#I WANT A LOVELESS WINTER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jenscx · 18 days

Text

DAYDREAMIN’ — kim minjeong x f!reader

being forced to marry someone was lunacy, or at least minjeong thought so. how could a mere stranger be her lifelong partner? it was simply impossible (well, not until you came along).

TAGS — fluff, pinch of angst, arranged marriage!au, ceo!minjeong, cold!minjeong, strangers to lovers, making out at the end, silly!yn

WORDCOUNT — 3.8k

you rub your hands gingerly around the ceramic mug filled with warm tea. your footsteps resound against the cold hardwood floors, the sound dampened by the fluffy dog slippers you were wearing. finally reaching the door at the end of the hallway, you take a deep breath and peer into the room through the crack left open.

“winter?” you whisper, scared to alert the girl working tirelessly at her desk. the woman perks up, an eyebrow raised as she shoots daggers at your cowering figure.

“yes?” her voice remains steely, cold.

the mug in your hands feels cooler than before.

“i made you some tea, it’s chamomile,” you say, nervously taking small steps closer to her. minjeong stands up from her desk, eyebrows furrowed and an annoyed look remains on her face.

she reaches out a hand to take the mug, her face scrunching as she feels the warmth of the mug.

“thank you,” minjeong replies quietly, taking her seat at the desk again. nodding, you turn around to leave. as your fingers swirl around the door knob, you hear minjeong’s aloof voice, “knock the next time you come in.”

your head swerves around.

“yes, winter.”

at the corner of your eye, you spot minjeong’s satisfied smile as she sips on the tea happily. an unfamiliar feeling blooms in your chest. it’s almost akin to pride. due to minjeong’s usual unfriendly and aloof nature, making her smile was abnormal. all you could do was savour the moment and go on with your day.

meanwhile, minjeong leans back in her office chair, taking in small gulps of the tea as her free hand works busily on the keyboard. she scrolls down, eyes catching the stray title of an email.

‘re: invitation to dinner.’

her eyes narrow warily. clicking on the email, minjeong reads the rough synopsis. after doing so, her hand inches towards her phone, dialling her father’s number hastily. for a few moments, the phone continues ringing. minjeong almost gives up until he finally picks up.

“good evening, it is quite late, minjeong.”

minjeong rolls her eyes. “i know but i wanted to tell you this in person. i do not want to attend that dinner.”

her father makes a noise of indignation.

“it is an obligation. you cannot reject this.”

“i can and i will, father. you have made me marry into a loveless marriage and you still want more?” minjeong questions incredulously, “i am afraid i do not have more to give. on sunday i will have a business meeting to attend instead. i am not available.”

the man on the phone sighs, “it does not matter. you have agreed to the principles of the situation. the union between our families have helped your company tremendously, have they not?”

minjeong scowls, but she does not deny that the marriage has helped her company flourish, “it was barely an agreement, more of a forceful acknowledgement.”

“then acknowledge this once more,” her father’s voice becomes more and more stern, “she is your wife. not a maid, not a random person who has barged into your life.” minjeong disagrees. you were quite literally a random person who barged into your life.

“does she not treat you well? do you not have the basic courtesy to show your own gratitude? or are you going to remain as cold as people make you out to be?” her father hits a soft spot. if there was one thing winter hated, it would be people judging her based on her looks. she admits, she does look rather unwelcoming at times. but treating her own wife as such, wasn’t that proof of her unfriendliness?

you hadn’t treated her badly, but she can sense the fear in your eyes whenever you interact with her, scared that somehow she’ll treat you like a stranger. it feels nice that even with your fear, you still try your best to make the most out of this situation. minjeong should do the same. it’s only basic courtesy, as her father said.

“i am sure that the girl we have chosen for you will make a good wife. this will not be a loveless marriage if you open your eyes.”

“fine,” minjeong says through gritted teeth, “i’ll see you on sunday.”

“of course you will. good night, minjeong.”

“good night, father.”

you could say it was the best sleep you’ve ever had. finally relieved the burden of annoying winter, you went to bed content and calm. stretching out your arms, you gaze at the clock hung on the wall. it was barely eight and minjeong was still awake at one when you visited her. maybe you could make breakfast for her before she wakes up.

huffing with determination, you get out of bed and ready yourself. after taking a shower, you head down the stairs, eyes squinting at the figure in the living room.

“good morning,” minjeong says quietly. she’s sitting on the couch, watching the news. you’re stunned at the sudden appearance of her. you didn’t expect that she would be awake at this time.

“good morning,” you finally respond, conscious of the way your cheeks burned. minjeong paid you no mind like always. walking towards the kitchen, your eyes widen at the food spread out on the kitchen island. you hear footsteps approaching behind you.

her voice reaches your ears gently, “thank you for the tea last night. i made you breakfast as a thank you.”

“ah…” you can’t stop yourself from smiling, “thank you.” even though you can spot some edges of the toast being burnt, you felt gratitude simmering at minjeong’s kind action.

taking a bite of the toast, you resist the urge to grimace at the smoky taste. minjeong looked genuinely concerned for her cooking skills. you reassure her by putting up a thumbs up. the tips of her lips twitch ever so slightly but you consider it a win.

as you’re devouring your breakfast, minjeong clears her throat. you turn to her, cheeks stuffed with bread.

“are you available on sunday?” she asks, “my father has arranged a dinner with our families.”

you try to recall if you had anything going on.

“yeah, i think i’m free.”

minjeong nods.

“what restaurant are we going to?” you ask.

your wife shrugs, “probably a random restaurant in a hotel. my father likes those.”

“don’t you have a meeting on that day though?”

minjeong’s eyes nearly protrude out of her head. “how do you know that?”

you laugh, “i saw your business calendar. it’s with sung hanbin’s company right?”

“yes,” minjeong notes your expectant look and adds on, “we’re discussing a potential partnership. he has a branch in china and we were considering expanding there.”

your genuine interest catches her off guard, “oh yeah! zhanghao! we have mutual friends.” minjeong hums. maybe your mutual friendship could help her company.

“interesting.”

you finish up your last piece of toast, letting out a pleased sigh. minjeong chuckles but the moment is disrupted by a notification ringing from her phone.

as she’s reading, her eyebrows furrow again. you withstand from smoothening them out.

“what’s up?”

minjeong groans, “stupid aeri wants me to go get dog food for her pets. cooper and lily are apparently protesting against the new kibble she bought for them.”

your eyes light up.

“do you want to go get it together? i wanna visit cooper and lily too,” you hastily inject, scared that minjeong would sense your excitement on spending one-on-one time with her.

“sure, whatever. i can’t believe she’s is too lazy to get it herself.”

you giggle, “gigi’s probably just hanging out with somi or ning.”

minjeong bites the inside of her cheek hearing you call her friends using nicknames. it makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. you only knew aeri and yizhuo after meeting them at the engagement party, one that minjeong was unaware of. she had arrived home after a long day at work and right smack in the living room was a three-tier cake with balloons surrounding it. her friends had sprayed her with confetti and startled by the noise, you had rushed down from your room, thinking someone had broken in with the way minjeong was yelling.

it would have been funny if minjeong wasn’t the victim of a near heart attack. but after that, you had so easily started conversing with her friends, blending into their group seamlessly. maybe she was jealous of the way you managed to befriend people so easily while it took her a long time to open up to somebody. or maybe she was jealous that you were talking to them instead of her with that pretty smile of yours—

“right,” she mutters. unaware of minjeong’s inner turmoil, you beam brightly at her, “let’s go now if you’re ready?”

“yes, i’m ready. let’s head out now.” minjeong should rid herself of these weird thoughts.

you smile again. minjeong’s heart nearly stops. perhaps she’s going crazy.

“are you driving? or is mr lee driving us?” you ask as you put on your shoes. minjeong twirls the car keys in her hand, showing it off to you.

“you’ve never driven me before, are you sure i’m safe?” you tease. minjeong’s face turns a sheen of light pink, you think it’s adorable.

“i’m an excellent driver,” she states. you nudge her in the ribs as she walks to the garage.

she squirms cutely away from your attacks. you can conclude that your wife is ticklish.

or maybe everything she does is suddenly cute to you.

“how long is it going to take?” you ask while entering the car.

“around ten minutes, not long,” minjeong starts the engine, turning to you with a look of frustration.

next, she does something completely unimaginable.

reaching over your lap, she pulls the seatbelt down, fastening it for you. your cheeks instantly turn a bright red at her close proximity. you can almost feel her warmth, so unlike the coldness she exudes. it makes your heart flutter.

“do you normally not fasten your seatbelt? it’s dangerous,” she states, disapproval written on her face.

“i forgot about it,” you scoff, “but where did you learn how to flirt like that?”

minjeong temporarily pauses, eyes enlarged, “flirt?”

“you made my heart race,” you sigh, “c’mon, reaching over me to help me put on my seatbelt? that’s a k-drama move.”

your wife turns crimson. her icy exterior finally melts away.

“i— that wasn’t on purpose!” she splutters, turning back to focus on driving. if she doesn’t stop reacting so cutely, you might never stop teasing her.

you understand now why jimin had said she liked teasing minjeong for her reaction.

meanwhile, minjeong tries to calm herself down. she wasn’t flirting right? she was just trying to look out for your safety! if something happens, she wouldn’t want to take the blame for it.

maybe her heart did race when she leaned over you, but anyone’s heart would do the same! close proximity of another person always made her nervous.

noting minjeong’s pink cheeks, you decide to give her a break and instead start shuffling the songs in her playlist. humming to them throughout the ride, it makes the drive duration considerably shorter as minutes after, minjeong parks the car.

“we’re here,” she announces. after getting out of the car, you stare at minjeong, wondering when you got so bold with your teasing. normally, you would never dare to do this to her, scared of her reaction. but with the morning’s conversation and her changed personality, you were no longer afraid of her cold and aloof words.

“is this the brand aeri wants?” minjeong asks, pointing to a large bag of kibble seated on the shelf. you try to recall.

“i think so, she mentioned it before.”

minjeong nods. you try to pull it off the shelf, but the sheer size of it makes you tumble. warm, large hands immediately reach out to steady you, holding your body with care that you’ve never felt in your life.

“a-ah…”

your wife retracts her hands, but instead of putting them at her side, she places them on your shoulders, “are you okay?”

unable to say words without your voice shaking, you settle for a nod. minjeong removes her hands and takes the bag from you.

“be careful next time. let me carry the heavy things.”

you only follow her like a puppy. aeri better appreciate the kibble after all the heart attacks you’ve been through. first fastening your seatbelt, then doing this? was minjeong some sort of play girl that knew how to play with people’s feelings?

“—hey,” she flicks your forehead, “are you listening to me?” you stumble back at the impact, wincing from the pain. pouting, you ask, “what were you saying?”

“i was asking you if you knew what to wear on sunday.”

“oh, i haven’t decided yet.” minjeong takes her card out to pay. as you wonder about your outfit, the cashier swiftly bags the kibble and bows, “thank you! and you two make a cute couple.”

your eyes turn as large as saucers. minjeong stops, but sends a timid smile, “thank you.”

she carries the bag in one hand and grabs you with the other, leading you out of the store. if it weren’t for the interaction between minjeong and the cashier, you would applaud your wife’s strength.

“what was that?” you blurt out as you settle into the car.

“hm? are we not a cute couple?”

you can’t deny that.

minjeong laughs, a heavenly sound that you would cherish for the rest of your life.

your wife was a mystery, you admit. maybe you would be the one to solve her.

between the impromptu errand and the sunday dinner, your bond with minjeong had considerably become closer. slowly but surely, she was no longer stiff and reserved but rather… silly. her actions were strange and eccentric but in an endearing way. you couldn’t help but find her cute. with a stronger friendship, you learnt many things about your wife. apparently she was allergic to tomatoes, which is a fact you stored in your memory in case you cooked for her.

she also liked harry styles a lot. you feel rather envious the way her eyes light up and her smile stretches whenever she hears his music. her family is from busan and sometimes when she calls her mother, you hear hints of her busan accent slip out. minjeong had revealed that she slowly weakened her accent when talking to people in seoul, scared they wouldn’t understand her. after you complimented how attractive and sweet it sounded, minjeong started using it more.

you had also moved into minjeong’s room. after falling asleep in her bed countless times watching dramas, minjeong had just moved your clothes in hers. it was comforting having a warm body to cuddle up to. minjeong didn’t seem to mind anyway.

“winter,” you call out, “does this look nice?” another new development. normally, when you two used to go for family dinners and meetings, you would just put on any other dress and call it a day. but now, ever since winter had made an offhand comment about matching clothes, you decided to call for her opinion. minjeong was forced to sit on the bed and wait for you. as you twirl out of the walk-in closet, minjeong gapes.

“that looks,” minjeong gulps, “great.” you turn to her, grinning, “you look good too.” she stands up and fixes stray strands of your hair.

“you smell nice,” you remark, taking in minjeong’s scent. it was all over her. from the crook of her neck to her fingertips.

“it’s jo malone, jimin unnie recommended it to me.”

you perk up, “blackberry and bay, right? she told me to buy it too.”

minjeong scratches her nape, “i was just trying something new today.” you adore her timid and shy personality. behind all that coldness was just a soft and bashful girl.

she leads you to the car, opening it and greeting the chauffeur inside. you adjust the strap of your black dress. minjeong notices and helps you, leaving lingering hot touches on your shoulders.

the warmth of her hands makes blood rush up to your neck. you silently pray minjeong doesn’t notice the redness residing there.

“mrs kim, we have arrived,” the chauffeur says. minjeong opens the car door, assisting you in getting out. you enjoy the feel of her hand in yours.

“woah,” you gasp at the size of the hotel. minjeong groans, “i hope he hasn’t booked a room here for us.”

you smile, cheekily poking her in the ribs, “it would be fun staying here alone.”

“sure,” she snorts as you enter the hotel, beelining to the restaurant. the waitress at the front leads you two into a private room near the back and minjeong internally groans at how her father stares at your intertwined hands.

you take a seat, pulling minjeong to sit down beside you.

“you’ve finally warmed up, haven’t you?” minjeong’s father whispers.

she remains silent, unwilling to admit that somehow, you have managed to gnaw at the walls surrounding her heart, capturing it for yourself to keep. and somehow, it is so unlike her, that she wants you to keep it.

