams. Failure is not an option.

#tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #hanma smut #hanma x reader #tokyo rev smut #from his mind to hers #embossross masterlist #read the warnings please #harassment tw #improper medical practice tw

[leviathanswingman]

i thought i was hallucinating when i read beware the bees but alas… obey me back on its regular crack cocaine

[takekawa]

expanding on this while sick off my tits to give me something else to focus on

i love when bitches are CRAZY and/or pathetic which is admittedly funny thinking about my favorite beautiful lovely obeyme wife Solomon who is you know. not THAT crazy and not pathetic in the way i like. like he’s competent and his blustering social incompetence is in the “he just doesn’t know he’s kinda weird and mildly ominous at times” way not the “pathetic whimpering animal” (mammon) (leviathan) way i usually go for

although admittedly im just a sucker for the ‘jovial wizard who is definitely threatening’ trope. merlin fate. shahmat dirtycrown. in hindsight it’s funny all of these guys have white hair. would all be fluffy long white hair if Solomon didn’t have that fuckass cut

obey me in general is such a funny series for me to be into bc like. No one in it is THAT crazy due to the medium/target audience (except belphie I respect whatever the fuck is wrong with him) but they all still enchant me so bad. admittedly im reinterpreting them a teensy bit in my head to be bigger creeps because i have a rare disease where if i don’t make every character a little bit of a yandere stalker ill die. whatever. my vision is true

off the top of my head like

lucifer ok I can’t actually fuck this one bc he lives in my head and regularly talks to me but he’s still moe moe kyun. exhausted brat-tamer father is inherently crack cocaine to me. Cannot say more and still look that alter in the eye. my bad peepaw

satan HATER NATION REPRESENT 💥💥💃 also him being such a stuffy serious nerd gushing about cats is moe. Meow for me boy

beel definitely the least interested in him bc of how aggressively normal he is but it’s fine he’s smexy. and presumably built like a chubbier laios. Sultry little whore body type

belphie gotta love a guy who fakes being your friend to turbo murder you then goes back to being your friend with the limpest apology ever as if the attempted murder and false friendship wasn’t even that big a deal. love you casual psychopath. also a siscon so bonus points

mammon pathetic dog who would wear a leash if you asked him too and act really indignant the whole time like this is SUCH an ordeal UGH he’s so above this (he’s been nuclear levels of wet the entire time)

asmo see appearance wise im not interested. But. not a clue if im bastardizing his character but ive been assuming his total obsession (the like… measuring your body and pointing out tiny traits of yours that are cute/changed scene comes to mind) is in the “he’s definitely stalking you” vindictive possessive way. throwing dead birds at the window whenever you’re hanging out with someone else. starting shit on his fifth alternate instagram account so it doesn’t look like it’s HIM stirring the pot every time you don’t respond to his texts immediately. I like to think he’s very petty and pissy but that’s admittedly my debilitating stalker kink talking

levi pathetic ass neet nerd with zero game you enchant me. bend over while watching mid harem anime boy

the extraneous cast (outside of Solomon) i am woefully less knowledgeable on but at a glance i do like all of them. simeon is obscenely hot and also motherly-but-ominous (sexy). mephi seems like a raging cunt which i respect but he is a devoted cuck so we can’t fuck. diavolo is married to lucifer but i do respect the whole ‘outwardly jovial but will use his status to make you do what he says’ schebang. he’d aggravate the fuck out of me but i can’t diss the hustle

who the fuck else is there. barbatos is also a devoted cuck but i like how cunty and rude he is. luke does not hit the notes i like in that way but he’s a funny little guy i enjoy him. no fucking clue what the one woman with a number name im forgetting does but i like her fit and vibe

#blue moon personal post #many thoughts occuring in my head all the time about characters i just do not Post them #i love you crazy bitches #rambling about obey me in this but it’s obscenely funny whenever the crazy bitches i like overlap with my kins #(kylar is that.)

[bloodredfeathers]

Obey Me as Quotes From My Discord Server Part 3

🧡This one is interesting🧡

💥

Mammon: How did you cut your hair?!

