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hqcult · 3 years

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SWITCHING POSITIONS ## akaashi keiji

doms and subs are overrated. it's hella fun being a switch and keiji couldn't agree more.

. tw smut, switch! akaashi, switch! reader, some baby girl and baby boy calling, mommy kink, sir kink, drunk sex, unprotected sex (dont try this at home), oral (m receiving), creampies, slight degradation . wc 3.8k

the night is young. as young a night gets for two college students after finals week. while countless people from different frat houses have already invited you to come to their year-end parties, you never really enjoy that scene. it's too much of an effort to dress and doll yourself up when, after such a stressful week, you just want to wind down and get drunk here in your dorm with your best friend.

plus, keiji tells way more compelling stories than boys you've encountered at parties and that's saying something, considering you had been drunk as a skunk but didn't find them funny at all.

yeah. offense.

right from the get-go, you figure he's never one for small talk but there's a fondness in his eyes when he talks about his days as a volleyball player. he becomes more loose-lipped, sharing to you memories of his teammates and games. you really didn't care whatever topic he chose to talk about, you just know you'll listen to him anyway. it's great listening to him talk with that comforting voice of his.

"you know," you lean your head back against the couch, cozying up in your hoodie. "maybe you should start a part-time job as a youtuber. you can be one of those people who do asmr videos or something." you chuckle, finding the random thought amusing.

"but i'm already on a full-ride. i don't think i need to get a part-time job," he lies comfy on your couch. one arm hanging, hands over the can of beer.

you sighed staring up at the ceiling. "lucky. it's hard maintaining grades when your professors are a bunch of snobby assholes who don't care about their students."

his knee nudges the back of your head lightly. "don't say that," he scolds. "that's bad. they're still your teachers."

always so polite.

just as you reach forward for another slice of pizza, akaashi speaks again, eyeing you thoughtfully. "well… maybe i can start an asmr channel and we can split the money i earn."

you laugh, torso turning around to face him. you bring the beer can up to offer a toast.

"see, this is why i love you, keiji."

after clicking his can with yours, you turn around to have a bite of your pizza — completely missing the red flush on his cheeks, thrown off-guard by the strong proclamation you just made, albeit he knows you probably meant it in a platonic way. he didn't know what to say next so he took another swig of his drink.

he doesn't know. really. what triggered him to look at you as something way more than a normal friend would. for someone so self-aware as him it's frustrating not knowing how and when his feelings for you even changed. because the only time he realized he was knee deep into liking you was when he was also at the brink of losing you.

which reminds him…

"what happened to that guy you were texting two weeks ago?" he asks.

"ah, him? he's too… what's the word, assertive? intrusive? i don't know — it's like he wants to monopolize my time. like he wants my whole world to revolve around him and it's… kinda creepy actually."

akaashi scoffs, sitting up to get a slice of pizza. "you guys were only talking for two weeks."

"i know! that's what i'm saying!" you say, hands wildly gesturing to and fro. he's afraid you might spill the beer. "like — dude. maybe it's either he needs to chill the fuck out or i'm just not into doms. or maybe he's a walking red flag."

he hums thoughtfully, slumping next to you on the floor before dusting his hands off from pizza crumbs. "he's a red flag. obviously."

"okay but random thought: doms are overrated," you reach forward to open another can of beer, thinking out loud. "subs too. i feel like it's kinda tiring being a top as much as it is being a bottom. being a switch, on the other hand, is like getting the best of both worlds and who wouldn't like that? it's some good hannah montana shit."

now akaashi keiji can't help but laugh at that. "are you drunk? how did our conversation end up this way even."

you bump his shoulder, laughing with him before drinking your beer. "oh, come on. humor me a little, keiji. think about it. i'm right. aren't i?"

"and how do you know?" he turns his head towards you. "have you been a top? or bottom —"

"i have," the smile you gave him sent butterflies to his stomach. "both. back in my all-girls high school. being a bottom's not too bad but… eh, still. i'd rather just be a switch. it's exhausting to top all the time."

"don't i know it," akaashi mutters under his breath. flashbacks of all those awkward and embarrassing endeavors filling his mind. "guys are always expected to top. it's like a stereotype. can't i just sit back sometimes and follow orders, too?"

he feels the heat crawling up his neck and it makes him shrug off his jacket, leaving him with the plain white shirt underneath.

"i can give you orders."

akaashi almost chokes on his beer.

"you literally just said it's exhausting to top."

you shrugged. "yeah, but — i mean, it is! it is but… you know."

he can see exactly how embarrassment is taking over your features and he wants to stop and move on from the conversation. he wants to. he should. but there's an inkling feeling inside him that doesn't because he wants to see how this unfolds. his heart is beating erratically and he can't take his eyes off you since that little comment you made.

"i'm sorry," you chuckle, a dismissive tone in your voice. "nevermind. anyway…"

akaashi shouldn't entertain his thoughts.

it's improper. you're his best friend. literally one of the few people who he's managed to befriend in college. he can't lose you. he can't risk being awkward with you. his not-so-platonic feelings for you should never get in the way of that. never. plus, you're both intoxicated right now and you were probably just kidding around. akaashi isn't that kind of guy. he respects you. he should dismiss the conversation but —

"then give me orders."

you froze. eyes widening as you stare at the forgotten netflix movie playing on your laptop, unable to look at the man sitting next to you. afraid of the weight of his stare. you didn't know why you blurted out whatever you did a few seconds ago but you never thought he'd entertain it. not that you mind, anyway. this is your best friend we're talking about. well-mannered akaashi keiji with the ocean eyes hiding behind those cute square glasses.

the akaashi keiji you've been crushing hard on since you saw him at the freshman orientation two years ago.

"would you… spread your legs for me?"

light rustling can be heard as the microfibers of his socks drag against the carpeted floor. just as you reach forward to push back the coffee table, akaashi beats you to it and does it for you. making sure to push it far so you won't accidentally hit your back on the edges.

with one smooth swing of your leg, you're sitting snug on his lap. the rough fabric of his jeans grazing your thighs as your hands tremble whilst dragging down the planes of his torso.

akaashi grabs your hands, stopping you.

