floatingdaisy7

[floatingdaisy7]

this is my fic for @pedgito's Spring Fever writing challenge with these prompts: Slasher, Camp, & Sensory Deprivation (sorry, took camp pretty loosely here)

|| nsfw 18+, DDDNE, DARK!JOEL, slasher!joel, cnc!!! dubious consent!!! if it aint for you scroll tf on by!!! stalker vibes, fingering, sensory deprivation, fear play, mask kink, predator/prey, forced orgasm || a/n: alright fam I was gonna wait to post this but that anon this morning pmo. sooooo enjoy!!! the pic of joel is mine I took from the game. this fic is not for everyone!! heeeeed the warningsssss

You’ve never known darkness like this.

A darkness so thick, so absolute. There was no moon, no stars, no relief from the smothering, blinding darkness. It was just…black. The kind that makes your head swim, makes your ears strain for sounds that aren’t there. Or ones that are. You don’t know what’s worse.

You’ve been running for what feels like forever.

Your lungs burn, your legs are lead, each step feeling heavier than the last. The underbrush fights against you like mangled hands—branches clawing at the flesh of your arms, brambles catching on the exposed skin of your thighs. The uneven ground is a cruel thing, tripping you up again and again, sending you crashing into tree trunks, the bark scraping into your palms as you barely catch yourself before hitting the dirt.

But you don’t stop.

Because something or someone is behind you.

You don’t know how far. You don’t know how close. But the sound of it has been chasing you, steady and relentless—the snap of branches, the dull thud of heavy footsteps somewhere just out of reach.

You’ve completely lost track of time. Your one and only source of light was left behind what feels like a lifetime but was only a matter of days ago. There was simply no time to think of your flashlight back in your tent when you had to run. But you don’t know how long it’s been since then. Everything past survival has blurred together.

You don’t know where you are.

But you have to stop.

You have to stop.

You won’t make it much farther if you don’t. Your legs are giving out beneath you, every step turning into a stumble, every breath dragging too hard, too deep, too loud. Your hands shake as you catch yourself crashing down between the thick, twisted roots of a tree, ignoring the ache in your knees, the sharp edges of the bark biting into your spine as you press yourself against it.

It’s quiet now.

The first real silence you’ve had in hours. Maybe it’s over. Maybe you ran far enough.

You think of your only saving grace, stashed deep in your pocket, and you dig your fingers past fabric and grit, searching for the thin slip of cardboard. When you finally pinch the matchbook between your fingers, pulling it from the confines of your shorts, you blindly flick it open. Your hands are clumsy, stiff and shaking.

Five matches left.

You hesitate. It’s not safe here, but the dark is worse. You can’t even see your hands in front of you. Can’t see anything. It’s like your eyes are stretching, playing tricks on you as they try to pull something—anything—out of the blackness.

You pull out a match, feel for the strip, and strike it fast.

The spark flares bright, too bright, your pupils contracting hard. The flame wavers between your fingers, small and flickering, but enough to push the dark back. Enough to let you see—

Movement.

No. Not movement. Reflection.

A quick, sharp gleam across the clearing. Faint, almost nothing, but there. Something smooth catching the light and throwing it back at you in a thin, distorted line.

You squint, trying to make sense of it. Not water, but almost like glass—warped, uneven.

Then you see it. A round, fogged-over lens, slightly misshapen, reflecting the weak glow of the match. Another next to it. Not eyes, but something meant to mimic them.

And metal. A hard, curved surface, dark but slick enough to catch the light, the shape of it unmistakable now.

A gas mask.

Your stomach turns violently, bile rising in your throat.

The figure doesn’t move—if it even is a person, you can’t be sure. The lenses catch the weak light, blank and unblinking. It could be a trick of the dark, your eyes playing games with the shapes between the trees. You feel like you can hardly trust them anymore.

Your match goes out.

Your breath catches, sitting too high in your chest, refusing to move. Reaching for another match, your fingers stiff, you fumble for another. Four left. 

You strike it fast. The flame bursts to life, searing bright for just a second—just long enough for you to see—

Nothing.

No reflection. No mask. No shape standing where it had been before.

But the night is no longer still. And beyond anything else, you know for certain that you are no longer alone in the darkness.

There’s something else now, shifting in the brush, the dry snap of twigs underfoot. Not the wind or an animal. The sound is deliberate, heavy in a way that makes your skin crawl. You push yourself back into the tree, feeling the rough bark dig in, grounding yourself in pain, in something real. Your eyes dart, straining past the reach of the weak light, desperate to find what you know is there.

You hear him before you see him.

"Hey, kiddo."

Something presses against your face before you can scream. Cloth, warm from body heat. Your hands shoot up too late, fingers grasping uselessly at a grip too strong. The scent floods in fast, thick and sickly sweet, curling through your lungs as you gasp.

The match drops from your fingers, the light immediately snuffing out as it hits the dirt. Your limbs go weak, your thoughts stutter, tilt, and a numbness spreads through you like ink in water.

And then, like the night around you, your vision goes black.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re in the same place or not.

The last thing you remember is the scrape of his voice in your ear, low and thick as the cloth smothering your mouth. The sickly-sweet scent still clings to the back of your throat, coating your nostrils like tar. Your throat burns for water as your stomach churns, but the instinct to stay still, to stay quiet, keeps you from gagging.

Rough bark digs into your skin, so you make up your mind that you must still be up against a tree. The rope pulling your arms behind the trunk is tight, thick and coarse around your wrists. It bites into the skin like it was tied with purpose, meant to hold. You tug once—useless. The knots don’t budge.

You try to move your feet, to stand, to kick free, but it's no use. They’re like dead weight, sore and leaden from your exhaustive hike through the unknown. The dirt is dry beneath your bare legs, your denim shorts beginning to ride up your thighs as you squirm around. 

You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You don’t want to.

You force your breath to steady despite the cotton mouth dryness behind your lips. Inhale. Exhale. You tell yourself you’ll open them on the next count of three. Or the next.

You’re busy willing yourself not to cry when you hear the heaving footsteps around you, no other sound joining them. No crackling fire, no sound of any nocturnal creatures. You wonder just how far from any nearby camp you are anymore. 

You open your eyes the first time to the sound of a match being struck. The bright orange light flickers against the back of your eyelids before they flash open, the sight of the gas mask is so close now that you flinch as it crowds your vision. If it wasn’t for the flame flickering against the glass, you might be able to see the eyes behind it. The lenses are fogged up, catching the firelight in warped, fractured shapes. The filter hisses slightly as he breathes in slow, deep inhales.

Thick, calloused fingertips press against your jaw. You flinch, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm, pressing your head back against the rough bark behind you. The flame flickers between you, throwing long, shifting shadows.

The match burns out, the darkness swallowing you again.

Only two left now.

You can still hear him, like without your vision your other senses suddenly come alive. The dull, mechanical sound of air pushing through the filter. The rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body so close that the space between you feels like it’s shrinking.

“Hello, darlin’,” he whispers, all southern warmth stretched over something sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. His finger swipes against your bottom lip, and you realize it’s cold and wet with water. Your mouth opens without meaning to, your body responding before your mind can catch up. The moment the moisture touches your skin, something inside you claws forward, desperate.

Before you even realize it, your tongue dips out to taste it.

His low laughter makes you feel filthy.

His fingers leave your mouth, tracing along the lines of your face instead. The way he holds you is rough and unyielding.

"You know," he says, his voice curling low, slow like molasses, "I didn’t mean for it to be like this."

Your body goes rigid.

"I’m sure they were real nice folks."