“how has marriage been treating you?” your mother asks.

you answer, “winter is really sweet to me. it’s nice being married.”

“winter?” your wife’s mother repeats. she turns to minjeong, aghast, “you do not let her call you ‘minjeong’?”

your wife, equally alarmed, instantly denies it, “of course not. we just aren’t used to calling each other’s names so casually.”

“but you are married.”

you mentally curse yourself for forgetting about how you still don’t call minjeong by her birth name.

“you mean to say that you aren’t close enough to drop the honorifics?” her father asks. minjeong repeatedly shakes her head.

“we are close, we just haven’t called each other by our names yet.” at this point, minjeong is digging your graves.

“no pet names either? back when your mother and i were first married, we had all sorts of names for each other! like ‘honeyboo’, ‘sweetheart’—”

you interrupt loudly, “okay, dad! we get it!”

minjeong’s hand slithers back into yours, gripping onto it for comfort.

“we’ll sort all these out later, but can we just eat first please? i’m starving.” your parents compose themselves while minjeong’s father glares at her.

your wife lets out a relieved sigh after they stop interrogating you.

“i’m sorry about that,” you mutter to her.

she looks at you, eyes gleaming with something akin to affection from below her long eyelashes, “it’s okay. we should have dropped the formalities long ago.”

“right,�� you test it out, “minjeong.”

her eyes crinkle.

minjeong’s father eyes you weirdly.

“so,” he starts out, smirking, “you are finally attached to her?” minjeong groans. you had left to go to the washroom and her father decided to start questioning her.

“i realised that you are right.” no matter how shameful it is to admit, minjeong’s father was right. “i do like her.”

he grins proudly.

“have you told her?”

minjeong shakes her head. it’s ironic, the fact that you are married yet haven’t even confessed your affection to one another. it’s like you’re doing everything backwards.

“that’s fine, i booked a hotel room here specifically since i knew you would admit it,” he hands her the keycard. she nods.

your parents smile softly at minjeong. she feels a rush of affection at the familiar faces.

“thank you for treating our daughter well. she seems happy.”

“of course,” minjeong whispers.

the door swings open, you take your seat beside minjeong. she flashes you a grin, shaking the keycard in hand. you remember what she said about her father booking a room. laughter bubbles out of your throat.

“i think we’re done here for the night,” minjeong’s father says, “thank you for joining us tonight. let’s meet again soon.”

slowly, the group disperses, leaving you with just minjeong at the hotel lobby.

“shall we go up?”

the room is stunning to say the least. at the top of the building, it hosts a wonderful view of the city skyline. it’s even more gorgeous with kim minjeong standing in the centre of it. you didn’t get to tell her before but she looks absolutely jaw-dropping in a lavish, thin-strapped, dress. her brown hair complementing the white dress. it cinched at her waist, highlighting it, tempting you to wrap your arms around it.

“it’s beautiful,” minjeong exclaims, leaning over the balcony railings to gaze at the view. you slowly inch towards her.

“you’re more beautiful.”

even facing away, you catch sight of her rosy cheeks. it’s simply adorable.

“stop teasing me,” she whines.

“what?” you laugh, “i didn’t get to tell you properly but you really are the most gorgeous girl ever. i nearly fainted when i saw you.”

“me too,” she mumbles. you barely hear her. finally giving into the temptation, you sneak your hands around her waist, pulling her body flush into yours.

her soft gasp makes your head dizzy.

“y/n,” she whispers, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. you’re still not used to her calling your name.

“yes, minjeong?”

she spins around, hands grabbing at your shoulders for support. it sends shivers down your spine.

“i think,” she noses at your cheek affectionately, “i could get used to this married thing.”

“yeah?”

she hums.

you reach for her jaw, caressing it softly.

“you’re too cute, mindoongie. ah, i really like you. what should i do, hm?”

minjeong giggles.

“i really like you too.”

“mindoongie, my ice princess,” you sigh, leaning your forehead onto hers, “you’re just a softie after all.”

“only for you, y/nnie.”

you conclude your experiment. minjeong is indeed soft everywhere. her lips, as light as a feather, sends tingles throughout your body. unintentionally, your lips part for minjeong to slowly slip her tongue into your mouth. it feels like it’s meant to be the way your lips mould perfectly into each other. hands grasping for any more warmth minjeong could provide, you only pull her in even closer, savouring her taste.

every nip, every suck, it lights a fire of desire and affection in you. if being married to minjeong meant that you could do this every day, every hour, every second, it would be a dream come true.

eventually, you feel minjeong smile through the kiss and she pulls away, gasping to catch her breath.

“wow,” you say, eyes wide and chest heaving. minjeong’s no better. she guffaws and drops her head onto your shoulder.

“shut up.”

“who knew mindoongie was such a casanova? hey, let’s do that again.”

your wife turns away, cheeks blazing.

“i like you so much, y/n.”

you sigh, relishing in the after effects of minjeong herself. being married wasn’t so bad after all.

“i really like you too, minjeong.”

#winter x reader #winter #aespa x reader #aespa winter #kim minjeong x reader #minjeong x reader #aespa minjeong #kim minjeong #minjeong

701 notes · View notes

goldengoanna · 1 month

Text

White USAmericans will never understand the impact USCentrism and cultural cringe has on artists outside of their empire. You will never understand writing a story drawing from your own personal understanding of the world and knowing the whole time it'll never be "relatable" enough. But I'm supposed to know what a fucking Trader Joe's is.

I am a white Australian, I'm not exactly that oppressed, I benefit from living in a colonial outpost. But even me, a beneficiary of English colonialism, am not "relatable" enough if I dare to write from an Australian perspective. Your country ousted our then prime minister, Gough Whitlam, in 1975 because he didn't hate communists enough, you plonk your military bases across the outback, further displacing already displaced indigenous people, less and less Australian content is being made because there isn't a viable market for it.

Marginalised Australian voices have absolutely no voice out of this country at all, let alone in our country. Have you consumed a single piece of media created by an Aboriginal Australian? Do you even care that the first transgender women on TV to be played by an out trans woman was on an Australian show (the performer Carlotta as Robyn Ross in the soap opera Number 96)? But I'm supposed to care about American Show #3839384 because there's one loveless, awkward "revolutionary" gay kiss.

If you're a white USAmerican, I want you to imagine that one day you write a story and you mention snow in winter or a yellow school bus, and suddenly someone goes "no one will read that, it's too specific".

#flood warning #us centrism

224 notes · View notes

buckrecs · 1 year

Note

Hello! You are doing the lords work here on this blog🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 do you have any soulmate au recs? I know some people don’t like them so no problem if not and sorry if you’ve been asked before!

Soulmate AU

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

the knowing by @noctumbra

ten days later, james barnes got a call from the police.

for your love by @noctumbra

they were very young; a little shy from being fourteen at that time, but both of them knew they were it. soulmates.

The Owl and the Wolf by @waiting4inspiration

In a world where a person can their soulmate’s spirit animal speaking like a human, Bucky hears your owl’s voice one day.

Snowflakes by @all1e23

Steve drags Bucky to a Christmas festival to take his mind off the fact that he has yet to meet his soulmate.

Colors in the Dark | 2 by @buckychristwrites

The world is without color, and that’s never bothered the Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA didn’t have time for love and soulmates. At almost a century old, what are the odds that his soulmate was even still living?

Say That Again by @justsomebucky

Everyone hears a key word or phrase in their head from their soulmate, something only heard in person when the moment is right.

Teddy Bear by @softlyspector

in which when one soulmate loses something, their other half finds it.

Winter Sun by @softlyspector

When you and Bucky are kidnapped, you find out just how far you would go to keep each other safe.

Assassination to Soulmates by @bxcketbarnes

See the World the Way You Do by @vanderlustwords

You start to see colour when you meet your soulmate. Bucky thinks that soulmates are a one of a kind thing—you get one and that's it. His world used to be colourful once and then he lost that. He's resigned to see black and white for the rest of his life...until flashes of colours would appear from the corner of his eye. And it seemed to happen more and more as Bucky spends time with you.

Stay Still | Please, don’t by @buckysknifecollection

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

Enchanted by @natasharomanovf

The reader is in a loveless relationship when she meets her true soulmate, Bucky.

what’s in a name? by @ciarawritesmarvel

When you love someone, their name appears on your shoulder. If it’s in blue, it’s unrequited. If it’s in red, it’s requited. The name turns black when your love dies.

SERIES

Who I Was Looking For by @soopranatural

Even after you started wearing cuffs, the words are engraved in your mind as well as your wrist. You know you’re not destined for love as soon as you learn how to read. How could you? When the words “Sorry, you’re not who I was looking for” are written in black ink on your skin.

The Only Exception by @whitestarbucky

Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. A lesson that taunted Bucky Barnes his whole life. Perhaps it was why he refused to believe in it. He couldn’t afford to. Then you came into his life to challenge his fears to their deepest degrees, not once, but twice. Whether he liked it or not.

A Moment Of Your Time by @stevesbestgirl

A soulmate AU where the headstrong reader realizes that she’s meant to love the brutal mob boss of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes. She doesn’t want to be a part of organized crime and she doesn’t want to rely on anyone, but how do you ignore your soulmate?

Scars by @tokoyamisstuff

whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your Soulmate’s.

Flowers Bloom by @revengingbarnes

Whenever someone is injured, flowers bloom on their soulmate at the area of the wound. She is born with flowers around her entire left shoulder.

Heartbeat by @after-avenging-hours

Where your heartbeat matches the beat of your soulmate’s; they speed up together, slow down together, skip at the same time, but that means they also stop together...

The Color of Blood by @theidiotwhowritesthings

In this world, a person didn’t discover color until they locked eyes with their soulmate. As an agent of SHIELD, finding your soulmate was hardly a priority. Especially since you were currently dealing with the shocking discovery that HYDRA had been pulling the strings behind SHIELD actions this entire time. Life was all about timing, and you were about to find out that your timing was absolute shit.

My night demons by @themorningsunshine

In which one can see their soulmate's dreams and communicate with them through those dreams.

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes modern au #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier!bucky x reader

761 notes · View notes

khuzena · 8 months

Text

Seasons.

Itoshi Rin, Michael Kaiser x g/n!reader

Summary: Like how flowers bloom in spring, how flowers bask in the warmth of summer's embrace, their petals fall in autumn and their essence crumbles in winter. Their heart does too, though it still beats for you <3

Warning: Angst, breakup, cheating, drifting apart, hurt just hurt. No fluff, we don't do that weak sh here (kinda but nothing lasts forever).

A/n: life update. Been gone for MONTHS, sorry for no update :(. i fell in love, fell out of love but took me months to get over and now i came back ^^ tho I'll post a full update if any of you still remember me and want to know everrrrything that went on these months i was inactive:>

Listening to: MR. LOVERMAN

Michael Kaiser

I've shattered now, I'm spilling out

Upon this linoleum ground.

The memory still ingrained in the crevices of his heart like a fresh wound.

He remembers it like it was just yesterday.

It was spring when he met you.

His headphones blaring music so loud the world went silent around him as he walked without a care in the world. There you were, some nobody transferee with a dream, three books hugged to your chest as you bumped into him.

"A-ah! Sorry!" The books fell to the ground, kneeling as you tried to grab all your pens that fell too.

Kaiser sips his tea in his balcony, The cacophonic mantra of sorrys of that sunny afternoon still ringing in his ears.

When he also knelt down to your level to help you carry them, he shrugged it off and apologised back.

Your gazes locked, it was new, so exciting. Yet It felt so dangerous.

Then, he swept you off your feet on the summer beach.

There were three things that caught his eyes that day: the endless sea, the ice cream that melted on the sand and you.

"Pfft you— you wasted your ice cream!" That sweet laugh of you still haunting him in his dreams everyday. It was June when he told you -he was lonely- it would be fun if you tagged along in his trip to the seaside.

The soft sand touching your skin and his, as he inched closer to your face. His heart raced, faster than he's ever felt before.

Your lips touching, he expected it would feel like fireworks exploding in new years but no— it felt like home. He was no longer just a man, he was a lover (too).

The sun set and till autumn, every kiss, every hug was straight out of the movie.

It was just the two of you; his eyes never leaving yours, a kiss on his neck or two, maybe even the trickling sweat from his forehead.

Either way, it felt just right.

Autumn, he was tired.

Though he could not leave you, not when he was your loverman.

Not like this.

He may have loved you, but he loved feeling loved more.

A little too much— that he found himself in the arms of another woman.

"It isn't what it seems like, mein liebe please." His fingers gripping your wrist hard, begging you to stay.

How could you? Why would you?

He smelled too much like that other woman.

From a noble, rich, revered professional athlete now turned into an idiotic, dishevelled, weak man. Begging for forgiveness, he got on his knees and sang your name like a prayer but it was no use.

You were no god, it was not your obligation to forgive nor give salvation to those who've sinned.

You couldn't look him in the eye. All your love for him fell in a blink of an eye. Not all of it though.

"I'm sorry, I know you won't forgive me. But please, don't leave me tonight."

It was true when all your love wasn't gone for him, maybe you were selfish too.

That night, you indulged in this sin too. You were a sinner too, maybe even more than him.

You've sinned against yourself, your own morals for your pleasure.

It was Winter when you left.

The morning after that loveless night, he shed his tears in his dreams— he didn't want you to see.

Though you've seen through him.

It was natural to feel hatred, contempt and confusion because of his act of betrayal.

But you didn't.

You cupped his face gently, tracing your thumb over his tear-stained pretty face. He cried again; not in his dreams but in your embrace.

His heart broke more at the sight of you looking at him with such pity.

You've packed your things that day. As you opened the door you were greeted with first, the taxi cab then the gust of strong snow carried off by the wind.

"I guess this is it."

"Yeah"

A man with an ego of god, staring at you with eyes of a believer, still hoping, praying you realise that you can't live without him and run to his arms and stay.

But you didn't.

And you looked back to him one more time, the cold has already frozen your tears.

Then, silence.

'Shit, shit, shit' the thought raced in his head as kept pacing around in the living room.

Though he knows it's for the best. He's a selfish, self-centred, arrogant man.

Though if there's one thing: he loves being loved more than he loves you.

But when you left, he realised he loved you more that he let you go.

He was no longer a loverman, just a man.

