#Forgotten by Daylight

[wolfasketch]

Suddenly had an itch to draw Mira and Draal, then remembered I had these two Arcane inspired sketches.

[chaiaurchaandni]

have humans developed a language that can accurately describe the intensity of this grief?

[slashthrashandcrash]

GhostMeg/JedMeg Phantom AU where Meg isn't Christine, but a very competent stagehand who's good at running around and managing props and lights, and keeps getting closer to her sweet stagehand friend, with an excellent knowledge of the theater they work in, while getting menaced/seduced by the murderous Phantom, who also has excellent knowledge of the theater. Consider?

Literally been hoarding this ask for weeks because I didn't want to part with it without any art because I'm so insanely in love with this concept bestie you don't understand I'm feral right now--

Meg thinks Jed is just teasing her with ghost stories as a way of flirting, like he's making up this excuse on the fly as a reason why they should totally stick together to make sure neither of them get attacked by the elusive Ghost haunting the theater. Or maybe Jed does think these stories are real and wants to be extra cautious, which honestly makes him even dorkier and cuter to Meg, so it's still a win for him either way.

It's all fun and games until the body of a skeevy stagehand is dropped from the catwalk to be hanged by rope pulleys, which what the hell!!! Meg had those perfectly set up for the next show, man!!! Who's fucking with her hard work and ruining her gear??? Oh yeah also there's a dead guy that's kind of Not Good...

But that's the thing about ghost stories, they always insist to be true. And the Ghost himself is very eager to make Meg believe in him, no matter how much she tries to wave off Jed's concerns that she's being "haunted". What's more likely -- some kind of vengeful spirit living in secret catacombs tormenting the theater for sick pleasure, or simply a series of explainable accidents due to old equipment and careless workers? The reason nothing bad has happened to Meg and Jed is because they're actually good at their jobs, clearly.

Anyways, hey, did you ever notice that crack in the wall in the prop storage can be popped open to reveal a full door? Meg's gonna go check it out now, finding a basement space would be great to put spare lighting equipment (:

[moisette]

Everyone has their own character or actor they'd like to see in DBD. I feel the same.

I'd really like to see a Robert Englund Freddy cosmetic. It would have to be linked and it would need voicelines. Please. I don't know if that will ever be possible but I've wanted it for a while. I would actually play Freddy xD GET OFF THE GEN, BITCH! GET ON THE HOOK, BITCH! DID YOU JUST STAB ME WITH A SHARD OF GLASS, BITCH!? ......That sounds like me when I'm playing...

I'd also love to see Danny Trejo in DBD >> No... I'd kill to see Danny Trejo in DBD >Bu Just kidding but I would love to see him in the game <<

It would have been nice to have Tony Todd in DBD but... Never been a huge Candyman fan but I LOVE hearing him talk x3

[dbd-map-resource]

Forgotten Ruins Compilation:

Entryway (and sky):

The Study:

Starry Roof Room:

Torture Room:

Gibbot Room:

Misc. :

[lotsobagels]

Me this week

[dayplays]

"... my mother had to train me to not attack my own tail."

[lilnasxvevo]

Now I don’t necessarily mean this in a bad way but like why does Harry Styles As It Was sound like it was released in 2009

[epiaphany]

you tagged that gif set with #now that i've realized that i can zoom in without losing too much quality i can't stop doing it ... if may I ask, how do you zoom in and not lose quality? any chance you'd do like, a step by step explanation? just for that one specific thing, I mean. that would be appreciated. I'm a gifmaker myself and never quite figured that one out.

hi!!! i'm sorry to disappoint but the only thing i changed (from the last time i tried this, where i was not happy with the quality) was that i managed to find episodes with a bigger file size. the ones i just linked were 800mb. the ones you're referring to were 1,7gb (still not ideal. i prefer to work with 2gb+ but it still helps a lot to at least be above 1gb, and also i find it a bit difficult to find episodes with a bigger size as i use mega to download).

other than that it's about sharpening + coloring. i just got an ask about sharpening so i'll talk about that there :) but also, i have tried to make gifs from screencaps and it simply doesn't work for me. i can't figure out how to get good quality and also the gifs don't turn out as smooth as i'd like them to be. so instead i import the episode to fcp, slow the clip down there and then import to photoshop. takes a long time but it's the way i prefer to do it lol

[wolfasketch]

Don't worry, y'all, Draal's chill.

