the-midnight-blooms - Tumblr blog

the-midnight-blooms · 19 days ago

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shameless woman | smg

PROLOGUE

pairing: ghostface!song mingi x reader (ft. ghostface!jeong yunho) AU: modern au word count: 3.2k warnings: yandere themes, stalking

masterlist

A/N: I've never actually watched Scream but I love the concept, so general ideas revolving around the character will be used here (i also saw yungi!ghostface fanart, which i am OBSSESSED with).

A chat room is an online platform that enables users to communicate with each other in real time. Chat rooms are typically hosted on a server with an internet connection, enabling members from around the world to hold conversations about various topics.

Upbeat 80s rock music reverberates of the four walls of her room, the pen nib scratches, furiously, across the thin lined paper as her mind spills the plethora of knowledge that's locked up within it. Dropping the pen to the side, a long groan escapes her lips in tiredness the bright light of the computer screen gnawing at her attention. As she flicks between the several open tabs on her web browser, loitering in the far corner is an underground chat room for ‘conventional losers’, i.e. nerds, geeks, freaks, goths and emos and every other ostracised sub-cultural group you could think of. The thought itself was quite fascinating to her, which one was she? Or rather, was she the pretentious introvert who thought herself higher than those who defied society's conventional train of thought and aligned herself with the populars?

Snapping her book shut, she closed several of the academic pages she had open; leaving her with the final one: the infamous chat room. She’d already logged in, curiosity masticating her rationality and browsed a few pages, sent a few quick messages to people the website had recommended based on her “favourite topics”.

Her eyes glance carefully across the blaring screen, the blue light penetrating into her steady gaze as she reads the username that steals her undivided attention.

@ pyscho.killer

A snicker escapes her lips, she surfs their profile finding very little information about them, other than ‘Fix on’. Goodness, is she really going to talk to this person just because he too enjoys listening to Modern Talking? Her lips purse in contemplation as she clicks on ‘Message’, there’s no harm in conversing with someone you don’t know. Right?

modern-division: Fan of the Talking Heads much?

She prides herself on her nonchalance, if he wasn't to respond she really wouldn't care. After all, Yeji had invited her to join a number of societies at university and despite the fact that none of the them seemed particularly interesting to her; there was no harm in joining at least one or two if the outcome was a few friends to make her strenuous four years more bearable.

Ping. Her head snaps back to computer screen as she shoves all of her pens back into the pencil case; a dirty habit from childhood to spread all of her things across the table and then spend five minutes, impartially, cleaning everything up.

psycho.killer: Psycho Killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?

modern-division: Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better

psycho.killer: Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away,

psycho.killer: I think I have met my match. To whom do I now call mine?

A childish giggle escapes her, she leans back in her seat in a knowingness that she may now actually enjoy being on this sketchy platform. Careful, yet. She doesn't actually know this stranger.

modern-division: AHAHA you’re funny, Mr Fix On (what does that even mean?)

psycho.killer: that’s not for you to know, darling.

psycho.killer: let me guess…you like joy division and modern talking?

modern-division: what gave it away?

psycho.killer: I guess you’re pretty funny too

It's quite absurd to believe that a famous hit song by the 'Talking Heads' is what got her, her new best internet friend yet the notion is very much a fact. So much so, her life is now consumed by the chat rooms she used to look down on. Social media is very much a vortex, or vacuum of some kind, sucking one in; leaving them void of humanity, stripping them down of some yearning for human interaction. Or at least that's what it did to most. After a long day of lectures, she found herself wanting to be able to see 'Mr Fix On' in person, talk to him in person, be able to stare into his eyes.

Speaking of. As a matter of fact, she didn't even know what he looked like. Just that he was South Korean, had short black hair and brown eyes. She too allowed herself to share the same amount of information that he provided. Mum did say not to go around talking to strangers, and even if she was doing just that; she was not dim enough to start revealing absolutely everything about her identity.

