#hongjoong art | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minkieater · 3 months ago

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tide | khj

pairing. rich!hj x f!reader genre. non idol au, toxic relationship, soulmates warnings. substances, consumption, mental health, sexual content minors dni PLS wc. 5.5k

♫ — the broken one, qm ft. jiung “when you said that you wish the two of us could die together, i just pat your head and say i know.”

the best way you’d ever described your relationship is adjacent to a children’s movie, and for that comparison you feel wrong, but nothing else comes close. when alice fell down that hole and her entire world flipped upside down, changing everything she once thought she knew, it was the epitome of years of your life spent with him. you being alice, hongjoong being… everyone else. the mad hatter, cheshire cat, the red queen, white queen, the jabberwocky, the rabbit, he was everyone, all the time, all at once. your life, the riddles, everything but nothing making sense at the same time. there was nothing else you could possibly compare it to, two emotionally adolescent humans in adult bodies.

neither of you had ever been angry people by nature. in fact, you had always been deemed quite the opposite. hongjoong, older and successful, a man consumed by his work but always made time for the people around him — he shows up for birthdays, impromptu get togethers, graduations, backyard parties… despite his ever growing workload, he always put in the effort to be there. and not just be present, either. he’s always been observant, even in the beginning, showing up when you least expected it. after the longest, hardest day, with flowers and your favorite food in tow, he’s always been a true partner.

you’re not much different. the parties hongjoong always shows up to typically had you behind the curtain. planning, decorating, even picking up the tab… you’re the epitome of loyalty. devotion, creativity, passion. you’d bettered him as a person, in his work, in his relationships, in his productivity. you love to help and you love to love, you surround yourself with people who give that back to you tenfold in a heartbeat.

in the beginning, you thrived. you worked together harmoniously, you were patient with each other, compassionate, so stupidly in love…

“would you marry me?” a starless night, on the rooftop of his ever luxurious loft. his hair is black, a cigarette between his lips, his sweet chocolate eyes the brightest light amongst the dark, empty air.

you knew you had never answered any question with such a quickness as you did that one. you don’t think you’d even muttered the word no to him in the six months you’ve been together.

he handed you the cigarette he knew you were craving, a habit you picked up from him and him alone. one habit you didn’t share before you’d met. his stare is intense, the gleam in his eyes is bold, it’s saying a million words yet not one leaves his rose colored lips. words you know, words you’ve said, words he hasn’t returned. but he does, he will, eventually.

“we’re forever then,” it could be a question but it feels more like a statement, an announcement of sorts, a promise that you could never break. you had no choice in the matter, not that you needed one, not that you could imagine a life without him after so little time of knowing him.

it made you smile through the burn in the back of your throat, a long exhale leaving your lips, gray smoke following suit. in went your solitude, out came the pact you made with him under the moonlight. like the smoke, it faded into thin air, never to be taken back.

“we became forever six months ago,” you handed the cigarette back to him, your fingers touching for a just a moment in passing. his smile reached his eyes, creases in his skin that you would run your fingers over in the dim light of his bedroom. every inch of him, burned to memory.

“we became forever the day you were born, doll. just took until six months ago to find me,” the tobacco was between his lips again, wrapped around the circular stick, always glossy. never chapped, never dry, always swollen and sultry. edible.

time went on, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. you initially thought hongjoong didn’t have a bad side, eternally a happy and exemplary lover. to be fair, you didn’t think you had one either. there’s a saying for that, right? you bring out the worst in each other? but they’re traits that are embedded in you. when the stars aligned the day you were born, you were gifted them, wrapped in sparkling wine colored paper and you just didn’t get around to opening them until someone fought fire with fire.

you’d never yelled at a friend, let alone a lover, in your life. he’d never once been angry enough to remove himself from an entire room, have to excuse himself from the woman across from him because her voice took up too much space, smothered him in his own home. the one thing that kept you two linked, from the bedroom with the door locked to the couch all the way out in the living room, was how fucking obsessed with the other you were.

it was sick, the heaviest sensation the two of you shared. lust, love, adoration, codependency, everything came right under obsession if you could even rank your feelings. most days, everything just blended together, anyways. from the moment your eyes met, really met for the first time, it was cataclysmic, the soul you knew just by his gaze that you shared. the click that linked the two of you for life.

the air of the club was humid, wet and murky, too many people in too small of a space. you were at a sponsored event for work, dressed too classy for the place you were at, all the bodies around you covered in way less fabric. you were one track minded when it came to work — always looking upward, fighting to climb endless ranks, you could never rest. never break concentration.

until the biggest distraction stared at you three people down, stood around the curve of the bar while you waited on your cocktail. he moved with a fluidity similar to water, a wave, an ocean as he waltzed into your space. behind you, he slipped his card down over your shoulder onto your tab before you could even reach for the cash in your purse.