"you look hesitant. you don't need to do this if you don't want to." his tone is low, understanding as always.

you look at him straight in the eye. leaning forward until your lips are all but grazing each other as you spoke. "i want to. i want you."

you dive down to start peppering kisses down his neck and you hear him let out a shaky sigh. you lick a stripe up the side of his neck before kissing the shell of his ear. "go on, keiji. you can touch me. don't you want to touch mommy?"

you feel him shudder, his dexterous fingers mapping random lines underneath your hoodie, slowly raking higher and higher until he's saying "mommy, please take it off" in low hushed tones. the blush in his cheeks prominent as he can't seem to stare at you in the eye. so cute. so submissive. so stupid thinking you'll let him undress you so easily.

"did i say you can take it off?" you hiss, reaching down to cup him from over his jeans and shoving his hands off you. "don't tell me baby boy is being bad, are you being bad? i thought my baby keiji's a good boy for his mommy."

"but… but i am a good —"

akaashi hisses, knees jolting when he feels you tracing circles on the insides of his thighs with the tip of your nails. for someone who just claimed they didn't like topping, you're doing an impeccable job at it and he doesn't know whether or not he loves it or hates it. when your sneaky little hands unbutton his jeans and teasingly pulls the zipper down, okay, no, he definitely loves it. the determined look in your eyes as you pin your gaze on his features, watching like a hawk at every furrow of his brow, of every sharp intake of breath, every time he throws his head back.

"if you're such a good boy why don't you strip for mommy, hm? won't my baby boy give me a show?" he can't take his eyes off you as you smile, sultry, leaning over to lick at his bottom lip as your ass slowly grinds against his jeans. how merciless you are, when you gave him a peck and pulled away. "go on. strip and sit on the couch."

blindly reaching around the coffee table, you grabbed whatever beer you can hold before raising it up to your lips and staring at him over the rim of the can as he throws his shirt off. you suck in a breath when his abdominals come into view. his torso lean and smooth, siding a little more on the petite size with a tiny waist. and you shamelessly check him out even more when he leans over and hooks his thumbs under his jeans, pushing it down.

you didn't speak until you saw the black waistband of his boxers.

"those, too."

he pauses, looking a little lost. "i'm sorry, what —"

"everything, baby boy. i want everything off… including those boxers. wanna see your dick throbbing. bet baby boy's already hard because mommy kissed his neck and gave him hickies, isn't he? bet you'll love it if mommy licks you all over, or when mommy rides her baby boy's cute thighs. would my baby keiji like that? would you? does my baby boy deserve it?"

damn were you good at this. the more you spoke the more it's making him ache and he wastes no time in shoving everything down. true to your words he was throbbing. the mushroom tip oozing precum and his dick standing tall. maybe it's the alcohol in his system or maybe it's the desire for you that he had kept locked away for so long, but akaashi can't bring it in himself to feel embarrassed. not when you're looking at him like you want to devour him whole.

the same bright eyes of his adventurous best friend who's stuck by his side since being wide-eyed first years in this huge university — he'll probably never see you in that same halo ever again, already tainted by the image of you now.

he sees you swallow, eyes never straying away from his girth and akaashi feels a little proud to have you looking star-struck. when you rise from your seat, his muscles tense in anticipation, staring at your hand as it slowly reaches forward — only to pause mid-air.

akaashi looks up at you questionably and he sees the unspoken question in your eyes, asking for his consent. and your baby boy's answer was instantaneous.

"please, mommy. touch me?"

the smile on your face was cocky. definitely cocky as your hand wraps around his girth, the other wrapping around his throat as you coo. "aw, how can i resist when you're asking so nicely? why don't you sit on the couch and i'll grant whatever my baby boy wants, hm?"

he mewls, leaning back on the couch and eyes you with lust. "like this, mommy?" he mutters, desperate. he even tilts his hips up a little to offer you a better view as you hum in approval, straddling his hips as you stroked his cock.

"such a good boy for mommy, aren't you? how pretty."

he hisses when he catches sight of you kneeling before him in between his legs, looking at him with the most captivating sultry gaze he's ever seen. "mommy's gonna give you a 'lil prep, yeah? so it won't hurt when i ride your dick, baby boy."

"yes, momm — ugh."

akaashi throws his head back when you finally wrap your lips around him. the image of your hollowed cheeks forever ingrained in his mind. his eyes fly close, focusing his attention on your swift tongue as it lies flat against the underside of his cock, taking him eagerly from the base to the tip. your tongue swirls around the head, sneakily poking around the hole where precum oozes out.

"mommy," he whines when your tongue travels back to his girth, tracing one of the prominent veins in his dick before your hand comes up to play with his balls. "mommy — shit. so good… feels so good…"

it urges you on, hands retracting to wrap around whatever your mouth couldn't cover. his back is arching and you suck him with fervor, eager to push him to the edge, to make him believe you're going to lick and play and suckle until he's creaming around your mouth — only to pull away at the last minute.

"no!" he moans, looking down at you desperately as you rise from your seat. "i was-i was gonna cum!"

you dismiss him easily with a wave of the hand, too busy shuffling out your clothes. maybe if you had the energy, you would've punished him a few rough spanks but you were far gone already. thoughts of that dick splitting you in half as you ride him consuming your mind like a plague.

akaashi groans when you hop onto the sofa and crash your lips on his. you never would've imagined kissing him this way. sloppy and wet and painfully induced with lust. the stretch is amazing, there was the lightest stinging sensation but was overridden by pleasure. he groans, pulling you close and peppering your shoulders with kisses.

you grabbed his shoulders and started bouncing on his lap in a slow, stimulating manner that made you feel every vein and curve of his cock as it deliciously drags against your walls. you hear him wine. you hear him talk about how it hurts and how he can't take it anymore. how he needs his mommy to move faster. faster, mommy. please fuck me faster. but you ignored him, so caught up in domspace to see the growing irritation in your baby boy's eyes. to see the sudden shift from clinging onto you so desperately to gripping possessively against the soft flesh of your sides.

the air was knocked out of your lungs when he slams you down on the sofa.