Pierce shifts to protect Mira from Draal, but the older troll simple inquires if this was their first time taking on their troll forms and allows them to tell Jim and the others they're Changelings, though he is a bit pushy about it later on, instead of telling Jim himself. He even starts teaching them how to control their newfound strengths and ablities(re: Pierce having the right body shape for a death roll and Mira being able to use her tail as a weapon and shield) in secret, at least, secret until Mira and Pierce out themselves.

And, yes, Draal sees the family resemblance when it comes to Pierce's looks and Mira's gemed spikes.

Part 1

[tojishousewife]

Whining to cockwarm toji while you’re having a picnic <3 tw - daddy kink, ddlg

You’re in his lap under the shade of a massive, old tree, the blanket beneath you soft and warm from the sun, a little Tupperware container of food forgotten as you whimper and shift in his lap. Birds chirp in the trees, there's a breeze tickling your bare thighs, and Toji just won't let you have his cock.

“You’re being real bratty, sweetheart,” he mutters against your neck, his voice low and lazy like he has all day to ignore your whining. His arms are heavy around you, one big palm resting right under your tits, the other lazily draped across your plush thighs, fingers brushing where your sundress has ridden up. “You gonna cry over not sitting on daddy’s cock in the middle of the park?”

You nod, sniffling dramatically, your glossy lips in a pout. “Mhm. S’not fair. You’re so mean,” you mumble, grinding your ass down into his lap, feeling the hard outline of him through his jeans. “Been good all day, I packed lunch, I even cut your sandwich diagonal like you like it—n’you’re being so mean to me, Toji...”

He snorts—that deep, condescending chuckle that makes your whole body throb. “Tch. You thought I was mean? Thought you liked when I'm mean,” he growls into your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. You mewl when his hand slips under your dress, his fingers spreading your slick folds. “You're dripping through your panties in broad daylight, kiddo. What—gonna soak daddy’s jeans just ‘cause he won't let you be a cockdrunk little doll in public?”

“Please,” you whisper, hips squirming around his grip, “just for a minute—I'll be so quiet, promise, daddy. Don't even have to move, just wanna feel it, pleasepleaseplease—“

He grunts as he shifts beneath you, one hand palming your squishy ass as he pulls your panties to the side with the other. “You’re lucky there ain't nobody around,” he mutters, thick fingers lining his cock up with your needy hole. Spoiled fucking brat”

You gasp as he sinks you down till your cunnie is swollen and split open around his cock, stuffed full while your thighs shake in his lap.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding you still when you quickly try to bounce. “No. You sit like a good girl. That's all you get”.

You whimper, burying your face in his neck, your fists bunching his shirt as your pussy flutters helplessly around him. “Daddy—“

“Don't ‘daddy’ me,” he huffs, biting into a strawberry like you’re not stuffed full and twitching on his cock. “Should make you sit there the whole fucking afternoon. Maybe you’ll learn some patience”.

You won’t. You'll beg again in five minutes. But he'll let you because you're his favorite mouthy little toy. And because your pussy’s already drooling down his cock like it knows it belongs there.

“Eat your sandwich,” he says, smirking. “You’re gonna need the energy.”

[clowngremlin]

being bipolar is so funny because i'll be in a good mood and like doing a lot of art and feeling really energized and i'll be like "oh god am i having a manic episode again??"

[moisette]

I have a question for other Killers:

Do you struggle to see scratch marks on Ormond?

For whatever reason, my eyes just overlook scratch marks on that map. I can't see them on other maps but it's due to the maps being reddish, orangeish, brownish, and purpleish. I don't understand why red on white is hard for me to see...

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P7)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: just when all you thought life couldn't get any worse for Bunny... well y'all were wrong. Also this hasn't got a lot of rafe in it ngl but I swear the next chapter will have A LOT of them together.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs (smoking), throwing up, mentions of a strip club, mentions of harassment (implied assault), Bunny in distress :(, pretty angsty tbh, arguing

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13)

The soft glow of daylight pressed against the edges of the blinds, but Y/N's room remained cloaked in a sleepy dimness. The air was thick, a mix of stale perfume and forgotten laundry, clothes lay draped over the chair in the corner, an empty glass sat on her nightstand, and a few crumpled receipts peeked out from under her bed; she hadn’t had the energy to clean up. Her phone buzzed against the mattress beside her, the vibrations rattling slightly against the sheets before settling into silence. Then, a few seconds later, another buzz. And another. She already knew who it was before even glancing at the screen.

Bambi  :  You gon be in tonight????

