#it breaks all the walls and shatters the illusion by loosening her tongue

[starstaiined]

jackie tilts her head back against the bathroom cabinets as it washes over her again: the same suffocating melancholia that settles and sinks into her skin until it fills her lungs. it fills her. colors every inch of her in a blue so heavy it has its own weight. she wonders, briefly, if this is how her mother feels when she takes a few too many downers. wonders if that's why her mom is gone more often than not. wonders how similar they really are. wonders why that scares her as much as it does. jackie closes her eyes and surrenders to the waves. she's sinking under the weight of everyone's endless expectations; she's nothing but a paper doll pulled through a shredder. soon, the great jacqueline taylor will be nothing more than scraps and smoke.

a part of her finds relief in that.

she isn't sure how long she's been here, locked away in the dark and dingy basement bathroom. minutes, hours, days, years. honestly, it feels like a lifetime in and of itself. (she tries to think, does being high make time go slower or faster? but her brain doesn't start, too wrapped up in the blue haze to provide an answer.) the door swings open and crashes into her legs, and she gives a pathetic yelp.

the world where someone yells and fumbles with a lightswitch feels a million miles away. no, no, no, no, no. jackie makes an attempt to sit up, but her body doesn't cooperate with her. the idea of being perceived in this state, in such disarray and surrounded by the shattered facade she usually wore, makes her throat tighten. jackie wishes her heart would just stop. it isn't the first time tonight she's prayed to a god she doesn't believe in for some modicum of mercy. she hopes it's someone she doesn't know. hopes it's just another person filtering into and out of lottie's homecoming afterparty. hopes the door will close and this moment of weakness will fade into obscurity. but when had she ever been that lucky?

"shit, taylor. the fuck are you on? you look like death." a familiar voice murmurs. and if the blue hadn't drained her sense of humor, she would laugh. of course it's natalie fucking scatorccio to find her like this. the door clicks closed and the lock turns, and a weight settles next to her on the floor. warm hands cradle her freezing face. "you alive there, princess?"

jackie sighs and opens her eyes in leui of a response. it drags a snort out of nat. she draws a sharp breath in between her teeth.

"look, whatever you took, you took entirely too fucking much. you are beyond blasted." a note of something that sounds extraordinarily like concern lingers in the air as surprisingly gentle hands brush hair behind her ear. "you need water. and food. and something warmer, you're shivering."

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

ArShi OS: Illusion (Alternate Ending)

Warning: Angst, Mature (18+), Use of expletive

Prompt by S-A (sweet anon)

can you please write an alternative ending to the fake honeymoon night following their sizzling, possessive dance

Illusion 

Perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature.

“Now don’t start seeing dreams,” He whispered, her hand firmly in his grip. She looked at him, wondering why he thought she would see dreams about him, about them?

“How can I attach my dreams to you?” She lied through her teeth, praying her eyes didn’t deceive the innumerable nights she spent seeing his face, smiling at her - or God forbid - doing things she could’ve only imagined.

Of course, her dreams, like her heart, belonged to another. Her words went down like a bitter pill, he hadn’t been warning her at all. Arnav only needed to remind himself to not see the dreams he had carefully woven several nights ago.

“I’m doing this-”

“-for Di, me too.” It was moments like this that shut him up. Why would she care about his sister? Slowly, he nudged her to follow his move. She followed him, attached like a magnet. She couldn’t bear to look at his eyes, not when she knew she’d drown in them and he would do anything but save her. Her spine stiffened as her intuition warned her of another pair of eyes.

Disgust crawled her skin. Her grip tightened.

Arnav looked across, and found Shyam staring at the two of them. Even though Anjali was in his arms, he didn’t hide how annoyed he was to find Khushi in Arnav’s. Arnav stopped swaying, a realization settling in his throat like bile.

Oh that explains why Khushi wouldn’t even look at him. Or why she wasn’t even aware that he had stopped dancing.

Shyam had no right to look at his wife. Arnav Singh Raizada’s wife.

Khushi frowned as Arnav lifted her hands, nudging her to dance - with him. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Nor his. That he remembered there was a time when they used to walk the same steps, hand in hand, skin on skin.

With one tug she was thrown back to their historic Teri Meri performance. These were the same steps. It was as if they weren’t even dancing in the same hall. All she could see were him, and his blatant grasp on her body.

Despite her mind’s violation, her body eased with his as if they had never stopped dancing since that night. When he pulled her across the length of the room, she snapped out from the reverie and into a nightmare.

A delicious nightmare. The one that left you soaked with sweat, heart pounding, and a lover’s name on your lips.  

It was the same steps, but not the same man. Attraction was replaced by possession, love by passion, harmony by chaos, confession by silence. They were drunk, intoxicated from the memories of the last time they were so close, where his hand had slipped under her saree to feel her bare skin, where her fingertips had brushed against his stubble.

Tonight Khushi had made one mistake, to look into his eyes. Because once she did, she was unable to look at anything else. She was free falling, miles and miles into darkness, and everytime she thought she met death - she was pulled back into his arms.

Arnav gravitated towards her. What had started as possession was slipping into desire. God damn her eyes for latching onto his! He wanted to show she was his, but he only ended up rekindling the memories he thought he had forgotten.

No matter how many times he left her hands, she swiveled back into him, and for a fleeting moment he thought if she could feel the storm in him.

NO!

She crashed into him, hands gripping his shoulder, shaking. He looked at Khushi, confusions and questions pooling in those brilliant, hazel eyes. The eyes that stared at his lips.

Perhaps someone clapped, took them to their rooms - they don’t remember how they reached there.

———

Arnav stopped in the middle of their room. It was dark, illuminated by candles. The moon and pool lights shimmered through the glass windows. Roses filled every corner of the room. And on their bed. He swallowed a gulp, his heart hammering against his chest.