Itoshi Rin

The ways in which you say my name, Have me wishin' I were gone

They ways that you say my name, have me runnin' on and on

Not too much, not too little.

How'd he describe his past relationship with you.

It was just right.

Where did it go wrong?

Was it when he stopped saying your name sweetly?

Or was it when you stopped cheering for him in his game?

It wasn't that, he still doesn't know why you both fell apart.

Though as cold as he is, he's as gentle as a flower on the inside.

When you started your midterms, he had a bouquet; the largest in the store possible.

He plopped it on your desk as he saw you tirelessly study your notes. Sighing, he made you some tea to calm your nerves.

"Rinnie, you didn't have to do this," Groggily said as you examined the bouquet to your left, "You didn't have to get me this…"

"But you deserve it."

A flush creeped in your cheeks when he blurted it out with no hesitation, did this loverboy love you to the moon and back this much? Oh how'd you tease him for this a billion times.

The bouquet was still as fresh as when you got them— it was already summer but he took good care of it.

His eyes watching your every move; the clicking sound of your pen, your frown as you tried to absorb the lesson and your oh so pretty eyes.

He could never get enough of this, he's wanted to see this sight every day, every night for the rest of his life.

Maybe marriage would do? But like all stories, not all are fairy tales.

Everyday until autumn he'd take you to a cafe you both liked. It was quiet and it smelled like coffee— the perfect combination.

Like all flowers do, the petals started to fall from the vase.

At this point of the relationship he was too busy to care about getting you flowers, or tending to your needs as he had his to attend to.

But, the relationship was happy… right?

He was oblivious, too naive to notice what was going on.

Though you were there, you wanted to fix things.

You'd bring him tiny trinkets from your work trips, a yummy cake from a nearby bakery or maybe some pair of cleats he was eyeing (though most of the time he already had bought it right after you gifted him one.)

The relationship was getting boring.

It was going nowhere.

Though none of you wanted to go anywhere.

Even though he'd hold you in a tight embrace, it felt cold. Was it the weather? Or was it just him?

The 'I love you's that'd slip from his lips often, stopped. There were no more random compliments or cute nicknames.

An occasional gift or two, though he was an idiot, he gives and gives and doesn't know how to take.

When winter came he was no longer begging you to warm up with him near the chimney or near the Christmas tree.

It was winter, his heart turned cold.

"Lets break up"

Adamancy dripped from his tone, he was serious about it.

"Why?"

Why?

"Because… I don't see this relationship going anywhere."

Your heart shattering into a million pieces, you wanted to punch his stupid face. How could he say that nonchalantly?

Though, it was true.

It wasn't going anywhere.

He knew it was for the better; he loved you too much to trap you in such a boring, loveless relationship.

Maybe one day, it will be spring all over again.

But your hand is holding another man's (or woman's).

He passed by another flower shop, he thinks he should buy you another bouquet again.

Notes: I wrote this at 12 am (it's 2 am now). I apologise for any grammatical mistakes :(( super tired and i have an unfinished sci assignment. I dont wanana live anymoreee. Idk if any of u still remember me tho LOLOLOL.

If u do i'm sorry if i dropped some underwhelming work as a return to the bllk tumblr fandom ehe (no kinktober just heart wrenching angstober ^^)

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#blue lock x reader #blue lock ansgt #blue lock fluff #blue lock fanfic #bllk angst #bllk x reader #kaiser x reader #bllk kaiser #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin angst #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock angst

241 notes · View notes

meadowscarlet · 2 years

Text

watercolor eyes ━━━ draco malfoy.

pairings: draco malfoy x fem!reader.

summary: it’s not your favorite thing to be stuck in a loveless marriage. much worse, being married to draco malfoy of all people, you despised and loathed him simultaneously, yet your heart craves for him while your mind opposes him and his entire persona. hopefully, you make clever decisions, or he’ll leave you with watercolor eyes.

warnings: arranged marriage, miscommunication, reader accuses draco of cheating, cursing and alcohol consumption.

author’s note: a reposted fic. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

When your future was planned and finalized, life began to lose its significance.

How could you not have anticipated something like this would happen at some point? Your parents had been preparing you for this since you were a little girl, yet the whole arrangement still felt enraging and terrible. Such a dreadful thing yet you can’t be disappointed, it was bound to happen but nevertheless, it just seemed presumptuous.

You were enamored with the concept of love as a child. You’d always admired how your father and mother act around each other—their eyes sparkling with blatant devotion, sweet honey utterances, and the naked love so evident in their faces—and you’d always wished for that.

Someone who loves you as much as you love them.

But, as they say, life may very well be cruel. When you realize that you will soon marry Draco Malfoy of all people, your little fairytale of love is shattered. You wanted to scream, complain, and say vile things that your mother would have chastised you for, but you couldn’t. This was your life, and you had to suffer and live it regardless of the injustice.

It was mangled and atrocious. An arranged marriage isn’t something you want to be a part of; two people who have no love for each other, not even a smidgeon of passion for each other, but who are forced to be together in a golden cage. Strangers in a relationship were like sand in the winter air, entirely at odds.

You needed to be away from all this for a while. When your family and the Malfoys ate lunch together, you were incredibly tired of the sparkling wine, the unrealistic politeness, and the tension of a stupid grin. It was uncomfortable for you, and even Draco appeared uneasy as he ate slowly and cautiously.

You were now in Hermione Granger's—actually, Weasley's—comfortable and pleasant home, which she shared with her husband Ron. She greeted you with a beaming smile and a compelling hug right away, and a part of you felt glad for the warmth she provided as she welcomed you into their home.

“How are you doing?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of the tea she had made for the two of you.

You hesitated, your hand clutching your skirt’s edge. “If that’s what you’re wondering about, I’m perfectly all right.”

When Hermione observed you, she knew you were lying. You and her had been best friends for your entire Hogwarts year, along with Ron and Harry, but you felt the closest to her and vice versa, so she knew you were deceiving by the look on her face, which was like a frown, and the way she squinted her eyes.

“You’re lying,” she remarked as she placed the tea on the table, her voice knowing.

“No, I’m not.”

Hermione sighed. “Y/N.”

“Fine,” you didn’t intend to be mean, but it just came out of nowhere, but thankfully Hermione didn’t seem disturbed; she’s probably accustomed to it. “I feel… conflicted.”

She frowned, her face deep in contemplation. “Does this have anything to do with your marriage to Malfoy?”

“Arranged marriage,” you corrected almost spitefully.

Hermione’s face had a pity look on it, which you didn’t like to see. She was well aware of your animosity for Draco; you’d rant about it all day in your dorms and even in the Great Hall, with Ron chiming in with a few supportive remarks. Even after the battle, you still despise the man you’re supposed to be entangled with.

It didn’t make any sense; Draco was the least suitable person for you to marry, and he wasn’t the sort of bloke you expected to be with. You were a pureblood Gryffindor, and it didn’t seem like a good match to be with someone as arrogant and conceited as Draco, who shamelessly flaunted his Slytherin pride in your years at Hogwarts, rubbing it in your face.

In comparison to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he didn’t harass or taunt you, but there were insults and sarcastic remarks about you, though they never went deep; you were resentful and petty, so you chose to detest him. When he’s at the back of the class, he’ll mostly tug at the ends of your braids, or he’ll mess with you in your free time and take up all of your time instead of doing what you want because of his irritating presence.

“I’m not justifying him, but don’t you think your hatred for him is a little insensitive?” With a shrug, Hermione continued, “He already apologized and even helped us in the war.”

Your eye twitched, possibly in irritation. “It makes no difference. I’m not interested in marrying him.”

“Can’t you just call it off? Perhaps if you told your parents, they’d understand.” Hermione suggested, her eyes lighting up.

“This is what they want for me, Hermione,” you stated grimly, your voice devoid of any hope. “And this is what I was conditioned to believe, that it’s for purebloods to have arranged marriages, but I’m confused…why Draco of all people?”

The door to Hermione’s house opened and footsteps emerged before she could say anything. Then someone—Ron—came into the room they were in. When he saw Hermione, he grinned broadly and looked relieved. Then when he saw you, he was taken aback but enthusiastically embraced you with a short hug.

Ron questioned, his freckles prominent on his face, “What are you doing here?” with a little grin. “Are you doing the therapy thing with Mione?”

Hermione appeared aloof, but her eyes shone with mirth. “I taught you the word therapy, and you use it every time Y/N visits here.”

You chuckled for the first time in a long time. “Maybe he’s right.”

Ron sat alongside Hermione in the couch across from you and laid his arm around her with a familiar knowing expression in his eye. “Malfoy?” he said, humor crossing his face.

You gave a tired sigh. “The one and only.”

You three conversed until it was past noon. You felt out of place and envious when you and your friends were conversing. You had yearned for the kind of love Ron and Hermione had. You’d watch Ron kiss Hermione’s cheeks or Hermione gently stroke Ron’s hands with a glimmer of longing in your eyes.

While you were passively observing, possibly in resentful longing, their eyes gleamed with genuine unconditional love, but you knew you could never be like that with Draco. You felt like you were outside a transparent glass, and Hermione and Ron were inside of it; you could see but not feel it. It’s so gruesome not to be bestowed with love. But you were ecstatic for them since they were happy with one other.

But what about you?

Maybe it was the occupants’ moods, or maybe it was just you, but the Malfoy manor felt cold and miserable. It finally occurred, the worst thing that could have happened was that you were already married to Draco. You were bound to one other not by love, but by iron chains, which encompassed you and forced you to be together.

Your love for each other was brittle, and you could see Draco was doing his best; he was impersonal, to be certain, but he attempted to communicate with you, albeit his tone was contrived and stiff. After your wedding kiss, he never touched you again; you remembered how frigid but soft his lips were on yours, but you despised the sensation of something fraudulent.

Like Hermione said, he changed, but your perception of him hasn’t altered at all. Draco, on the other hand, never mentioned what occurred at Hogwarts, about the taunts and insults, and neither did you. Now you were living in the Malfoy manor, a frigid place that didn’t seem friendly to you despite Narcissa’s warm greetings, and your room’s bed was cold, dismal, and exhausting.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Draco had said as you stood there, in your shared room, wary of the enormous single bed, hugging yourself since the chilly air was caressing your skin since you were only wearing a flimsy nightgown.

You didn’t say a word, not even a nod. You didn’t even look at Draco since the silence was so uncomfortable, enough that you went to bed and drew the covers over your body. You heard his sigh, which was most likely frustration, but you didn’t care as you closed your eyes and focused on oblivion.

And now you were in the bedroom, there in bed, reading with a tiny amount of light, half of your body covered by the comforter, and for the first time you felt peaceful, Draco wasn’t here, and strangely you felt comforted in the cold room’s isolation.

Most likely, you were brutalizing yourself. If you’re reading a romance novel and envisioning things occurring to yourself rather than fictional characters, you may have gone mad. However, as the familiar scent of Draco’s fragrance flooded your nose as you read about romanticism, the tranquility didn’t stay long.

Though you had uttered words—short and forceful—you did mostly ignore him in the months since you last spoke. Maybe you were being abrasive, because Draco was doing everything he could to make the marriage work, most likely to please his parents, but why couldn’t he just accept that he couldn’t make something like this work?

When you felt like the manor was suffocating you, you’d go out and see Hermione and Ron, or even Harry and Ginny. You’d stay in their homes since it was warm and welcoming, and it felt more like home than your own. You had wished for a household full of love and cheerful laughter more than anything else.

The words in your book were starting to lose their interpretation, and your thudding thoughts were distracting you. It’s just that you can’t help but feel betrayed by the injustice; you may consider yourself a lovesick, but you always wanted to experience that as a child, but life could be callous, and all you wanted was to love and be loved.

Like a frothing serpent, a sudden thought hissed through your mind. The idea of learning to love Draco popped up. You didn’t like the concept but you won’t deny you feel melancholy to him, on how his eyes always follow you whenever you attend pureblood events, on how he’d mutter if you’re alright, lingering his hand on your waist when you’re talking to other people, not quite touching.

You frowned and shook your head, attempting to focus on the words in the books and ignoring the yearning for something you shouldn’t even crave for.

Draco arrived at the manor quite late. His steps were a little unsteady, and his eyes were a little unhappy. He’d been out drinking with his friends Theo, Blaise, and Pansy, and the alcohol had apparently rushed into his system, causing him to become inebriated as he stumbled into their room.

Despite being slightly intoxicated, he entered the room discreetly, his gaze softening when he saw you. You were nearly buried in the bed, looking unusually troubled yet content as you read a book. You hadn’t noticed him yet, or perhaps you were ignoring him as you always were.

It bothers him or, more likely, his ego. He was well aware of your hatred for him until now, as evidenced by your pretty face, and perhaps he couldn’t blame you. He felt a pang of cynicism, though, because despite his apology for his actions during your Hogwarts years, you still didn’t like him. It was difficult to act as if he didn’t care about you and that he despised the whole thing as much as you did.

You eventually noticed him, and your enraptured eyes widened in surprise as you closed your book and clutched the duvet against you, as if trying to hide from him. Draco’s breath got caught in his throat as he realized how beautiful you were. Your face contorted into nothingness for a brief moment, almost delicately concerned. Draco was undecided as to whether he was disappointed or amused.

“Draco,” you finally acknowledge him, still unable to get out of bed. “…Where were you?” Your tone was disinterested, but at least you were talking to him.

He swayed slightly as he approached you, and he could see the apprehension in your eyes. “Hello, my wife,” he almost slurred, watching your face change with emotion. “Did you miss me?”

As Draco’s eyesight became fuzzy, you shook your head, your face unreadable. “Are you drunk?”

He chuckled as he proceeded to loosen his tie, completely oblivious to the fact that your eyes were drawn to the movement. “You seem concerned about my wellbeing.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

Draco only chuckled as he proceeded to the couch, shaky feet almost tripping him up, as he grunted and fell on the couch, you hesitantly got out of bed and moved closer to him. Your feet were light, and your breathing was quiet, and Draco concentrated on that, his back straining from his couch position, and his eyes blinking furiously.

“You’re drunk,” you said almost monotonously as you tentatively approached him and stared down at him.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice,” Draco muttered, his eyes almost drooping as he placed his arm over his eyes as if to prevent your being in his gaze.