Lucifer: I don't know if you knew this, but there are these things called scissors-

💥

Belphegor: I was going to be a therapist...but I'm too traumatized for that lol

💥

Satan: Sorry I couldn't get you chocolates. I thought you'd die if you ate them cuz you're such a bitch

Lucifer: I don't know if I should be offended or touched

💥

Beelzebub: YOUR POOR PP OR WHATEVER YOU OWN

Asmodeus: He fucked my butt, not my pp hoe

Beelzebub: YOUR POOR DONUT OR WHATEVER IDFK

Asmodeus: This is why you're a virgin

💥

Leviathan: WTF BRO THAT'S SUSPISPIS

MC: *laughs in American*

💥

Solomon: ASMO I'VE GOT MORE HAND PORN FOR YA!

💥

Satan: I killed their dog

Beelzebub: I eat kids

Mammon: I snort money for cocaine

Lucifer: I'm 150% done with all of you

💥

Beelzebub: Yo Hooters has some good cream pies

Asmodeus: I love the cream pies from Femboy Hooters

💥

Simeon: What do you have against Michael?

Asmodeus: A hand in his ass

💥

Mammon: Yes he's my new dog, say woof!

Satan: Meow.

💥

LMAO lord help me

#mammon obey me #lucifer obey me #satan obey me #obey me incorrect quotes #obey me #incorrect quotes #asmodeus obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all

[rosesandcloves]

Unwanted Years

Part 6: Blood-sharing is Caring

*warnings*

Shit gets dark in this one guys so handle with care. Man gets a bit disrespectful.

She blacked out and fell forwards, out of the house and into Klaus's arms.

Next thing Veera knew she was in a large ornate four poster bed, the carvings on  the bed posts appeared to move in circles as she sat up. Her head had a splitting pain right through it, but the feeling washing over that was hunger. She couldn't get rest from it for a minute. She needed to feed. Now.

She walked to the door of the room and tried the handle. It wouldn't open, she banged the whole force of her body against it but she was weak from the hunger. She went over to the window and tried to open it, but there were bars behind the glass, too close together for her to squeeze out.

She screamed a blud curdelling scream, the blood thirst setting in. The door blew open and the window smashed.

Klaus came running into the room, panic and anger painted on his face. She couldn't hold back anymore, she had to feed and she didn't care if it was from the living or dead. She wooshed over to him and hugged him. He relaxed into her embrace. She nuzzled her face into his neck. She could smell his blood through his skin. Veera's eyes grew dark and she could no longer resist. She bit down hard into her husbands neck and started to feed.

He threw her off of him. She smashed against the bars of the shattered windows. She let out a groan as her back cracked against the metal and she slid down to the floor.

"HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME!" Klaus shouted. She felt as if the whole room shook with his rage. His eyes glowed a hot yellow.

He walked towards her and kneeled down to her hight like he was stalking his prey.

"You run from me, your husband, who you are supposed to obey. You disregard the gift I gave you and disrespect yourself in the Salvatore house. You mingle with lesser men. You party till you fall into my lap and THEN YOU DARE TO FEED FROM ME! YOUR ALPHA!" he spat in her face.

She whimpered at his words. Then looked up to meet his gaze. "I obey no one but myself, and I did not want your gift." His anger grew at this and he took her by the arm and dragged her out of the room. He dragged her down the stairs to the basement, bruises forming on her arm under his grip. He chained her up and injected her with vervain.

Klaus looked down at her. "It's time you learn not to pick fights with someone twice your size little girl."

                                ***

Klaus beat both fists on the door of the Salvatore house. Damon answered.

"Klaus." Damon rolled his eyes. "You can't come in it's Elena's house she would have to invite you."

"I hear you have made an acquaintance with my wife, Damon!" Klaus smirked.

"And?" Damon snapped back.

Klaus laughed "Was the cocaine yours? I know you tend to be a bit of a lose cannon but I didn't know that it stretched that far."

"What cocaine?" Damon asked.

"So you suppose me to think that my own wife hated me so much that she shacked up with you two low life's voluntarily and then decided to dabble in a bit of the white stuff for the FUN OF IT." Klaus seethed at Damon.

"I don't know maybe being married to you took a tole on her. Maybe she should start a music career." Damon joked.

"Tell Elena I have Jeremy. I only will let him go if she lets me in."