Khushi’s body was ablaze, she couldn’t bear to touch or even see him. He emanated a heat and hunger that had tested the waters of their relationship since forever. Her forehead rested against the cool, frosted glass door. Her fingers fumbled around the door lock. A tingle ran down her spine.

He was watching.

“Let me,” His breath tickled her temples. Her breath hitched, not knowing when he had come so close. His fingers brushed against hers as he turned the lock, and he remained there, pressed up against her.

Slowly, Khushi turned, keeping her eyes fixated on his chest. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, look at him. His hands came to a rest on either side of her face. They breathed, afraid to say a word which could break the trance.

Khushi didn’t take a step away, Arnav didn’t move his hands. They stood, her caged in his arms, with his eyes low on her lovely face, the sides of her anarkali clenched in her fists.

In their minds, the dance continued. When his hand gripped hers against her stomach, a fire coiled in her belly. With each movement, she memorised his sinewy muscles. He lost a breath when her jasmine scented hair brushed against his face. Or when she fell right into his arms, letting her lithe body rest on his.

Were they even dancing?

Especially when he lifted her against himself-

Khushi’s hands flew to his shirt, breaking their silence. She clenched the fabric, her nails scraping the hot skin beneath it. Arnav closed the space between them, keeping her pinned to the wall. His breath was harsh, blood roared into his ears. They could be standing, but in their minds their steps were more frantic, almost scandalous.

Leave his shirt, but she clutched it tighter. Step back, but he only stepped further, leaving her standing in between his legs.

Oh!

“Ar-” She gasped, his name dying on her lips as she looked at him. There was no tenderness, just an aching, raw hunger in his dark eyes. She was so sure everything had died. Except all the longing, desire, and potency had returned. In ten fold.

Her lips parted. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Arnav-” She stopped, unable to look away. Arnav let his hands fall and stepped behind. No, he cannot let himself go weak by a pair of pretty eyes-

His thoughts came to a sudden halt when she grabbed his wrist. It had taken every ounce of courage from Khushi to hold his hand, to stop him. She had wanted to do that so many times.

When he reluctantly attended Nani’s call after placing her bindiya on the mirror.

When he left for his home to continue the preparations of the wedding, right after he served her guests as his own.

When he escaped from answering why he had bought bangles for her.

When his lips were just a breath away from her, and stepped back.

It took less strength for her to overlook everything their relationship had become, and hold him back for a fickle dream, than watch him step back and immerse into reality.

Arnav, in all means, had a greater physique than Khushi but her one tug left him powerless. A man could only take so much before he could succumb to the one he loved.  

Khushi was so tired of hurting that her pride took a deep fall, allowing her desires, dreams and courage to come to life. It didn’t matter if he was hers for six months, weeks, or days.

And today, he showed it didn’t matter to him as well. Somewhere, somehow, whatever they had had miraculously survived. Arnav turned to face her, searching her eyes for any lie amidst a blaring truth.

She wanted him.

Khushi took a step towards him. Her knees shook beneath her anarkali, her courage could only take her this far. She misjudged her step, twisted her ankle and fell right into his waiting arms.

And just like that, the darkness of the room was replaced by light of the blazing fire in their hearts.

She gripped his biceps, his hands splayed against her back, their lips were too close - yet too far. Neither chose to speak, words had never done any good to them. Khushi could only sense him. His woody cologne, warm breath and solid muscle.

He flicked his gaze to her glossy lips. Her tongue peaked out and swiped against her lips. His grip around her tightened. Whether it was magic, or intoxication, they didn’t know - love and lust had little boundary, especially to them.

Love demanded them to repair their broken hearts, but also seek refuge in those shattered pieces.

On trying to stand on her two feet, Khushi winced as her sore ankle tried to steady her weight. Before her ankle could give way, Arnav picked her in his arms and perched her on the edge of the bed.

Her fingers grasped his collar, refusing to leave it even after he put her down. He tugged her hand away, and bent to check her ankle. But she stopped him midway, holding his arm. The dull ache in her foot was nothing compared to the throbbing in her heart, and between her legs.

Gently, her hand traveled from his arm to his shoulder and she sat up on bed, her face a mere few inches away from his. His fingers loosened its grip from her calf and brushed its way to the back of her knee.

His eyes darkened, but his brows furrowed. Khushi touched his frown, soothing it away with the pad of her fingertips. Slowly, she traced the corner of his temple to his jaw. A shiver ran up her spine as she felt his rough stubble. Arnav gulped. 

There was too much love than he could handle.

Forcing her last drop of bravery, she edged forward and brushed her lips against his. Before she could pull back, Arnav grabbed the base of her neck and deepened the kiss.

She moaned his name against his lips. His tongue met hers. With one hand he pulled her right into his lap. Reluctantly, he tore his lips away from hers and pressed bruising kisses to her neck. Khushi unfastened her dupatta and held his head against her neck as he sucked hard and sunk his teeth into the soft skin.

The sting was quickly replaced by pleasure as he laved the bite with his tongue. She threaded her fingers in his hair, and rubbed a soothing hand down his spine. Arnav reached for the zipper of her dress and pulled it down to her breasts.

This was hell.

Unable to bear the pleasure of his stubble against her sensitive skin, she yanked the back of his head for a deep kiss. The anarkali bunched up against her waist. His shirt had come undone. He freed her from her suit. Skin met skin.

This was heaven.

Arnav dragged a finger from sternum to the strings of her churidaar, which hung low on her full hips. He took a moment and brushed the back of his hand against her soft belly. Her eyes fluttered shut. In a few tugs he divested the remaining few clothes.

She opened her eyes to find his, intently watching her as his hands hesitated over the zipper of his jeans. Slowly, she reached for zip and pulled it down - never breaking the eye contact.

They stood on the bed, on their knees.