"you dare ignore me?" his face is passive, eyes cold and steely as he pinned you with a dark stare. "time's up. i think you got a tad bit carried away there, don't you agree?"

"want me to show you how it's done?" you shiver in excitement when he takes your wrists in one hand. his thighs flex as he gets on his knees before hooking your legs over his shoulder, thrusting his dick deeper into you. akaashi bends forward, a hand firmly gripping your face. "i want you to address me as 'sir' and nothing else, do i make myself clear?"

his low assertive tone so painfully attractive you clenched around him as he drills into you with vigor. akaashi chuckles, the low rumbles of his chest stimulating your perked nubs as it grazed against him with every thrust. "yeah, you like that? like it when i speak to you like this? ah, fuck you're so tight. you're pussy's practically choking my dick — look, fucking look, baby girl."

your head grazes his as you both watch his member disappear inside you, getting off at the lewd sight of the glistening sheen of your essence wrapped around his cock and the loud squelching noise it makes when he rams it into you again. you whimper, pulling akaashi down for a kiss as your ankles hook around his back, pulling him deeper as his pace quickens and his balls slap against your skin.

"see that? your pussy keeps sucking me back in. bet you're desperate for my cock, aren't you?" you never thought akaashi to be the type who's into talking dirty, you thought he was the gentle, vanilla type. but alcohol always brings around quite interesting things about a person after getting drunk.

you cling onto him for dear life as his hand reaches down to draw figure eights against your puffy clit, eliciting the most feral of moans from you that could rival that of pornstars. "sir," you shudder. "please, sir. please."

"please what?" he grabs your lower back, pulling your torso up to hit an angle that makes you see stars.

"please, let me cum! please."

akaashi clicks his tongue before raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "you didn't listen to me when i was the one begging, why should i listen to you?"

your hands wrap around his neck, sobbing against the crook of his neck by the sheer pleasure you felt. he can't understand your mindless babbling. all inside keiji's mind is the feel of your perked nipples grazing his chest and your plush walls wrapping around him so prettily. he never did it raw, having you as his first time doing it without a condom pushed him way over the edge than he wants to admit.

"be-because — ah — i didn't —"

akaashi hauls you up into a sitting position, arms wrapped around you securely as you straddle him. he yanks you away from his neck, a tight grip wrapped around your throat as he stares straight into your eyes as he fucks up into you, feeling his balls slap against your skin. "what? cock's that good you can't even speak?"

he feels your hips stutter as you sob, tiny hands wrapped around his wrists. you didn't even try bouncing and meeting his thrusts anymore. "sir, please! s'too much! wanna cum —"

"then fucking work for it," he stils his hips. "fuck me back, baby girl. come on. you said you wanted to ride me, didn't you? bet this is what you've been thinking about for the whole night. that's the only thing my baby girl's capable of right? thinking 'bout my cock and nothing else? such a dumb little baby."

your legs quivered and shook as you obliged and pulled yourself half way up, before meeting him halfway and impaling yourself back down his cock. the first time you did it had both of you whining, akaashi quickly threading his hands through your hair to yank your face towards him. he wants to imprint this memory into his mind. to be able to merely shut his eyes and be transported back to the night you both were intoxicated and you let him use your cunt like a fleshlight.

all sense of manners were thrown out the window as his ocean eyes memorized the way your eyes rolled back when he hits a sweet spot, the way your nose scrunches when the pleasure becomes overwhelming, the way the drool shamelessly trickles down the side of your lips as your tongue sticks out and he so badly wanted to spit but he didn't in fear of making you uncomfortable. everything. he wants to memorize everything.

"just a little more, pretty girl. you can do it. together, okay? cum before me and you'll fucking regret it."

he grabs you closer, burying your face in his neck and planting his feet firm on the ground as he pistons his cock into you. it's not the heat of your body, or your pretty cries, or the lewd sound of skin slapping that made him cum. no. it was your sheer desperation and vulnerability as you bit his shoulders and yelled at the top of your lungs.

"keiji!"

he pulled out at record speed and had made a mess on his torso but he was hardly able to register any of these. so fucked out and sated and content to have you sitting on his lap as he stares at your plain ceiling. he doesn't even realize you've dropped down to your knees and started lapping up the essence splayed on his torso until he felt the hot muscle of your tongue. "(y/n) —"

"what happened to baby girl?" you tease, a playful smile on your lips as you meet his eyes. "you were so into it, 'kaashi. you should've seen your face — well, i was… kinda into it too, anyway."

it took akaashi around three seconds for everything to finally sink in, to fully sober up and let the gears work in his head. the realization of what had gone down on your sofa, of the things he told you, brings about an embarrassment greater than anything he's ever felt in his entire life. suddenly, he's shoving you away from him and draping the discarded blanket around your naked form whilst politely looking away. then he quickly covers his soft dick with one of your throw pillows.

"oh, my god. i'm so sorry. this is a mistake — shit — i'm sorry! you see, i've liked you ever since and not as a friend and i swear i'm not the type to just —"

"keiji" you snap him out of it. "i like you too, okay? now don't go around saying it's a mistake or i'm going to throw you off the roof. do you want me to throw you off the roof? right. i don't think so. now, come on! get your sexy ass dressed, we're going somewhere."

"where... are we going?"

"i'm craving ice cream. so for our first date, buying ice cream at 2am!"