The autumn leaves sway softly with the gentle breeze, a waft of biting air floods over her sending a ripple of goosebumps over her supple skin. Her shoes crunch the delicate leaves, that pave the way to her home, yet she feels a daunting figure stalk after her. For a split second, she believes herself to be hallucinating as she takes a daring look behind her shoulder to find the street behind her, empty.

A tall figure strolls after her, picturing landmarks that carves the path to her home. His soft dark brown hair tousles with the wind, the cold forging a pink blush over his cheeks; sinking his long nose into the woollen scarf his movements come to an abrupt halt as his heroine plunges her eyes into his.

God, she's fucking pretty.

They move over his, hastily, as to her he's simply rifling through his bag for a wallet in line for an expensive coffee alongside a couple of old-age pensioners.

Conclusion: She is paranoid, there is no one after her. Yet as it is autumn in her unsafe town, its better to be cautious than to walk across the surface of the earth with no walls at all.

psycho.killer: wanna join a gc with my friend? he likes some of the same music as us.

psycho.killer: plus, he's a compsci loser who needs a friend

It's been at least a month since she had began talking to 'psycho.killer', who she had learnt his name is: Mings. Or rather its a shorthand version of his forename that he is weirdly reluctant to disclose, as he insists on her calling him 'Min' or "darling, my lover, husband- whatever floats your boat." He is truly charismatic, his charms are perceived from the other end of the screen. She wonders what it would be like to see him in real life. Is he truly as amiable as he reads?

modern-division: haha, i don't mind. what's his @ ?

psycho.killer: its @ killed.theradio.st4r

modern-division: you guys are my people

She hums the tune to 'Video Killed the Radio Star." Her mother's soft laughter pervades her way into her room; the older woman places her washed clothes on the Chester drawer wondering how the younger generation manage to get invested in the songs of the past.

[psycho.killer added you to 'two losers and a hot nerd']

killed.theradio.st4r: helloo, i'm yuyu :)

modern-division: hi!

modern-division: also, who's the hot nerd?

psycho.killer: me.

killed.theradio.st4r: lmao. its you, doll.

Does Mings just refer to me as, Doll to everyone he speaks to?

modern-division: you don't even know what i look like

killed.theradio.st4r: guess we just know you're a hot girl by intuition

modern-division: what if i'm a man? ever thought about that?

psycho.killer: your bio literally states that you're a girl

psycho.killer: not-so-mysterious babe

It wasn’t so bad for someone online to know your gender, it was just ensuring that your femininity wasn’t exploited. She knew they would never ask her to share explicit content nor would they force her to engage in it, though talking to the pair of ‘Killers’ preserved an ominous feeling in the airs. She couldn’t tell if at any point, she really felt comfortable talking to either of the two.

To begin with, Min was always trying to call her. Ask her where she was, what she was doing, if she had she eaten, what time she was going to bed. He asked about her day, and if anyone bothered her in particular. To any other he may have seemed like a kind-hearted boyfriend yet to her it felt like an intruder had permeated into the walls of her bedroom and dominated her life. Then you had his esteemed friend, Yun. He was always deeming her the most beautiful being he had ever seen. She could see within his words the robust desire he had manifested from her words, the way he had subtly requested for her photos in order to fuel the raging fires burning in her absence.

He wanted her. Physically, to put it lightly. Indeed, she was a doll to him and to have her in his arms would purify him of all his sinful thoughts. Yun always brought it up with his friend, who had simply told him to put out those fires. (For the time being).

“Have you heard of ‘Ghostface’?” Her head snaps up from her workbook, in the library where one of her closer acquaintances sits opposite playing with her water bottle. A newspaper article sits in front with the notorious blurry image of a man with a ghost mask roaming around town.

“This is the first I’m hearing. I mean it’s Halloween soon, so it’s probably some idiot roaming around town.”