The memories you’ve kept locked away, stuffed deep in the pit of your mind, tear their way to the surface. Images, voices, flashes of what you lost to the masked man with a crowbar.

“But you…” he continues despite how hard you squirm in his hold, “I just couldn't resist.”

His left hand presses against your bare calf, and slides upwards- until his fingertips graze the hem of your shorts. Goosebumps rise under his wide palm, you try to ignore the heat that's beginning to pool between your thighs– there’s a part of you that realizes that you shouldn't be enjoying this, but your body is already starting to want it.

His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over your thigh. Sightless in the dark, every other sense sharpens. His skin on yours, the heat of it, the grit of his callouses, like you can feel him more clearly than you’ve ever seen him.

And his scent. He smells like sweat, leather, something burnt. It clings to the air between you.

His hand rests wide and heavy against your leg, fingers splayed like he owns the ground you’re sitting on. 

And he’s humming under his breath.

It’s soft at first, barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. But after a moment, it clicks. He’s matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. The steady, frantic pulse trapped in your throat, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly, he’s humming along to it like a song only he can hear.

Then, his hand lifts from your face, and absence of touch should be a relief. It’s not.

The sharp crack of a match striking fills your ears. Another flare of light floods your vision, pupils shrinking fast as they try to adjust. 

Your eyes squint against the burst of light. It sears into your vision, blinding for a moment before adjusting, and in those few seconds, you see him clearly. The flickering glow dances across the fogged-up glass of his mask, catches on the curve of the lenses, and for the first time, you see his eyes behind them.

Brows furrowed over hazel irises, pupils blown wide. That wicked glint has nothing to do with the matchlight. He’s looking at you with an intensity, like a predator watches something cornered.

He’s taking you in.

“What a pretty little thing. My girl.”

Ah.

The words land like a brand, something final and irreversible. Your breath snags, your body going stiff, muscles locking against the weight of ownership in his voice.

"C’mon now," his voice is soft again, deceptively gentle. The matchlight flickers between you, glowing bright as his hand moves from your leg to press into your jaw again, holding you steady, keeping your lips just slightly parted. His eyes track from your mouth back to your own wide stare, pupils swallowing whatever color was left.

"You were doing so well a moment ago."

He lets his hand fall back to your knee, nails scraping light, teasing lines up the inside of your thigh. Your breath stutters, body trembling against your will, and when his fingers dig in just slightly, a soft gasp slips past your lips.

“Oh, there we go,” he says quietly.

The match goes out.

Only one left.

You expect him to strike it immediately, but he doesn’t. The air feels thicker now, the kind of silence that’s only there when someone wants you to feel it. The realization makes your skin crawl—he’s waiting. He knew how many you had left. He’s drawing it out, pulling the tension tight, making sure you feel just how little control you ever had.

The sudden click of his mask clangs in the dark night as the vision of him burned into your retinas starts to fade. You hear the thud of it on the forest floor, and suddenly his breathing is quieter, though closer.

Your ears strain, waiting for the next move.

And then you realize just how close he is when something wet and muscled presses against the underside of your top lip. 

A sharp, obscene sound leaves his throat at the first taste of you. His tongue drags along the inseam of your lip, slow and savoring, his free hand tightening back around your jaw, keeping you still. You should turn away. You should pull back. But the sudden flush of heat rolling through your body keeps you rooted in place, keeps you from moving at all.

His lips press against yours—not applying pressure, just there, ghosting over your mouth, the barest contact. He breathes into you, slow and controlled, and when you exhale, he inhales sharply—like he’s drinking it in. Like he’s stealing the very breath from you.

It’s too intimate. It makes your stomach twist, makes your skin prickle with something ugly and deep and wanting.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip, and the moan that escapes you is involuntary, slipping free before you can stop it. His mouth curls into a smile against yours, slow and knowing, before he presses deeper, taking. Your tongue meets his, a slick, tentative slide, and the moment you respond, his fingers push further up your thigh. The movement makes your hips shift forward slightly, an instinct you don’t want to acknowledge.

You’re almost ashamed of how much your body responds to him.

He pulls back, just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, teasing, testing. His hand on your thigh moves, fingers trailing higher, just below the thin barrier of your shorts, pressing against the soft fabric stretched over your core.

“I knew you’d want this,” he murmurs, voice rasping against your skin as his lips trace up your jawline. His middle finger slides beneath the hem of your shorts, pressing into the damp heat of you, and your body jerks hard in response.

A breathless moan pushes out of your throat. You can’t stop it.

“That’s what made you so different from them, sweetheart.”

His words coil through your spine, wrapping tight and unrelenting. Your hips stutter, rocking forward into his palm before you even realize you’re doing it. His breathless laugh is pure satisfaction, curling against your throat as he pushes his middle finger under your panties and against you, teasing, taunting.

He groans quietly at the feeling of your pooling slick, his finger rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, coaxing another trembling sound from your lips before he presses into your clenched entrance. Another finger joins the first, stretching you open, and the sensation forces a choked cry out of you as your body arches against the restraints.

“Oh, you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?” he says, voice dripping with certainty, "Just like I knew you would."

You do. And you hate him for it.

His fingers move inside you, curling just right, pressing into the spot that has your stomach tensing, your thighs trembling. You can feel the slick heat between your legs, against your own skin of your thighs, the way your body responds faster than your mind can catch up.

His other hand lifts from your face. The snap of a match striking cuts through the dark.

The firelight licks across his bare face, and he’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes your stomach drop, that makes you forget to be afraid of him. Gleaming eyes catch the flame, and his beard, salt-and-pepper and close-cut, frames full lips slick with your spit.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he murmurs. His fingers don’t stop moving. “Been watchin’ you for a long time. Even before I killed your little gang back there.”

But before you can react, his mouth is crashing against yours, tongue and teeth and heat, swallowing the choked noise you make as his fingers push deeper, thrusting slow and controlled, forcing you higher, closer. The pressure coils in the pit of your stomach, tightening, unbearable, the tension building so fast it almost hurts.

His voice is still against your mouth, words pressing into your lips like a brand.

"You know my name," he says. His thumb circles just right, pressing against your clit with devastating precision. His fingers curl inside of you, and your entire body locks up, legs trembling, muscles pulling tight.

"I wanna hear it when you come around my fingers." he growls, “Say it.”

Your body breaks open around him, a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. A sound between a prayer and a plea.

"Joel."

The match burns out.

And the night swallows you whole.

[floatingdaisy7]

Plant dad’s Stucky

I know random but I just thought about them having a lot of plants and also giving them names. But their missions make it hard to take care of them 24/7 so they hire someone..

Just popped to my head and I thought I had to share this with you, because Idk who else to tell.

Like a Good Neighbour

Hopefully it's not too much. Here's a little idea that popped up. Thanks for the thot.

Warning: general creep factor, obsession, allusions to stalking.

"Hey, you think you can keep an eye on the place again. The monstera's finally looking good again." Steve leans in your door frame. arms crossed as they strain the sleeves of his cotton tee. He's got a leather duffel on his shoulder and his shield on his back.

"Does Captain America not have everything figured out? You're out there saving the world and I gotta save your English Ivy from rot." You scoff.

"I left Bucky instructions but... he forgets."

"Right. I guess I can look in. He's around?"

"In and out. It's been a lot of back and forth for both of us lately." He sighs.

"That's too bad."

"Oh, and Alpine's been eating the philodendron... Jerk."

You chuckle. "Cat's are so cute, aren't they?"

He shakes his head. "Still got that copy of the key?"

"Did I not give that back? Gee, I hope you don't think I'm a creep or something." You kid.