“nice play,” you glanced over your shoulder, greeted with teeth as white as snow, glistening hues of pink and blue from the dance floor cascading over the impressive structure of his face, “thank you.”

“a pretty drink for a pretty girl,” you glance down at the red cherries sitting in your cocktail, a mixture of yellow and orange sitting in your glass, mimicking a sunrise swirling around the cubes of ice.

a laugh escaped you, “i’d rate that pick up line a 7, i suppose.”

he answers with a shrug, “anything above a 5 is a win for me. hongjoong,” his hand reaches out to shake yours and you’re taken aback, almost shocked at the gesture of a simple handshake around the bar at a more than busy nightclub. it told you more than it should, coming up on years of business under your belt, it seemed more like a proposition than an introduction.

in that moment you saw him, you saw through him, you saw deep down inside and you couldn’t crawl your way out if you scratched and clawed your nails down to stubs. he was like you, apart of your world, higher up, even. he came from class, he came from money, he came from importance. he’s handsome, he’s gorgeous, and jesus christ he’s going to ruin your fucking life if you let him. you’d let him do anything.

your work event was long forgotten the second the two of you made eye contact, your attendance was the only thing mandatory, anyhow. a night of freedom, letting go of subjugation from your company as you spent ages with your back pressed to his front, bodies moving as one to the beat of whatever song played through the speakers. one melody after another, you don’t know how many songs have passed before you've faced him, hands around his neck, one of his legs between yours.

“you’re beautiful,” he says, noses nearly touching, wanting to curse the millimeter standing between himself and the rest of his life. a moment of pressure from you stood over his knee and he decided he’d never needed something so bad, his stomach growling with a hunger he was saving for a single taste of you.

“yeah?” your smile turned mischievous, a dangerous game you were playing, he’d strip you down in front of the entire club, fuck you in front of every man in the building. that’s if he could live with himself letting anyone besides him see you like that, which he couldn’t, of course. your outfit left too much to the imagination, tight dress pants and a white top that clung to every inch of you. he needed to know what was underneath. he could imagine, picture you beneath the cotton, he could almost feel the soft plush of your thighs on his fingertips.

“prove it,” was all you said and it sold him of the only thing he had left. his pride, the thing he savored, he’d usually let anyone else take the reins with him, want him first, so he could drop them without a second thought. you wanted me, i never wanted you. always the predator, never the prey, even under the gaze of his evermore.

anyone that came before you, the several exes, plethora of playthings, he’d easily forget them, leave them all behind for a night with you. he wouldn’t settle for just a night with you, he won’t take anything less than eternity. your thin, tiny square lenses sitting low on your nose, your hair messily wrapped up on top of your head, lipstick still perfectly applied on your lips, the way you were so meticulously put together… it was a primal urge, the need to ruin it, ruin you, keep you forever, just for himself.

you weren’t doing far off, core aching for a kiss, a touch, anything to take the edge off. something about sharing a soul meant you could see his and it stood tall and red and rippled in the wind and screamed at you to let him make the first move. he needed to lay his cards on the table, make his blood stained soul turn white, let him give himself to you before you gave yourself to him. you listened, as much as it wounded you, his glossy lips begging you to close the distance, to taste him, to hurry up and move on with eternity because time waits for no one.

you could see his internal battle, there were several going on in the mere moment that lasted for hours. the battle of your beings, still separated not yet merged, yet still transparent for the other to see. the battle of him with himself, his pride, his masculinity, this routine he’s been performing for the past six years. your battle with him, begging him to give into you, to show you what he’s made of, to show you what color he bleeds. your battle with yourself, your self control to listen to whatever is telling you to let him give in first. you knew he would, he knew he would, it was a waiting game.