Her imagination had done no justice to his beautiful physique. Broad shoulders, toned stomach and a dark trail of hair that led to-

Khushi trembled at the sight of him. Naked.

Arnav raked his eyes over her form. She was beyond any fantasy he could ever dream. Her hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall. A flush spread throughout her fair, delicate skin.

But the wonderment in her eyes didn’t just convey her desire, but also a lack of experience. Hesitation stalled his hands. He didn’t know what to do. Nothing measured up to what he wanted to desperately do with her, only if she wanted it too.

“Fuck,” he breathed out as her curious hands traced a forbidden path down his body.

“Khushi, I… you,” he broke off, taking her in a swift kiss. Khushi looked up, pressing her forehead against his.

“Hum bhi,” she confessed. His touch was new, but not the pleasure. Her body had long been ablaze from his mere sight.

Emboldened, Arnav touched her, intimately, and she gripped his shoulders in a soft, surprised cry. She pressed moist kisses against his shoulders. This search for pleasure had agonized her for months, the throbbing finally had an answer. A release.

She looked down and found him stroking himself, the cords of his neck standing out as his own pleasure chased hers. A guttural moan left him when she held him, mimicking his pace.

“Khu-shi-” he rasped, bucking against her small hand.

“Arnav,” she whispered, biting his shoulder as her pleasure peaked.

They kissed deep, for a final time, as they desperately whispered each other’s names and saw the stars.

Spent, they finally lay flat on the bed, staring at each other in utter silence. Now?

There was no room for pretense, denial or illusions. A thousand questions brimmed in their eyes. Their unsteady marriage. Her apparent betrayal. His ‘hatred’. The contract. Six months.

But just one certainty. A hope.

Khushi brushed his hair away from his forehead. Arnav could only stare at her. Swallowing a gulp, Khushi leaned into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes shut before she could see anything else that could break her heart.

He did not move. And just like that, her heart, dreams and hope began to crack.

After a long moment, Arnav pressed his lips to her hairline, right where her smudged vermillion lay.

Khushi stiffened at the hesitant, sweet kiss. She curled further into his chest, listening to the faint thrum of his heart. He felt her hot tears against his skin as she tried her best to muffle her sobs. He wrapped his arms around her. Arnav blinked his own tears away.

These were tears of uncertain joy. Like a man lost in the waves of a violent ocean, had finally found land.

A land where no illusion could exist.

---

A/N: Hope you all liked this version of the one shot too! You can read the other version here. Thank you so much in advance for reading :) 

[ghostprincess]

Sweet Things, Ch. 3 (Mysterio x Reader)

Ok I feel kinda dirty after writing this lol nothing too explicit yet though. Thank you for all the feedback babes, I’m in such awe. Hope you enjoy! This series will be a five parter, by the way. Happy reading!

Summary: Mysterio kidnaps Y/N Parker as leverage against Peter, as well as because he has taken a liking to her. But the longer she stays with him, the more twisted her reality becomes, until it’s nothing but him. Will Peter be able to save her before it’s too late? Dark!fic, Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con, etc.

Warnings: ffh spoilers, emotional distress, violence, explicit sexual content, mysterio’s psychopathy, dub-con, restraints, manipulation

“Y/N, why didn’t you save me? You could have helped me,” Peter whispered.

“Why, Y/N?” asked Aunt May.

“You let him die.” MJ glared, her face splattered with drops of blood.

“I’d be ashamed to have you as a sister,” Ned spat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” I begged.

“I hate you,” Peter said softly. “It should have been you.”

I woke up with a start, covered in cold sweat. I had fallen asleep on the ground, my arms twisted awkwardly around the pole. My body was caught in a space somewhere between pain and numbness; a combination of pulled muscles, bruised and bloody wrists, and the side effects of the drugs Beck had been giving me. 

I stared blankly at the empty room before me. The computers were shut down, the track lights off, and the only light came from a few blinking green dots on the monitors. 

There was no clock, so I had no idea what time it was or how long I had been there. 

I slowly sat up, wincing in pain as my joints popped. One of the machines let out a soft beep and I flinched violently, expecting some bloody, violent grand illusion to materialize before me… but nothing happened. I took a shaky breath and closed my eyes.

This is real. This is real. You’re alone.

The days and nights had all blurred together, and without any daylight, I didn’t know if it was the middle of the night or simply a lunch break for Beck’s workers. 

It was rare that I had any time to myself in which I wasn’t drugged or plagued by illusions, and I felt the despair rise up in my chest. The memories of Peter’s never-ending deaths replayed in my head and suddenly I found myself deep inside a panic attack, sobbing into the empty air. 

I was losing time, blacking out even when I was awake, and the knowledge that I was probably going insane made everything worse.

My wrists were bruised and bloody, the small cuts in my skin slowly turning into deep tears from yanking against the handcuffs. The scratched steel handcuffs and my mottled forearms were now stained with blood, both fresh and dried. My body ached incessantly, stiff and sore from the constant twisted positions I was kept in. 

As the hours passed, my sobbing turned to moaning turned to silent tears, and then to a blank stare. 

“Hey there, Y/N. How are you feeling?” Beck’s soft voice startled me. I hadn’t even noticed him enter the room, but he was kneeling on the ground in front of me. He was dressed in his full Mysterio costume without the helmet.

“Please don’t do it again,” I moaned, leaning my head forward against the pole. 

I was just so tired…

Beck’s hand rested on the back of my head and he stroked my hair softly. 

“Don’t do what, honey?” 

“Please, please, I can’t take it anymore,” I sobbed. He chuckled softly, still petting my head. 

“You’re the most entertaining person to get to, you know that? So responsive. Like a little puppet.” His grip tightened in my hair and I groaned as he yanked it, forcing me to look straight ahead.

“Y/N?” Peter’s voice echoed from across the room. 