"Hey, no problem. Think me and the other old man can take care of ourselves," he straightens his arms and grins. "If a little trail mix goes missing or even some of the candy bars he keeps under the sink that he thinks I don't know about, won't be too much. Oh, and I'll even pay you."

"It's nothing, really."

"It more than that to me," he insists. "Anyway," he taps on the door. "Should head out. Usually I'm on everyone else for being late."

"Alright, Steve. I'll let you know if anything catastrophic happens. Like maybe the leaves start growing eyes."

"Right. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Like I said," you go back to fiddling with the broken zipper on the cushion. "It's no problem."

🪴

You knock on the door. You haven't seen either of your neighbours in a few days. You wait and try again. You don't mind the favour asked but can't help but feel intrusive.

When no answer comes, you shove the keys in the lock and let yourself in. You flip on the light as the keys jingle noisily. Steve and Bucky's apartment has a particular feel; weather wood and black iron. Very vintage.

A shelf frames one of the large windows, filled with overflowing pots of vine and leaf and a few petals. The smell of the foliage blends with the faint scent of cedar. You cross the apartment as you shove your keyring in your back pocket. You touch the soil; dry. The sun is streaming right in on the greenery.

You re-arrange a few pots. Some should be in direct light and these ones need a little recovery. You take the watering can from beside the shelf and turn. You gasp but don't shriek as you're met with an unexpected presence. Phew. It's just the cat.

The snow white cat stares. You watch he warily as you cross the apartment. Her eyes follow but not her. You go into the kitchen to feel the can.

As you carry it back out, a door opens and your voice finally tears free and breaks the lull. You touch your chest as you slosh water onto the hardwood. 

Bucky stands in the bathroom door, covered only from the waist down. A towel hangs precariously around his hips. His stomach is thick but muscled, his arms sculpted in the same layers of strength. You focus on his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Steve asked me--"

"He told me he didn't trust me. Wasn't me who killed the orchid." Bucky intones dully.

You nod. "Uh, right, I'm just going to water them and I'll be out of your hair."

"Mm," he hums. 

The white cat circles his ankles and he bends to pick her up. You look away, not wanting to see too much. You go to the shelf and pour the water over each pot.

"You got a mop or something? I'll clean up the spill before--" You reach up and stand on your toes, straining to get the higher row.

Bucky takes the can from you and you gulp back your surprise. He's close as he continues the task across the top. He hands it back quietly.

"I'll deal with it. Thanks."

"No problem. Um. I guess I probably don't need to come back, right? Since you're around."

"Leaving. Tonight." He says. The cat flops and bats at his foot. He looks down. "Can you feed her when I'm gone?"

You shrug. "Well, sure. I'm already feeding the plants."

"Thanks," he says. "She chews on any more of those and he'll sleep on the couch again."

You chuckle. "Plants can be fickle. Cat's too."

"Men too," he snorts and turns away. "Nice of you to do that but I'm still going to have to keep sneaking in new ones."

You narrow your eyes as he disappears down the hall. You almost laugh again. Of course he'd be sneaking in replacements. You're pretty sure the spider plant was in a different planter last time.

🪴

Your visits become daily. The cat is needier than the plants. She still avoids you, keeping the room's breadth away from you. She watches you, chaperones you even, as you check the plants. They look better.

You back up to take a photo for Steve. You send it and tuck your phone away. You go to the kitchen and grab one of the little trays of cat food Bucky left on the counter. She gets the fancy stuff.

"Filet mignon, oooh." You say as you scrape the food into her dish. "You eat better than me."

You carry the bowl to the little holder and put it beside the water dish. She's quick to shove her head into the pate.

You stand and back up. Your foot hits something on the floor as you do. It's small. You squat to scoop it up. You lift the charm and hold it up. You recognise it. Huh?

The last time you wore this, you thought you lost it on the train. How did it get here? You're happy to see it but you're confused. Or maybe you just didn't notice the empty chain until later.

You put it in your front pocket and look around. Wait a minute. You never paid that much attention when you came to their apartment. Always just in and out. But that's your mug. With the Ojibwe art. It's hand-crafted and one of a kind. You thought it got lost in the move. That was so long ago.

You bristle. What the heck? Are they some sort of kleptos? The necklace could be a happy accident, but the cup?

You slowly trawl through to the front room. You look around cautiously. You pace through the front room. That's your copy of The Stand. You know because the strip of tape across the spine.

This is wild. They knew you were going to be here. Could they be that clueless or that brazen?

You leave the book and charge around, fueled by shock and anger. In the bathroom, there's a tray on the shelf beneath the mirror. On it is your old toothbrush you threw out and a ball of hair. Your hair. What in the fuck?

There's a clear container right above the toilet. No fucking way. Ew, ew, ew. Your panties and menstrual pads. Used. You nearly gag.

Your outrage turns to disgust then piques to horror. You need to get out of there. Now.

You turn and find the doorway blocked. You blink at Steve as he chews his lip, the tendons in his neck tensing. His mouth curves weakly and his brows wrinkle.

"You were supposed to water the plants." He says.

You stare at each other as the statement hangs in the air. It's shadowed by what he doesn't say; about what you weren't supposed to do; or supposed to notice. You both know there's only one way out and who will win that fight.

[floatingdaisy7]

CHECKMATE | YANDERE!IZAYA x READER | DURARARA!!

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

A/N: I accidentally deleted this one while updating/reblogging some old fics and now I'm big sad T^T So uh...here it is again I guess!

Izaya observed his face as it was reflected in the glinting, purely glimmering metal. What he saw gazing back at him was a visage that many called ‘beautiful’. He was well known for his charcoal hair and stormy brown eyes, a slender physique and a smirk to go with it.

He felt it barely compared though. It hardly held any weight when pitted against what was sitting on the opposite side of this chess board from him.

“Haha…I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you before you finally get it.”

With a deft twirl, he finally pointed the weapon in your direction.

You weren’t looking your best. Hours of crying and writhing around in these rough ropes had left you ragged. Your eyes were rimmed with red, lips still quivering from pent-up sobs that hadn’t been released yet. You choked out a couple when he aimed for you, shutting those same eyes tight, and lowering your head. Hair already tousled by your frantic struggles, you obscured your own vision with it anyway.

“…Now that’s no good. How are you supposed to play my little game if you can’t even see it?”

Izaya rose up from his seat, reveling in how you seemed to tremble more and more the closer he came to you. His pale hand reached out and slipped under some of those matted strands, pushing them back away from your forehead and revealing the beauty he had come to know and love so much.

“That’s better. Now-” Izaya took your chin in his hand and jerked it up, at the same time forcing you to open your eyes again. They tearfully stared ahead at the board, the pieces all arranged haphazardly in some manner that only someone like him could truly understand. It was like he had tipped out the dregs of a Monopoly box, you spied kings and queens, Othello and Shogi orphans intermingled with them.

“See that there? That’s you.” he continued cupping your chin and cheek in one hand, leaning over from behind your seat and pressing his very fingertip to the top of a little pawn. “You’re so…small…and weak…”

His nails pinched the top and he let the piece roll into his hand.

“Caught in my palm, with nowhere to go. So if I wanted to…I could just…”

Izaya didn’t vocally finish his sentence, choosing instead to show you practically and clench his digits into a fist around the pawn. You could almost feel your heart twisting as he did so. Eventually he let it drop and clatter to the board, and fresh tears fell as you watched it roll limply to a stop, lying there as if it were truly useless to anyone.

“Understand?”