"You're bluffing" Damon said with furrowed brows, not breaking eye contact.

Klaus took out his phone and showed Damon a video of Jeremy in his house being live streamed.

"I compelled one of my friends to cut out Jeremy's lungs with a rusty piece of scrap metal if Elena doesn't let me into the house within thirty minutes."

"ELENAAAA" Damon yelled.

Elena came to the door in a robe.

"Sorry love was I interrupting a rondevous?" Klaus looked back at Damon knowingly. "Now, unfortunately I have one of my loyal companions with a rusty knife to your brother's chest. Don't look so worried love! He won't come to any harm....so long as you let me in."

Damon looked at Elena "Don't do it!" he whispered through gritted teeth.

"I have to" she whispered through gritted teeth. She turned to Klaus. "Come in" She said tears pooling in her eyes.

"Stand down" he says down the phone.

Klaus steps through the door frame and immediately swings at Damon. His hybrid strength massively overpowering his opponent. He beats Damon across the face as he lies there on the floor desperately trying to push Klaus off him.

He turns to Elena. "Go look after your brother Elena, he's probably a bit shaken up" Klaus smiles at her. Then turns back to Damon and continues beating him to the brink of death. Damon's blood smears everywhere. Klaus pulls a dagger out of his back pocket. He plunged it into Damon just beneath his rib cage. He then moves up cutting between every rib. He then slits Damon's neck. He lies there lifeless. Klaus vanishes before Damon Damon had the chance to wake.

#daddy klaus #klaus mikealson smut #klausmikealson #tvd klaus #klaus mikaleson imagine #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the originals

[rougesoldat]

Personals Headcanons for the Shinigami in Kuroshitsuji

A post for @docmartensanddietcoke and for the Kuro fandom Team shinigami.

(Just, an old friend told me that put a “ s “ to the word “ shinigami “ was incorrect)

Headcanons Society Dispatch shinigami

>>A shinigami don’t immediately work. When a soul become a shinigami, she is sent in a “Accompanying House”. It’s an isolated, big propriety where “babies” shinigami live their first days. The shinigami learn them to read and write sometime, help them with the “futuristic” objects who are out of time, and alson help the shinigami to accept their punishment and don’t commit a second suicid. Sometime, the shinigami think that this place is the paradise and don’t want leave him, it’s the paradoxe of this place. 

>> The medecine department exist for the shinigami who get hurt after a mission. But, he's mainly knew for his psychatric wing, her asylum for unstable shinigami, her office drugs  controle and suicid cell.

>> a shinigami who can’t to work is send in the 4th basement. It’s a place where he does useless things for that he continues to work.

>> Because the sexism, the female shinigami are considered like too fragile and too emotional for to work in outside. However, they trained for to be multipurpose. They can to build and fix the scythes and the glasses, the complex administration, the secretariat and for the medecine, even the mental health. I think that during the War I, like the human women, they would be the only and the more important support for the male shinigami who will work on the No Man’s land.

>> A soul of shinigami is inedible for a demon.

>> With the thorn of death, he exist dangerous virus shinigami. The stress to have much work can to cause a black sweats who cause a dangerous madness. The solution is to kill the shinigami who cause this stress.

>> The shinigami keep many memories of their old life, but every head and face of persons are erased, except the face of shinigami saw.

>> He’s exist a department for the suicide here

Headcanons shinigami

>> Grell Sutcliff For to don’t become a shinigami, Grell had the idea to do to believe that he was much too mad and unstable for to become a shinigami, even if it was to stay closed during an eternity. It's a tutor stronger and intimidating that Grell who have successes to change the shinigami for to will become more “cooperative” with his job Grell loves the dogs (it’s why he loves Sebastian) but prefer the Siberian Husky because they are fluffs and sweet. After to read a fanfiction on the subject, i think that Grell take cocaine and opium. Grell didn’t wanted to train Ronald, but after, it was fun to him to create a Playboy. Grell suicided with a shaver.