I shuddered and slammed my eyes shut, harshly pulling at Beck’s hand, trying in vain to loosen his grip.

“Please please please…”

“Y/N! Thank god you’re okay!” The illusion continued, voice coming closer. Beck let go of my hair, my chin falling limp to my chest.

The gunshot barely got a reaction out of me this time. 

Beck’s hand returned to stroke the back of my head, and he seemed to be enjoying the show. I hated myself for finding some sort of twisted comfort in the gesture.

“You could stop it, you know,” Beck whispered into my ear. “If you join me.”

I shuddered.

“You took everything… Please just kill me,” I whimpered. 

The hand left my hair and I heard him stand up. 

“Not today, Y/N. But don’t worry, I have plans for you.”

———

Mysterio’s illusions had been whirring around Peter and turning him every which way, stimulating his every sense, and he couldn’t tell what was real anymore. 

“I control the truth! Mysterio is the truth!” Beck yelled from somewhere, his voice echoing in all directions. Peter fell to the ground, but suddenly he was trapped in a snowglobe, the buildings of New York rising up around him—

“If you’d have stayed out of my business, maybe Y/N would be okay right now.” The words echoed and Peter felt a new rage boil in this blood.

“Where is she?” He screamed, slamming his fist against the inside of the globe, shattering it. The glass shards spun around in midair and began to dart back towards him like knives, and he jumped out of the way, straight into a brick wall that wasn’t there before.

“She’s not doing too good, but don’t worry, Peter. I’ll take good care of her.” Mysterio materialized in front of him and Peter shot two webs at him to yank him closer— but Beck’s form disappeared and he narrowly escaped being crushed by the crane arm he had pulled toward himself. 

“What did you do to her?” Peter screamed.

“I’m really sorry to have to do this, Peter,” Beck said from behind him. Peter turned around but saw nothing. “Fury always had to die, but you? You should have stayed out of it.”

“Show yourself, you coward!” He yelled hopelessly.

“I really am sorry, Peter.”

The last thing he heard was a horribly loud train horn and the headlights blinded him as it slammed into him.

———

“Last toast, to another battle won!” Beck yelled, and everyone cheered drunkenly, raising their glasses. 

I didn’t know what kind of battle or against whom they were celebrating, but they had been at it for hours. Beck, fueled by drunken boldness, had treated me to a plastic cup filled with vodka. It was probably meant as a demeaning gesture or joke of some kind, but the hunger and thirst taking over my mind overlooked those details easily. Stupidly, I had downed the whole cup, barely even flinching at the sharp and bitter taste.

To put it simply, I was fucked up.

The lights were too bright to look anywhere but the backs of my eyelids and the ground was bitingly cold, but it somehow felt soothing. My head spun relentlessly as I leaned against the pole, and I spun in and out of consciousness like a blacked-out carousel. 

The next thing I knew, warm hands were touching my face and lifting my head up gently, and I leaned into the comforting heat, needing this beautiful fiery entity to take me closer, to help me, I’m so cold…

“Open your eyes for me, honey… come on, Y/N, that’s it…” Beck’s voice swam in and out of my mind until I forced my eyes open, face to face with familiar bright blue eyes. I startled and shrunk away from the man, not really knowing which direction I was going, my head spinning and my vision swimming. I heard my back hit the wall harshly, but the pain didn’t seem to register, and Beck just smiled at me.

“W-what… what are y-you doing?” I slurred, and my arms suddenly fell to my sides. A distant sound of clanking metal brought me back to reality and I realized he had taken the handcuffs off. 

“How are you feeling, honey?” He asked, and was that sincerity in his voice?

“I-It’s so c-cold,” I responded in a whisper, wrapping my sore arms around myself. Suddenly he leaned forward and I flinched, whimpering, until he softly shushed me. 

Beck had leaned forward and pulled me into a loose embrace, and his body heat radiated like a furnace. I imagined sharp icicles melting next to a warm fire, and my body instantly relaxed into his.

“…so beautiful,” Beck was whispering, but I hadn’t heard anything else, just the flickering flames that made up his breath. 

He leaned back and we locked eyes for a moment as he reached out to twirl a strand of my hair between his fingers. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he said again, and then I suddenly remembered that he had said it a few seconds ago too. Time was a construct and my awareness was slithering in and out of my conscience in a fevered chase, but his eyes looked like the moon reflecting on the ocean and he was so warm…

Quentin leaned forward and I closed my eyes as our lips finally met. He shifted so one arm was braced behind my back and the other hand held my upper arm in a loose grip, moving me, like a little puppet, he had said earlier. 

His tongue slipped into my mouth and he tasted like cherries and alcohol, so good, so sweet…

My arms wound around his neck and I let him pin me back against the wall as he kissed me violently. Teeth and tongues clashed and soon I found myself pinned to the ground, his strong physique leaning over me and pushing me into the concrete. The fiery passion seemed to quell the hunger tearing at my insides and I moaned when he sank his teeth into the side of my neck, pulling him closer. 

I just need to feel, he feels so good, don’t stop…

“So fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he slurred, but I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. “Fucking mine,” he growled, and I whimpered in response.

[mcshiiin]

Title: Not My Energy

Pairings: KageHina

Sypnosis: A short, sad songfic about the two where Hinata lost his ability to fly

Song used: Not my Energy by IV of Spades

[A/n: Thank you for reading! I hope u enjoy huhu]

"I've ran out of reasons, reasons to comfort my mind."

Harbingers of daybreak busted his windows open. With gleaming dark eyes and sleek black talons, a crow stared straight to his soul. A sudden prickling sensation running from his toes began clobbering his body, rendering him paralyzed. Panting... Gasping... Drowning his mind in a sea of sorrow.

"Illusions, delusions. Confusions are running inside."