once he said fuck it and he raised his white flag, his soul changed color as his lips tasted yours. one kiss in the middle of a crowded dance floor, overflowed enough that other people’s sweat was mixing with your own, music pumping through your veins, the world had shifted. tectonic plates couldn’t compare, couldn’t move you the way hongjoong did in that very moment.

this combining, this merging, this tasting of his soul, the atoms that make up his very being, you consumed it all entirely. the good, the bad, the complicated, the opulent, the rough, the agonizing, you could feel all of it in him. you needed more.

it wasn’t always like that, wasn’t always intoxicating, blinding, all consuming. the obsession was beautiful, addicting, similar to the box of tobacco you now kept in your back pocket. it translated to tenderness, intimacy, warmth, it was one of a kind. one that sparked jealousy from others, one that closed its doors on anyone who dared to peer inside. it was personal, only to be enjoyed by the two of you, never shared. no one on this fucking earth could understand you the way hongjoong could, no one could read your mind, fix what needed to be fixed before it was even broken in the first place. he was a lifeline, a savior, a backbone for you. and you were all the same to him.

he’d never thought he could love anything the way he loves you. his music, his art, his life, he’d throw everything away if that meant one more second spent with you. you were water to him the way he was air to you, the sun to him the way he was the moon to you. in every single lifetime you know hongjoong has been your missing link, two fucked up pieces that finally finished the puzzle. when put together, everything made sense. you were complete.

“mm, maybe a half an hour longer?” his smile is sheepish, almost embarrassed to say the same answer he’d given you thirty minutes prior.

a knowing smile grows on your face, how could you be mad at him? your hard working boyfriend, forever sitting behind a screen, making deadlines meet. when he said half an hour, he meant two hours. when he said twenty minutes, he meant an hour. his language is exclusive to only him, it takes someone who really knows him, really understands him for his dialect to be construed.

you went to bed, surrounded by white walls with monochromatic paintings that didn’t have any real meaning. the room was big, too big to be comforting. too empty to be lived in, especially without him beside you. it’s how the whole loft felt: picturesque, a movie set, a bed, bathroom and kitchen without being a home. you could have a photoshoot here anytime with the natural light pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, but could you raise a family? could you settle here, in this city?

you kept your eyes closed, searching for sleep that didn’t want to be found. pulling the comforter over you, you nuzzled in, cocooned yourself into the mongolian cashmere that threatened you with its heat.

“going to sleep this early? that’s no fun,” you heard his voice before the patter of his familiar footsteps, a rhythm you’d memorized months ago. he climbs into the california king, searching for you, finding you, kissing you. “what’s got you wrapped up like this? missed me?”

you nodded, bottom lip jutting out, feeling so small even with him here, this huge bed engulfing you. you needed his heat, his touch, his skin on yours, you wanted comfort.

“my girl,” he cooed, fingers running through your hair, messily sprawled across the silk pillowcase, “i missed you too.”

kisses that were peppered along your jaw turned heated before you could notice his mood had changed. as his tongue licked up the base of your neck you whined, pressing yourself into him, mindlessly begging for more.

“needy girl,” he teased as he pulled the blankets off of you, mongolian cashmere be damned. you wore one of his shirts, oversized enough to be a dress. he pushed it up past your stomach, pleasantly surprised with the lack of anything underneath.

“ah, my needy girl is clever, hm? planned this, did you?” his smirk stretched across his face, eyes deepening to the richest, darkest brown, reflecting the ecuadorian chocolates he bought you months ago, a gift on a random thursday.

“and what if i did?” you’d been pleading for him to come to bed for ages, begging him to fill more space in this empty room. you’d been prepared to try anything, stopped only by his mask of concentration.

“then you’re in luck,” before you knew it he’d already slipped inside you, your back arching against the texture of the percale sheets beneath you. he’d wrecked you, as he did every time, swapping spit and cum and secrets, exposing skin and feelings and truths.

every time the sex was this sweet, this melodious, he’d tell you exactly how he felt about you. he’d make you feel it.