“Did you have fun?” you sarcastically questioned, your arms crossed across your chest, the cold nipping at your delicate skin.

Instead of responding ordinarily, Draco opened his eyes, withdrew his arm, and gave you an euphoric look as his gaze wandered about you. He asked, gesturing to your hair, “Is your hair braided?”

You scowled and consciously touched your hair, which was braided but had become practically tangled in the hair ties since you had lay on the bed.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said as you started removing the hair ties from each side of your braid.

“No,” Draco exclaimed abruptly, leaping to his feet and snatching your wrist, halting your motions. “Don’t remove it…”

In your impeccable face, you had a surprised expression. Despite the swirl around him and his blurry vision, Draco could see the glint of affection in your eyes as you glanced at him. Draco would have cursed himself and probably regretted it, but he didn’t.

He took his hand from your wrist and gently tugged one of your braids in your hair, almost fondly, perhaps because he was intoxicated, but he couldn’t stop himself.

It frightens him.

Draco could tell your expression was impenetrable as you both stared for a while, his hand lingering over your braid. Because you were so motionless, he was certain you weren’t breathing. A flicker of something flashed over your face, then vanished as fast as it appeared. You took a hasty step back and narrowed your eyes at him.

He could only look at you, his hand hovering over the spot where you were only a moment earlier.

You sniffled. “You smell different,”

Draco was taken aback and questioned, “What?”

“You have the smell of a woman’s perfume.”

“What?” he asked again, completely baffled.

Your face was blank. “Did you really have fun?”

Your tone was accusing, your face was completely empty. But there were tears in your eyes, shimmering like lovely flecks of crystals, but they weren’t dropping, and it wasn’t the first time he’d seen you stop your crying. But it was evident in the silence that you were implying that he was cheating, and that thought was partially ridiculous.

Draco was well aware of your irrational hatred for him, but he had no idea how poorly you regarded him. Since you were ignoring him and acting as if he was invisible, he went out to spend time with his friends. He’d talk to his friends about his feelings and frustrations while drinking. Perhaps he smelt different because Pansy hugged him, platonically, and she’s dating Blaise for Merlin’s sake, maybe her aroma clung into Draco.

But the prospect of you dismissing his improvements or simply making him feel like shit made him say something, which he quickly regretted. “Do you blame me if I did?”

You froze, your eyes wide, and the misery on your face was palpable.

“You’re so fucking hard to love,” Draco continued, his mouth acting as if it had its own brain, and perhaps his inebriation was assisting him in saying things that struck you.

Draco’s voice was shaky and he staggered, collapsing against the couch and quietly grunting. He couldn’t read your face, and he didn’t really want to see your reaction, but he felt satisfied when he said that. The impact of the fall jarred his back, and he could hear shuffling.

You practically hissed, “Get up.”

Draco had a baffled expression on his face and exclaimed, “What are you doing, wife?” as you grabbed his arm and practically yanked him away from the couch.

Then you let go, and Draco sank into the bed’s soft cushion. Draco was rather hefty, so you let out a sigh of relief. His eyelids were droopy, but he had a mischievous grin on his lips as he made himself comfortable in bed.

“Are we—?”

“Sleep,” you demanded as you walked over to the other side of the bed, noticing Draco peering at you stupidly out of the corner of your eye. “What?”

“You’re going to let me sleep in the bed?” he asked, still completely baffled.

You felt compelled to smack him. “Would you rather sleep drunk on the couch?”

You grabbed a pillow and placed it between you and Draco, creating an internal barrier. As you fixed your side and the pillow, you could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t look at him once.

“There. So we’re still separated,” you replied nonchalantly as you lay down on your side.

“We’re already separated enough, don’t you think?” Draco mumbled sleepily.

You didn’t respond since you could hear soft snores next to you. Draco had already fallen asleep, leaving you alone in the dark, cold night, on the opposite side of the bed, with humid and sorrowful thoughts. You thought you were stupid, and perhaps you are, because you were being harsh and a brat.

You were in the garden at the time. It was lovely but bitterly chilly outside, and while you weren’t inside where Blaise and Pansy's wedding was taking place, you couldn’t help but crave some fresh air.

Despite the fact that they are both purebloods (which was almost likely set up as an arranged marriage) you can see they are much in love with each other. The way they stared at each other, sparkling crystal eyes with particles of devotion. You let out a tired sigh, oblivious to the fact that the door to the garden’s outside was opened and a figure stepped out.

“I figured I’d find you here,”

You fixed your gaze on the person. “Draco.”

He gave you a tentative smile and sat down on the bench next you, but not too close. At the same time, you were dissatisfied and relieved.

“I didn’t think Blaise or Pansy would settle…” you began hesitantly.

The sound of Draco’s chuckle was nearly pleasant in your ears. “They’re confusing. They break up and then get back together. I’m as surprised as you are.”

You discreetly remark, “They must really love each other.”

Draco remained silent and only gazed at you. You looked stunning, with the moonlight illuminating your features. Your outfit was lovely as well, but it was short and suggestive, causing you to shiver. He didn’t spend any time shrugging his coat and slung it over your shoulder, completely disregarding your protest.

“You look beautiful,” he says mindlessly. “But you’re cold.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, nearly frowning; was there a double meaning there?

“No problem, wife.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Draco smirked fiendishly, but there was distress in his eyes. “You’re my wife, aren’t you not?”

“It must be a burden.”

His smirk had vanished, as if he had been smacked. “Well, if it’s a burden, then I’m willing to bear it,” he murmured.

Something was moist in your eyes, but you blinked rapidly. You could feel Draco getting closer to you, but you didn’t say anything. You were overwhelmed, your heart ached, and you desperately wanted to pull Draco closer to you, but you were initially reluctant.

“Draco—“

Draco abruptly grasped your freezing hands in his warm ones, lifted them to his lips, and kissed your knuckles; he didn’t remove them thereafter, instead staring at you with piercing eyes. You felt torn as your breath became stuck in your throat.

“Don’t say anything unless you say you want this marriage between us as badly as I do,” he murmured, brushing your knuckles with his lips.

You were on the verge of gaping at him. “You wanted this?”

“Of course I did.”

“I assumed you didn’t like me and that all the affectionate gestures you made were all a ruse,” you added almost incoherently.

Draco pointed out, “You were the one who loathed me.”

Feeling guilty, you shut your eyes. “Shit. I wasted many months.”

“We both did,” Draco murmured, releasing your hand only to play with the ends of your hair, a smile hidden. It was a braid, to be specific.

“I’m deeply sorry, Draco.” you said. “I’ve always thought of you as a fiend and the bane of my existence, knowing that you can’t take love seriously. And I was so wrong; I was so focused on myself and my selfish desire to be loved that I was blinded to the fact that it was I who was sabotaging your efforts to give me what I wanted.”

Draco tugged on your braid with tenderness, and you smiled.

He almost begged, “Just tell me you’ll start to love me.”

You turned around to face him, then kissed him after closing the gap between you—things that had previously separated you, the barriers had finally been broken down. Before Draco could react, he stiffened and drew you closer by the waist.

You mumbled into his lips, “I already started, simply blinded that it took me so long to know.”

You were now loved—you could feel it, even taste it, and it felt good—and you knew it. Your heart would no longer ache, and you would no longer shed longing tears for someone. Tears of color, droplets on the palette, it’s no longer there. The only thing that mattered was Draco and his touch.

“Oh my Merlin,” A man’s voice groaned. “Did I miss something?”

You broke apart and began flushing. You gave a surprised squeak as you stared at the man. It was Ron, and you couldn’t tell whether he was amused or repulsed by his face.

“Perhaps an invitation,” Draco drawls as he shields your face from Ron’s gaze and cradles your head against his chest. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

You smacked his sides and muttered into his chest, “Be nice.”

“You were too focused on Y/N, it’s disgusting.”

Draco remarked almost smugly, “She’s my wife, I can stare at her for as long as I want.”

“Perhaps the therapy with Hermione was helpful,” Ron rolled his eyes as he began to walk away.

Draco was dumbfounded, but you just laughed.

1K notes · View notes

ilianazzzosemanverse · 2 months

Text

Ok since I reread Radio Silence, I want to reread all of Alice Oseman's books. So here is my schedule

- Radio Silence (I will finish it today)

- All volumes of Heartstopper and This Winter and Nick and Charlie (it's not long to read so I'll read them on the weekend)

- I was born for this

- Loveless

- Solitaire (sorry it's the last one because I already reread it 3 months ago🥲)

#osemanverse #alice oseman #radio silence #solitaire #heartstopper #this winter #nick and charlie #i was born for this #loveless

54 notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 6 months

Text

A fic rec of One Direction fan fics that have Clifford Tomlinson, the dog, featured in them as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

🐶 Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k, Scotland) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

🐶 Take a Chance on Me by velvetnoodle

(E, 96k, kid fic) the Strangers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers Roommate AU you didn’t know you needed, feat. Single Dad!Harry, Footie Coach!Louis, a precocious 9 year old, a band of meddling family members, an overly excited labradoodle, an extremely Done cat, and a Shiall wedding you’ll never forget

🐶 Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren

(E, 42k, a/b/o) Harry, prince of Cestrescir, has been betrothed to Ludvic, prince of Yorvik, since birth. He'd accepted a loveless marriage as his duty to his country, until an accident threw him in the path of a gentle alpha

🐶 Marcel (series) by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 36k, strangers to lovers) the one where Niall gave Marcel’s number to someone he worked with and Marcel wasn’t too pleased about it.

🐶 You Wouldn't Believe the Dream I Just Had About You & Me by @larryatendoftheday

(E, 21k, friends to lovers) After a back-to-school bash and a few too many drinks, Harry finds himself pregnant from a one-night stand he doesn’t remember.

🐶 Absolutely Smitten by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved

(E, 20k, strangers to lovers) Louis is walking his dog. Harry is walking his cat. Leashes get tangled, and feelings too.

🐶 Like How I Pictured It by @parmahamlarrie

(E, 17k, friends to lovers) Louis Tomlinson hasn’t always been blind. As a child, his vision was impaired, but he had hopes that there would be years before he lost his sight completely.

🐶 Between the forest and the field by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

(E, 16k, small town) the one where Harry recently moved to a village and his shy dog picks Louis' dogs to play with at the dog park. A fluffy cottage core AU.

🐶 Clumsy by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

(E, 12k, strangers to lovers) when Cliff manages to trip over a handsome stranger, on Valentine’s Day of all days, it might just be the start of something new and exciting...

🐶 Somebody Get Me Through This Nightmare by @lululawrence

(NR, 11k, neighbors) “I am not subjecting you to my poor dog in his moment of vulnerability!” Louis cried. “That would be cruel to you, but also to Clifford.”

🐶 good, good graces by @muldxr

(E, 10k, dom/sub) the one where Harry's boyfriend Louis gets a new puppy and frequently tells the dog how he's a good boy. Harry gets jealous and decides to show Louis how much of a good boy he can be.

🐶 Just the Start by @littleroverlouis

(M, 9k, older characters) Louis is a fifty-two year old divorcé who has fallen into rut. He never anticipated a forced day of self care, and a chance meeting with a charming salon owner would shake him out of his comfort zone.

🐶 I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus

(T, 8k, friends to lovers) When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated.

🐶 Warm Chilling by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(G, 7k, neighbors) Louis moves into a cosy cottage in the English countryside with his dog Clifford to look after his great-aunt's animals.

🐶 Wanted: Dog Walker by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 6k, neighbors) Louis needs a dog walker. Harry answers the ad.

🐶 Love on the b(rain) by TeamLouis / @teamlouis2023

(G, 4k, misunderstandings) During a stormy night, when Louis realizes that his precious dog has escaped the house, he has no other choice than calling his ex-husband.

🐶 To the late night double feature show by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(NR, 2k, Halloween) “Sorry!” says someone. "I just wanted to know if I could pet your dog?”

🐶 Safe Like Springtime by cherrylarry / @beelou

(G, 1k, meet cute) the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

— Rare Pairs —

🐶 Longer Night by @turnyourankle

(E, 2k, Louis/Luke Malak) What happened after the 'Long day' photo was taken? Probably this.

🐶 acrobatic blood by Anonymous

(G, 2k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) “Thought you’d gone home,” Nick croaks miserably. Louis rolls his eyes. “This is my home, dickhead.” A coming out fic.

🐶 Next Door by @allwaswell16

(NR, 2k, Louis/Rob Pattinson) When a stray cat starts coming round Louis' garden and bothering his dog, Louis and his best friend set out to capture it.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #hlcreators #hltracks #1dsource #ficsfor4am

95 notes · View notes

hh0320 · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞;

part four of the velvet opiate series. part one. part two. part three.

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, mature themes, drug & alcohol abuse, violence, descriptions of drug use, mental health struggle, use of petnames | word count. 10k

a/n: i want to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. i had no idea so many ppl would message me about this story, begging me to continue it. i never abandoned the velvet boys, they’re always in my heart, i’m always thinking about them even when i’m not writing. anyway, this one is a wild ride, so i just want to mention that i don’t associate the boys with these behaviors, nor the language spoken. this is purely fictional, these are just characters. one more chapter to go. thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @adoreweb, @j-0ne25, @streetlight-s.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you in two and a half months.

Hadn’t had heroin for more than that, nothing to numb him, the pain, the voices, the fucking train wreck his band had become after the ‘biggest rock scandal in ten years.’ So they’d slept with a couple groupies—big fucking deal. But it wasn’t just that, was it, because apparently one of them was now fucking pregnant and demanding for the father to recognize the child, to compensate for his doings.

It wasn’t just that, because it was the slut Hyunjin had fucked. A big fucking deal because Minho has been exposed for his cocaine indulgence, and has had to answer to the authorities, to pay bail and do community service or go to prison for a year. Chan wasn’t talking to them. Felix had been violent with Hyunjin for the first time since they met, beating the shit out of him outside their hotel, paparazzi gathering like crows to feast upon their rotting flesh.

And now Velvet Opiate was going on a national tour, press for before and after their album release. Thirty dates, over the course of winter. The label thought it wise to ride this wave of unprecedented publicity to the cost of their demise. The band was in shambles, Hyunjin was absolutely certain they’d break up before this year came to an end. They’d fucked it all up, let fame get to their head, let the cash control them, lead them to the brink of destruction.