Hinata, despite sinking down the shallow waters feels as if he's floating mid-ar, going "boing boing". Slowly plummeting down the sea floor, he never hit the bottom. Instead, he landed rather harshly on the plywood surface of the gym. A familiar stinging pain on his palm smiled at him viciously. Taken aback, he grabbed his thumping, hollow chest and inhaled as much air as he could. An unforgiving force clashed against his torso, almost obliteraring him before the ceiling collapsed.

"Pale lips and dark lies has conquered the dreamer's eyes."

Poring dreamily at the honey glazed tree tops with hooded eyes, a sigh escaped from his drought ridden lips. While licking away the parchness on his lips, a worried yet kind gaze cut through him from the opened door.

"Sho-kun, you're going to be alright. Don't worry sweetie, we're here for you."

"Nii-chan! Hang in there. I love you!"

The warmth from his sister's hug dissipated into thin air. The soft caress from his Mom ghosted above his puffed out cheeks. Forcing his lips to curl upwards, he fooled them. Just as how their words of affirmation and consolidation were mere lies to comfort him.

" 'Cause there is something in those eyes I can never find, boy."

"Hinata boke..."

Shoyo swore Kageyama's voice were softer than ever. Terrified to face him, the bed ridden boy looked away. His bones shaking. His muscles tensed up.

"I don't want to dive in those same steel blue orbs..."

He kept his mouth silent. He kept his resolve solid. Then it crumbled down.

A feverish touch was ignited from Kageyama's fingertips grazing atop Hinata's trembling hand. The setter is careful enough not to break him, delicately and softly, he slid his hand and interwined it with his partner's. Shoyo's ribcage shattered, his throbbing heart and strained heartstrings tore it down.

His orbs stung with pain as he stared back at steel blue ones.

"I'm sick and tired of the noices, the voices. Everything seems magical."

"We're here for you, Hinata."

"Call us anytime!"

"I'm sure everything will be figured out by the adults. Cheer up, Hinata!"

"Let's buy popsicles when you're discharged, ne Shoyo?"

"Here's some food for you, eat up. You're getting thinner. Ne? I'm the best senpai aren't I?"

"gET WELL SOON AND WE'LL PRAY FOR YOU!"

"Don't worry too much. Idiots don't get sick, tch."

"Tsukki's right, you'll be okay, Hinata."

"I--no we, are here for you. Don't worry about catching up to class, I can teach you anytime!"

"Get some rest and take care please."

"I won't bother you with my words, Hinata-kun. You'll be okay, I'll pray for it."

"Rest up well, kid."

Everything and everyone seemed to pass by in a blur. Their faces muddled together like a murky pond. Indis​cern​ible. Chafing. Quaint. As if it never happened, as if he never heard anything.

"I'm sorry but there's nothing that we can do..."

"D-doctor no-!"

What? He heard nothing. His mother's face didn't crumple to despair. Her hands didn't ball into a fist. Her lips did not quiver. She never looked at him with those eyes.

No. Natsu is a sweet and clingy sister, her hugging him to death is nothing. She always said that his hands are rough, calloused, and big. They're also warm, and emollient. Maybe that's why she's holding it tight. Oh? Natsu is drooling. He chuckled, overseeing the shuddering figure of his dear sister.

 

Such an ethereal dream it is.

"And yes, my mind is awakened, dead conscience. Eveyday's a torture for me."

Panting heavily whilst swimming in a sea if sweat, Shoyo is wide awake. But, awake from what? Running away from what, his reality or his nightmares? Scampering to and fro, for what? Just to slam his head on a rock, trying to shake his dreams up.

He doesn't know what's hounding hin anymore.

He run a hand through his thick tuft of hair, unable to get back to sleep. A frown creeping up on his lips as he tries to pry his gaze to his legs. His world stilled. His breathing stopped. His mind blown to smithereens.

It hurts. The seering pain from mid-thigh down to his calf. It hurts, so he screamed.

"No I am not holding on to the darkness, 'cause you're already in my mind."

Natsu must be lying, his hands isn't big at all! She probably hasn't seen Kageyama's slender, setter hands. They look also pretty. Tobio's obviously taking good care of it, he bet that he goes as far as taking it to the nail salon. He's both dilligent and an idiot. He wants himself to be in a perfect condition so he can exert his best every game.

Shoyo wonders what lotion his setter is using. He want to buy one for himself too. How irksome it is to look at your partner's long fingers, perfectly groomed nails (it must be nice to have a manicure once), and mosturized, vanilla scented palms whilst yours is anything like that.

"Hmm spacing out?"

Tobio snaked his arms to his frail waist. Nudging his face deep into Shoyo's neck. So warm. So cool. So comfortable. Too real.

"Nah, I'm barely hanging."

"And if you would walk alone, then just do it. The clock is ticking backwards."

A tall, tall wall looms before him. The view from the top. He wants to see it. But he never can, unless alone.

And now, he's more alone than ever.

"Onigiri, pork buns, curry, what do you want honey?"

He's out in the cold again. Jumping higher, digging deeper, receiving with his face to no end. Wheezing as his body thrives, playing as his blood pulsiates. His heart more alive than before. His grin toothier than before. Hinata Shoyo loving too hard ever than before.

The pure joy from he gets from being with the team. The steam he emitts whenever Tsukishima pushes his buttons as Yamaguchi fell in line with laughing at him. The always fidgetty Yachi and Asahi-san. His superb senpais. That reminds him, he need to ask Nishinoya-senpai to teach him the rolling thunder double. The hardworking second years, the goddess Kiyoko-san, everyone. Even Daichi-san's roaring voice along with Suga-san's refreshing smile.

And of course, the skull-crusher milk boy who knows no word except Boke.

"I'm going alone."

"I ain't got it all, I don't care. You're not my energy."