“fuck, i fucking love you,” he was buried to the hilt, holding your face between two cold hands, “could die right here inside you a happy man.”

you couldn’t do anything but moan, clenching around him, your coming answer enough.

“want me to fill you up?” he’d asked, thrusts turning rougher, more sporadic, the finish line nearing, “yeah? give you my kids? make you a mommy?”

you locked your ankles behind his back, this wasn’t the first time you’d done this. an iud sat inside you, still working perfectly fine, his proposal wouldn’t come to fruition with you like this. you still nod, whimpers leaving your throat, low babbles of begs for him to fill you.

he always did, always carried you to the bath after, always washed your hair, your body, maybe filled you up once more if you felt like it.

“do you want to stay here? in this city?” the bath had run lukewarm at this point, but you didn’t want to separate, didn’t want to spend a moment not pressed against one another.

“for now, i think so, why?” his hand was traveling up and down your arm that hung outside the tub, your head laid against his chest.

“when we have kids… i don’t know about raising them here,” your voice was small, unsure of where his mind would go with your sudden revelation.

“we have a long way to go before then,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. you stayed quiet, fingertips inaudibly tapping the side of the tub.

“this been bothering you?” his other hand moves to grip your jaw, a light touch to twist your head, making you look up at him.

“i wouldn’t say it’s bothering me, but anything can happen, i was just thinking about it,” even the bathroom is too big, too lifeless to be a home. marble tile, his and hers vanities, a detached, massive shower, a bidet on the toilet. you couldn’t picture smaller you’s running around in here.

“we’re already playing with fire, i guess,” he leans his head back on the tub, “where do you dream of going? if i could build a house from the ground up for you, where? what would it look like?”

like a scene from the notebook, your heart twisted, bursting at the seams with the unbelievable amount of what you felt for him. so you told him, a rancher, a farm, somewhere quiet and peaceful. a house that felt lived in, one appropriate to raise a family, one that wasn’t perfectly dusted and organized all the time. picture frames littering shelves, toys randomly left across the house, clothes on the floor of the bedroom. you wanted normalcy, you wanted warmth, you wanted a family.

he wanted nothing more than to give you that. within two weeks he’d been in contact with several realtors, purchasing land on the countryside, finding the perfect plot for you two to raise your little family. he’d pictured you in a pair of boots, a tee shirt, an old, big pair of overalls. your stomach swollen, hair messily wrapped up, walking in the barn, feeding the chickens. his heart warmed, and his dick so quickly rose again, twitching behind your back.

how a love so beautiful, so unique could get so fucked up, you couldn’t understand, not even three years later. you didn’t want to understand, though, and neither did he. you don’t care, neither of you do, because the only thing that matters is that he is still near you. close to you. breathing your air, touching your skin, whispering the most vile shit into your ear, he is here. you needed him closer, needed him so close that you merged into one. it’s never enough, it’ll never be enough, more of him, always more of him, always more of you.

he felt the same way. your breath on his skin, your saliva drying on his neck, he wanted more. he wanted it messier, he wanted it sloppier. he wanted it to never end. but the two of you will never end because you’re meant for each other, right? there’s no one else on this planet for him, billions of people and he’s found his other half already. she’s under him, she’s breathing, she’s screaming, she’s beautiful. he’s so lucky.

which is why it makes sense to no one that they don’t see either of you anymore. usually one of you, here and there, never together. never holding hands, never smiling at each other, never touching the other one’s hair, never fixing the other one a plate. never together, but yet rarely apart. as far as everyone knows, you’re still together, they think? you are, you tell them that you are, hongjoong tells them that you are, but poor yeosang can’t understand why he doesn’t see his friends anymore. he misses their smiles, their laughs, their humor, their parties, their love. you miss it too, sometimes.

the truth is, your shared codependency turned into some warped fucking version of destruction where neither of you can stand to see other next to someone else. at clubs, at bars, at those backyard parties with your friends, god forbid you get too close to san. you swear to that same god if hongjoong spoke three more words to mina he’d be sleeping on the couch for weeks. everyone noticed, everyone could pick up on it easily. the side eye, outright glares across the room, hongjoong’s hand around your wrist like a pair of handcuffs. you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed at your friend’s glances, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion, their questions that sat heavy in thin air without ever being spoken. you were too worried about what hongjoong was thinking. how angry he’d be, what it’d be like when you got home, if he’d even say a word to you the rest of the night. hongjoong was already cooking up his testimony, ready to tell you to stop being fucking insane and our friends are just friends, yet the double standard was always there. you’d use the same arguments against each other, have the same rebuttals. it got you nowhere, there was no resolution, there was just his california king and percale sheets. the cashmere blanket that laid over every argument, tucking it away tightly until the next time you unveiled it.