You jolted suddenly and inhaled sharply, as his voice abruptly spoke right by your ear. Frantically you nodded, and that dark chuckle only made its comeback.

“Hehehe…excellent. Then you’re probably aware of the stakes here. But…you’re not the only pawn being played…”

Watching him as he moved again to the other side, you felt as if the binds that had you wrapped up in this darkened room- wherever it was- had only gotten tighter.

“All your friends, all your family, everyone you’ve ever cared about, they’re aaallll here, and you get to decide what happens to them.” he leaned over the chessboard and tilted his head curiously. Here came the dreaded question.

“So, what will it be? Either way, I’m going to untie you in exactly 1 minute. You can give in to me like I want you to, and accept that you’re never going to see any of these people again. At the very least, they’ll live if you choose that. But if you want to be stubborn and try to fight back against me then you can do that too.”

His head lowered a little, gaze darkening and focusing right in on you like a couple of rusted bullets.

“You can try at least, but I think you and I both know how things will end up.”

True. You did know.

They’d end up in a roadside ditch at best, and at worst…probably chained and at his command for eternity.

“But I know what you’re thinking-” Izaya suddenly started mocking your typical tone of voice, softening his own for it, “-'It’s better to die trying to save the ones I love, than to live as a prisoner’, right? Well…there’s this funny thing in chess called 'capturing’. Though I suppose I’m using the term loosely…as if you do decide to say no to me, and I do decide to go through with other means…then I’m not going to be 'capturing’ any of your precious loved ones like I’ve done with you. No no…”

His soft lips split apart into a sharp grin that only seemed to mirror his blade, all in white. His eyes never left you as his fingers curled and flicked out against each and every piece that was laid there. He sent them flying and clattering to different points in the room, all the while accompanying his actions with more cruel talk.

“I don’t care about any of them.”

Click!

“I only care about you…”

Clack!

“They mean nothing to me…”

SLAM!

His hand, down upon the table and smashing the game board in two. He stared at you from two inches away, his body already crawling halfway onto that surface just so he could come so closely. You gazed back, utterly frightened, into those cold eyes of his.

“[Y/N]…I’ll kill anyone and everyone that I have to, until I get what I want.” his scalding breath exhaled upon your lips with every callous word, “I’ll admit it…you’ve tried to see the good in me before, but that was your mistake. You made it easier. But in the end, you can still win. Just surrender to me, and I won’t have any reason to hurt the ones you care about. They won’t matter anymore, because neither of us will ever have to see them again.”

Kida. Ryuu. Shizuo.

Shizuo.

Shizuo.

Shizuo.

Shizuo.

Izaya raised the last piece he hadn’t yet knocked down. He dangled it temptingly before both you and himself, king at his command.

“He’s the one who’s making you so indecisive, isn’t he? But what’s worse, [Y/N]? Breaking his heart by abandoning him for me?” Izaya smirked again, before his lips came to hover by your ear.

“Or letting me break him in his entirety?”

Your mouth only parted wider as you watched him practically crumble the chess piece into dust, cracking and breaking it apart in his remarkably solid grip. The veins on his hand were prominent, there was an unbridled rage there that he was barely holding back. A passion he had never known before meeting you.

“N-no…!” you gasped out, and he simply smiled in a soft and eerie fashion, pulling back again and dusting his hands off.

“So.” he glanced at his black watch, then back at you again, “Decision time.”

“W-wait! W—ait I—I’m not ready yet I–!!”

No waiting. It was go time, and Izaya signaled that clearly by slicing the ropes off you and hauling you up by your collar. He held you just like that, continuing to toy with his knife in the other hand. You stumbled closer to him unwillingly, and he just tugged you even tighter against his body.

The fur from his jacket tickled your skin. You could only really see his eyes as they looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer without even asking for it. Izaya felt he had made it clear enough already. Lose everything you cared about, and possibly your own life? Or simply choose to love him as much as he undoubtedly loved you…

The only one. You were the only one he felt this way about. It was remarkable really, to think that he had spent so much time observing and studying humans, and yet this facet of their…well…humanity, had eluded him for so long. He wasn’t the type who’d have much trouble getting a date, and he’d even spent time pretending to be a girl online before. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the concept either.

But…to truly love another. To be willing to do so much for one person.

That really was a first.

His hand only gripped you tighter as the silenced dragged on. Why were you just gaping at him like that? Fuck, you looked like you were about to burst into tears again, and he didn’t know if he could be bothered with another half hour just waiting for you to calm down. If you forced his hand then you forced his hand, but things would be so much simpler if you just said…

“Y-yes.”

Izaya blinked once, before his smile grew again, teeth relaxing from their grinding posture concealed by those lips of his. Of course you said 'yes’. Someone who deserved to be with him would never act like such a fool.

“That’s what I thought. Well played, [Y/N]…”

His teeth emerged a little only to bite down on his bottom lip. Now that he had the go ahead he could finally do what he had been waiting to do for so long. He tugged it harshly then let it pop back again, just in time for pressing the pair right against yours. His kiss was thrust upon you in an instant, his hands cupping your cheeks firmly and holding your head in place.

You weren’t going anywhere now. You’d never leave him, never leave his sight. The thought of how well this had all worked out just made him groan and thrust his tongue harder against yours, entangling the two and taking complete control. As if he hadn’t possessed it already regardless…

Yes, this was perfection. The best way that things could have panned out.

Plus…Izaya didn’t technically make any promises, nor sign any deals. There was no contract, no fancy slip of paper that said he couldn’t bash Shizuo’s fucking brains in if he was feeling like it. These were all his rules, and you were playing by them whether you liked it or not.

As he pulled back from the kiss, his arms wrapped around your middle and squeezed you like a snake. His chin rested on your shoulder, the corners of his lips tugging smugly, before you heard something being whispered, just under his breath.

A single, simple word.

“Checkmate.”

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[floatingdaisy7]

happy halloween

[floatingdaisy7]

Clan head!Gojo

[floatingdaisy7]

Stark Contrast 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, lies, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online friend isn’t who he claims to be.

Characters: Tony Stark

Sister series to Captain’s Orders

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You close yourself in a stall and nearly scream. What the heck? This can't be real. Tony Stark. Eddie. One and the same. It's impossible. 

Think about it. Last night, you texted, then right there, you saw him on screen, check his phone. Coincidence. But then, how did he know your username? He's really good with tech, right? You could easily dox yourself. But then, what about Eddie? Why would he pretend to be some engineer. He is an engineer... 

It's adding up. But it can't. You can't have been talking to Tony Stark for the last year. That's impossible. Not you! 

Alright. You are not going to be his joke. You're going to go out there and tell him you know exactly what he's doing. He's making fun of you and it's not funny at all. Should he, some rich dude, probably the richest dude, have better hobbies? 

You push the stall door and grunt. It's pull. Right. You open it and slip through. 

You hurry to the door and slip in an errant puddle of water. Yeah, it's not your turn to deal with that. Don't stop, don't lose your nerve.  

Who are you to tell off Tony Stark? A billionaire? An avenger? Oof, the more you think about it, the closer you get, the worse an idea this all seems. The more scrambled the words in your head grow. 

You look down the aisles, retracing your steps to where you left him. He's not there. Yet, you hear him. His familiar, quite notable voice, carries in the dead store. Ugh, how did you not realise sooner? Now, you hear it. 

You storm down the soap dish aisle and see him standing casually as he talks to Julie. She doesn't look impressed. You come closer, slowing as his words grow clearer. 

"Yeah, she's quitting." He declares. 

You stop short and do a double take. He's not talking about you. 

"What?" Julie hisses. 