Extending his arms, reaching with his hands, everyone is too far away.

Lying awake for hours, figuring how to run, how to fly.

Then, his bed decided to swallow him up.

A stringent touch engulfed his throat that produced an acrid cry from his mouth. The need for air is urgent, but his compressed windpipes aches with the mere presence of oxygen flowing through. For a second he thought the hold loosen, then his limbs. were vehemently ripped apart.

As blood splattered, his lower region were mangled.

"Your tears are in laughter while your smile is in despair."

Happiness looks good in Kageyama and Natsu. No doubt, hands down, bets raised.

Their carefree laughter bounced off the four walls of his room. Pearly white teeth are exposed as their lips ae stretched up to a smile. As far as their drinking game goes, Natsu is losing. Yes, they're drinking milk, much to Kageyama's delight.

Shoyo lost a long atime ago and the two milk heads are on it. The way their eyebrows knits together in concentration, noses scrunched up, and cheeks puffed out is a sight to see. You don't get to watch Kageyama with a child that doesn't cry within his mere presence, let alone play with him.

"I can't hold it in! I'm going to pee!"

The shorter ball of fluff ran outside as fast as her legs could carry her. Just a little bit more... three more steps... two... then one. She got in!

Natsu came back to her brother wiping his tears as he cackle like a rooster. He reminded her of the Kuroo Tetsurou that he once mentioned, bedhead, hyena laugh and all. When she glanced to her Kageyama-nii-chan, she was almost blinded. His higantic smiles were presented at her boldly. A soft glow from the dying sun illuminated his face. She can feel the love strongly eminating from these two.

Just as the puzzle is coming on together, someone had to filp the table and topple off the pieces.

Whimpers and hiccups. Rattling and rustles. Disintegrating and decaying. Shoyo-nii-chan is crying.

One end of his lips tugged upward. Blood-curling smirk emblazoned on his dainty face. And as she peek at the door opened ajar, tears came rolling down her rosy cheeks, staining the fabric of her shirt with pure sadness that a child can't comprehend. A younger sister shouldn't see her brother's soul being chipped off like that, you know.

"The poison of your tongue has killed all your truthful words."

His throat is a sand paper being stroked on a piece of wood that produces a nasty sound. It aches. It's painful to shout. It's straining. He too doesn't like sound coming off from his mouth. Disdainful words that tarnishes their bond, lacerating sentences that makes him bleed too.

"I don't need you!"

Yes I do.

"Go away!"

Please stay.

"I didn't like the food. It was awful."

They're my favorite, thank you.

"When I said I don't wan't to it, it means I don't! Don't force me!"

Maybe I'm a bit hungry?

"I AM OKAY. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP I CAN DO IT BY MY FUCKING SELF!"

I am a lost cause.

"Pale lips and dark eyes has broken the dreamer's lies."

He inaudibly shrieked one morning when he woke up. The world was wet with dew as it sleepily waved back at him. He tried to wave back, but the shock of living in monochrome froze him. Then he tumbled down with a thud.

For a moment he forgot what predicament he's in and tried to stand up only to out balance himself and landed face first down their wooden floor. Natsu, who was never asleep the entire night, came rushing by to her brother's room beside hers. Clearly shocked and bemused at her nii-chan's bleeding nose and busted lip, she stood frozen. A part of her wants to laugh but the other half actually feels bad. And good thing she did, because the next scene was horrifying.

"AAAAAHHHHH!"

"N-nii-chan..."

"SEND FUCKING HELP!"

A soul was broken.

"There is something in your mind you can never find, boy."

Searching. Wandering. Roaming around an unprecedented area.

What was he seeking?

He alwas have thought that it was the adrenaline. His heart beating so fast, so loud that he can hear it through his ears. An energy flowing deep within, tingling his senses, pricking under his skin. He enjoys the rush, the pain, the smile in his teammates' lips.

Yet when he stared at Kageyama, he realized it wasn't.

What kept him alive...

"Im sick and tired of the voices, the noises. Everything seems magical."

"Hinata boke..."

"Nii-chan."

"Sho-kun!"

"HINATA SHOYO!"

...was love.

"My eyes are hiding the pavements of my vacancy. You can't take the power from me."

Kageyama wish he could hold Shoyo tighter. Peacefully zoning out in his arms, a small drool pooling below his mouth, and beautiful long lashes. So angelic and breathtaking.

Yet he still fears poring directly in his partner's eyes for they scream,

"I'm going to eat you alive."

Placing a kiss atop his head, a sigh escaped his lips. Then, honey-flecked orbs dangerously stared at him. A tremble was awaken inside his body.

"I love you."

The both of then were taken aback by his sudden words. Hinata was left in awe, speechless while Kageyama quickly recovered his composure. He came into terms with his feelings finally just right now, it's now or never.

"I want you more than any perfect toss. It's you that I want to hit my balls. We're partners, aren't we? I want to be by your side, holding you, loving you. We'll drink hundred liters of milk, we'll eat as many pork buns as you want. I want to spend my life with you."

"Kageyama-kun..."

"I know it'a sudden but Hina--!"

"Loving means being alive. Being alive is being able to love,

But you see, living, is not my energy."

-FIN

[the-vikings-s]

Mine - pt 2

Summary: Ivar finally gets what he was been waiting for

Characters: PredatorIvar is back 

Word count: 1.5k words

Warnings: Sexual content, slight dubcon, choking, rough 

Notes: So I totally forgot to post  a part 2 but I said I would so I banged this piece out in one go. Hope you enjoy my people. Also I want to keep writing but have no idea so any requests would be appreciated. 

The sight of his beloved so confused and lost like a deer in headlights caused a shock of desire to rush through him. A deathly smirk curling onto his plum lips at the sight of the goddess before him: her moonlit complexion, bare legs and wide eyes were worth more than gold to Ivar. He stayed mesmerised by the sight, silently praying to the gods above that he could come to this every night until the day he died. 