#(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ queue’d!#thirsthours #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu scenarios #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu #akaashi keiji #akaashi smut #akaashi keiji smut #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x you #akaashi keiji x yn #hq akaashi #akaashi haikyuu

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nishimochas · 3 years

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❁﹝ 22:41 ‣ ˢˡᵒʷ ᵈᵃⁿᶜᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ﹞

‣ gender neutral trainee!reader with trainee!heeseung. inspired by joji's song of the same title.

‣ tw: some slight cursing, just a whole bunch of angst.

‣ word count: 1.9k

"god, i'm such an idiot."

you swore to protect yourself against his charms.

every moment you spent with lee heeseung began to slowly feel like an incredible burden. each waking memory you still hold of him had started morphing into something you hoped you'd never live to see. he was no one you should've fallen for. in his world, you were just someone who he smiles at and greets when it's convenient.

you knew you were nothing more than a friend to him. all the times you've comforted him when he was weak, all the moments you've stayed with him when he felt alone and defeated– you knew that he didn't see any of those the way you did. or rather, the way you hoped you didn't see it. he treated you like he did everyone else: he was kind, patient, caring as he'd always been. even at times where you think his eyes hold something different within them, when his hands were too close, too gentle to not mean intimacy, you'd dismiss it all the same.

that's just how he is, and you knew you were mistaken for thinking you were any special.

you told sunghoon and jay about it before, and they seemed supportive of your feelings. it seems that they, too, see the unusual tenderness the eldest has for you. but you, thinking it was all but a delusion, you paid no mind to their observations.

"how would they understand? they're just like him. they're perfect, all of them – and i'm just me."

who could blame you, though? being close friends with such a blameless human being is already a difficult feat.

but heeseung? he was nothing short of perfect, and you knew you couldn't last so long with denial.

violent sobs threatened to break loose from your tightened throat as you walked through the halls, somber fingers erasing any memory of tears still lingering atop your features. the biggest idiot, you were. a great fool to have allowed yourself to fall for him. in painful silence, you continued your way down the dreadful atmosphere of the practice halls.

the silence didn't last for long. there were footsteps, hushed yet languid.

and suddenly– music.

melancholic, powerful, raw. it was coming from the third isle.

with brows raised in query you approached, half hopeful and half hating the fact that it could very much be the one person you so wished to not see at the moment. still, your curiousity led you to the glass doors of the dance room, your witless bravery encouraging you to look further.

and to nobody's glorious surprise, there he was. he always looked perfect, but it took your breath away each time just the same.

holding a still and quiet breath had never felt like such a taxing job until that moment. you could barely move from your cramped position, let alone watch him properly in the dim lit room. a part of you was screaming, furious that you'd still let yourself indulge in such a luxury despite the aching you'd already gotten yourself into. but a bigger part was paralyzed. a bigger part fought– it wanted to do nothing more than to stay and be mesmerized.

you've forgotten how agonizing it was to watch heeseung move the way he does when he's vulnerable. it was as if every inch in his body sang along to the melody of the song, each telling their own parts of his tragic tale.

oh, how you loved how he danced when you were the only one watching. he hit every beat with such precision and delicacy that you couldn't help but stare every time you spectate. he always manages to catch you off guard, every single time.

you spent the rest of the few moments as a faraway audience, watching through a small sliver of the glass door from where you hoped he didn't see you. but just as quickly, that thought wavered off and you're caught in shock as your gaze met his through the mirror, and you could've sworn his eyes glowed when he saw you. no, it couldn't be– it was impossible. maybe you we're just making it all up in your head. and maybe your dismay was just as evident as you thought you'd confirmed it, the heartbeat's worth of crossing glances broken apart as the next verse of the song played.

how pathetic of you, really– to think that someone like him would look forward to seeing you. you were a nobody compared to him, and maybe things were meant to stay that way. but then, just as you were about to turn away, his eyes meet yours once more for a few beats before moving away again. it was tantalizing, how such a small thing was capable of luring you in. it was as if he's saying, 'stay. watch me. i know you're here.'

it would be a lie if you said you didn't want to keep on watching.

the thundering in your chest only doubled as he did it again for the third time, now nearing the end of the song. his porcelain skin glistened as the light reflected upon it, and you felt something within you wrench upon the sight.

there was no denying it anymore. you were in love with lee heeseung, and there was no changing it.

the thought settled into you bitterly, but somewhere along the lines lied hope also.

the atmosphere shook with quiet breathing as the song met it's end, his gaze not leaving the floor beneath him. tearing your own eyes away from his figure, you began to stand up; it was time for you to go. and just as you started walking, you heard that painstakingly familiar voice piercing through again.

"wait," god, you could recognize that voice from miles away.

"stay."

your tracks were brought to an abrupt halt, not yet finding the nerve to turn around and face him. heeseung made it clear in his tone that he was talking to you, but your tremendous idiocy decided to state the obvious nonetheless.

"...me?" you both knew the answer. a few seconds of silence, then a sigh from behind you. those seconds felt like forever.

"look at me." you hated hearing those words, hated having to follow them even more. but you did. you turned around just as he told you to, and there he was by the door, holding it open with the weight of his shoulders. another sigh escaped his lips. you stood there, frozen, waiting for his next words.

"dance with me."

the words rang through you like a riddle; it took every ounce of restraint not to look at him like he was a lunatic. it was a simple request– yet, given how you've been dealing with your emotions, the request took such a toll on your barely comprehending mind. and, as if he understood every question that flooded your system, he went back inside the studio, gesturing you to follow has he did. despite the internal war that seized your entire body, you followed suite.

you stood near the entrance with your head hung low, wishing at that very moment for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. your fingers twiddled with each other in an awkward tangle as you waited for him to speak again. not long after, he finally did.

"remember you did a choreo with me once, the one after auditions?" of course you remembered it, you couldn't get your mind off of it since it happened.

"how could i forget? it was one of my favorite songs." your remark was met with a chuckle, and as if on cue, joji's slow dancing in the dark echoed within the confinements of the practice room. the movements came over to heeseung naturally, and you fought the instinct of it rushing through your own. he seemed to have noticed it, too. next thing you knew, your hands were in his and he's leading you to the middle.