Here they lay, clowns in a circus, with new hair colors, and an upgraded wardrobe, Westwood Spring collection ‘00. A new fucking century ahead of them with nothing to show, the world coming to an end. His mind was a dark place, darker than ever. There was no escape from this, no light at the end of the tunnel. Hyunjin would have to walk in the nine circles of Hell for all eternity, regretting ever being alive. Such was the fate of an unloved child.

No Felix, no you. Just him and his pathetic druggie ways, a vessel full of holes, loveless, poison in human form. You’d know by now, he’s sure, after all, every channel in the country is reporting on the news, another band flying too close to the sun, blinded by arrogance and ambition. A fucking cliché.

A day before they were to mount the tour bus, Hyunjin went to look for you at the club you worked at. If you were even still there, he didn’t know, he wasn’t able to contact you, wasn’t allowed to, and after everything, was too ashamed to try. His angel, his pure girl; he’d tainted you now, had dragged you into his bullshit life, spread the plague, and possibly lost you forever. But you were still his, his lifeline, the only exit, the only beginning he ever had.

Hyunjin would explain, he would beg, he’d get on his knees and kiss the fucking ground if you so desired. If it meant you’d stay with him. Felix saw him leave, bangs covering his tired eyes, leather jacket a few sizes too big on him. His friend had stopped eating a while ago, was now stubbornly relying on nicotine and alcohol for survival.

His friend but always more. The rings wrapped tight around his middle finger, heavy. Ivy luring him deep in its vines, drowning down under. Twins no more, they whispered to him sometimes. Felix would look in the mirror and see black, would think of Hyunjin and dream of a blade digging into his very chest, by his own hand. Honeycomb locks on his shoulder as he cried, as his knees gave out, death greeting him with a cold handshake.

You’re losing something important, his mind would say. You’re letting it slip right through your fingers. Just the night before, a nightmare like no other. The corpse of him lying next to his lover's. A suicide, a sacrifice.

“In a rush?” He calls out to the knife. Let it do its killing—it is fate, after all.

Hyunjin jerks, didn’t expect to hear Felix’s voice. A week had passed like a decade. It had been loneliness rendering him sleepless, lying on a bed that wasn’t his, no one to calm him down, to bring him back to reality.

Hyunjin also had no voice, had screamed it all out in his alcohol induced breakdown, had smoked it gone. He tried to reply anyway, wouldn’t miss the opportunity of mending things with his twin, his best friend. His equal.

“Never—for you,” he rasped, words broken in half.

They move closer like magnets, and the tension suffocates the blonde, makes him want to dip his head in ice water, freeze his brain, shock himself into a heart attack. This is what it feels like meeting Felix in the middle—like electrocuting yourself.

“I don’t want your fucking flattery,” Felix snarls, but he means none of it. Pay attention to me always, come to me at long last, no more of this torture.

Hyunjin flinches, fidgeting for a cigarette. “What do you want, then?” It is a whisper, because it is the question that matters most.

It is the truth that will ruin or make him.

They stare at each other, light and dark, black and gold, and a single moment passes before they both reach for each other, fingers grabbing onto fabric, pulling closer. Hyunjin’s bruised eye still hasn’t healed, and his cut lips sting as Felix presses him own on them. The fight is evident, because it’s them and they will never truly attest to this, to what runs between them, cocks too proud, bond stronger than bodily pleasures.

Still, hands push, mouths devour. In public, for anyone to see, under security cameras. Does it even matter at this point in their career, so beyond fucked over by their choices and decisions?

“What will your girl say about the bitch you knocked up?” Felix mumbles into the kiss, and Hyunjin growls, pins him against the wall between their rooms.

“Keep her out of your jealous fucking mouth.”

“What will you do, Hyunjin?” And that’s it. Like nothing happened. “You can’t keep her; you can’t let her go. Don’t go.”

The taller boy pulls back, straightens his jacket, lights a cigarette. Black stares, lips swollen, angry, hurt.

“If I don’t see her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay clean this time, Felix. I say this to you as a cry for help. So no one can say shit to me.”

His friend sighs, and wipes at his mouth. Hyunjin looks at the rings on his finger, then at his own identical ones. “What if she refuses you, then? You’re gonna have to marry this girl, Hyun, do you understand how fucked this is?”

“I can’t do this right now, Lix.” With a press of his forehead against his twin’s, Hyunjin turns and goes straight for the stairs, descending in a hurry.

The more time he wasted, the less likely it was you’d forgive him. Felix kissed him, that was all that mattered—one good fucking thing in the world. He wishes he could say the same for the itch.

It was back. And it was stronger than ever.

Red Lights remained the exact same, an aching constant to Hyunjin's stormy life. In reality, nothing much had changed, nothing at all—except him. Drunks still occupied the bar stools, powder was still being snorted off the sinks in the bathrooms rendered in neon hues, the booth he frequently reserved was empty, off limits to anyone but him and his chosen company. His manager still paid a percentage to the club, the bartender still asked if he needed the ‘White Lady.’ Out of habit, perhaps. Hyunjin knew better than most—habits were fucking hard to break, even harder to quit.

“It’s our favorite guitarist, everyone!” You exclaim from behind him. “Jisung, give him a shot, quick. He has plenty to celebrate these days, it seems.”

He can’t turn around fast enough, and you give him no time to do so. You ignore his outstretched hand, ignore everyone’s gasps as they recognize the familiar face that’s been playing on every TV in the country. Jisung gives him the clear shot hesitantly, eyes drifting between the golden-haired man and the waitress he’s worked with for the past year. He’ll be damned. But it doesn’t matter; none of it does. You’re all red and black, smoky eyes and sweaty skin—furious with him, and understandably so. All he wants is for you to look at him, to give him a chance to explain.

Hyunjin feels very much like the prey now, standing in the middle of the bar as you circle around him in your leather skirt, the same skirt he’d fucked you in all those nights ago. You carried a different light then, you seemed brighter, more innocent. A sweet angel trapped inside the wings of the Devil. This time there were no wings, no sweetness about you. He’d cut his own freedom off and had sucked you dry—what he does best, what ultimately ended up happening to the one person he tried so fucking hard to keep clean, good.

He sensed the red poke under his skin, bleed onto him, take over his mind. He drank the strong liquid, tasted it on his chapped lips. His eyes followed your every movement silently, like a small child waiting to be reprimanded. Be angry with me, angel, yell at me, hit me, kill me if you must—anything but this. Please.

“Give me my bag, won’t you, Han?” you address the brown-haired man again once you come back from the table you’re serving. The music should drown you out, but Hyunjin has never heard anything clearer in his life. He’s clinging to your words by a thread—the cursed lifeline.

When your gaze falls on him, he almost breaks down right then and there. “Come on, Hwang Hyunjin, soon-to-be father, and a married man I’d assume. Let’s end this once and for all, shall we?”

“Angel, for fuck’s sake, don’t do this—”

You’re the biggest storm he’s ever had to endure. Your eyes are lightning that strikes him dead. He’d die by your hand, he’d die. He would. He knows this, he swears it.

“I’m going on break,” you call out and turn to walk away towards the back door. Hyunjin is out of breath, scared out of his body, doesn’t know what else to do other than follow.

So he does. Hitting the nails on his own coffin, delivering the eulogy for his funeral. Knife, the song he wrote for you, the title track available everywhere at midnight, the lyrics repeating in his head, a mantra, a wish, a prayer. He was never religious, but if one single God was willing to listen—let me keep her, let me keep her, let me have this one thing, this one girl, please, the only girl that matters.

You pass the threshold of the exit door first, Hyunjin holding it open for you, the proximity of your bodies stirring the darkness inside him. He’s been unfaithful to himself, not just to you. Even if nothing had been official between you; he’d proved you right, the words you threw at him that first night. He broke your trust, and didn’t even have the goddamn decency to, at least, tell you. The fact he’s getting any sort of ending is a fucking miracle. Mercy from an angel that could never belong to him.

“You changed your hair,” you comment coldly, keeping as much distance from him as possible.

He closes the metal door behind him slowly, leans on the coolness of it, the wet pavement glistening underneath his boots. He swallows, biting on the inside of his cheek. Then his fingers reach for the cigarettes again. Fucking habits.

“It wasn’t me,” he replies, and he wishes that’d be enough for other things too.

The man that fucked that girl, it wasn’t me. Anything that’s ever happened to him because of his addiction, it wasn’t him either. It couldn’t be. The lead guitarist on stage that tries to be cool, cigarette smoke clouding his vision, any time he’s doing interviews and says all that pretentious shit he’s rehearsed a thousand times over—he’d never be Minho, or Felix, or anyone besides a fake. A clown. An actor in a bad movie.

But the boy who paints alone in his temporary rooms? He likes to believe that’s him, or it could be. That somewhere inside, he had the potential of leading a peaceful life, with small happy moments like finishing a sketch, or writing a song. The person that came up with ‘Knife,’ the person he is with Chan and his notes, when they write melodies in the older members' makeshift studio. That’s who Hyunjin wishes most of all to be, to become. Someone worthy, someone able to provide happiness for others, not just for himself. Even a little.

“I wrote you a so—”

“I’d got you this to celebrate the conclusion of your recordings. Before… everything.” You move towards him to give him a black box, the familiar cross-topped orb surrounded by a ring logo he’s been wearing for most of his career staring back at him. You move back before he can keep you there, close, closer.

You slip away, again and again.

“(Y/N),” he looks at the box, then at you. The smoke burns his eyes. “Please, I can’t accept this.”

Despite your hard facade, he notices the slight flinch at his words. You turn your face away. Hyunjin panics, thinking he’s somehow offended you, so he quickly opens your gift, balancing the cigarette between his teeth. The silk encase contains a heavy metal chain with a locket hanging in the center of it, his name engraved on it.

“No,” he mutters, unable to control his body anymore, unable to control fuck all for that matter. “Angel, no, listen to me—”

You’re relentless, frozen in that fucking place of yours, so far away, suffocatingly too far. He forgets about what he should do, how he should respect your boundaries, your wishes. He lunges forward and grabs your wrists, turning your palms to him. He gives you the locket, as if the mere box touching his fingers burns him, gives way to fire and ruin. It does. It does.

“Put it on me,” he pleads, gripping at your delicate skin. “You got it for me, give it to me properly.”

You shake your head, and there are tears falling on his knuckles now. He sees them roll away, scorch his fingers, seep through his pores. Hyunjin shakes you, doesn’t know how else to convey his want. He wants to kiss you, wants to take you away, slip inside you, forget the shitshow that won’t stop happening, even then, especially then, because that means he’ll have to come back from it, from the special place, a place he never wants to escape from, the peaceful place he’s been dreaming of all his life.

Your fingers open the clasp as he leans forward, hands wrapping around your waist, and he inhales your scent, wishing this chain could interlock with another, so he can in turn wear it around your delicate neck and keep you close to him forever. It doesn’t last long, this daydream. The lock falls heavy against his sternum, and you pull away slowly, avoiding to touch back, to feel how real he feels under the tips of you. Because he is—real. He has been since the first day he locked eyes with you. You brought him to life, pulled him in, showed him his own heart.

The bag hanging from your shoulder drops to the ground, the thud of it a closing, an ending. He doesn’t accept it, he realizes he’s hurting you, that he should fuck off, leave you alone, he’s embarrassing himself, he’s pathetic in his attempts–Hyunjin has never fought for someone to stay. Has never had to, his life so full of people willing to leave, birds lingering on his branches before flying off, a moment of rest, somewhere to lay their burden, before they’re gone again, free, weightless. He’d accepted his fate, had made his peace—before you, all of it before you, and for every day after that never the same, nothing after you.

“I have no hold over you, rockstar.”

He blinks. For one goddamn second where human nature takes over and his eyes close—you jerk away from his touch and drop something in his hand. A small thing, something so mundane. A key. He blinks again, but it’s blurry this time, everything is. His heart has stopped, it seems, shop shutting down, system hijacked. Out of service. Hyunjin is crying. And it’s a first in the way that he’s never cried for love, not really, has never really known what it is to weep for it, even with Felix, because that was a different love, not this, not you, not you, not you—

“No,” the heaviest word he’s had to push out his lungs. “No, you’re wrong.” He searches for your eyes, he tilts his head, your gaze, he just needs that small connection with you, his body is on fire, his soul is decemating, he will die tonight, it hits him like a ton of bricks. If you walk away from him, he will die.

And it’s not blackmail, it’s not a manipulation tactic to get you to stay—you won’t know this, you won’t be aware, he won’t do that to you. You know nothing about that part of him, you never will. You’ll leave him behind and go back to bleeding red, and he’ll remain there, as he was, with his key and his engraved name and the itch that will take over once and for all. Maybe this time no one will find him, no one that can bring him back to a reality where he has no other escape other than death; no twin, no music, no band, no you. No you no you no you, fuck him fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Hyunjin doesn’t register his feet moving, his boots splashing in the rain puddles. He must look fucking insane, but he runs with all his might, as fast as he can—and then he throws that goddamn key away, never to see it again, never to be rid of this locket, of this weight that signifies your existence to him, whatever ounce of love you’ve felt for him. He wants all of it to lay on his back and push him to the ground, shove his fucking face in the mud and scream at him—I was here! I was here once and you shunned me away! You don’t deserve me.

An inhuman voice tears from his throat, a sound alien to him, he doesn’t recognize it. He looks around, surprised, awakened. He can’t breathe, and when the fuck will he stop crying? It’s two weeks ago all over again. He’s out of control, mad with grief.

“Hyunjin, you’re scaring me. Please stop. Stop!” Your hands on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

There is no gravity holding him, nothing tying him down. He kneels, neck exposed to you, your gift. He stares at your stomach, as all fight escapes him. Nothing to lose, already lost. He sings, the lyrics that bloomed inside him once, now sung barely above a whisper—

I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…

“What do I need to do, to be able to live as I am, without dressing myself up?” Hyunjin stops and looks up, at your tear stained face, a mirror looking back at him with nothing to say. He’ll say it for you, he’ll admit to the one truth he can. “I’ll wear this till the day I fucking die. I swear it, angel.”

Your beautiful face scrunches in pain, trying so hard not to break down, wanting to let him go, but holding on to him for dear life. “You don’t owe me anything,” but it’s not true. It’s not true.