Bambi  :  Been dead without u girl

Bambi  :  ??? You good?

Bambi  :  At least let me know you’re alive tf

Y/N let out a slow breath, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The messages glowed on her screen, but she didn’t reach for them. Instead, she just lay there, her limbs heavy, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer- she just didn’t know how, she wasn't sure what to say. 

Another buzz.

Bambi  :  If you ignore me again I’m showing up at your house. 

Bambi  :  Ima ask tommy where you live i'm sure he’ll find out 

Bambi  :  Don’t play with me.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it faded just as quickly as she let out a small sigh, finally grabbing the phone with sluggish fingers, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

She typed. 

Deleted. 

Typed again.

Bunny  :  I’m fine

Bunny  :  Just taking a little break omi 

She stared at the message for a second before pressing send. It was enough to get Naomi off her back. For now, at least. She let her phone fall back onto the bed beside her, rubbing her tired eyes with the heel of her palm.  A knock at the door made her heart jump. Her breath hitched, fingers curling slightly into the sheets as she pushed herself to sit up.

"Y/N?"

JJ's voice filtered through the wood, and her shoulders relaxed just a fraction, relieved it was his voice.

"Uh... can I come in?"

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat, sitting up a little. The door creaked open, and JJ stepped in, his eyes flickering around the messy room before landing on her. He hesitated, shifting awkwardly, and she could tell he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. "Uh..." He scratched at the back of his neck, flipping his cap backward before exhaling through his nose.

 "Can I borrow some money? Jus' for gas..."

Y/N just nodded, moving robotically toward her nightstand. Dragging the draw open she pulled out a fifty and handed it to him without a word, forcing a small smile. He took it, stuffing it into his pocket, still lingering like he had more to say. He hesitated before he asked, voice softer now.

"You okay?"

"Yeah- yeah, I'm good" 

She replied quickly. JJ nodded, rocking on his heels before glancing toward the door, "Me and the Pogues are doing a fire at the Chateau tonight... you wanna come?"

"Um... sure. I'll think about it."

Y/N hesitated, rubbing her fingers over the fabric of her bedsheets. A small grin tugged at his lips, and he gave her a nod. 

"Well... catch ya later sis?"

"Catch you later J"

She exhaled, forcing another smile. He lingered for a second longer before slipping out, shutting the door behind him. She listened, waiting patiently before hearing the sound of the front door closing. Y/N let out a small groan, rubbing her face before finally pulling herself together up off the bed, moving toward her dresser to pull out her uniform from the top drawer, pushing it shut with her hip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time she'd stepped into the country club, she was already met with the sharp-eyed stare of her manager. He stood near the entrance, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the polished floor, "Maybank," he called the second he spotted her.

"You're twenty minutes late."

"I’m sorry, I— overslept."

Y/N exhaled through her nose, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as the scrawny man in front of her, Mark- was it? She wasn’t too sure he’d only joined last week but one thing she was sure of- he was a total dick. Mark scoffed, clearly unimpressed at her petty excuse as he looked her up and down. 

"Well, don’t let it happen again. We’re busy today, you’re needed in the restaurant. Get to it."

"Yeah, of course" 

She muttered under her breath, already walking past him. He was such a prick, thinking he was above everyone else just because he got to wear a different uniform. But at the end of the day, he was just as much of a pogue as the rest of them. The restaurant was a mess of voices and clinking cutlery, yummy mommies and uninterested fathers wrangling hyperactive kids, older couples sipping on overpriced wine. It was the busiest she’d seen it in a while. Y/N sighed, making her way near the bar where a few other servers were already scrambling around, piling margaritas and mojitos onto trays. She reached under the counter, pulling out her designated apron and securing it around her waist before grabbing her notepad and pen, just another day in paradise. As she tightened the knot on her apron, she felt a light touch on her arm and she turned to find Sofia standing beside her, brows pulled together in concern. The brunette girl greeted, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.

"Hey" 

"Hey" 

Y/N replied, offering a small smile and Sofia's frown deepened just slightly. 

"Are you okay… you’re late today."

Y/N hummed, already knowing where this was going. She was never late. Not to work, not to anything really, she always made sure she was on time- well except for today. She assured her friend, forcing her voice to sound as normal as possible.

"Yeah Sof, I’m fine- I just overslept" 

Sofia gave a slow nod, but she wasn’t convinced. Dropping her voice, she leaned in a little closer and she whispered.