"Yeah, the job sucks. Shit pay," he puts one finger up, his other hand in his pants pocket, "uniform does nothing for that ass, and you're kind of a bitch, Julia." 

"Julie," she snarls and her eyes dart over to you. 

You gulp and sputter. Tony glances at you over his shoulder and smirks. 

"What's going on?" You squeak. 

"Well, sweetheart, I was just sharing the good news that you're moving on to greener pastures." He taunts and turns back to your manager. He tilts his head defiantly. "Not like you'll be hurting. Place is a ghost town." 

You blink as your mouth hangs open. Oh gosh, just when you thought things couldn't get worse. 

"No, I-- I'm not. I don't know him. I don't know what he's talking about--" you argue. 

Julie curls her lip. 

"Ech, you," she points at you, "get out of my store. Now." 

You flinch and look between her and Tony. He steps closer and brings his hand to your lower back. He pushes Julie's hand down. 

"Listen, Julianna, don't point at my girl like that," he warns. 

"Excuse me? This is still my store," she blusters. "I don't care who you are." 

"Uh huh," he clucks and drags his hand along your lower back as he stands straight. He reaches under his jacket and takes out his phone. "Hey, hun," he says as he dials out and puts the phone to his ear, "do me a favour, what's the store number?" 

She scoffs, "go to hell." 

"Fine, whatever," he snickers then leans into the phone, "Hey, Happy, do me a favour, look up the big box store..." he rambles on your city and the location. "Yeah, uh huh. Buy it. No, no, don't ask. Just do it. Thanks." 

He hangs up. You frown and push your shoulders up. This can't be real. 

"We'll wait for the paperwork and all that messy stuff to go through, Jenny," Tony slides his phone away. "But when it does, you're fired. Hell, I might come back just to see you hand in your keys." 

He snorts and swoops his arm around you. You wince as he ushers you forward. You're too dumbfounded to react. What is he doing? What did he do? 

You get outside before you snap back to earth. You plant your feet and try to pull away. He faces you but keep a hold of your arm. 

"So, how about some shwarma--" 

"What did you do? I need this job! I'm-- I'll lose my apartment! Oh, gosh." 

"Relax, that's not going to happen--" 

"I don't-- I-- but--" 

"It's not going to happen, babe," he brings his hand up to frame your face and steps closer, "because you're not gonna be living in that apartment. Say goodbye to this shit heap. You're moving on. Big leagues. New York. I got a nice big condo. A whole tower--" 

"Oh my god," you wriggle free of his grasp and spin away. "Oh, I'm gonna barf. This isn't real. It's not-- Tony-- Eddie. You," you face him again. "Look, this little game, it's not fun for me. You just ruined my life." 

"I bought the damn place. You want a job, I'll put you top of the pay roll--" 

"No, it's-- er--- jeez." 

“Good, because you’re not going to have time,” he goes to grab you and you dodge away from him. 

“Why? Why are you doing this? What are you doing?” You stay just out of reach. 

He smirks, “sweetheart, do you know how many women dream of this? Of me? A handsome billionaire sweeping you away from your boring life.” 

“Other women. Go find them.” 

He laughs. “You’re funny. It’s what I like about you.” 

“Please. Save us both the trouble and just go so I can beg my manager for my livelihood back--” 

You go to step past him and he catches your upper arm. He moves you back and tuts. He’s not smiling anymore. 

“You don’t get it. I’m Tony Stark. I don’t ask for what I want.” He squeezes until you whimper. “So let’s get going. Jet’s waiting.” 

“Jet-- but--” 

“What? Anything you leave behind, I’ll buy a new one, a better one. Now, come on.” He nudges you around and quickly hooks his arm around you. You stagger but he has you scampering. “I’m an important man and you’re about to be a real important woman.” 

“You--you can’t--” 

“I can. I am.” He says coolly as he walks you away from the store. “I flew all the way out here, I told your manager to kick rocks, and now I’m going home with what I came for.” He curls his fingers around your side as a shiny car chirps ahead of you. “Oh, and we both know how you are, sweetheart. You’re not going to stop me.” 

“But-- I--” 

“Private jet’s waiting. I went to all this trouble--” 

“My stuff! My apartment!” You twist out of his grasp. “Wait, wait, wait. This isn’t-- this is a joke.” 

“I’m a funny guy but I have a better sense of humour than that,” he says as he extends his arms. “I’m all yours, baby.” 

You gape at him, “I don’t-- I don’t want... that.” 

“Don’t want me? Don’t want an upgrade?” He scoffs and comes closer, grabbing your hand. “Let me tell ya something. You wouldn’t be so bitter if you weren’t so insecure.” 

“I’m not--” 

“Look, baby, it’s not a bad thing. I’m trying to build you up here. Alright? You hung up on me because you feel powerless, well, I’m gonna give you that power. Money, clothes, diamonds--” 

“Ed-- Tony—I--” you stammer. He’s right. You are helpless. 

“I mean, think about it. Who’s going to stop me?” He grins. “Not you.” 

Your eyes round and you grimace. He laughs again. It irks you. 

“You got no job, soon enough, you’ll be out of that shitty apartment too.” 

“That’s not--” You blink. “Why?” 

“Why? Do I really have to answer that?” 

You stare at him. 

He raises your hand and puts it on his shoulder as he yanks you closer, hooking his other arm around you. You lean away from him as you brace his shoulder. He nuzzles your cheek. 

“I came to take what’s mine,” he growls. “I put too much time into you, sweetheart. Tony Stark doesn’t walk away empty handed.” 

“I’m not... I’m not a thing,” you whisper and look him in the face. 

“No, you’re much more than that,” he assures you as he brings his hand to your chin. “So, let’s get a hop on it.” He drops his hand down your back and taps your ass. “I’m gonna take you back to New York, get you all dolled up, wine ya, dine ya, you know the rest.” 

Your lashes flutter. You’re dizzy. This can’t be real. You keep telling yourself that but here you are. No escape. 

“Alright,” he turns and keeps his arm across your back and checks his watch. “That pilot hates me so better not piss him off. I’ve been in enough crashes.” 

Enough? It’s probably the least concerning thing he’s said. No, it’s just another brick in the wall he built right at your back. 

🔴

You’re so rigid your bones hurt. You grip the arms of the leather chair and stare, wide-eyed, choked into silence. The situation is suffocating enough but it’s that other fear that has you paralysed. 

The thrum of the jet engine has you shaking. You’re still on the ground but not for long. You’re not ready to take off, let alone to go with this man. 

“Have some scotch,” Tony nudges your shoulder from beside you. “It’ll help.” 

You don’t react. You need to get up and leave. He can’t just spirit you away like this. It doesn’t matter if he is Iron Man. Well, you should go but you can’t move. 

“Sweetheart,” he touches your hand. “This your first time?” 

You whimper. 

He snickers and spreads his hand over yours. He peels your grip from the armrest and lifts it. Your trembling intensifies as your chest tightens. You can only think of gravity and its deadly consequences. 

“Here,” he wraps your fingers around the cup of scotch, “drink.” 

You can’t resist him as he guides the brim to your lips. He tilts your hand in his and you swallow before you can gag on the strong liquor. You drain half the glass before he pulls your hand back. You stick out your tongue in disgust. 

“Uck!” You grimace. 

“You’ll get used to the expensive stuff,” he chortles and sits back, emptying the rest. “Is this your only first or should I be gentle tonight--” 

“Stop, please,” your voice quavers. 

“You do know who I am, right? This thing falls apart, I got my suit. I’ll get us where we need to go,” he puts the glass down and sits back. “Besides, it’s safety checked and it’s Stark manufactured. That means it’s not going to go down. I will though, just in case you’re wondering.” 