as much as your love fucked you up, made your brain not fucking work correctly, you couldn’t bear to think of a day where you’d be apart. couldn’t imagine your future not spent in that rancher on the countryside, children and chickens running amok.

when he told you his job was relocating him to the states, yet another huge city, you couldn’t breathe. for a full minute you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t answer him, you couldn’t function. your lifeline, your savior, your water, your moon, leaving you.

“i’ll start looking for a place for us,” he said so casually, too casually, scrolling on his phone, not even looking at you. the breath was sucked from your lungs, you wouldn’t be surprised if your face was blue.

“no, i won’t go,” you murmured out, clearly, unlike the stumbling of words in your mind, hot tears in your eyes and strain on your voice. you sat up in the california king, goosebumps raising on your bare body in the too cold bedroom.

“huh?” he finally tore his eyes from the screen, “what do you mean no?”

“i won’t fucking go, joong! you’re asking me to pick up my life and move to another country for your stupid job?” anger flushed through your veins, your voice raised, fire in your eyes. you turned to him in the bed, not even bothering to cover yourself with the sheets.

“my stupid job? my stupid job that pays for this place? pays the bills?” he sat up too quickly, his eyes were wide and oh boy was he angry, you hit a nerve there.

“i can pay the bills just as easily as you and you know that, hongjoong,” you bark back, tears close to boiling as they stream down your face, “i can’t leave my life. my career, my stability, my future, what the fuck did you think i was going to say? huh? yeah sure! let’s move out of the country! are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“your future? what the fuck am i then? just a placeholder for now?” he’s laughing with wide eyes and oh fuck it’s maniacal, ring covered fingers tugging at his white blonde roots. “i fucking knew it. you never planned a real future with me then, did you? all that talk about getting married, having kids, all of it just a fucking lie? a sick little joke to keep me with you, paying the rent? funding your little shopping sprees?”

“fuck you, hongjoong, you fucking know that’s not true,” you’re sobbing now, his words hitting their mark. you stood up and walked out to the living room, pulling the white, soft blanket with you.

your dream, your future, your life, crumbling around you. hongjoong was air to you, your moon, controlling the tide that pushed and pulled you closer or farther away from one another.

you’d never been dependent on anyone before him, never needed a moon to your sun, you shone brightly all by yourself at all times. even now, with him, you could easily survive without him. financially, at least. even in this big, lifeless loft you could support yourself, you were just as successful as he was, after all. but emotionally? actually living a life that he wasn’t involved in? you don’t think you’d survive it.

you could leave here, move with him, restart your life somewhere else. you wanted to do that, but in the countryside, this situation is completely different. this isn’t a choice. this is someone else making a decision and everyone expecting you to follow suit. what about what you needed? what about your job, that you adore? spent years climbing to where you are, you now have an entire team working under you. what about that team? your coworkers? your family, living close by? your friends, oh god your friends, ones you haven’t seen in an embarrassing amount of time… only months past twenty six, you could technically restart if you needed to. you just don’t want to. you needed hongjoong to not want to, either.

a moment barely passed before he’s beside you on the couch, tears pouring down your cheeks, face buried in the crook of his neck. he’s rubbing your back, kissing your head, whispering sweet nothings that’d always calm you when you broke down like this. he knows how to fix you, always stitching back together what he tore apart.

two months later, and you didn’t end up on that plane beside him. he had you really convinced, though, in the same way you convinced yourself: you’d leave your job, find one similar to yours in LA, climb the ranks, and be as successful as you are here, but there. you’d be just as devoted, passionate, happy.