“An idiot? I don’t think so, ma’am. Read on, he’s been going around stalking people in his costume.” She raises her eyebrows, nimbly scanning her eyes over the text before returning back to her work. Though she cannot help but stare back at the blurred image of the figure. “I bet there’s a sexy man under all that.” Scowling at her friend, she sends a dirty look.

“You have got to be kidding me. A ‘sexy’ man. You said it yourself, he’s stalking people.”

“Yeah but, one of the girls from Art said he was mad tall and had this deep, attractive voice.”

“Yes, I bet he goes: ‘come here babe, let me kill you’ in his husky voice and you all go running to him because you have no morals.” Once again, she rolls her eyes whilst her friend merely giggles as if she is just pleasantly awaiting to be a victim. She rarely meets women who have an ambition for a victim complex, yet those she does: she steers away from.

“I’m only joking, but be real. Have you never heard a guy with a deep, attractive voice?” Her friend questions, making her pause her writing. In fact, she has. Mins’ voice has a sent over her railings during their late night calls, there’s something so potent residing within it. Intoxicating. It almost has her want to do everything he asks.

He is too, tall with a deep voice but there must be so many like him in this world.

The thought is dismissed and she shoos away her friend to allow herself to prioritise the exam that’s pending in two weeks time.

modern-division: have you guys heard of ghostface?

killed.theradio.st4r: why?

modern-division: just asking, apparently some loser is dressing up in a ghost mask and stalking people. idk if it’s just halloween round the corner though

killed.theradio.st4r: oh no :(

killed.theradio.st4r: could just be a halloween thing

modern-division: yeah, I think so too.

“So you like the librarian?”

“Mhm.” She steals her longing gaze away from him towards Yeji, who sends a vicious smirk her way. A blush taints her cheeks, knowing that Yeji will never live it down now. “I’m not gonna deny he’s pretty good looking.”

“Pretty good looking? He’s gorgeous as fuck. He’s not a want, he’s a need.” Playfully, she bites her lip suppressing a fit of giggles by burying her face into the textbook. A few others send irritated looks from across the room, which has the pair sinking in their seats. “You think a guy like him is single?”

“Absolutely not. If I had the chance, I’d snatch him up right away.” Her eyes flicker back to the tall man who catches her stare in an instant, he holds it before moving back to surf through the books on the trolley.

A low beat surfaces along the posters, her phone is sandwiched between her shoulder and cheek as she trudges furiously around the room looking for her scarf. Min's voice permeates her ears delicately, despite the alarming sentences he speaks; he converses in length about human anatomy saying that raw flesh must be easier to study than cadaveric tissue. As much as she agrees, just to play devil's advocate she will never admit that.

“I love your voice, Mings. It’s so deep, but like in a comforting way. As if you can protect me.” The declaration escapes her mouth before she can even stop it.

“Do you want to be protected by me, or from me, doll?” A pause lingers in the air, before he lowly chuckles—one that forces her to laugh with him though an uneasy feeling resides within her bones.

“By you, preferably.” She jokes, playing with the pendant of her necklace. A shadow looms by the open doorway, obscuring the stream of light that spills in from the hallway; the deafening silence panics her. “Mum!” She shouts, discarding the phone to the side in a frenzy.

“Yes! I just had a cup of tea for you, were you not studying?” The door is pushed open by nonetheless, her mother who waddles across the carpeted floor to settle the hot beverage down on the table.

“I was, I’m just tired now. Maybe I’ll come back to it later.”

“No, no. Go to bed, dear. I’m off to work, make sure you’re outside by 8, I’ll drop you.” A soft kiss is placed on her forehead, she is calmed by the maternal affection seeing her mother to the door before she dashes back into her room to find her phone.

The call must have been disconnected in the process of her flinging it elsewhere, her hands shake violently as she’s, pathetically, unable to hold the phone steady in her grasp. Mings has spammed her several times with messages, she doesn’t bother to read any of them.

modern-division: i’m tired, going to bed.

psycho.killer: goodnight, babygirl

In the midst of wandering through the aisles of the library, seeking books two shelves above her head, it instantaneously occurs to her that she’s never actually paid much attention to Yuyu and Mings’ pet names that they have for her. Doll, babygirl, darling, love, honey, etc. The list seems to never end yet she ponders the primary reason they get so comfortable around her is because she has never actually given them a reason to stop being so affectionate.