"Is it your dad?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. A warmth spread in her chest, the kind that only came from knowing someone truly cared. Sofia was sweet always like that—no one else in her life really looked out for her the way she did. A soft smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she shook her head. "No," she murmured. 

"He’s being… okay."

Sofia studied her for a second before giving a nod. "Alright," she said, clearly not wanting to push. Then, as if sensing the need for a subject change, Y/N asked, "So, what section am I in today?" Sofia winced, dragging out the word, 

"Weeeelllll—"

Y/N groaned, "Nooo, Sof."

"I’m sorry, okay? I got the balconies, and because you were late, Bailey took the outside, so—"

"-so I got stuck with center" 

Y/N finished, already dreading it. Sofia gave her a look of sympathy, but it didn’t help much. The center section was the worst. It was where all the entitled families sat- the ones with spoiled kids who flung food without a care in the world, and mothers and fathers too glued to their phones or their own conversations to notice. Y/N groaned, slumping against the counter. 

"I swear you did this on purpose."

Sofia snorted, nudging the girl with her shoulder, "Yeah, totally. I plotted this entire thing just to ruin your morning."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. She let out one last exaggerated grunt before pushing off the counter, "Fine. But if I get mashed potatoes in my hair, you're cleaning it out for me."

"I guess it's the least I could do..." Sofia laughed.

After that she didn't see the girl once because the lunch rush was in full swing, and Y/N seemed to be drowning in it. The noise of the restaurant buzzed in her ears- cutlery clinking, bratty kids shrieking about not getting dessert, chairs scraping, and the constant hum of voices layering over each other. She barely had a second to breathe between tables, and it didn’t help that she had the worst kind of customers. She was in the middle of jotting down an order when a voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Hello? Are you even listening?”

Y/N blinked, looking up at the middle-aged woman with an unimpressed frown. She asked, forcing her best polite voice.

“Sorry, ma’am. What was that?”

The woman scoffed shaking her head, “Unbelievable. I said no onions on my salad- are you writing this down?”

“Of course, no onions.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, scribbling it onto the pad. She could feel the heat rising in her face, but she kept moving. There was no time to dwell- she had to drop off one table’s drinks, check on another’s meal, and now, grab a fresh batch of plates from the kitchen. She pushed through the kitchen doors and made a beeline for the counter, spotting the steaming plates waiting under the heat lamps. She reached out, grabbing one—

“No! Wait that's h—”

Yet Elijah’s warning came too late. The moment her fingers curled around the plate, a searing pain shot through her palm. She let out a sharp, instinctive whine, immediately jerking her hand back and waving it in the air.

“Shit!”

Elijah’s eyes widened, “Fuck, Y/N, I forgot that one just came out.”

“It’s fine. It’s okay. I should’ve checked.”

She exhaled through her teeth, shaking out her fingers and blowing on her palm. Elijah still looked guilty, but she didn't have time to listen to his apologies, so she quickly grabbed a rag to pick up the plates properly, her hand still stinging as she placed them down onto a tray and balanced it on her hand, pushing back through the doors. However, the second she stepped out, her manager was waiting, arms crossed.

“Maybank, pick up the pace. You’re falling behind.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek so hard she almost tasted blood. She wanted to snap, to tell him that maybe if they weren’t understaffed and she wasn’t stuck serving every entitled asshole in this place, she wouldn’t be behind. But she swallowed it down, nodding stiffly instead. She walked past him, her burned hand still throbbing, head pounding, and for the first time all day, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it through her shift without completely losing it. 

After leaving the, somewhat happy, family with their meals, she glanced around at her tables- which all seemed relatively contect. So with that sacred moment of peace she slipped behind the bar, reaching for a glass to pour herself some water, when a voice stopped her. “Maybank.” She turned to see Camilla, the head of house, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Her expression was neutral, but there was a knowing glint in her eye.

“Just sat two guys in your section. They look like they tip well...” 

Camilla said with a slight smirk. Y/N exhaled, setting the empty glass down. Guess I’ll get my water later she thought to herself as she nodded, smoothing her apron as she made her way toward the new table. As she approached, she took them in- two men, mid-forties, dressed in tailored suits with loosened ties. They had that rich look about them, one of them had slicked-back hair, his Rolex glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The other had a sharp jawline and expensive prada sunglasses perched atop his head. Y/N pulled out her pad, forcing a polite smile. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your server today—”

She glanced up, and the moment her eyes landed on the man with the sunglasses, her stomach dropped. His smirk was slow, spreading across his face like he was enjoying a private joke. His gaze dragged over her, lingering just a little too long. Y/N felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Well, well,” he murmured under his breath.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She pretended not to hear, gripping her pen a little tighter as she asked, keeping her voice even.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?”