But then his moment of peace was shattered, the cruel illusion that a woman could actually want him was broken as a shrill cry left the woman’s lips. Ivar struck like a viper, throwing his entire bodyweight down onto his love, one hand clamping over her mouth and the other pinning her wrists above her head, to the bed. Her thrashes underneath him excited him to say the least however he wanted her to want this, he needed her to feel the pleasure he had longed to give her. The soft whimpers that feel from her lips served as a reminder that she was still struggling with him and Ivar beginning to think this was a bad idea. 

“Shush my love, this is all for you” 

Ivar was not used to be consoling but if he was to keep his love relaxed enough to have his way then, by the gods, he would try. He kept an impossibly tight grip on her wrists, afraid if he loosened then she would slip right out of his grasp, he needed to know that this was all real and not a painful trick of his imagination. That is when he leaned forwards to place a tender kiss on her lips, a way of reassuring her that he would cause no harm, unless that was what she desired for her wish would be his command. 

“Promise me you’ll stay quiet, love. I only want you to be happy”

And with that, Ivar released her wrists, sitting back so he was only situated over her waist while keeping any weight off of her. Now he simply observed, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest with fascination, waiting to see what her next move would be. She remained still beneath him and Ivar took that as a sign he could continue, his little dove had not attempted to leave yet so perhaps she had desired him as much as he had her, 

With little hesitation, Ivar dived for her skin, mouthing at the smooth surface of her neck until a trail of darkened bruises was left in his wake. Sharp canines pierced the delicate skin with his tongue soothing the irritation her had left afterwards. He continued this all the way down to the top of her nightdress, casting a glance up to catch the expression of the woman before him. Her eyes were screwed shut yet her face was the picture of content, soft moans leaving her lips with each bite he left. It momentarily stumped Ivar, to see what e had always imagined become a reality before his very own eyes. It was all he needed to see. 

As much as her slinky nightdress looked good on her, it was now only becoming a hindrance in Ivar’s quest to conquer her body. His hand grabbed the top and with little effort, he ripped the fabric in two, leaving her completely bear to his greedy eyes. He was like a starving man seeing food for the first time, drinking in the sight that left a stirring in his jeans that were suddenly too constricting. Her exposure to the cold air had her nipples hardening and her eyes snapping over to meet his. 

He refused to break eye contact as he leant forwards and took her left nipple into his mouth with his free hand coming up to caress her other breast. The delectable moan was load and she appeared to have no shame in hiding it as Ivar continued his exploration of her body, all the while watching the many expressions of pleasure consume her face. Finally he drew away, the whiny noise of protest almost had him carrying on but there was something else he was waiting to ravish first. 

“So eager” 

Ivar murmured to himself as callused hands trailed down the length of her body until they reached the sweet spot between her legs. A probing finger came away slick which had a smile of delight encasing his face. 

“What do we have here? It appears you’ve been wanting me too, love. It would be cruel not to give you what you want”

With that, Ivar’s mouth connected with her core, causing her back to arch off of the bed as his hot mouth began to work her towards the edge of oblivion. Large hands clamped around her thighs, forcing her down and to stop her insistent moving as his tongue licked a strip up her slit before his mouth once again set to work. The taste of her was what Ivar imagined the wine of gods would drink, something so tantalisingly delicious that had him overcome with an insatiable addiction. He could feel her coming closer to an orgasm as the sound of her moans echoed in the room, encouraging Ivar to finish what he had started. 

The grasp of his hair had his dazed as her soft hands pulled at his tussled locks as a way of  encouraging him to continue. The tugging was far from gentle yet drew a moan from Ivar’s lips as his assaulted on her folds. She was close: the tense thighs, harsh hands threading through his hair and her whimpers of pleasure. Then she came with a wanton moan and a shudder running through her body, Ivar lapping at her juices as they came and basking in the aftermath of her orgasm. Little whimpers left her lips with ragged breaths as she came down from her high, her hands still clutching at the sheets as Ivar turned his attention to himself. 

His cock was thrumming, aching painfully but he had to put his love’s needs before his own for she deserved to be treated like a queen. With those eyes staring up at him, half lidded and practically begging for him to take her, Ivar freed his cock from his pants and gave a few quick pumps.

Then, he was lining up with her entrance, the head of his cock running along her slick entrance as he prepared himself for his favourite fantasy. 

“I’m going to make you scream my love, and I want to hear every one with every stroke of my cock in that tight pussy of yours” 

Ivar whispered harshly in her ear as he loomed over her, one hand be her head and the other guiding his cock into her. With one strong, smooth thrust, he was surrounded by her warmth and overwhelmed by the tightness that left him groaning into her ear. He soon set a blistering pace, the sound of heavy breathing,whimpers and the sound of skin on skin filling the room as he pounded into her over and over again. 

One hand went to her throat, the primal urge in him being released as his hand tightened and relaxed. The other went down to her clit, circling the bud several times, pushing he towards the edge once more. 

“I want you to scream my name when you come”

He growled the command in her ear as his eyes had visibly darkened as he seemed to be thrusting into her faster than before. His hand tightened around her throat with a vice like grip, pushing her down into the mattress while he glared down at her, watching her hands come up to pry his off her neck. His hand at her clit moved faster and faster, almost painful as he could feel himself nearing the end. 

Then he broke apart, letting go inside her as he felt her walls grip his cock impossibly tight. His hand relaxed from her throat as she came, calling out his name as he had asked and body twitching as she tried to settle from the mind blowing moment she had just experienced. 

Ivar was quick to get up and off her bed, reorganising himself despite the fatigue that had settled in his limbs. He had finally done what he had been dreaming of but now he had to leave, allow her time to recover from the assault he had left on her body. 