A cascade of books tumble down from the shelf, hitting the floor with a powerful slam—jumping backwards on instinct, she grimaces reaching down from them as a few pairs of eyes stare at her from their tables. Her face heats red in embarrassment, until another pair of hands comes to assist her.

"Goodness, how did you manage this?" Her eyes gleam up into another's; words lodge in her throat upon realisation of the being in front. It's the 'hot librarian', as her and Yeji have trademarked.

"Oh, I—they just fell." He raises his eyes at her.

"They just. Fell." A mischievous smile is sent her way as he stacks the books back onto the shelf, that's too high for her to reach anyway. "We'll call it the force of gravity then, shall we?" Shyly, she nods, handing him the last of the books. Her eyes reel in the name scrawled across the name tag. A thought Yeji will be pleased to hear drifts into her mind.

“I’m Yujin, by the way. I’m always at the help desk if you need to me to stack book that fall off the shelf again.” Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. It clearly says ‘Yunho’, on his name tag. He stalks off in the opposite direction before she can question him, leaving her abandoned in the desolate aisle.

modern-division: the hot librarian lied about his name.

modern-division: I wonder why

Paranoia is no longer a delusion. It must be very true that someone is following after her.

Under the banner of the night, herself and Yeji walk back home after a long day of studying. They amble down the cobbled roads, yet her eyes cannot help but glance over her shoulder. There must be a man of some sort following them, his long calculated strides send a wave of fear pummelling through her. Instantly, she grabs Yeji’s hand dashing down the road towards the convenience store.

The dim lights flicker upon their arrival, she cowers behind the large aisles; ignoring her friend’s imperatives watching as a tall figure saunters into the store.

It’s him.

Jeong Yunho, the Librarian.

Or ‘Yujin’ as he addresses himself for reasons she assumes she will never know why.

Is he her stalker?

“I thought there was someone stalking us. There was a guy who walked all the way from the library to the road we just crossed behind us. I took a detour as well and he kept following.” She breathes out, leaning her head against the shelf.

“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me?” Yeji squawks.

“I didn’t want him to suspect that I knew he was following.”

Her eyes sought ‘Yujin’ who gives her a sincere smile before he makes his way to the exit.

modern-division: I think there was someone following me

psycho.killer: ??? are you home? are you safe now?

modern-division: yes, but shit that was scary.

psycho.killer: let me call you bbg, I’ll help get your mind of it

Her phone vibrates in her hand, her finger traces over the red button before she lifts the device to her ear. His smooth tone infiltrates her ears again, easing the anxiety prevalent in the fibre of her muscles. She doesn’t know how Min does it. He helps her forget all about her problems, it’s as if he himself is the cure.

“Oh hey, baby. There was something I wanted to ask.” He pants slightly, the distant sound of leaves crunching drifts from the other end of the line.

“Are you outside?” He laughs.

“Yeah I’m walking home.” His hasty breaths pervade the line. One after another, a series of profane thoughts enter her mind. She is so disappointed in herself. “So, you got a boyfriend?”

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” She teases, a lock of hair curls around her forefinger, the vibrato of his voice truanting into her ears, exhilarating her core as rush of certainty floods into her.

“Maybe, do you have a boyfriend?” He piques, she cannot help but grin at his words as if they are both playing a dangerous game of seduction, one she has never played before and one he has won a countless number of times.

“No.” Her truthful answer is not one that hurts her, though she says it as if she’s lying and has had countless lovers before in the past. Perhaps this is the persona that will have her enigmatic paramour crawling towards her.