The man with the sunglasses let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Whiskey on the rocks” he said lazily. His friend ordered a beer, and Y/N quickly scribbled it down, ready to get away from the table. But just as she turned, the guy hummed. 

“You must really like serving people, huh?”

Her stomach twisted. She knew exactly what he was implying. She didn’t let herself pause, didn’t let him see her react. Instead, she simply nodded, keeping her face blank as her jaw ticked.

“That’s my job, sir” 

She said albeit sarcastically before walking away. Yet even as she put distance between them, she could still feel his eyes on her and suddenly, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed a shower. Y/N quickly typed the orders into the system, her fingers moving almost mechanically, but her mind was still focused on the two men at table 5. The words from the guy in sunglasses were still echoing in her mind, and it was hard to shake the feeling of discomfort creeping up her spine. As she was trying to center herself, she saw Sofia passing by with an empty tray in hand, Y/N practically reached out to grab her arm, making Sofia stop in her tracks.

“Hey, uh... can I ask you a favor?” 

Y/N’s voice was low, almost pleading, and Sofia immediately tilted her head, looking at her with concern. “What’s up?” Sofia asked, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face, sensing the tension. She hesitated for a second, her eyes darting over to table 5, where the two men were now deep in conversation. 

“I know I don’t usually ask, but- could you just take over table 5 for me?” 

She asked, her words a little rushed trying to keep her voice as steady as she could, trying to keep the nervousness from showing. Sofia’s eyes shifted over to the table, quickly taking in the two guys who were talking and she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” 

“Oh, uh... one of them was just being a creep, and I don’t want to serve them anymore. They’re just freaking me out, you know?” She tried to make it sound casual, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Sofia nodded without missing a beat, her face hardening with understanding. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Y/N let out a small sigh of relief as Sofia gave her a reassuring smile. She slipped behind the bar, and reached for a glass of water, the coolness of it a welcome distraction from the heat of the day. But as her fingers brushed the glass, her mind wandered- unsurprisingly, to the two men she just served. She’d kept her two lives separate for so long and for months, she had succeeded. But now… now she could feel them bleeding into each other. It should’ve been obvious. She should’ve known that eventually, something would snap. But Y/N had buried her head in the sand, living like this dual existence was sustainable and now it was all crashing together. Her hand tightened around the glass, maybe she should’ve expected it sooner, maybe this was just karma catching up with her. But what did she do now? With a sharp exhale, Y/N jerked her head away from the counter, pulling herself back to reality. The sound of the kitchen buzzed back to life, and she set her glass of water down with a quiet sigh, abandoning the brief moment of peace. The kitchen doors swung open as she grabbed a tray of dishes,the smell of garlic and tomatoes hit her first- rich, hearty, the kind of smell that reminded her of family dinners at Sofia's house. But then, the overpowering scent of fish and anchovies mingled with it, and Y/N felt her stomach lurch in response.

Her body instinctively recoiled, but she continued to walk with the tray, forcing herself to ignore the growing nausea that started to pool in her chest. As she placed the plates down in front of her table, the scents lingered too long, curling around her senses and twisting like a knot in her gut. She barely heard the customers thank her as she turned quickly on her heel. Her stomach churned, the tight feeling in her chest growing. It wasn’t like this normally, she had always been able to deal with the smells, even if they weren’t her favorite, but today felt different.

Without another thought, she bolted for the back, pushing past the kitchen staff with a quick “excuse me” and “sorry” she didn’t really register. The bathroom was just a few steps away, and she barely made it to the toilet before her body reacted to the smells. Her knees buckled as she knelt, gripping the sides of the porcelain toilet, dry heaving into the bowl. Nothing came up at first, just the acidic taste of bile burning the back of her throat. It wasn’t long before the contents of her stomach caught up with her, and she threw up, the sensation heavy in her chest. She breathed through it, barely able to steady herself as her body trembled. She stayed there for a few minutes, resting her forehead against the cold edge of the toilet, willing the waves of nausea to pass. 