"come on, i know you still remember the moves." he teased, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. you couldn't help but chuckle along, shaking your head slightly in feigned embarrassment as you gave into the music and danced along with him. it still felt as intimate and forlorn as before, maybe even more so now. the small, still furious part within you wanted to tear itself apart every time your body met his touch; and as the song came to an end with you in his arms, at that moment, it seemed like the only thing that mattered.

"oh god, are you alright?" he fussed as he saw your reflection on the practice mirror. you barely noticed the tears that came flooding out, the pooling they made on the shirt that you wore. you nodded slightly, looking up to give heeseung a little half-hearted smile. without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping your frame in a warm embrace. you couldn't tell what was happening, why the tears wouldn't stop, why you still feel horrible after all of it. he broke it off shortly and instead took your face into his cupped palms, tilting your head upwards so he could study your distressed visage.

still, the tears fell. no matter how much effort you'd placed into stopping them, they fell still. heeseung watched you intently, troubled and with worry lingering across his eyes. and as they kept falling still, he leaned in slowly towards where they were falling, and one by one, kissed the teardrops away.

"heeseung, i dont understand..."

"i heard what you said to sunghoon and jay. i was in the other room. i didn't mean to eavesdrop but i thought i heard your voice and... well, yeah."

your felt your heart drop into your stomach, a dry lump now beginning to form in your throat. the last thing you'd have wanted at that moment was for heeseung to know, but as it turns out, it seemed as if your worst fear has manifested in from of you.

you had no other choice now.

you shook your head as you mused a broken laugh, the next few words that came out of your mouth more poisonous to you than it was to him.

"i love you." you shrugged, half expecting him to turn away right as you said those words. "i guess there's no point in denying that now."

heeseung's breath started becoming uneven as his grip around you loosened, and you could almost see you the words as they started to unfold within his frenzied mind. he shook it off with a rather harsh jolt, and you took it as your cue to start leaving. you dismissed it, too, and began stepping away from his hold. it hurt as much as you expected it to.

"i know it's the stupidest thing, god i swear im so sorry, i really didn't mean–"

...oh.

you had no idea how it happened, why he thought of it or what made him do it but a small voice within you told you to savor it, so you did. his lips pressed against yours with a dulcet warmth and you wanted more, more more– you gave him everything at that moment, and he gladly gave you just as much, too. he tasted so sweet and so addicting, better than anything you could've possibly hoped for. and as your own tiers finally parted from his, saturated with the desperate need for air, the ghost of the words you thought you'd never hear from him urged out as he whispered;

"i love you, too. i have since the start."

❁ :: did i really need to hurt myself that much? no. but life isn't fair, janet, now repeat after me: giVE ME REASONS WE SHOULD BE COMPLETE–

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jamiespxtter · 3 years

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Self Para || The Dawn of an Old Day

TAGGING → James Potter TIMELINE→ January 1st, 1979 SETTING → Godric's Hollow, West Country, England SUMMARY → James wakes up at home, alone. The last thing he remembers is telling Lily to run with Harry, and turning to face Voldemort alone, on Halloween night of 1981 NOTES → Warning for injury mention, description of death/dying.

For a moment, he feels like he's floating.

Weightless.

A flash of green, the pressure easing from his shoulders. Numbness creeping up his legs, into his chest. He can imagine falling, meeting the bottom of the little staircase in their home, what was once a safe haven now desecrated by the worst betrayal.

There's nothing in his mind, however. No thoughts, no fears, no hesitations. No anger, no remorse. He's done all he can, lived his life as wholly as he could, and now, this is what's left. Snippets of memories, fond and fleeting, drifting by wherever he is.

Harry's laughter. Lily's smile. The smell of Sirius' tobacco. His dad's old pipe.

Remus' blood. Peter's yell. Marlene's tears.

Raindrops on her face. On his hand. The sky, clouds gaping wide, the heavens pouring down on him.

Weightless. Weightless.

Death is a quiet thing. There's no screech of car breaks, or healers rushing around him. There's no screaming, no sound other than his own breath, in and out, in and out, in and..

Quiet.

Maybe his parents had felt the same way. His mother had been found in her bed, his father in the chair beside her, their hands joined between them. Part of him wants to believe that they had died within moments of each other, simply because the thought of living without the other was impossible to bear. He knows that's true love, being unable to go on without the one you chose, the one you cared for, by your side.

He had told Lily to run. To take Harry, and go. The culmination of their love, wrapped up entirely in a soft, woven blanket, a gift from Sirius' cousin. In their last few moments, despite all of his belief about love dying side-by-side, standing together, he had made her go.

Perhaps it would give them a fighting chance. Lily was strong. If she had to face a world without him, with their son, she could do it. Brave, and bold, and every bit the woman he knew. The woman he loved.

Loves.

It's a difficult thing to let go of, but he doesn't want to let it go. Not yet, anyway. Despite the numb that comes with passing on, there's still a warmth nestled in his chest, a calm that's settled there, made a home. He doesn't know how the rest of this story will play out - none of them do, but that wouldn't stop him from believing in it. Nothing would. His life has come and gone, passed through the hourglass and left sitting in a pile of sand at the bottom, but his love holds on tight, like the final few grains that cling to the glass.

Is he ready to go? No.

He doesn't think he ever was. He doesn't think he ever will be. There's an invincibility that comes with fighting a war at the age of eighteen, a thrill of life that comes with winning a fight, again and again and again.

But fatherhood has settled him. Being a husband has settled him. They've spent the past few months in isolation, with nothing but owls, and their thoughts, and their little Harry to keep them going. He doesn't need much else.

They had run out of time. Trust. Like the sand in his hourglass, it had fallen through his fingertips, and he had watched it go, staring down the end of Voldemort's wand with a final sense of realisation.