“You never told me your name.” He acknowledges, 'Mings' has only ever called her 'doll'. Her moves are careful as she continues her cyber relationship with this unknown man, there's a reason she's at the top of her class—he thinks. A thread of messages enter from another chat room, his sharp eyes reeling in the words of his partner.

“Why do you wanna know my name?” Sheer curiosity. Yes, he told her he’s called ‘Mings’ but it’s just a silly nickname used to gain her trust. What is it really short for: Mingi? Mingyu? And Yuyu? Is it possible that he is Yunho? A foreign uneasiness rushes into her skin, she’s cautious as she sits up in her desk chair.

A bad feeling, an intuition of some sort.

He’s going to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.” Her finger immediately presses, harshly, onto the red button throwing her phone onto her desk. Her body jumps up from her seat, heart pounding furiously against her chest. With her body leaning closer to the window, her eyes outcast the front lawn in which a slender figure stands outside. A ghosts mask rests upon his face, his lanky frame is shrouded in a loose black cloth concealing the shape of his body. A large brick phone is held up against his ear, when he catches her staring down at him, his head cocks eerily to the side.

psycho.killer: Pick

psycho.killer: Up

psycho.killer: The

psycho.killer: Phone

psycho.killer: Doll.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: happy 'late' Halloween! my timing is atrocious, but here's a 'small snippet' of a fic i may continue if my writing schedule allows. atm its a one-shot. What's your favourite scary movie? 👻

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months ago

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violet crazy | jyh

pairing: psycho!jeong yunho x wife!reader AU: yandere au, modern au word count: 14.5k warnings: yandere themes, violence, sexual assault, strong language mentions of: alcohol, substance abuse, paranoid schizophrenia, abuse, neglect. (mc and side characters are referred to by their surname, not forename, apologies for any grammar errors)

masterlist

There must have been a divine current in the air that subdued her to fall in love with Jeong Yunho. An ethereal essence that led her to sway into the forsaken lands, a push that had lured her into the forbidden depths of his insanity. For he was a deceitful soul, born with an angel's face wrought with the heart of a devil. It should have not surprised her, when had men ever been purely good beings?

Despite his obviously charismatic demeanour, affirmed by the long bridge of his nose, the smooth curve of his plump cheeks, his pink lips and wide-brown eyes feigning curiosity and innocence. Or his evidently tall stature, and pleasant airs, attractive smile: he was very much a deceitful man. So much so that when Jue first glanced her eyes in his direction; as his wife she found herself reminiscing ignorance and dismissal. If only she had not given into his toxic wiles. If only she had not succumbed to him.

He's a thing of beauty, a being crafted from the essence of light; an angel drawn from the depths of heaven. It was enough to get drunk on his illustrious beauty, falling in love was a sin. What ghastly misdeed had she committed that she had been conserved to such punishment? What crime of her past life was she now paying penance for? It must have been something bleeding with horror that Jeong Yunho had chosen her to be his dutiful subject.

They stand outside the library, the cool wind tousling his soft hair as he pushes the thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Her arms wrap around herself to keep herself warm, her jacket is too thin and worn to do the job anymore. Myeong stands with her, his classmate from law school, whilst he's standing with San and Yeosang. Yunho is supposed to be arguing with Yeosang about how Psychology is a science, he's almost tempted to give up with his eyes tightly fixed on her.

"Jue would agree with me." Yeosang pompously declares, huffing as he shoves his stethoscope into his bag. Typical STEM student narcissism, though he stares at his best friend in confusion. He's heard that name before but can't help but think where he's heard it. "The girl you've been staring at like a weirdo for the past five minutes, did you think we didn't notice?" San and Yeosang snicker at him, shaking their heads as they call for Myeong. Myeong sends San a look of disgust as she ambles over with her friend he's only caught a few times in passing. He thinks she's gorgeous but Yunho's too bashful to pluck up the courage to talk to her.

Her heart flutters at the sight of him clad in a formal blue shirt and tailored black trousers that completely juxtaposed San’s casual wear. Though right now, Jue is not sure if she is supposed to hate him as Myeong hates San to the core right now. It's something like he's her academic rival and for the past semester San has been scoring higher than her.