Finally, she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and rinsing her face under the cool tap. Her reflection in the mirror didn’t look like her- not entirely. Her hair was disheveled, eyes a little more tired than usual. But she took a deep breath, splashing some more water on her face as she took a deep breath, making her way back into the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft buzz of the overhead lights hummed in the quiet gas station shop, the air thick with the scent of cheap coffee. Y/N walked down the narrow aisle, her eyes scanning the shelves in a daze, she needed to pick up some bread, eggs, and milk—simple things. Her hand brushed against the shelf, the cold bottles of milk sending a faint chill up her arm. She placed the bottle into her basket and moved through the next aisle but then, her gaze caught something- something tucked away on the edge of the shelf in a blue and white box. The name on it stared up at her and she couldn’t ignore it. She stood still for a moment, her fingers tightening around the handle of the basket, as if the weight of the box was too much for her to attempt to lift. She picked it up slowly, feeling the smooth cardboard beneath her fingers. Her thumb ran over the price tag, and she let out a small, exasperated huff as she read it: $13. Jesus, that was steep for something so small.

She stared at it for another moment, almost as if waiting for the price to drop but it didn’t and the shop remained empty, just the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the soft shuffle of her shoes against the linoleum floor. With a quick glance around the shop, ensuring no one was there to see, she shoved the box into her basket.

She needed it. 

Even if it didn’t make sense, even if it was a stupid purchase, she needed to feel some semblance of control. The cashier stood behind the counter, chewing gum slowly, her eyes uninterested as she scanned each item with a mechanical precision. The click of the scanner was the only sound in the otherwise silent shop. Y/N could feel her gaze on her, a heavy, almost judgmental stare as the woman worked through the items. The cashier's eyes flicked up as she reached the box. She scanned it, then raised her eyebrows slightly, her gaze flicking from the box to Y/N, as if silently questioning her. She didn’t say anything though, just let the moment hang in the air, her gum popping softly between her teeth. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit she never seemed to break, and cleared her throat.

 “Can I get a bag?” 

Her voice came out quieter than she expected, the cashier nodded, not bothering to make a show of it, and began placing the items in the bag leisurely. The sound of the plastic crinkling felt like an eternity to Y/N, each second stretching into the next. It was torturous- like the woman was dragging it out on purpose. Finally, the woman looked up at her and said flatly, 

“$20.50.”

Y/N’s hand immediately went to her pocket, fingers fumbling slightly as she pulled out the cash. She placed it on the counter without a word, almost too quickly, and the cashier took the money, handed her back the change, and Y/N took it with a muttered "thanks," her voice barely audible. She grabbed the bag, turning quickly to head for the exit, relief bubbling up at the thought of being out of there. 

But as her hand reached the door, she paused.

Her gaze flicked to the small W/C sign on the wall, the letters simple and stark, and for some reason, her feet seemed to move of their own accord. Without thinking, Y/N walked towards the restroom doors and slipped through them. 

She now found herself sat on the toilet, her elbow resting on her knees, her head leaning into the palm of her hand. Her other hand absently fiddled with the plastic turning it over, looking at it every few seconds waiting for some sort of sign, some hint of change. But nothing. Nothing had changed. It was just plastic- empty, meaningless plastic. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion in her body. It had been a long day, and her mind was tired, her thoughts heavy and slow. She closed her eyes for just a moment, just to breathe, to try and center herself, to stop feeling so damn overwhelmed. She let out a soft sigh, as if to release all the tension she had been carrying. When she opened her eyes again, the restroom’s faint fluorescent light made everything look almost surreal. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting. 

But when her gaze dropped, something froze in her chest.

She was gripping the plastic now, harder than before. Her knuckles were pale from the pressure, but it didn’t matter. The small screen was glaring up at her and in that harsh, glaring light, the one thing she hadn’t wanted to see was right there. Her throat was tightening, and for a moment, it felt like the room was closing in on her. She stared at it, her mind running in circles, her breath shallow.

She hadn’t expected this. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N slammed the door behind her with more force than she intended- its harsh thud reverberating through the quiet space. She rushed into her room, her heart pounding in her chest, she didn’t even notice the noise; her mind was elsewhere, racing. Panicked. The weight of the little plastic screen clung to her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. Her hands were a little shaky as she dropped to her knees beside her bed, reaching under it with frantic urgency. She pulled out the tattered brown shoe box that she had kept hidden, the one filled with money she’d saved. Her fingers fumbled with the box’s worn edges before opening it and pulling out the small pile of cash. She began counting quickly, 

Two hundred and fifty dollars.