He’s never been more sure of anything else— “I owe you my fucking life.”

Can you lose yourself two times over? He’ll never apologize for feeling so intensely, for getting fucked over for his heart. This is his show, his little play up on that stage he put himself on, and the curtains aren’t drawing just yet. The last act hasn’t yet began.

He doesn’t see you again until his birthday, half a year later.

Minho wipes at his nose.

Take his pixie dust away and he’ll resort to his absolute last option—pills. Anxiety pills, to be exact, forcibly prescribed by his former doctor for his unhinged nerves; former because the son of a bitch thought he’d try his luck with the ruthless bassist. The only way he’d be able to finish the tour, and go the fuck back into hiding at once, away from all the goddamn crazy people—their supposed fans—and their accusatory fingers.

If there was one thing, Lee Minho never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Who he was. An orphan. A loveless person, someone that had lost all hope, not just for himself but for everyone else, too. Part of him had died in that accident a few years back, and the rest of him had no intention of trying to revive whatever remained. There was no reason.

So, crushing and snorting Lexapro had become the new normal, the temporary solution to making it through shows and press. Getting rid of all evidence was proving to be quite the task, though, and it was taking a major toll on the purple haired man, only second to his and his band mates’ insomnia problems. The cause—obsessive stalker fans that seemed to monitor their every waking moment, waiting for a sliver of an opening to bring them down, to destroy them once and for all.

It’d started with a fucking mistake. As most things do. A split second of weakness, a lack in judgement. He should’ve known better, as should’ve Hyunjin. Because of this, all were to suffer until their heads were on flaming spikes on national television for the world to witness. Minho would rather slice his wrists open and bleed to death in the crammed tour bus bathroom, than answer to the public for his private life.

He was hurting no one. And he was certainly done with slip ups. One more show, he kept repeating putting on the outfit laid out by the stylist for tonight. One more show and I’ll be free. He thinks this until it’s time for soundcheck, and the lead guitarist is nowhere to be fucking found. Minho doesn’t even have to look at Chan to know.

The arena was empty, stretching enormous from ground to ceiling, the echo great and deafening as the staff tuned the instruments in the background. Rows upon rows of empty seats, exit lights shining brightly on each side. Felix sat on the second aisle, smack in the middle, boots propped in the seat in front of him, red plaid pants with buckles and zippers making him stand out amidst endless grey.

“Why fucking bother?” He calls out to the drummer, words resounding. “He does this shit every single day.” Black strands of hair fall in his eyes, and Minho doesn’t miss the bitterness of his tone.

“People paid to see us, Felix,” Chan replies, making his way from his drum set. His bulky biceps flexed as he pushed his hair back, the black sleeveless shirt accentuating the muscles further. “We owe it to them to at least have all four members on the damn stage.”

“Do we now,” Minho mutters under his breath. Fleeing, lately, had started to sound like a sane idea. A small mercy, even.

“You tried the waiting room?”

“I just came from it.”

The bassist clears his throat, descends the stairs from the stage. “Someone’s providing him with it—I’d check the staff’s bus’.”

Chan whips his head towards him. “I thought Joon had checked every motherfucker during the hiring process.”

“Rats can slip through cracks, Bang.”

Wasn’t that the truth. It was, after all, how he’d managed to survive all those years. He knew better than most about sneaking around; killing yourself with the help of others—people that would benefit from your downfall, because that way they could sell you out, make profit out of your misery.

Velvet Opiate fed on misery. They relished in it.

Minho was about to call for security to go and find Hyunjin, discreetly and without fuss. As was the way of such awful situations, where no one particularly wanted to get their hands dirty—or find a rotting corpse in a random parking lot in a city entirely too far from home. He informed them of the alleged whereabouts, but just as the two men were walking away, Chan cursed loudly and smacked his hand on the back of a seat, expression furious, exhausted, worried.

“I’ll go my goddamn self. Fuck this.”

Felix shot up immediately, hand reaching to halt his older friend. Chan avoided it swiftly, and walked determined to the nearest exit, set on figuring this out on his own—again. How many chances till they pronounce you a lost case? Minho wonders. A cursed battle.

“Chan, wait!” Felix tries to follow.

Minho holds him back. “Don’t. You’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

The boy’s eyes were wide, anxious. In love. For the longest fucking time, and despite, which was a curious thing. What we can do for it, suffer endlessly in loops—for someone to hold our hand, wrap themselves around our bones. Minho had it, once. Never again after that.

“He doesn’t know how to deal—”

The bassist sighs. “And you do? Yongbok, you insist on this torture and for what? You’re soft and blinded by selfishness. Love,” he chides. “Hyunjin doesn’t need someone like you.”

He sees the pretty hands balling into fists, the snarl of the younger’s lip, the hate burning in his button eyes. It does nothing for him.

“You’re wrong,” he spits, and there’s pure venom laced in his words. “None of you understand him, you’ve never tried to. He shoved needles in his fucking veins, Minho, do you think he cares about himself when he does that?” Tears gather, and fall. Minho remains silent, bites his tongue. “Motherless, lost in the world, clinging on a girl that’s long abandoned him… what the fuck, man. What’s it gonna take!”

He’s running before the older boy can stop him again. Pushes the heavy door open and disappears into the bright sunlight, leaving the bassist behind. The only one unshaken by the possibility of the events. It wasn’t indifference or coldheartedness that kept Minho grounded in the arena; it was calculated compassion. No one wants to hear a story twice—how he, too, was motherless, lost in his mind and in the goddamn world, clinging onto remnants of a girl half forgotten—no one cares, because a story told too many times is fucking reality, it’s been-there-done-that, it’s no big deal.

But Minho wasn’t someone that complained a whole lot, if ever. And he isn’t letting his friend die because it’s a hassle to get involved; he does it because addiction doesn’t stop unless there’s no one around to grab onto. No help, no second third fourth fifth chance. Hyunjin needs a fucking wakeup call harsher than nearly OD’ing. No one coming. His worst fear slapping him in the face.

“That girl of his figured it out faster than his own band,” he muttered bitterly to the emptiness staring at him.

The bass greeted him in melancholy.

Outside, Felix caught up to the leader, eyes panicked, searching the parking lot maniacally.

Chan’s anger was calmer, a sea storm felt deep within him, bubbling but contained for the meantime. It took nothing for him to lash out at strangers, but to family? He had the patience of a hundred old oak tree, unyielding, the roots having roots, having roots…

They took upon searching the buses themselves, Felix climbing up the stairs and yelling at everyone to tell him if they’ve seen Hyunjin. Some were still getting ready or having a late breakfast, but all looked at him dumbfounded, confused.

“He’s not with you?” A light technician asked dumbly.

Felix rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came from, ignoring the musty smells and disgusting underwear on the floor. “No, I’m asking ‘cause he’s right outside.”

“Are you giving me snark, boy?”

The black haired boy turned around so fast he saw stars. Two men standing near him widened their eyes and backed away in surprise, but the older man only pressed further, his nose stuck high in the air.

“Do you wanna fucking go?” Felix asked, riled up. “Cause I’ve been itching for a fight, bro, so don’t fucking play with me.”

No one expected it to escalate that fast, but before anyone could even blink, the two men were at each other’s throats, punches midway. Everyone jumped in just before the assistant stage manager could land his fist on the rockstar’s face, and that’s when Chan showed up, his loud voice making the singer stop and look.

“What the fuck are you doing?” It boomed down on all of them and shook the walls of the bus. “Are you fucking serious with this bullshit?” Breathing labored, stare wild, sweat dripping. “Come help me find my goddamn friend!” He barked. “All of you or you’re fucking fired, you hear me?”

And with that he stormed out, not caring to diffuse the situation, whatever it was. He couldn’t give a shit at that point. Hyunjin could be dead, and everyone seemed to care for their ass and their fucking pride. Fuck out of here.

“He’s not here,” is the only thing he’s heard so far, but just to be sure, he personally took a look around the bunks and in the bathrooms, keeping an eye out for any drugs or alcohol while he was at it. They’d been warned against any harmful shit for this tour; one strike and you’re out, special orders from the drummer. For their sake, it was a good thing he’d actually found nothing.

“I’ll call the hotel. Maybe he somehow found his way back,” Felix says and moves away from him, phone against his ear.

Chan doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to check. “I’m losing hope here, Hwang,” he mumbled to himself, quietly praying the tall boy would magically appear right in front of him, safe and sound. Highly unlikely; matter of fact, the possibilities of that happening were so slim that he wanted to laugh at himself for even considering it, but the desperation was so far etched in his brain, that he seemed to be hanging firmly from some sort of daydream. ‘October men and their maladaptive dream states,’ he had a girl tell him once, and he’s never forgotten it since.

“How’d you know when I was born?” He’d asked stupidly, as if this chick wasn’t a fan that had just attended his concert.

Her smile was the sexiest thing on her. “Hon, you wear ‘please love me I’m a good boy’ on your forehead.”

“Found him! Fuck, Chan!” Felix’s voice took him out of the bittersweet memory.

What did the brown-haired boy expect to see—not this. Anything but this. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out, could come out, and his head turned the other way immediately upon witnessing his bandmates state. Felix was on his knees next to him, completely on autopilot—Chan could see it from his dead eyes, doing what he did the last time he found him like this. Calling an ambulance, his other hand on the barely responsive guitarist, shaking him, keeping him awake.

“Fuck you for doing this to me twice, Hwang Hyunjin. Fuck you.”

Honeycomb hair over dilated, dark eyes, the pale man smiled a Cheshire smile, back sliding off the wheel of the bus. The leader actually whimpered seeing him do that, so completely lost in his high, his mind tripping over itself. The boy he knows used to be quiet, yes, introverted and thoughtful, but creative—so fucking creative, and animated. Full of life. Not this, whatever this was. Never this, and God fucking damnit when did it happen; when did he lose his best friend, the boy that came to him with a guitar and said he wants to play in a band? It all just seemed such a fucking lifetime away now.

“They’re saying they’ve already dispatched a vehicle to our location—” Chan sees Joon running up to them, a few of the staff he saw earlier in the venue behind him. It was only then that he noticed the siren going off in the near distance. “What do you mean, this is my first time calling you—”

“Minho called them,” Chan concluded, arms hugging his chest sadly. His cheeks were wet. “He already knew this would be what we’d find.”

The singer paused, looked up at him. Chan nodded sympathetically. Hyunjin’s head was dropping towards his twin again, but his lips were moving, his expression relaxed.

“The fucking asshole.”

“A realist,” the leader corrects. “Truly, Felix what did you think? That he’d be off buying us waffles or something? It’s his birthday and he’s falling off the side of a fucking bus, needle in hand. I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

"How much time do we have?" their manager asks roughly. "I told you, Bang. I told you if I ever found him doing this shit again, he's out!"

The drummer felt fire rush through his body, his fist rising in the air, all eyes on him—before connecting with the man's jaw, knocking him back, the sound violent, breaking. And fuck, did that feel good. It was a long time coming, the last fucking straw. He was done with it, the entire goddamn thing, taking orders, getting yelled at for situations completely out of his hands, the micromanaging, the sacrifices that lead to nothing—

Everyone was miserable. Everyone was hurting. Everyone wanted out.

"I'm sick of you putting words in my mouth. Sick of your fucking watch ticking like we're always running on your schedule. Look at him!" Chan croaked, the rage in his voice unbearable. "Fucking look at what your isolation did to him! Own up to your goddamn mistakes, you fucking coward!"

"Chan..." a dissonant sound behind him, coming down on him like a loved one from Heaven. "You got my back, Chan. Don't you?" a raspy laugh, not quite all there. "You got my back..."

Felix moved away, a supportive hand at the back of his twin's head, watching him with a crumpled gaze. Was the euphoria passing? If so, the best of the high was over. A life wasted for fifteen minutes of numbness. Of chemical happiness. The singer couldn't seem to keep the tears from running—and they ran, those useless things, hot, stinging, burning. What good did they do? Look at his love, watch as he's ruining himself on the dirty floor. He wasn't strong enough to even touch that goddamn needle, always hated getting shots, ever since he was a little kid. How could he bear taking the only thing that provides relief from his better half? His mirrored self? Even knowing it's a dead thing, even knowing it's not really that, that does the hurting.

It's the heart. The stupid heart.

"Why don't you kill me, then?" the honey dipped boy asked, paralyzed. Adrift. Broken. "Why don't you kill me?" A tear. Another tear. A pit of Hell, a mimicking nothingness. "Let me die, Chan..."

There are some words you don't say aloud. That make the monster real, that shatter the illusion. The leader could face the cold, hard truth—that the best guitarist he's ever known, the one that puts his soul in his music, in his fingers, his delicate hands—that person is a drug addict. That he uses needles to inject his liquified powders, and that his highs usually last three hours. That his friend has the deepest dark circles for a person who sleeps the most out of all of them. Sometimes, he has to slap him awake, force his eyes open. These are all truths, easy to digest, not-so-scary sentences that he's used to by now. That he's had to live with, in order to keep his band together.

But this? The fact of it? Who can face this? Who can be the bearer of the cross?

"Not me, Hyun," he replies, devoid of any emotion but sheer will for life. "Try in the next fucking life. I like having your sorry ass around a little too much."

Kintsugi, the Japanese called it. Repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. There was no fixing Hwang Hyunjin. But maybe they could start to respect that, instead of desperately trying to cover it up, to get angry with it.

"Huh..." A crack of a smile, much like porcelain. "Is it still my birthday, Lix?"

Felix sniffled, rubbing at his nose, huffing out a devastating laugh. "It is, you goddamn menace."

A sheepish nod, soft golden bangs hiding beautiful, closed eyes. "Then we have a concert to attend, don't we?"

"I think so. You need a cigarette?"

A hand falling on top of his. An eclipse, the moon and the sun meeting, at long last. A celebration of the dark side.

"You know it." Then a hum, as his soulmate in male form lights the stick for him, taking a drag to get it going, then putting it between his fingers. A hum that turns into a familiar melody. "I just went through so much hell, went through so much, darling... I'm the warning, burn...burn..."

Chan nears his friend, extending an arm for him to take. The younger man peeks an eye open to it, inhaling smoke until his lungs know nothing else. He assesses the gesture, knows it means no more sulking on the pavement, no more gut-wrenching pain. Alone no more. Perhaps never alone, though not always clear.