You look at him and he winks. You look forward and shudder. He grabs your hand and you try to rip it away. He’s too strong. He kisses your knuckles. 

The intercom beeps. The pilot comes on, the one he said hates him, and announces that they’re ready to take off. You close your eyes and push yourself into the seat.  

The plane begins to move. Your breath clogs in your chest. You force it out only as your head begins to pulse. 

Tony pets your hand, “ah, baby, don’t worry. Ton’s here.” 

It’s not helping. It’s just a reminder that this isn’t what you want. That no matter what you say or do, or how you feel, that you have no choice in this. He knows that. He doesn’t mean it. He’s not trying to comfort you. He knows exactly the point he’s making. 

He’s going to do whatever the hell he wants, and you’ll do the exact same. Just like this flight, you’re along for the ride. 

[floatingdaisy7]

Stark Contrast 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, lies, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online friend isn't who he claims to be.

Characters: Tony Rogers

Sister series to Captain's Orders

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It's been a long day. Every day seems longer than the last. All that overtime is adding up. It's needling right at the base of your neck.

Unclench your jaw. You keep forgetting. The pressure makes your head hurt. You rub your eye socket and yawn as you drag your feet down the dark pavement.

You approach your building and look at the heel of your hand, mascara smeared on your skin, no doubt across your face too. Oh well, you're home. Not necessarily the perfect haven but a place to be alone.

You bob in the elevator to the music in your headphones. You step off and keep your head down in a lazy shuffle down the hallway. You unlock your door and spin inside, letting the song play out as you hang your jacket and purse. You kick of your sneakers and drift into the kitchen, mindlessly searching for something quick to eat.

You detach your headphones from your phone and take them off. You let the music drone as you mull over the effort to cook a box of processed mac and cheese. You pause the music and scroll through your feed. Nothing interesting. You let a live feed play. You never pay much attention to the new but it's good white noise. 

You pull down your notification bar. Oh shoot. You forgot to answer the last message.

You'd been chatting with Eddie during your lunch but had to get back to the grind. Those bougie middle-aged women won't find those overpriced candles themselves. Then they'll complain that the Martha Stewart limited edition is sold out. Oh, to have such simple problems.

You blink as the video plays in a little box floating over the chat. 

'Sorry. Got caught up at work. Just seeing this now. Hope you have a good night.' You send the message and pull the video into fullscreen.

He doesn't always answer at night. Or sometimes for days. He's pretty busy. An engineer or something. You met on some discord when Elden Ring dropped.

You narrow your eyes at the stream. You swear every time you see a screen, Tony Stark is on it. There he is now, giving a presser to a fawning crowd of reporters.

He claps his hand to his chest pocket and gives a subtle look down as he slides out his phone. He drops it back in and shrugs at his adoring audience, "I'm a busy guy, what can I say?"

They laugh, unbothered by his distraction. You turn back to your search for an easy meal. Oh, you still have that frozen pizza. This late, it'll make your chest burn in the morning but you don't care.

You preheat the oven and go to your phone, agitated by the murmur of the reporters and their softball questions. You don't have a problem with the man or his mighty band of Avengers, hey, they do their best. It's this whole celebrity shell around them. The sort that has half the population is a dysfunctional parasocial relationship.

You switch to a reality show that pits home bakers against each other. It's a bad choice. It stokes your already twisting hunger and sparks your sweet tooth. You never shy away from a treat. Good thing you don't have any.

The stove beeps as the subtle smell of smoke rises. You figure it's not that bad if the alarm isn't going. You put the pizza in and swipe up your phone. You pace around and check your news feed. There's a new Amiibo out. Nope, you will not get suckered into another money grab. You're save. Not for anything special, just rent. Another price hike. The next one might put you out.

You pizza finishes and your phone buzzes. You cut it into uneven slices and take a few on a paper towel. You flop onto the couch and read Eddie's response.

'I get it. Probably out on a date with a hot guy. Or lady. No judgment.'

You shake your head. He's such and idiot sometimes. 'Nah. You're awake?'

'You know I don't sleep.'

You wouldn't guess it by his erratic responses. If anything, you'd only assume he doesn't keep a routine. His bouts of activity are unpredictable.

'Let's not talk about work.' He replies before you can. The next message is a mood. 'I'm over it.'

'Sure. What do we talk about? You gonna help me co-op Starscourge Radahn? You never log on anymore.'

Your phone quakes as an audio call comes in. You nearly drop it as you opt to save the slice of pizza in your other hand first. You finally hit answer with your greasy thumb.

"Fair warning, I'm eating. I'm flipping starving," you say.

"You sound ravenous," Eddie says. "So, what's for... a very late dinner?"

"Pizza. Spinach and mozzarella."

"Order in?"

"Frozen," you mutter.

"Gross," he remarks. He's a bit of a snob. "You coulda hit me up. I'd send you some money for real food. I'm sure you've got a few shwarma places around that hellhole."

"Har har. If I'm so poor, why do you talk to me?"

"Good question. Can I think about it?" He snickers as you roll your eyes. "Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry about the video game--"

"You know, you sound like my dad."

"I do?" He nearly yelps.

"Sweetheart this. Video games. You talk like you were born in the 60s."

"I heard the 60s were pretty hip," he laughs.

"Hip? Oh you're definitely a catfish," you tease.

"How do I know you're not some desperate housewife using me for kicks?" He accuses.

"I sent you pics," you say.

"I've sent mine too," he retorts. "Alright, only solution here is to admit we're both catfish. You want me to order you good food and I want... uh, well, you're a good distraction."

"A good distraction? That's it?" You huff. "Thanks, Ed."

"I'm playing. You know I like you. I was just on my way to meet this tall blonde and I called you instead."

"Sure you were," you hiss. "You know, I had too long a day for you to be so annoying."

He cackles. You smile, just a bit. He really can be a butt. You don't know why you talk to him.

"How's the pizza? You want me to order you some real stuff yet?"

"Eddie," you sigh. It's a nice offer but you're not stupid. You don't give people on the internet your address. "That's too much."

"It's really not," he insists.

"To me it is." You drop the pizza and paper towel on the lone TV table by your ratty sofa. "You know, I get it, you're trying to be nice, but... you just kinda make me feel..."

"What? I make you feel... some sort of way, so that's good, right?"

"Ugh, don't. I get it, alright? I'm poor. Trash," you cross your arms and sit back. "Go and meet the tall blonde and have your fancy five star dinner."

He's quiet, "I was only messing with you."

"Well, maybe you should stop," you say as you sit forward and talk directly into your phone. "You obviously don't have the time for me. And a lot more important friends so--"

"Hey, come on, it's a joke--"

You hit end and toss your phone to the other end of the couch. You already know you overreacted. Shoot. Ugh.

It's just that stupid woman today, yelling at you over a bunny ornament, like the fact that is was put on the wrong shelf is your fault. You organise the shelves constantly but people don't care. They don't read either.

Your phone jitters again. You ignore and get up. You pack away the leftover pizza and put it in the fridge. That's your dinner for tomorrow, if not the next day.

God, why does he have to rub his money in your face? His super fun life. He went to Tokyo last week on a work trip.

You're a bitch. Insecure at that. It's probably best you cut free now. You wouldn't want to project all that on him. Besides, it's starting to feel like he only talks to you to make himself feel better. He shouldn't need that much help.

❤️

It's your own fault. You know it. Your worst and best trait is your crippling self-awareness. You know what you are, how you are, but it doesn't make it better.