Her stomach twisted at the sight of it. Two hundred and fifty dollars. That was it? Barely enough to make it through the month—food, bills, gas. She knew she hadn’t been at the club for almost three weeks but she never really noticed how much of a difference it made- without it her payout at the country club, well it was practically nothing. She cursed under her breath, shoving the cash back into the box. How was she supposed to make it work? This wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t even close.

A sharp knock to her bedroom door pulled her out of the downward spiral she found herself tumbling through. “What?” she snapped irritably, blinking away the haze of frustration. She shoved the box back under the bed as the door opened. JJ walked in, a little lighter than usual. He had a joint behind his ear and a grin plastered across his face. 

“You ready to get lit sis?”

Y/N paused, still kneeling on the floor, her hands clenched into fists. “What?” she asked, her tone sharp and confused. JJ spoke out, walking deeper into her room like it was his own,

“C’mon, you ready to go to the fire?” 

Her mind flicked back to that morning when he had asked her if she wanted to go to the Chateau with him and the Pogues to spend the night, maybe smoke some weed, have a few beers. It felt like a lifetime ago now that they’d discussed it, and she couldn’t shake the weight in her chest. She pushed some hair out of her face, shaking her head slowly as she pushed herself off the floor. 

“Look JJ... I don’t know if I can do that tonight.”

JJ, oblivious to the undercurrent of panic in her voice, walked past her and pulled open the doors of her closet already rifling through her closet causing her brows to pull down into a frown. He spoke nonchalantly, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top looking at them before shrugging and tossing them onto the bed close to where she stood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- you just need to loosen up Y/N” 

 “I really don’t want to JJ” 

She said, her voice tight as she sat on the edge of the bed, her leg bouncing up and down nervously, but her brother had already made his way towards where she was , pulling at her shoulders shaking her lightly, trying to convince her. 

“Just loosen up, Y/N. You’ll come to the chate-”

“-I’ve got bigger fucking problems than spending a shitty night getting high by some fire!” 

She burst out, her chest tightening with the outburst. Something inside her snapped, and she stood up abruptly, pushing his hands off her. JJ stepped back, surprised by the force of her movement. The words hung heavy in the room and she immediately regretted saying them, feeling the lump in her throat, the guilt crawling up her neck. JJ stared at her, his expression frozen for a moment. He hadn’t expected that- neither did she. He stood still for a beat, and then, shaking his head, he mumbled, 

“Should’ve guessed you didn’t want to spend time with your brother and his shitty friends, right?”

Y/N’s face softened for a moment, but the words stung, and she felt that familiar ache in her chest. She started, her voice breaking just slightly,

 “JJ—”

He didn’t wait though, instead he turned on his heel, walking toward the door, his lips pursed in frustration. Before she could say anything else, he slammed the door behind him. Y/N stood there, alone, heart pounding in her ears. She tried to sit there on the edge of the bed for a few more minutes after he heard the front door slam shut to try and calm herself, but her mind was running too fast. The words she’d snapped at JJ kept echoing in her head, the way he’d walked out, the hurt in his voice when he made that comment about not wanting to spend time with him. She knew it wasn’t true. She did want to spend time with him more than anything, but everything was just... overwhelming. 

Her gaze flickered over to the duffle bag sticking out from the back of her closet. The zipper was slightly open, revealing the pink sparkle of the clothes inside. She hadn’t planned to go back there tonight, but the weight of the situation was too heavy- she needed the money now. She couldn’t just let it all sit on her shoulders while she waited for something to change. Y/N sighed, dragging herself off the bed with more effort than she cared to admit. 

She had no choice but to make it work. 

It always worked, somehow. 

The duffle bag felt heavier than it should as she pulled it out from the closet, her fingers brushing the rough fabric. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold it in her hands, but now, with everything else piling on top of her, she couldn’t ignore the fact that it might be her only option. She unzipped the bag slowly, pulling out the set she hadn’t touched in weeks. She stared at the two piece, at their tight fit, the heels in the bag she knew would be a bitch to walk in but would make the money flow. There was a strange sense of finality in the way she laid everything out on her bed. 

Y/N quickly pulled her polo top over her head, hand reaching to her back to unclasp the bra she was wearing; trying not to think too much about the decision she was making. She pulled on the panties, feeling the familiar fabric settle against her skin, dragging on the pair of shorts and t-shirt JJ had thrown out her closet over the set. As she grabbed the duffle bag again, her stomach twisted in knots, but she pushed the feeling down. She shoved everything into the bag, and as she walked out of her room, heading for the door, her hand lingered on the handle of the front door for a second longer than it should have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car hummed under her, tires rolling over the familiar streets, but her mind was a million miles away. She wasn’t driving fast; in fact, she was barely even looking at the road, her gaze flickering from the rearview mirror to the side window. The night stretched on like a thick fog in front of her, and all she could do was try to sort through the thoughts fighting for space in her head. She should have been heading straight to the club, her destination set, the routine of it all keeping her grounded. But she couldn’t shake the nagging pull, the thought she’d been running from for so long. 