This was a mistake. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There was no blaze of glory, no final, epic defeat. He had stared death in the eye, in the quiet of his own home, bastardized by his presence in the threshold, and their peace has been violated. There's no chance of him coming out of it alive, and he knows it.

He barely has time to lift his wand before there's green.

Green.

And nothing.

And something.

It pulls him out from the numb. The quiet is still there, clinging to his skin, curling around his neck with no whispers, no words. There's no explanation for where he is or what he's doing, how much time has passed between then and now, between something and nothing.

It's still in him. That warmth. Love, nestled deep in his chest. It burns the way it always has, lights up inside him like a flower, blooming under the sun. He was never numb, not at all - he had been wrapped up in that warmth, in that love, like a blanket, woven by Sirius' cousin, keeping him safe.

Close.

He's always been close.

They've never left.

And then he's there. With him. With her. With them.

There's a forest, cold and blue-green around them, damp under his feet. He can't feel it, but he knows it's there, wrapping him up in dawn - dusk? He isn't sure. Time has passed. Time is passing. Nothing feels real, solid, but somehow he knows he is there, and there's a man in front of him.

Not a man.

A boy.

Barely eighteen, the image of his father, glasses low on his nose and sweat on his brow, dirt and grime over his face and his clothes, his hands. Hours of fighting a long fight evident on his skin, and in his eyes.

Green eyes.

James knows those eyes.

He settles, standing so close but just out of reach, watching. They've been brought here for a reason, he can feel it, a purpose that sits right at home with the love in his chest. It grows, multiplies, becomes an all-encompassing weight that envelopes him so warmly, and even in the cold of the forest, he feels a belonging. He's right where he needs to be. The boy before them needs him, and he's here, more than ready to stay by his side. He's always been there.

"You've been so brave, sweetheart."

Her voice sounds as calm as he feels, and James lets it wash over him. There's a similar expression on her face, like she knows it, too, though she doesn't look at him to reassure what he's thinking. She doesn't need to.

They're entirely in sync, watching the boy before them. Sirius, and Remus stand on the opposite side, an equal distance apart as James and Lily are, and it feels like a full circle. They're surrounding the boy, wrapping him up, keeping him from harm.

They always have been. They always will.

"Until the end."

James finds himself speaking, the words coming more naturally than breathing. The boy meets his gaze, watching, like he's spent a lifetime waiting for this moment. Nothing about it feels strange, or foreign, - it's easier than walking. Laughing. Existing.

He was always meant to be a father.

"You'll stay with me?"

His voice is so familiar. The boy looks to Lily like he's waiting for the reassurance, the invitation to come home, and she's as warm and welcoming as she's ever been. Maybe this is how she had felt, just before he had come to them, still cradled carefully inside her from the war-torn world around them. Maybe she feels it, too, a pull from deep within that keeps them bound to the boy, no matter what tries to tear them apart. He might look like his father, but he has his mother's eyes, bright green and honest, pooled with emotion and hope.

Green.

She doesn't have to think twice when she answers. It's more natural to her than breathing.

Harry opens his palm, and the stone falls.

James opens his eyes.

It’s dawn. Early morning. Sunlight is just starting to creep through the window in the front room, and he can see it from his position on the stairs, slumped on his side like he had fallen there. There’s a ringing in his ears, a nausea that creeps up the back of his throat and threatens to make him throw up then and there, but he manages to hold it back, focusing on taking a few, deep breaths.

In, and out. In, and out.

He’s exhausted. It’s in his bones, in his head, in his heart. His whole body is aching, physically and emotionally, and he has to sit with it for a moment, trying to remember why he’s doubled over at the bottom of the stairs in the first place. There’s green eyes in his mind, a green flash, a sense of loss, -

And it all comes back.

Thundering, instantaneous, like a nightmare he has to relive in his memories, over and over again. The thud of the door, the panic in Lily’s eyes as she reached for their son. Harry’s cries, the way his heart sank in his chest as James knew their time was up. He can see it all so, so clearly, - Voldemort’s red eyes, his sunken skin, the way his contorted, filthy had had raised his own wand, and James had tried, tried so fucking hard to fight back. He’d barely lifted his arm before it was all over. The fight they had been fighting since they were fifteen had come to an end, and he was dead.

He was supposed to be dead.

His son was only a year old.

James is moving before he can even process it, scrambling to his feet despite the way his stomach lurches. The panic he feels is sudden, urgent, sickening right down to his very core, and all he can think about is Lily, Harry, Lily, Harry, his family, everything he had fought so hard to protect. Nothing about it feels real, - there’s no possible way he had stood there and stared, had watched Voldemort raise his wand and curse his death upon him, and simply came out alive on the other side. Everything in him refuses to believe it, and before he can stop himself, he’s moving.

The living room is empty. There’s no sign of her, of Harry, and James nearly trips over a cardboard box as he searches, frantic in his actions. There’s no logic behind it, - she’s not behind the couch, she’s not curled up in the armchair, she’s not in a heap by the fireplace. Harry’s blanket is nowhere to be found, and James is certain he had left it at the end of the couch, where their son had just been figuring out how to sit upright properly, all by himself. James had been so proud.

She’s not in the kitchen, either. There’s more boxes, and he ignores them, barely stopping to glance at the scribbled handwriting on the sides of the cardboard.

Kitchen 1.

Cupboard 3.

Over the oven.

Do not open before welcome home party, James!!

He had told her to run, but where? There’s nowhere to go, and while he wants to believe she had made it out the back door and apparated away before Voldemort could have reached them, the door is still firmly locked. He gets it open with a spell and a hasty shove, but their back garden is empty, no sign of life, no evidence she had been out there at all. The poppies she had planted in April are missing, too. A bright burst of red that had once made a home just past the step at their back door, there’s no sign of them now, and James frowns in confusion, fixing the glasses on his face to make sure he’s not simply imagining things.