You feel bad. You always do. Even if you're right, you feel rotten. You just don't like being like that. And what did Eddie do but joke around?

Did he have to keep offering to pay for you? Or mention that tall blonde?

Sigh. Just focus. You go back to putting the throw pillows back into the display basket. You watched a pair of kids toss them around for the last hour.

Life isn't easy and you should stop expecting it to be. That's your problem. You can't settle for what you have.

Julie, your manager comes by as you set the last of the pillows on those nearly overflowing the basket. You smile. She scowls.

"Your name tag's upside down," she points to your chest.

You look down. Oh jeez. You flip it around.

"Dress code infraction. Next time, I'll write you up." She warns.

"Sorry," you frown.

"There's customers. Smile."

As if one cue, the automatic doors open. You busy yourself with the next display, as if the napkin rings are that interesting. Julie snaps her fingers at Casey. He sniffs and tries to act like he didn't smoke up before he punched in.

"You're the greeter. Mind doing some greeting," she hisses.

"Oh, yeah," he stands and struts away from the lawn chair display, "hey, dude, like, hi. Welcome to The Home Hub. Anything I can help you-- woah, no way."

He starts laughing. You peek over your shoulder as Julie sighs. Casey coughs and clears his throat, "bro, am I high or is this dude Iron Man?"

You turn and narrow your eyes at the man. Goatee, sunglasses, a nice suit. He bears a striking resemblance to the man behind the podium at he presser the night before. You tilt your head. That's impossible.

"Casey, go to the warehouse and start downstocking," Julie sneers as she stomps forward. "I'm so sorry, sir. We-- Oh, oh. Oh my god, it is him."

She swoons and fans herself. Your eyes go wide as you give a goof smile. She's ridiculous.

"Hey, sweetheart," he purrs at her. "I'm looking for uh, a..." he takes off his sunglasses and glances around, "a bath mat."

"Bath mat? Uh. Oh, er..."

"You," he points in your direction. You turn to look for someone else behind you. "Show me."

You face him and Julie gives you a crazed sneer. You step away from the napkin rings. "Sure, uh, sir, they're in the back."

"Amazing," he winks as he approaches. There's something about his cadence. You never noticed on the screen, but it's familiar?

"Tony Stark, but I'm sure you already know," he says as he comes up next to you.

You continue down the centre aisle and nod, "yep, uh, kinda."

"Kinda?" He wonders.

"I mean, you're Iron Man or something, right?"

"Or something," he chortles. "You know what, on the second hand," he stops and checks out a silver statue of a naked Grecian goddess, "I think I came for this." He traces along her tits. "Don't make em like they used to, huh?"

He looks at you. No, he looks at your chest. You sputter.

"Bath mats are this way," you turn.

"Ah, come on, don't be like that FinchiePie."

You stop short. Your lashes flick and you gulp. How does he know your user name. You turn to look at him.

He adjusts his tie as he comes closer.

"You know, my middle name is Edward. Anthony Edward Stark."

You stare at him. No, it can't be. That's ridiculous.

"Eddie?" You rasp.

He puts his hands out and smirks, "it's a cute nickname, isn't it?"

"No."

"You left things a little tense. I don't like untied ends so..."

"It's a joke. A prank," you shake your head. "Is this what you do for fun?"

"I'm a funny guy, sweetheart, but I'm not joking right now," he comes closer. "Look, if I tell you the truth, that there was no tall blonde, that I was lying, will you give me a chance?"

You search his face. You're lost. Your disbelief muddles reality.

"This isn't real."

"You ever tried shwarma? It's so damn good."

"No, Eddie-- No, Tony?" Your eyes flit back and forth. "I... I gotta..." you spin and scurry away.

He calls your name. You can't stop. You run down the bath aisle and into the employee restroom. You twist the lock and stare at your baffled reflection.

"What the fuck?" You ask the person in the mirror.

[floatingdaisy7]

Seems like you walked away all right.

[floatingdaisy7]

This was a rollercoaster ride of emotions! Amazing!

the martyrdom of st. valentine (and other romantic stories) || dark!Bucky & dark!(stepbrother?)Steve x reader

summary: you wanted to surprise your boyfriend on valentine’s day, but he and your foster brother have a surprise of their own.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (heavy dubcon to the point of pretty much noncon), kinda stepcest (as per summary, steve is the reader’s foster brother), bondage, a lil touch of degradation

2/14 to-do list

get waxed

get Steve out of the apartment

pick up chocolate-covered strawberries from bakery on 6th

blindfold and handcuff myself to the bed

be waiting for Bucky naked when he gets here

Keep reading

[floatingdaisy7]

TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2023 EVENT 🎃

day 5: a halloween tv show episode or special

[floatingdaisy7]

Thinking about a possessive dom fucking me, hands covered in the blood of a man that tried hitting on me, growling in my ear “this is the closest another man will ever fucking come to touching you again”.

[floatingdaisy7]

I know it's cliche but as soon as James rolled up I was holding my breath the entire time. I wouldn't want it any other way. Thank you!

Against the Tide  - Part I

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn as the leader of the biker gang that took over your town sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: unwanted touching, power imbalance, abusive undertones, more to be added as the series progresses.

Characters: Dark!Biker!James Conrad x F!Reader, Michael from Legion and Billy Lee from Bad Times at the El Royale (biker au)

A/N: I have taken a dive into newer territory and it’s such a thrilling experience. It’s a first I’m writing for James Conrad so please be gentle. I do dedicate this piece to one of my babies, @michelleleewise​ 💙 Belated Happy Birthday, dear. Also a belated happy birthday to @coldnique​!!

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! 💙

Against the Tide Masterlist

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[floatingdaisy7]

There are no words. This is just too perfect.

Home Sweet Home

—Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Ellie finds out about your relationship with Joel in the worst way possible.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, breeding kink, kidnapping undertones, unprotected sex, morning sex & creampie galore. There may be more but thread with caution for this is dark and nasty.

A/N: This is for all my Joel hoes! Seriously cannot get enough of this man. This fic is tied to the On the Lookout Universe.

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators, folks! And as always, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Digging your nails against the muscle of his shoulders, you gasp when Joel impales you down his cock, tears spilling from your eyes and your back going rigid as your cunt throbs, the soreness from the night before still stinging between your thighs. 

It wasn’t even long when you woke up and he roused when you made to leave his bed. His arm immediately circled around your waist to pull you close, his sleepy voice echoing softly against your ear and his length, feeling it already hard and heavy when he ground his hips against your backside. 

For a man his age, he has an insatiable appetite.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you urge to pull yourself away from him. But he doesn’t give in to your pleas, growling low at your resistance and slapping his hand against your ass, making you recoil and stop all attempts of escaping. 

“You goin’ to be good?” He asks, but it comes out more of a command than a question. 

You acquiesce with a nod, lips trembling in fear.

His hazel eyes grow dark and blow wide with lust, hands framing your hips as he guides you up and feeling the length of his cock slip from your cunt, leaving only the tip. The breath in your lungs is knocked out when he slams you back down and you cry as pain rings through your pelvis, his fingers digging into your skin as he makes you ride him fast, thrusting his hips upward to have himself slide deep within your core. 

You angle your knees against the bed to try pacing yourself, to at least relieve some of the tension curdling around your hips and spine. But Joel is too strong and much persistent with his intent, leaning himself back against the headboard of the bed and bending his knees, pulling you down to keep you still and moaning uncontrollably when he slams his cock against your cunt relentlessly. 