>> William T. Spears He takes drugs for to work more but nobody knows this (except Grell who keep the secret) William is unstable for the shinigami officers. He failed her last psychotic test. He doesn’t know that her place of leader of department will take end soon and that he will be replaced by another shinigami. William did much erotic dream and had some phantasms during her job, but prefer to keep this in his spirit and far away of Grell. William doesn’t like Grell, but if Grell would disappear, he would lose her mental balance in some seconds. William loves the cats, as Sebastian.

>> Ronald Knox In his human life, Ronald was the son of a baron. Her father dead, he lived with her mother. Ronald was a rich who live with recklessness. So, a day, he frequented bad persons, and he accidentally killed her mother. Because he had killed the first woman who a man should respect, he considered that he don't deserved to live and put the gun in his mouth. Ronald didn’t like her punishment and preferred the Hell. He was unstable and the shinigami officers wanted to close him in the basement. Well, a tutor learned him to live her situation and Ronald success his exams before that Grell train him then. Ronald is a « Black Dog », a nickname for the shinigami « who obey to another master that the Superiors » He don’t know that his watch hide a secret Ronald is afraid by Othello since a medical joke when he was young.

>> Othello He looks porn « for the science » He did a medical joke, with a syringe, because Ronald break something in her laboratory. He created drugs during a moment for to grow her salary. He stole a book on the futures electronics invention, notably with the big chapter on the video games He loves the science since his old life, because he could no longer to walk outside after accident where he lost her legs.

>> Rudgar The train killed him. He broke her scythe during his first work day and nobody knows how he could to do. He was an excellent hunter in her old life. He’s a « Black Dog » like Ronald. His hair never saw a hairbrush.

>> Sascha He was considered as mad because of an unknown mental sickness, so, he lived in an asylum during a mainly part a life. He's hanged in her cell. Sascha is a hermaphrodite and the 6th case of shinigami hermaphroditism. He tokes drugs for to work more longer. The situation finished in a psychiatric cell with four months of recuperation.

>> Éric Slingby He suicided after the defeat and the dead of his Scotland clan. He’s not dead (because the fanfiction exist) and he works with the young recruits but don’t know if Alan is alive too. He shared in the same bedroom of William when they were young recruits. >> Alan Humphries He’s not dead (see the precedent note) and work for the personnel department, a closed department who only communicate by pigeons or letters. He has scars of thorn of death and don’t know the situation of Éric.

>> Lawrence Anderson He’s one of first shinigami and works on the glasses since the beginning of the Dispatch.

>> Others shinigami I called Ignatus, Michael and Jonathan these three shinigami

O.C  >> Jack Sutcliff It’s the twin of Grell, birth five minutes after him. (OKAY ! It’s my reaction to twin Ciels !!) He has been separate of Grell in his birth and suicided one month after him. He works in the German Dispatch for that there are not « Two Grell in the same place » and is the tutor of Rudgar. He loves to seduce the women and the opera. His hair is red and long but attached. His teeth are same as brother but her fang are more long. Her overcoat are long and black but red inside. Grell named « Jack the Ripper » in reference for this brother and sent him a photo of Madame Red. Jack is fell of love of her but was completly broken when Grell tell him that he killed her. Since this day, Jack don’t speak to Grell. He has deserted some weeks later (with her scythe and her glasses). Grell don’t know where he hides him and if he’s always in life.

>> Baskerville : He’s a black dog of emotionnal support. Grell had him a little before the War I. He’s a crossbreed between two races of sled dogs.

>> Crimson : A black cat of emotionnal support of William. He hates the demon as his master and he’s cold as him, but loves to sleep on her works papers.

O.C.C >> Ada Because since her creation in the manga, I imagine her to become a shinigami a day. Ronald is the only person that she remembers. So, Ronald will be his instructor. If her first objectify was to take Ada in his bed, she became like a sister for him as he became a brother for her.

>> Lawrence Bluer The events of Blue Arc finished by to break him. He considered himself like a shame and a danger for his sisters, and like a monster. He’s become a shinigami in the end of XIXe and became the better student of William, then her subordinate.

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji shinigami #grell sutcliff #william t spears #Ronald Knox #Alan Humphries #Eric Slingby #sascha #Rudgar #ludger #ada #Lawrence Anderson #lawrence bluer #O.C #O.O.C #kuroshitsuji headcanon #personals headcanons #shinigami #othello