He took it.

"Cancel the ambulance, don't let the crows anywhere near," the drummer tells a security guard. "We don't need this. It's our last show today."

As for Velvet Opiate, the curtains were drawing. Indefinitely.

Felix would love to say that their last concert was a hit, a success by label standards, and that everything went according to plan, but—well, that would be a fucking lie, wouldn't it? The setlist consisted of twenty songs, excluding the encore, most of which fell on him to pull through, and with twenty-nine shows on their back, plus countless radio shows and interviews for the album, his voice was completely and utterly fried, hanging on by herbal tea every night, and vocal rest—never. He liked to believe he took care of himself, definitely better than the others, but was that really true, or just default when pitted against an addict, an almost convict, and an insomniac?

It wasn't judgement. It more so felt like pity. What was Lee Yongbok's thing? What did he offer except deep, cave-like vocals and front man looks? Wasn't that just the bare minimum? What set him apart, what was the deciding factor for his status in the Rock scene? The poster outside the arena had him positioned in the center, newly dyed black hair pulled back in a half ponytail, standing next to Hyunjin, resting an arm on his naked shoulder as the guitarist smoked a cigarette and looked down at his Ibanez RG550. Always together, never apart. Out of everyone, it feels like he believed it the most. Is he worth nothing besides this? He didn't want to be petty anymore, have this green intent to turn everyone away from his moon, because he knew it wouldn't realistically get him anywhere. What was his twin above all?

Straight. To Felix, the line would always be bent.

Alas, he wasn't a realist. But he also wasn't an asshole. As soon as that spotlight shone on him, he noticed you in the first row, still as death, big arms wrapped around you, a man much taller than him hugging you from behind. Did you come to haunt? A ghost unable to find its way out of the body, destined to float about the living world until someone set it free? Was it closure you were seeking, so many miles away from home, and on the day Hyunjin had decided to play ridiculously fucking high?

If so, why rub salt on the wound? Why bring hemlock to a man so willing to die? He wished for many things then; for Hyunjin to go blind and never notice you, ever again. For that padlock to magically open itself and fuck off back to where it came from, because where Chan had never heard the blonde begging to die, Felix had to physically stop him from ending it all, that night he came back from you. He still remembers stealing all sharp objects from his room, and locking the boy in the bathroom, hearing his banging, his pleading, his tears through that white door, relentless, haunted haunted haunted, until the early hours of the next day.

When would Hyunjin escape the ghosts? Jesus, fuck.

"Good evening, we're called Velvet Opiate," he spoke in his baritone tone. The one he had to force. "Welcome to the Knife Tour. There's nothing left to fucking bleed. Let's go!" he screamed, as the intro to 'Liar' played by Minho, a bass-heavy tune that he'd written himself.

During the first three songs, Chan kept his eyes entirely on the lead guitarist. He wasn't quite stumbling, just sort of...balancing on his legs like they were sticks, with that famous cigarette that never seemed to burn out. He made no mistakes, kept up with the tempo, and generally looked fine, so the drummer decided to return back to his instrument and quit babysitting.

The first bottle was thrown when Hyunjin locked eyes with you. It smashed right next to him, and nearly scraped his cheek. Felix froze, but continued singing, turning momentarily to check on his bandmate. If he saw it or not, it wasn't written anywhere on his face, instead seeming to be entirely hypnotized by the inevitable standing mere feet away from him.

"I saw your face, I saw your face...and the light," the singer drawled dreamily, as security found the person responsible and dragged them away.

There seemed to be a group of them, all gathered on Hyunjin's side, and some of the fans took notice of that, yelling and pointing at them. Felix showed the problem area with his hands to the remaining staff, but not before a different person managed to throw another one, this time hitting the microphone stand. He maneuvered around it, grabbing the mic and walking to the other end of the stage, crouching to sing to a fan that was screaming her lungs out, reaching her arms out to him.

“I’m gonna please you, please me, please you, please me.” The lights turned a deep red color, staining everything in the arena, as Felix jumped to the barricades and sang the words close to the girl’s mouth, staring into her eyes. She went ballistic and started crying immediately, so he petted her hair and moved away quickly, hand in the air to collide with open palms.

On the stage, Minho was studying the crowd coldly, waiting for that one last fucking straw that’d make him lose it and get on the first plane back to Tokyo. He’s had enough—of this forsaken tour, of the aggressive fans, the bullshit that came with fame. They’d sold one million copies in their first week, for fuck’s sake, why do they need to tour the entire nation? It was a goddamn cash grab, nothing but a circus, and they were only getting forty percent of it.

Well into the set, Hyunjin looked like Hell. While Felix had taken it upon himself to speak and interact before introducing the next song, the guitarist sat down by the stairs and lit a cigarette, his naked, sweaty torso glistening under the intense lighting. Minho watched as he took his earpiece out and motioned to a staff to come to him, leaning to say something, before the person ran off to do whatever he was instructed to. The blonde hair was sticking to his neck, but it also blended in with the paleness of his skin, making him appear angelic, or something close to it. Ironic, considering, the bassist thought.

Still. Something was bothering him; it was clear to see. And it wasn’t the high.

“Every time I remember…nails dig into my heart,” Felix sings, then pauses, hearing the rest of the words being sang to him. “Oh, what lovely voices! But do they sing it as good as our lyricist?” He turns to the boy on the stairs, currently hunched over smoking, guitar on his back, his eyes never leaving your figure, as yours don’t either.

A man? In his show? While he’s bound by your chains? How cruel of his angel.

“Oi, Hyunjin. You wanna sing this one? My throat is fucked, lover boy,” the main singer waits for the request to register in the guitarist’s ears, before a sound person appears out of thin air to pass him a microphone. “Doesn’t he look fuckable today? Such a shame there’s no one to warm his bed…”

Twenty thousand voices joined to yell, “I can!” Even Minho couldn’t help chuckling to that.

Hyunjin checked to see if the microphone worked, shyly, taking the cig out of his mouth slowly, exhaling smoke like a goddamn fireplace, before bowing his head slightly to the crowd, and introducing himself.

“Hello, I’m Hyunjin of Velvet Opiate,” he mumbles, pushing hair out his eyes with his thumb. The fans went insane.

It was no secret he was the most popular member, despite never wishing to be. The label always promoted him as a sort of Jim Morrison character, brooding and quiet. Which he was—but not because of reasons the public might think. He was surprised no one had picked on the fact he was high as a fucking kite. Himself, he thinks he’s about the highest he’s been in a long time. Nothing spins, yet everything moves.

“His first baby,” Felix meant the song, but Chan inwardly facepalmed. “Most likely,” he added, humor to lessen the tension. “Acapella, Hyun?”

“No,” he replied. “This is ‘Knife.’ For the girl that breathed life into me then broke my fucking heart.”

The eerie melody started playing, the musician they’d hired to be on the keys specifically for this song following after. Taking a deep breath, and a long drag of nicotine, Hyunjin joins in a gentle, hard voice, a reprimanding tone, watching his girl in the arms of someone else—

“If I can have something from you… I have nothing, I’m so sad…I can’t take being alone. Every time I remember, nails dig into my heart…”

They must hate him now. Or resent him. Once the adrenaline of the concert, of the music passes, they’ll turn against him once more, prey for their headlines and magazine articles. Just a product made specifically to be taken apart, forced to turn itself into a thousand pieces so there’s enough for everyone. He’ll gladly be their doll, he thinks. You seem to hate him too. In fact, you do, don’t you?

Something he can’t take. He won’t.

He got up and walked down the remaining steps, all the while keeping the same breathy, heartbreaking tone that had you limply hanging from your date’s arms, gasping for air. He wasn’t the best singer, he was nowhere near one, to be completely fucking honest, but no one could sing that song better than him, in that specific moment, as you’re staring at his face like he’s the one that tore you apart.

The lock is still around my chain, angel. Until I die. I told you.

“Let me hear your voice more, I tried so hard to bear with it…the knife turns, my heart spills, blood mixed with tears…it must be my love. Here lies my love…”

Chan brought the drums to a crescendo, while Hyunjin gave his mic to a sound staff standing nearby, and brought his guitar around, feeling the strings under the tips of his fingers, eyes falling closed, his only purpose in life taking ahold of him, guiding him through, keeping him afloat. The rush is the same, he muses bitterly. Strumming chords, being in your presence—it equals his spoon, his lighter. His needles. Every time his soul is empty, he simply picks another addiction.

How truly fucking pathetic.

He plays for you, then. Stands right in front of you and that fucker, and pours his cursed, goddamned heart out, until nothing is left—the last of the poison outing, finally, finally, ridding him of humanity, of the filth and the shit, and his own weak attempts at pretending to understand life, and living, and why that fucking thing just has to keep…beating.

For what? So, he can witness with his own two eyes that for the one time that truly mattered—that he cared, that he loved, whatever the fuck that meant, he was abandoned? Again? And again, and again, and again. Lead guitarist/songwriter, Hwang Hyunjin, they’d said, is caught up in another scandal. Sources say the girl, twenty-year-old so-so, was receiving treatment at so-so hospital, when a pregnancy test came back positive. She alleges, that the baby belongs to the superstar, member of the controversial band Velvet Opiate.

A baby. His karma for betraying an angel. He expects to be buried six feet underground and never go anywhere, neither up nor down. Scum of the earth, and so he will remain. For his bones to decay, for his flesh to rot.

“How cynical you’ve become, my beautiful boy,” his mother would say, before leaving him alone once again.

Are you proud of your boy now, mom? He asked the crowd silently, fingers creating sound, creating art. His legacy of dust. Beautiful but never loved. Talented but immobilized.

“I tried counting her smiling pain… I’ve lost my dreams and my love; lashed by the rain, I’m crying, I’m crying, I’m crying…”

Bangs cover wet eyes. Fingers bleed on the smooth wood of the guitar, Ibanez RG550, always, but Hyunjin feels none of it. Not the heartbreak, not the injury. What does he feel?

Jealousy. How heavy his lids are, how sweaty his chest is. Unusually. Almost…painful?

He looks down. There’s blood everywhere. There’s glass all around him. He looks up. You’re freeing yourself from the arms, you’re screaming at him, you’re jumping the barricade. High as a fucking kite, huh? Must’ve been one of those beer bottles from earlier. Keep talking, Hyunjin, keep thinking, keep thinking!

A big noise on the stage. Minho smashing his guitar to smithereens. Minho walking out. On them. On him. On him.

“Who the fuck threw that?” Felix’s deep voice vibrates through him. “Who the fuck threw that?!” Louder. Angrier.

Life played out in slow motion after that. Like in the movies Hyunjin would watch as a kid. The lights would whirl, twirl, move move move, the people’s faces would melt off, their voices like a rewinding cassette, and his body would be floating, above all, nothing happening to him, nothing at all. He’d like for something to happen to him, he thinks, for once. He’s been too isolated, too cuddled.

Even dying requires a pass, a question for every attempt, hand raised, waiting patiently for something that never comes, that is never allowed.

The soundtrack to his life? His own digits playing the intro to their next song, unaware that he’s bleeding out in front of thousands of people, one member down, at long last the much-anticipated clown circus, coming in your town!

Don’t miss it!

He jostles out of sleep, sitting up at once, eyes wild, searching in the dark, chest heaving, needing air where air cannot be found. He'd blacked out again. He rubs his face, comes back to life, focuses on the one fixture of light, a bright hope on the other side of the tunnel. Hyunjin squints, tilts his head, tries to understand how a lamp has a head, and arms, and beautiful legs.

It walks, too. The light looks a lot like you, he thinks. Am I still high? Or am I finally... has the time come? Am I dead? Am I dead? He realizes he says this outloud, but his mouth doesn't stop moving, the shakes won't wear off for a little while still, and his cheeks are wet again.

When will he stop being so weak? He saw an angel and begged for death, instead of redemption. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. It's you, it's you, there, right there, coming over to him like you'd never left, never turned away, never abandoned—like a mother would come for her child, except he knows nothing about that, not how it feels, not how it looks.

Hyunjin jumps from the bed, long legs clad in black kicking off blankets, limbs reaching out, strands of yellow covering his vision, shielding him from reality, holding him in the in-between, a place where he gets to hold you again. To hold you. He's sketched your body so many fucking times, a hundred, a thousand, a mess of paper and coal, fingers stained for weeks, and then he's brought the drawings close to his heart, closed his arms around it, held it and prayed for sleep, cradled you, shushed you, sang to you, eyes closed, empty rooms. Always alone. Always half-mad.

When his bony arms wrap around a corporeal body this time, when there's flesh under his touch, a rush of blood, a beating pulse—he hugs it tight, God, he hugs it. You. The lifeline, the angel, the sweet thing that wanted to see him again, and again, so long ago now, it seems. For whatever damned reason, somehow, you've deemed him worthy enough to come back for him, and won't you please take him away this time? Won't you end his misery, stop refusing yourself to him?

"Your wound!" You exclaim, but there's no wound for him, no pain in your presence. Only pure euphoria, the brightest kind. He's overwhelmed, intoxicated, harnessed.

He bumps you against chairs, against desks, and smashes lamps, never once leaving you, never once caring for the destruction, the consequence, only wanting to be part of you, skin of your skin, the breath inside your lungs, so that he never has to part from you again. And he cries; he cries hard, ruinously, like a little boy would, and you let him, because he looks like he's travelled through Hell and back, twice over. He's pale, malnourished, injured, and hurting. So visibly hurting, despite his numb reactions to it. If you wonder, or if you know, you never say. You hold him back, because he leaves you no choice. Because there is no other choice.

When the heels of your shoes hit the nightstand, he collapses on his knees, and takes you down with him. He doesn't mean to, you see; to sink so deep, every time, to bring you too, but he can't help it, he doesn't know any other way, any way out. He really just wants out, and could you show him? Could you at least tell him? He's missed you. He's missed you so fucking much.

"I can't do this, Hyunjin. I'm not."

"I wanted to see you," he says quietly, like he's ashamed. In all of the rain and the thunder, this one thing, he whispers it. Like he's afraid to disturb it.

"God, it doesn't matter," you croaked, but you were crying, too. You wept with him, for him. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter..." you repeated, shaking your head against his shoulder, losing oxygen.

He was squeezing the life out of you, he was everywhere. His blood was on your clothes. Make it stop, make it easier, make it last.