“Ivar”

He was frozen in his stride towards the window, slightly turning his head to listen to what she had to say. 

“Thank you Ivar” 

A deadly smirk curved onto his lips at this. He turned back towards his goddess in her flushed state before leaning down to her lips, stopping just short. 

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be back and next time I won’t be holding back”

With that and a ferocious kiss to her lips, Ivar was gone and his woman was left flustered and with an aching between her thighs that her hands could not solve. 

[hadesburns]

there are two lies set before the world, humming with a burning hope too bright to be true, too perfect to ring aligned with reality, spun from the tapestry of time and woven together by the whispers of winds through trees, of light over windowpanes, of waves against shorelines, and the first is this: that love is eternal and stronger than death.

he finds out this is a lie when he is eight years old, the first time his parents bring him down from the snowy mountain he’s come to memorize so well, carrying him from tall ice walls, crystalline barriers that steam out breath and fog like token clouds, all sharp and angular and jagged, barely habitable but home nonetheless. he doesn’t cry or whimper or shy away from the cold or the journey, a silent child, silhouetted onyx soul against a world of ivory snow, bracing himself against the frost the way his parents do, the way his grandparent did, his ancestors and their ancestors, the winter freeze wrapped around their bones, infecting their blood, engraved in their skin, as much a part of who they are and what they are as their heightened gifts, each generation bestowed with the ability and responsibility to maintain balance, order, equilibrium.

for all life, there is death– for all summer, there is winter. they bring him down and travel south with him, south to where the trees gain color, shift from stark, lonely gods to bushes and forests of greenery, where the mornings feel warm and clingy, where the snow melts away and creates puddles, rainstorms, humidity. south, to where a town grows old and a summons from the council demands a balance brought to five whole families, and haneul has to watch as his father sentences them, twenty-nine people in total, old and young, creased and confused, to the unending winters of the afterlife. south, to where his mother explains that life consists of strings between people, between existence and the incorporeal, light and dark, shattered and soft, explains that women give birth to children and spirits dance in shadows and while all life is sacred, all life is delicate. south, where his father scars his irises, brands him with the knowledge that souls are hollow cords and they are the shears to cut them loose.

the first time haneul touches the forehead of a damned man, he is surprised at how easy it is to visualize the thread, loosen it, unravel it, feel it burn down his throat like a heavy, forbidden drink before floating away to the sky, a wayward, monotone balloon. and all that kept that man on earth, his fears, his hopes, his histories, his love…. gone, blinked out of this realm as though nothing more than a forgettable, unimportant dream.

love is not eternal, love is not stronger than death; like life, it is a memory, a single strand in the glowing twilight. and then it fades.

the second lie is one even his own mother believes in, has coated her atmosphere in, sewn into the fabric of her clothing and her skin and the long tresses of her bark-stained hair, something she has been whispering to him on the coldest of nights, in the blinding noontimes, over dinner and daybreak, and summons after summons after summons: balance exists in everything.

he stops trusting these words much sooner than either of his parents or any of his relatives, allowing them to continue on in their folly when it has nothing to do with him, allowing them their cheap convictions, their hopeful ideologies, too stout and rigid as an icicle to speak against it unless confronted or mused over. by the time he is an adolescent, he’s come to understand that death needs no agents, no companions, no assistance; they are not protectors of order against the chaos, they are the chaos, wilted down, diluted thoroughly to be accessed as pawns in a grand game they have no control in, the council-members’ empty promises of protection and acceptance unneeded and, in his opinion, unwanted.

with this revelation and awareness, he makes himself a maelstrom on the inside, a human blizzard patched together beneath the thin film of his bitter flesh, his blood rivers of glaciers, his anger like untapped avalanches, locking his heart and all its sympathies and weaknesses inside a mountain-sized pillar of ice. the spirits do not speak to him, do not care for him, do not want for him, and neither he for them, for even though he fulfills his orders, follows his government, follows his predetermined destiny like the stone-gravel paths leading him all across ansong and grows into the duties and obligations he has been raised for, he knows there is little justice in this, there is little redemption in this.

they all hate him, the people in the south, disgust stuck in their teeth, abhorrence tangled around their tongues, they all expect the gruesome monstrosities in his wake, the havoc and desolation he wears across his shoulders as a shroud to infect their pretty, kaleidoscope live. they kiss prayers to their gods and their spirits and their sanctuaries whenever his horse strides tall and ebony beside their houses, and he ignores the way they spit on his trail once he passes, attempting to cleanse the shadow he leaves. he tries not to grit his teeth too hard, clench his jaw too tight, reign down the pandemonium they so brazenly dare him to, the cold, perpetual stiffness in his body causing the crescent nail marks in his palms to last for days. he is as loathed as death itself, draped in the same shades, the same angles, the same biting cold, and so he must reconcile himself to returned hostility.

it takes less than ten minutes for his father to convince him of the chaos spirits’ better plan for the world, convince him that what is happening now is worse than whatever could be happening, the multitude of possibilities they’ve been shutting out for hundreds of years, convince him that perhaps it was a mistake to lock the chaos away and disdain it. the world is uneven, disproportional, drenched in illusions it cannot seem to break free from, and only haneul and his father have seen through these deceits– no one else wants to be enlightened, the education too drastic for their malleable senses, their desperate dependencies to old traditions and tar-spewing ghosts making them delicate, inadequate, feeble.

so when the summons of a different sort comes to the winter home up on the mountain peak, a call for the only son of their calamitous lineage to once again venture south, this time alone, this time for life instead of death, for hope instead of corpses, he exchanges nothing more than a glance with his father. it’s come far too late now; he’s already unveiled the lies of the world, unraveling their plots and ploys like yarn, snipped away the dizzying filth of their summer-born pollution.

he’ll answer the edict. and they’ll wish he never did.