He makes it back into the house, dread seeping in. It’s a difficult sensation to ignore, so all-encompassing that for a moment, he can’t breathe, looking around the kitchen in confusion. It fights with the tiny snippet of hope he feels, nestled carefully in his heart. He wants to believe that Lily is safe, somewhere, with their son, that Dumbledore has kept his promise and kept them safe, has guaranteed their son a fighting chance at life.

Until the end.

The words ache in his chest, deep and sorrowful, like memories of his father. Going back to the empty estate had felt similar, and James has to fight to breathe, lifting a hand to his chest to feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat there.

Fear. He feels fear.

There’s a noise upstairs. Movement.

It catches his attention suddenly, given how quiet Godric’s Hollow is around him, and James reaches for his wand, gripped tight in his aching hand. He’s been on enough missions to know it’s not a good sign, and that the logical thing to do would be to abandon the house, to run himself, and try to find Dumbledore and his family. But James doesn’t run from things, never has, and he steels himself as he approaches the kitchen door, and the little hallway that ends at the bottom of the stairs.

There’s footsteps, light enough to almost be undetectable. His breathing catches in his chest as he edges closer to the door, and James leans to look around it, catching sight of someone coming down the stairs.

Red hair. A shaking hand. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, reaching for a picture in a frame, the glass shining and new. She almost looks hesitant to touch it, like she can’t quite believe it’s there.

He can’t quite believe she’s there.

Nothing stops him from moving out into the hallway behind her, his own steps quiet. For a moment, all he can do is look, because it can’t possibly be real. That she’s here, she’s alive, with him. There’s every possibility she’s a ghost, but she’s touching the picture frame, fingertips pressed against the glass so lightly, and she’s really with him. James can see a picture of their wedding day, their friends, a monumental, happy moment in their lives.

They had broken that frame when they had moved Harry’s crib upstairs. He still had to get it fixed.

“.. Lils?”

The fond petname comes out broken, almost like a plea. It’s the first word he’s spoken in.. he doesn’t quite know how long. He doesn’t want to think about it. She turns, then, meeting his gaze with tear-filled eyes, and everything James fears comes crashing down around him, all at once.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He reaches for her, hands shaking, wand dropping to the floor. He knows his wife, knows who she is, knows without a single ounce of doubt that it’s really Lily standing before him, alive. She stares at him like she doesn’t know what to do, like she’s as broken as he feels, - and all at once, she falls forward, collapsing in his arms with a sob.

It breaks him.

Harry isn’t with her.

#self para:all #self para:dawn of an old day #interaction:all #interaction:darling i love you darling i do #para:darling i love you darling i do #all:darling i love you darling i do

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ahsana · 4 years

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Rehab ~ Dean Winchester

Chapter 1 - The Party

Summary: Gwendolyn Anderson is in her early twenties. For most people that age, they're in college or just starting to find their way. For her, she lost the person closest to her in the universe and she has to find a way to pick up the pieces because everything as she knows it as about to change. After a few events that are less than coincidental, the only thing that seems to make sense anymore is a man with green eyes and a twelve step program.

Pairing: AU!Gabriel Novak x OC!Gwen, AU!Dean Winchester x OC!Gwen & possible other variations. Stay tuned to find out ;)

Word Count: 2038

Chapter Warning: Just like every other chapter in this book so far, there will be detailed drug use, mentions of drugs, paraphernalia, mentions of death and other very sensitive topics. If this could trigger you or set you off in any way possible, I urge you not to read it. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, please reach out and get help. You are not alone. Always keep fighting.

Even when things were okay, I still never feared death. I've been on the edge many times; never quite falling off, but never quite holding on either.

A lot of people say overdosing was their rock bottom. It wasn't for me. Heroin is a strong word, and sometimes it even shocks me when I say it. Weird, right?

In health class as a teenager, I saw the pictures of drug addicted people and made a pact with myself in my head that I'd never become one of those people and here I am. I guess I should explain how I got here, though.

« FLASHBACK »

Why did I snort that line? My nose burns, my brain hurts, and my whole body feels like it's buzzing. I'm not exactly sure where the cocaine came from or why exactly I did it but I know that I have to get out of here and fast.

Parties aren't usually my scene, but I figured since it was my last day as a teenager I might as well indulge. My surroundings aren't familiar, just some college frat party that I knew of because I attend school here, but other than that I really have no idea where I am or how I got here.

I'm searching for the exit, pushing past sweaty bodies and other young adults who reek of alcohol and marijuana. I gave up hope halfway through the search because it feels almost as if though it's impossible, so when my eyes land on the staircase in front of me I sigh gratefully.

The door at the end of the hallway is propped open slightly; a large rock wedged between so it couldn't close. The loud music was causing my ears to ring so I walked as quickly as I could and became elated when I realized the door at the end of the hallway leading to outside, giving me a chance to get some fresh air.

I push the door open and realize it's heavier than I first assumed, so I try and let it close behind me gently so it doesn't knock rock out of place. I inhale deeply and look around, only to be met with the fact that I'm on the roof somehow.

"Wow," I mutter, and make my way towards the edge of the building; my shoes making the gravel of the rooftop crunch along the way. I peered over the ledge, and for a second considered flying.

Worse case scenario, I land flat on the pavement, ultimately dying in the process or I make it to the rooftop across the way. I step onto the ledge, squat and then sit; dangling my legs over the side of the building.

My heart is pounding a hundred miles a minute, and all of a sudden tears start streaming down my face.

"I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend," I gasp out of shock because I didn't realize that I wasn't alone up here—and also because a random man is singing to me. I turn my head to face the mystery man and am pleasantly surprised. "You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in," He continues, and I recognize the song and join in with him.

“And if you do not want to see me again, I would understaaaand. I would understaaand," We both sing in unison, and the stranger lets out a fit of giggles which makes me laugh in return.

"So Miss, how are you on this lovely night?" He questions.

"You aren't even going to ask me my name?" I inquire with a grin.

"Nope, don't need to." I nod in response, pretending to understand why.