"Your song," he pulls back just to stare at your face, to search, to see. "Did you hear it? I wrote it for you."

You nod, and you smile, but it's a sad thing. Your hand caresses his cheek softly; your porcelain boy, trapped in a living body. "I did, rockstar. I did."

The genuine curve of his lips made you hide your face, your tears. You couldn't break. If you broke, it'd be ten times worse for him. But how to be strong, when your heart still beats the same for him? When you've never been a good liar.

"Happy birthday," you sniffle, and wipe at your eyes. "I brought you a gift."

His gingerbread eyes look at you like you've just told him something incredible. You're not sure if you want to know what it is.

"You're the gift," he mumbles, playing with your hair. His touch burns you. You want it as much as you want nothing to do with it.

"Hyunjin..." You reach up, at the desk, and pull your bag down on the floor with you. He watches, angel features in full mode, and you think blonde hair suits him a lot. "I went back to find it. I searched for hours."

It was the key he'd thrown away. His expression shattered at once. You rushed to explain, scared, terrified he's misunderstood—

"I know you don't want it, but I felt so bad about how it ended, that I just... couldn't leave it alone," you pressed your lips together. "So, I put a chain through it. I thought if you were to wear the padlock forever, I should do the same thing with the key. I wanted you to wear it on me."

His fist closed around your open palm, and he smashed you against his chest with one arm, breathing in your sweet scent. He'd never be alone again. That one thought was enough to get him through anything. There would always be someone out there holding a piece that can unlock him, a piece more important than death. I love you. I love you with whatever's left of my heart, and my soul. I'm yours entirely. All he had to do was seek them out, like he'd promised.

His fingers unclasp the necklace, and you hold your hair up and out of the way, exposing that pretty neck he tasted once, a million years ago. The taste on his tongue never faded, he never let it. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch another woman, ever again. He'd do his duty, and suffer silently, as he was meant to.

But seeing the key fall above your breast, it was too much. How would he let you go this time? You'll take everything. Everything.

"The band is going on hiatus," he admitted. "The girl is about to give birth; I bought her a house outside of the city. It's—I'm having a boy." Where the fuck were his cigarettes?

"I bet he'll be beautiful," you comment, putting a finger under his chin to lift his face. "Like you," you smile. "But you need to stop, Hyunjin. You need to stop."

You wait as he looks for his pack, as he brings the lighter close to his mouth, as he inhales, and drops his head again. "You knew?" he asks, embarrassed.

"Not till today." You gently lift one of his arms, the damage on the skin answer enough. "I can't get back together with you, rockstar. But I'll be there, if you need me."

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "I'll always need you, angel."

You grin, bumping your knee against his. "Then I'll always be there."

There they were again. The angel eyes. The ones from your first meeting. They looked straight through you, those. Watercolor eyes. God's eyes.

"You have cursed me, sweetheart. I can't see anything but you." Full circle, with an open ending.

Like his words from before, they cut deep. They made a house in you. You would never separate from him, you think, not ever.

Love tormented, love purple and blue.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin smut #skz hyunjin #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #kpop scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids hyunjin #skz fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunlix #mine.

623 notes · View notes

taeraemisu · 10 months

Text

seasons ; jiwoong zb1

synopsis ; jiwoong, a prince who is the sole heir to the throne, absolutely despises winter. he hates having to go out in the snow. but what happens when reader starts to make him think differently?

genre ; prince!jiwoong, royal au, lowkey based on seasons by zb1, reader isn’t of royal descent ouch, small mention of abuse, treating each other’s wounds !!!, slight angst but fluff

pairings ; jiwoong x reader

word count ; 2.3k words

winter . .

jiwoong has always hated winter.

he hated how he starts to shiver as soon as the first snow falls, or how his nose starts to run or how his feet freezes up instantly as soon as he steps foot into the snow.

he first met you in the winter, though.

jiwoong being the sole heir to the throne, the king has always nagged at him to find a partner already. he would send his only son to numerous kingdoms to meet any suitors but jiwoong would always come back alone. he hated the thought of marrying someone just for the sake of it, no feelings involved.

he had seen numerous loveless marriages and jiwoong swore to himself that he would never go through it.

much agaisnt jiwoong’s protest though, he was now at a nearby kingdom to meet his suitors. jiwoong was being extra picky, for he was being forced to travel in the snow.

oh, how much jiwoong hated it.

the queen introduced him to her daughter, but as always, jiwoong politely let her down, saying how he was not ready for marriage yet and that he won’t make such an important decision so soon.

jiwoong was exploring the castle, finding himself in the library. despite the lit up fireplaces all over the castle, jiwoong was still shivering from the cold. he spotted an opened window in the library and went over to close it, feeling so terribly cold.

just as he was about to close it, his eyes land on you, giggling and playing around in the snow.

curious, he stared at you. jiwoong never saw the point in playing in the snow. why do people do it? he always wondered. it was terribly cold, was no one afraid to freeze to death? or suffocate under the snow?

he looked at how you make a snowman, and how you make tiny duck sculptures to accompany the snowman. jiwoong has never seen someone so childlike. you were so happy in the snow, smiling as you make numerous snow figures. jiwoong tilted his head, observing you. for once, he did not feel a shiver of cold.

you stopped, sensing someone was staring at you. you looked up, meeting eyes with the prince who immediately closed the windows. his face turned red, and jiwoong was so sure it was because of the cold.

god, he hated winter.

jiwoong found you again, this time in the hallways.

you were the stepdaughter of the queen, your father marrying her before he passed. and the queen was fantastic to you. she wasn’t an evil stepmother, in fact, she was the best mother you ever had. she took care and adored you as if you were her own child and you got along really well with your stepsister.

but, you weren’t introduced as a suitor to jiwoong. even though the queen considered you her a child, she obviously would rather marry her biological daughter off to the prince rather than you.

you were never jealous, you knew your place. you were perfectly fine being on your own. but as soon as you laid eyes on jiwoong, for once, you were jealous of your stepsister. you wanted to be in her place, to be formally introduced to the prince.

you bumped into him in the hallways, and it took everything in you to not run away instantly. “so,” you cleared your throat. “i’m yn. the princess is my stepsister.”

“i know.”

you raised an eyebrow. he knows?

jiwoong cleared his throat, coughing. he did not want to admit he found out almost every known information about you as soon as he saw you. “i mean-“

you cut him off, suddenly grabbing his arm and dragging him away with you. “follow me,” you said, a little surprised that you were casually grabbing the arm of a prince as soon as you met him.

jiwoong didn’t mind though, he probably would have gone anywhere you asked him to.

you led him outside to the castle gardens, pulling him into the snow. jiwoong protested, saying how he hated winter and everything about it.

“it will be fun!” you grinned at him, pulling him fully into the snow. he was now in the gardens, standing on snow, the thing he hated the most in the world. you grabbed a handful of snow and sculpted it into a snowball, hiding it behind your back.

jiwoong noticed, staring at you with a questioning look. “what are you-“

a snowball hit him right on his chest. on his heart.

jiwoong looked at you in disbelief, while you smiled at him, ready to make another snowball. not wanting to back down and lose, jiwoong starts to make one too.

eventually, you both got into a snowball fight and despite hating the snow so much, jiwoong had so, so much fun. tired and exhausted, you both lay down on the icy snow, panting. jiwoong wasn’t bothered by the fact he was laying on snow now.

he was enjoying himself. he was starting to see why people loved to play in the snow.

“how do you like that?” you asked, turning to your side to look at the prince. he turned to look at you and you realised how close your faces were. you coughed, backing away a little.

jiwoong smiles softly at your little movement, you returning the smile back.

he looks at you smiling. even if jiwoong was in a furnace room during the endless months of winter, none of that warmth can compare to the warmth he received from your smile alone.

spring . .

jiwoong stayed a little longer than he intended. he was going to stay at your castle for a week but he ended up staying for months.

he enjoyed your company and almost every other night, he would sneak into your room just to talk for countless of hours. he loved hearing you talk.

winter became tolerable. he still hated it, but he enjoyed playing in the snow with you. in fact, it might be one of his favourite season now.

he met you in winter after all.

jiwoong eventually had to go back to his kingdom but once it was spring, he paid a visit again.

he wanted to see you again.

you were surprised when he came by again. you thought you wouldn’t see jiwoong again. you thought he was going to move on and find other suitors perfect for him but he was right back in front of you.

“i see what’s going on,” your stepsister joked, seeing your reaction to him. she figured about the little crush you have on him and she was really supportive. she was not going to marry the prince anyway and she knew you were better off with him than her.

“shut up,” you whispered as you watch jiwoong greet the queen. after doing so, jiwoong walked up to the two of you, before your stepsister made a quick exit, leaving just the two of you in the throne room.

“why-“ you start to ask when jiwoong holds your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to place a quick kiss. “i wanted to see you,” he said softly.

cheesy much, you thought. he asked you out on a walk, and you agreed. you loved spending time with jiwoong too.

it was spring now and so the flowers in the garden was in bloom season. jiwoong, who became much cheesier over the last few months, kept comparing you to the flowers, saying how the flowers can never compete with you. or how did no one mistake you for a flower yet.

oh, he was really cheesy.

summer . .

jiwoong had a lot of royal duties to attend to that he ended up only staying at your castle for a month in spring.

it was now summer and he had not seen you in months. he had already made plans to see you in the next few days when the king entered his room. jiwoong raised an eyebrow at the king, curious. ever since jiwoong kept going to your kingdom, his father constant nags at him to get married decreased.

the king clears his throat, thinking of what to say. “so … when’s the wedding?”

jiwoong scoffed. what a way to start a conversation.

“i will think about it,” he coldly replied. the king rolls his eyes, looking at his son with a stern look. “i’m glad it’s the princess though and not-“

jiwoong snapped his head, looking at his father. “and not who?” he asked in such a cold tone, almost knowing what his father was going to say. he was not going to let his father disrespect you like that.

the king looks at him confused. “the queen’s stepchild? i mean, they don’t have royal blood! their father was-“

jiwoong had to physically stop himself for wanting to slap his own father. he walks up to him, grabbing his father’s collar. “do not say that again.” and to think jiwoong was starting to be open to his own father.

the king blinked slowly, connecting the dot. “don’t tell me-“

“it’s exactly what you think,” jiwoong says coldly, letting go of his father before leaving the room. he was not going to have his father tell him who he can and cannot marry. he finally fulfilled his wish, of finding someone he wants to marry, but now his father was going to stop that from happening?

“you can’t be serious!” the king shouts after him. “i won’t allow that-“ the king runs up to him, slapping his only child. he left a bruise on the prince’s cheek.

not this again, jiwoong grumbled in his mind while the king slaps him.

jiwoong grabbed his hands, stopping the king’s punch midway. he looks at his father with the iciest look in his eyes. “i am not listening to you. i did what you want and i finally found someone i want to marry! do not stop me.”

jiwoong walks off, leaving the king shouting at him that there were better people out there. no, there wasn’t.

jiwoong only wanted you.

“jiwoong?” you said in surprise.

it was the middle of the night, a few days after jiwoong’s fight with the king. he was now at your kingdom again, and he immediately demanded to the guards that he wanted to see you.

he was now standing in front of your room. you notice the bruises on his cheek and the cuts on his lips. worried, you let him into your room, closing the door behind him. you let him sit on your bed while you scramble off to find the proper medicine to treat him.

who would do that to a perfect face?

you silently treated him, applying medicine on the scars on his lips. you did not want to ask questions unless jiwoong was comfortable with it.

he stares at you treating him. you did it without even asking, without being told to. you did not even question how it happened in the first place. how were you so perfect?

“yn …” he says softly. you hummed in response, focusing on treating his small wounds. you stopped and glanced at him, now realising you two were way too close. “i’m sorry-“ you start to say, moving back a little when jiwoong suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you into a sweet, short kiss.

he pulled away, turning red all over again, embarrassed. “i’m sorry, you must have been shocked, i’m-“

you cut him off this time, kissing him back again. you were not holding back.

fall . .

jiwoong was being all giddy. todays the day. he was planning on proposing to you.

it was fall, months after your first kiss with jiwoong where you both finally admitted your feelings for each other. jiwoong stayed at your castle from then on, since he did not want to return to his father or his kingdom anymore.

he wanted to stay right by your side.

jiwoong had already gotten permission from the queen who was overenthusiastic, making arrangements for the wedding almost immediately. but he stopped her before it went out of hand. he hasn’t even done the most important part.

proposing.

like one of your many dates together, and one of the few you enjoyed the most, you both agreed to meet in the castle gardens.

jiwoong was already waiting there by the time you arrived and god, he was breathless at the sight of you.

you, on the other hand, had to physically stop yourself from just staring at jiwoong. it was fall now, the leaves turning into all sorts of reddish colours. it was a pretty sight and adding jiwoong to the mix made everything much more pretty. he looked ethereal under all the leaves falling.

jiwoong smiles at you, holding your hand while he walks with you. you both talked about almost anything, it was one of the many things jiwoong enjoys. he loves hearing you talk and he would gladly listen to you.

you both reach the more secluded part of the garden when jiwoong clears his throat. his heart was about to explode.

“you know yn …” he start to say, holding onto both of your hands even tighter while you look at him. “i …” he paused, trying to find the right words to say. he prepared so much, with the help from the queen and your stepsister. why couldn’t he think anymore? his mind literally goes blank at the sight of yoy.

“we met in winter, remember?” he asked, you nodding.

“i hated winter you know. like so much. i would never go out to play in the snow but it was different when i met you.”

you widen your eyes. you knew where this was going. jiwoong grinned upon seeing your reaction.

“winter is my favourite season now,” he continues, letting go of one hand and reaching into his pocket. “because i met you.”

he holds your hand out, and showing you the ring in his hand.

“yn,” he says softly, looking at you. “i want to spend all seasons with you. winter, spring, summer, fall. always. so will you marry me?”

god, you were going to marry the cheesiest guy in the kingdom.

perm taglist ! (send an ask) ; @wtfhyuck

#taeraemisu #boys planet #zb1 #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone #zb1 oneshots #zb1 scenarios #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 jiwoong #kim jiwoong #kim jiwoong x reader #jiwoong imagines #jiwoong x reader #zerobaseone jiwoong

140 notes · View notes