The thought of what he had said to her.

She came to a slow stop at the red light, her eyes catching the turn-off for Figure 8. She bit her lip, her mind racing. She could do it- this one night would pay for it, for all the expenses. She wouldn't need to slave away for hours at the club every night for the next two weeks. But the longer she thought about it, she didn't think she could do it, the thought being clouded in guilt and in hesitation. The light flickered green, and Y/N’s foot hovered for a second.

Her car made a slow right turn, the headlights illuminating the driveway of the house she’d never imagined stepping foot in. The driveway was empty except for the black Range Rover, parked against the stillness of the night. The lights were off inside, except for the soft glow coming from a window upstairs. Y/N’s heart was thumping, the tension coiling in her chest.

She shouldn’t be here. 

She felt herself fidgeting with the steering wheel, her nails already bitten down to the skin, she was out of the car before she even had the chance to fully think the idea through. The driveway stretched in front of her, empty and lonely and her footsteps echoed in the quiet as she walked up to the door, her thoughts scattered and panicked. She raised her hand, and knocked.

Once.

Twice. 

The sound was sharp against the night, the quiet too loud in her ears. She crossed her arms, staring at the door, waiting, her breath shallow as the seconds stretched on. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself now. The door creaked open, just a little, enough to see him, his silhouette framed in the darkness

Rafe stood in the doorway, a surprised expression crossing his face as his eyes slowly raked over her. His lips lifted into a smirk as his gaze lingered, reading her.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone. 

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you anytime soon.” 

His gaze flickered over her, narrowing slightly, processing the change. The girl who had slapped him just weeks ago, who had shot down his offer without a second thought, was standing here now, looking... different. 

Vulnerable, maybe?

Her eyes never left his, the tension between them palpable in the night air. She stood there for a second, her lips pressed tight, and then, finally, she spoke.

“Does your offer still stand?” 

She asked, her voice steady but her posture tense, her arms crossing over her chest, as if bracing herself for whatever would come next. Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. 

“What?”

“You said you wanted me to dance for you,” she clarified, her eyes now unwavering, “privately.”

Rafe blinked, his confusion momentarily replacing the usual smugness in his expression. He stared at her, trying to piece this together. The last time they’d spoken, she turned down the idea without a moment of hesitation and prior to that she’d slapped him across the face for suggesting something like this, practically hurling insults at him. And now, here she was, standing in front of him, asking for the very thing she had so firmly rejected. He scratched his bicep slightly as he moved to cross his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, his eyes flicking over her again, narrowing as he tried to make sense of her sudden shift in demeanor. 

“Why now?” 

He asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. Y/N's jaw tightened- was he really expecting her to explain herself? To give him a reason? She just needed this—needed him to say yes, because she didn’t have time to waste. “That’s not important,” she replied, her voice a little firmer, a little colder now.

 “Does the offer still stand or not?”

Rafe’s eyes stayed locked on her, the gears turning in his head as he considered her. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her. The attraction had always been there, but it had grown stronger in the past few months. Seeing her again, after all this time apart, made something inside him ignite.

He wanted her- and it wasn’t just about the power and control anymore. 

There was something more now.

He ran a hand across his jaw, his gaze flicking over her, up and down, assessing her in a way he hadn’t before. The silence stretched, his fingers still brushing over his stubbled jaw as he thought it through. But the thought of having her all to himself, the idea of pushing this thing between them to the next level, the idea of making her his- really his- he couldn’t shake it. Finally, he dropped his hand and gave her a look that told her what she needed to know before he even said it. 

“It still stands.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her eyes flickering in relief. She nodded once, a small, sharp motion, “So, can I come in?”

Rafe stepped back, the door creaking as he swung it wider to allow her through. His hand lingered on the doorframe, just for a moment, before he released it. Y/N hesitated. She was standing there, staring at the threshold, as if her feet had rooted to the floor. She had no idea what she was walking into- no idea what would happen when she crossed that line but she needed to. 

She had to.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, the door shutting behind them with a soft click.

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[hannibalised]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?”