“I'm doing well, by the way." I add.

"That's amazing.. or.. would be, if you were telling the truth." I cock my brow up, and he quickly adds, "I mean you wouldn't be sitting on the ledge for nothing, right?"

I shake my head in disagreement. "That's where you've got it wrong, sir."

"Sir? Do I really look that old?" He jokes.

"No, but I'm not sure what to call you since we don't need to know each other's names." The stranger sits beside me and lets his legs dangle over the building as well. I take a closer look at his features that are illuminated by the street lights below and I am captivated.

The ridge of his nose, the length of his lashes and his eyes—Wow, his eyes. It's dark, but I can tell that they're brown with a swirl of honey and it reminds me of a Hershey's bar.

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" He asks, and I shake my head no for the second time. "Well then what are you doing?" I shrug. "You're not very talkative, are you?" He asks, seeming genuinely curious.

"I am, but I'm not sure what to say. I'm at a party, drunk and high off coke, sitting with a stranger on the edge of the roof; trying to come up with something I could tell you but I'm at a loss for words here." The man gives me a goofy grin in return.

"Well. We'll probably never see each other again, so why don't you tell me your biggest secret?" I laugh out loud.

"Sir, I've known you for mere minutes and you want me to do something like that? Strange." I mumble in awe.

"I'm not from around here, so I couldn't possibly hold it against you in any way."

"Why did you come here then?" I ask.

"Free booze."

"Interesting. Here—I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." I whisper cheekily to him and he nods his head, agreeing.

"Sure. Okay. Let's start," he thinks for a moment, "My guilty pleasure is Lazy Town, the kids show."

"Ha! That's an awful secret, shame on you!" I reply but laughing while doing so.

"Fine, fine. Um, when I was seventeen I slept with my best mate's girlfriend. He still doesn't know." He whispers guiltily.

"Wow, that's pretty deep. Are they still together?" He nods.

"Been together for eight years, married for three—with two kids."

I chuckle, "How do you know you aren't the baby daddy?"

"Timeline doesn't add up—trust me, I did the calculations as soon as she told everyone she was pregnant the summer after we graduated high school," He trailed off but then turned his head towards me, "Your turn."

I gulp, and try and think of something.

"Um... Well, I might as well go all out then. My parents are both government officials. Amelia and Doug Anderson?" I throw the names out to see if he recognizes them.

"Holy shit," He marvels. "You're Gwendolyn Anderson. I should have recognized you as soon as I seen you! You and your parents are all over TV." I sigh.

"Yeah. But call me Gwen, I hate it when people call me Gwendolyn. Anyways—That's not exactly my secret." I look towards him and he motions for me to continue.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this but.. here we go. My entire life, I've felt like the weight of the world has been on my shoulders. Ever since I was a kid my parents have been pushing me to be the best in every category there has been or ever will be. My senior year of high school was the worst, obviously because of the impending doom of getting into the best college and working on getting scholarship offers; meanwhile keeping all A's, playing volleyball and volunteering."

I continued, glancing back now and then to see if he was still paying attention and he was alert the entire time. "It got to the point where.. I needed some extra help. Adderall was basically my scapegoat and how I functioned for the entire year. My parents were so busy being wrapped up in their own lives and pushing me to my limit that they never discovered I lost myself along the way. Now I'm in college, and I'm still trying to find my way back to a happy medium. But when I looked down at the ground, I realized that for some reason it doesn't even matter anymore."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Have you ever gotten to the point where you feel like you're just numb? Everything is grey scale and there's no color at all? I'm just going through the motions. There's no highs or lows; only this weird middle ground. I thought coming to this party tonight and getting trashed would make me feel better but it didn't change anything." He nods, knowingly. I can tell he understands. He rests his left hand on top of my right one and somehow it felt like my body couldn't get any hotter.

I should be scared, uncomfortable even. I just met this guy and don't even know his name but I'm letting him touch me like we've been friends all our lives. A sudden thought makes me speak up.

"You know, it's not really fair that you get to know my name and I don't know yours." He chuckles.

“It's Gabriel." I smile because it's very fitting. He looks like a Gabriel.

"That's a beautiful name."

He laughs, "Beautiful? More like average. Your name is beautiful."

"I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a grandma name, at least yours fits your age no matter how old you are." He smiles. We sit in silence, his hand still resting on top of mine and I take another look down at the ground.

"How long do you think it would take to reach the ground?" I ask as if he'd actually know the answer.

"For a suicidal person? Too long. For a person just looking for some answers, too fast."

“How do you know which is which?" Gabriel lets out a grunt and laughs.

"Well, do you want to die?" He asks, raising his voice but continues smiling; which is oddly contagious.

"I don't think I'd ever do anything to speed up the process, so ultimately no. Probably not."

"I guess there's an answer then." Gabriel replies.

"An answer?"

"Yeah, the one of many you're looking for. I won't have them all, though."

"B-But I thought you were an all-knowing wizard!" I gasp out sarcastically.

"No, no. But... I maybe might have one.. just for now,"

I raise my eyebrow again and ask, "What might that be?" Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny baggie with pills inside of it.

"You might like these," he whispers gently.

"Ah, man. I don't know--"

“I'm sure drugs weren't the first thing you thought of, but maybe they'll help you forget until tomorrow." I sigh and stick my hand out apprehensively.

"What are they?" I question.

"Percocet. Strongest prescription." I nod, remember hearing some of my peers talking about it previously this week. I swallow two of them without a second thought.

« FLASHBACK OVER »

I look down at the person who brought me into this mess, and his face is quickly turning a light shade of blue.

"Gabe, God, You fucking idiot! I told you not to do that much!" I shout and dial 911 as quickly as possible.

The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the front porch steps of his apartment as they're carrying him away on a stretcher. My best friend is dead, and I can officially say I'm terrified.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #gabriel novak #castiel #fanfic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #rehab au #crowley #charlie bradbury #au #slow burn

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