His groans of pleasure fill your ears and you stop the bile from rising in your throat when your body sings the same tune. The fire in your core flickering to life, making your pussy walls flutter around his hard cock that you drop your head against his shoulder and breath heavily, fingers scratching his back as the coil within you tightens further and further, Joel coaxing you higher into your peak. 

He mumbles your name and turns his head to meet your eyes, his lips capturing yours to pull you into a sloppy kiss in which you let him, his mouth devouring your own and his tongue swirling possessively in your warm cavern. But you pull away when a gasp of shock is retched from your throat and an indescribable mix of pleasure and pain washes over you when his hand slides down from your hips, his fingers massaging the tight ring of muscle of your ass before slowly slipping in an inch, the sensation making you throw your head back and squeeze his digit at the sudden intrusion. 

“Relax, baby.” He pants and you try your best to do so, to comply with his wishes. “That’s it,” He coos and you drop your head back down on his shoulder as his finger and his cock fucks you in tandem. 

You hear a ruckus coming from downstairs and you try to tell Joel, but the words never leave your lips when he pushes both his finger and cock deep inside your holes, your body going tense with how full you feel. He groans low and you moan all the same, your mouth hanging open as you try to breathe. 

His pace quickens, turning almost brutal, and you gasp when he pulls his finger out of your ass, his hands back on your waist as he turns the both of you on the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a string of mewls when he pushes your knees to your chest and ruts against your swollen cunt. 

You grab onto his arms and pant heavily as he fucks you relentlessly, your ass lifting into the air and your head burying against the pillow as he lifts himself to his knees, pushing you further into the bed while he pounds into you deep and hard, whining at the way your body is curled and the intense pull you feel at the pit of your stomach. 

The door then flies open, “Joel! You up alread—“ and Ellie’s voice fills the expanse of the room and you move your arm to hide your face as you’re filled with embarrassment for being caught with her surrogate father.

“Get the fuck out, Ellie!” Joel shouts and you think he would stop to face her but he doesn’t, doesn’t even falter or slow down, only keeping up with his rhythm even as the door slams close.

“Gonna put my baby in ya,” Joel growls and you bite your hand to stifle your moan, your back curving against the bed as you feel yourself reaching your limit. “Gonna make you completely mine.” He pulls your hand away from your mouth and plunges himself deep, the coil within your core finally snapping and you gurgle incoherently when you hit your peak and come hard around him.

It doesn’t take long for him to follow, your name leaving his lips and mixing with his groans as he pumps his seed deep. He then goes still and you grunt when he drops his weight on you, his chest heaving as he tries to regain his breath while you lay limp underneath him, eyes closed and feeling both your essence mixing within.

“I’ll be damned if that doesn’t stick.” He says with a labored chuckle, sighing when he pushes your legs from your chest and wraps them around his waist, his lips trailing kisses down your jaw and to your chin before stopping at your lips to give you a slow and languid kiss. 

You turn your head away when he pulls away, closing your eyes as you're drenched with humiliation for feeling good about what you both did, of what he’s done to you. He keeps his cock nestled in your cunt, your walls clenching around him, milking him further despite your protests. 

Joel grins and presses a final kiss on your forehead before wiggling his hips and groaning as he slowly pulls his cock out of you. You curl yourself small and turn to your side, pulling the blanket to cover your shame and cry, feeling angry with yourself for allowing him to use you as he pleases.

“Well, I might as well tell Ellie ‘bout us,” Joel says and you cover your face deep into the sheet when you feel him looming over you, his hand caressing the side of your head before planting a kiss on your temple. “Maybe even tell her that she might soon be a big sister.”

You hear him dress and you sigh in relief when you hear the bedroom door open and close, leaving you alone to wallow in your misery as your tears continue falling down your face. You can’t believe how everything happened so fast, that after the day at the tower, Joel had been constant with his visits at the home you once shared with your father. 

First it was every night, then it became routine for him to drop by every morning, taking you against your will before forcing you to tag along at the mess hall before you start your patrol. You thought working would help keep him at bay, focusing on eliminating the surrounding infected at the checkpoints you were assigned. 

But nothing truly stops Joel from his depravity, ignoring your reasons and the danger surrounding the both of you if only to have his way.

Eventually, the visits weren’t enough to satiate him, and after a week, he forced you to pack up your things and leave the home you once knew to join him in his and further trap you to the hell he’s condemned you into. 

Muffled voices resound throughout from the floor below, one of disbelief and the other calm. You’re unsure of how Ellie would take the news, scared that she would see you differently, and think that all the times you hung out with her and Joel was of you wanting to get closer to the man. When in truth, all you ever wanted was to feel like you belong, a family when your father passed, and you found it in their companionship before Joel twisted it into something vile.

-

“So, you and Joel?” Ellie says when she meets you by the stable, a look of uncertainty painted on her face. 

“Uhh—yeah,” You nod and look away, your hand gripping tightly on the rifle strapped to your shoulder. “It just sorta happened.” You add. 

She doesn’t say anything and you’re thankful for the lack, not knowing what to tell her if she pries for details. You know she won’t believe you if you told her the truth, if you expose the monster Joel truly is, and that Jackson is no longer the sanctuary you saw it to be, but a prison. 

“Guess it means he won’t be partnered up with anyone but you.” She says out of the blue.

You shrug in response. “Guess so,”

“Well, I’m happy for you.” You blink and look up at Ellie, a small yet serious smile playing on her lips. “Joel, he’s been through a lot and I know you have, too. So, this could be the fresh start you both deserve.”

You only wish you could say the same. 

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

[floatingdaisy7]

This.

[floatingdaisy7]

This was a thing of beauty.

The end of the world comes for you twice.

Once, when the cordyceps fungus spread.

And the second, when Joel takes a crowbar to your best friend’s head.

How could I not read this after a start like that!? The underlying dark tones of this are magnificent. You do such a good job of showing us how dark the story is.  I loved how this story already has me wrapped around it’s finger.

I am beyond excited for part 2! Thank your for sharing your work! 

what lingers: I

warnings/tags: 18+, death, violence, gore, Joel’s just weird I’m sorry LMFAO

wc: 1.7k

summary: How it begins. 

series masterlist

for my love @diorstarr, her Joel fic changed me as a person (located here) and here I am. Hopefully this is only 2 parts (the before and the after) but we’ll see LMFAO (Joel is gonna be…intense once I get to the next part LMFAO sorry about it)

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[floatingdaisy7]

Oh my goodness! Thank you for reblogging!!! Made my day ☺️

Standstill

Warnings: non-consent and rape, oral sex, unprotected sex, light chocking, man-handling, drug abuse mentioned, slight knife play, blackmail, stalking, swearing, female reader

Pairing: This is a Dark!Bruce Wayne x Reader x Dark!Helumt Zemo fic. It is going to be dark and no one is going to be nice. 

DO NOT PROCEED if any of the above upset you. 18+ only. 

Word Count: 6.5k (I got a little carried away) 

Summary:  As the owner of one of the finest restaurants in Gotham, you deal with the oddities of the rich and powerful daily. One of the strangest things you see is Bruce Wayne and Helmut Zemo taking a table together despite their obvious disdain for each other.  You begin to find that staying out of their games is impossible. 

Note: This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ dark cross-over challenge. Prompt is “How does a naughty little thing like you look so sweet?” Wanted to push myself and actually post some of the self-indulgent things I write. Hope you enjoy <3 

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[floatingdaisy7]

All these are pure gold!

can’t stop thinking about vampire ari chasing you around his manor, having too much fun with the sound of your desperate cries and whines after you try locked door after locked door. maybe he’ll keep you forever. 🫠🫠🫠