ultimately, he thought he knew best, like he always does. he thinks he knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes. he knows you love your job, love your team, your coworkers, you love your position. you spent ages crawling your way up there. you love your friends, your family, you couldn’t leave them behind and still be happy. you’re a loyal woman in every aspect of your life, with your lover, your friends, your career. every small string is attached to what makes you, you. he knows you’d never be as happy as you are in this city, but he also knows you’d never let him go without you. so he left without a goodbye, without a parting gift, a farewell kiss, a last departing whisper of an i love you.

he left you alone, broken, empty.

a shell of who you once were.

what he didn’t take into consideration is that you love him more than anything, anyone. you were inconsolable. your friends didn’t know what to do with you. they wondered why you weren’t at hongjoong’s going away party, why they haven’t heard from you, they didn’t know everything he did was in secret. how word didn’t get passed around to you, you didn’t know, you were still furious about it. they didn’t know how to help you, they couldn’t even start to make sense of why your boyfriend of years would leave you without a second word. neither could you. they couldn’t wrap their minds around how you didn’t know he was leaving. neither could you.

that one long day you spent at work, coming home to a cold, massive, empty fucking apartment. not a trace of him, not one small sign that he ever lived there in the first place. he took all his clothes with him, all of his equipment for work, even his little trinkets… all gone. disappeared into thin air. how could you not fucking know?

you took almost a week off from work. something you rarely did, you felt like you couldn’t catch up, couldn’t manage your insanely busy schedule if you did take some personal time. but this was different. it wasn’t a week spent relaxing somewhere warm, it wasn’t a vacation, it wasn’t happy at all. you thought you felt your world crumble around you when he first broke the news, this was the real thing. this was the past three years of your life that had been devoted to one singe person, the person that mattered most, the person that you’d cross oceans and go to war for and he plucked himself directly from your life.

mina, yuna, yeosang, mingi… they were at your apartment around the fucking clock. they didn’t leave you alone, it was suffocating. you hadn’t left your bed for days, you weren’t eating, you weren’t drinking, you were too busy staring at the space above your dresser where a picture of the two of you once lived.

he didn’t call. in the year you spent apart, while you built yourself again piece by piece, rewiring your very brain chemistry, he didn’t call you. he blocked your number, blocked your social medias, blocked your family. you went through every outlet at first, every friend you shared, trying again and again, begging for just a conversation with him. never once did you get through, never once did you hear how he was, how the states are different from here, how he’s been eating, who he’s been with… god, who has he been with? he’s yours, no one else’s.

you lost weight, you lost sleep, you lost your drive, you lost yourself, fifty percent of you. your soul was somewhere so far you couldn’t feel it, couldn’t access it, in an entirely different fucking country, tens of thousands of miles away from you. bottles of liquor now sat in your pantry, cartons of cigarettes sprawled across the kitchen table, every hour of your free time spent in solitude, months upon months of you driving yourself mad.

you thought your bedroom felt empty before, unwelcoming, frigid, dispiriting, you couldn’t imagine being there without him, yet now you couldn’t bring yourself to go elsewhere. you took it for granted, having him here, you felt guilty for even thinking that you’d be happier somewhere else when you had the only thing you’ve ever needed in your possession.

but a year later, he stood on your doorstep, a doorstep you once shared. a doorstep that has seen you pressed up against the frame with his hand inside your skirt, a doorstep that’s listened to your meaningless arguments on your way home from an event, a doorstep that’s watched as you bid visitors goodbye. he’s there, he’s breathing, he’s living, he’s close to you. not close enough.

the earth had turned gray, the sunniest of days couldn’t make the city look saturated in the year you spent apart. all the usual too loud noise had turned to whispers, all the business couldn’t inflict an ounce of motivation in you. within seconds of seeing his face everything was colorful, the city had sound again, it was if someone flicked a switch sewn into your back.

“you’re a real piece of shit,” you bark out, opting to shut the door in his face. his foot slides between the door and the frame, his hand lurching forward to hold it open.

“i’m here,” is all he says, and you pause, looking up to him. he is here, and he’s real, and you can’t stop the tears from forming.

hi friends! first post of my work on here <3 i have not posted any of my writing since i was probably 16... pls be nice to me

massive shoutout to @chimivx, thank you for getting me back into it and giving me the courage to post :,) love u forever

anyways i love hongjoong hope u enjoyed xoxo

love, t ｡ ★ • *

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