“Fuck you, and fuck your 89%.” Myeong scolded, she's not even sure why she bothers with him anymore. It's Yeosang, the middle-man, who's practically stuck, choosing between the two of his friends.

“Myeong, it’s one percent, goddam it. It’s not the end of the world.” But nobody could understand how succeeding was exhausting. Pouring herself over textbooks and questions on late nights, eating less so there would be more time to study, spending hours in the library and feeling terrible for time not spent revising. In all fairness, it was the end of the world for Myeong. Baring her teeth, the law student is dragged away by San, conversing in a heated argument. Yeosang disappears in less than a minute too, claiming he's late to Clinical Skills, but not before quickly embracing her. In the end it was just herself and Yunho who, tentatively, follows after as she sits under the large oak tree.

"Hi, I-uh." Yunho stuttered over his words as her doe eyes stared up at him. "Can I sit next to you?" He asked hopefully, heart palpitating violently in his chest. After nodding her head, dubiously, he slumped to the ground next to her as if there wasn't enough grass, or enough benches stretching out for miles awaiting for his graceful figure to bless the earth beneath his feet. It was silent between them as they intently stared at their respective friends fighting.

“I feel like I’m watching a K-Drama." She stated, breaking through the abrupt air as they both pulled out their lunches from their bags. Flickering her eyes towards him, she sought a delightful grin form across his beautiful features.

“Sponsored by Subway.” He joked presenting his subway sandwich as if it was a trophy. Giggling, she shook her head huffing as Myeong looked at San disinterestedly. "It's honestly so stupid, both of them. They both think they're better than everyone else." Humming in agreement, Jue subtly directed her gaze to him again tired of the occasional chirping of crickets rattled in her ears.

"Would you agree Psychology is a science?" Her head snaps towards his, mirroring the leaning in of his own head. A smirk falls on her lips, she loves this question.

"No." He's stunned, scowling as he realised it's two against one and San refuses to give his opinion on the topic; he left science a long time ago. "Science is a study of the natural world. Psychology is composed of biology but is not raw science it itself." He ponders her argument for a second. Her look reads one of a victory, happily munching away at her sandwich, as Yunho is rendered completely silent. Though he can't tell if he has just given up with arguing altogether, there was a figment within him that told him to bow to her every word, follow her every lead as if she was the beacon of light guiding his way through the darkest of tunnels.

There was also something so celestial about Jue that stemmed deeper than her quick wit. It roots were deeper than her undeniable beauty, there was a fragment of her which magnetised Yunho’s frenzied soul. Every remnant of him desired her in a way he had never desired for anything before. Faithfully, he believed she was born to be plastered by his side so as he sunk to his knees in Mass he prayed for his omnipotent God for her and her alone. She admired him too, though she didn't fail to notice how the smile on his face would falter when she laughed with San or playfully ballroom danced with Yeosang.

Jealousy, perhaps. Maybe he likes me.

After all, a little delusion didn't hurt anyone.

In the dull autumn evening, the streetlights began to flicker as the days became shorter. The laughter of children could be heard down the street as they escaped from the shackles of hell (school), dashing towards their homes. Studying in the autumn and winter months was particularly exhausting. With the sky losing its colour too quickly, no one wanted nothing more than to crawl home to their beds and slip under the covers. A false irritability roamed through her, as Yunho dragged her to the derelict convenience store off-campus as a big man like him needed as much food as he could get his hands on. There's an assignment due in two days, an exam in about two weeks with so much content and dealing with a demanding six-year-old and fifty-something-year-old is difficult.

Yunho also wants to know why all the kids at the local infant school think that she’s the mother of their favourite classmate.

"Oh, probably because it's just me, my younger brother and my dad. Mum left a while back, she has two boys now. I think?" She explained to him, as he couldn’t help but let his inquisition get the best of him.

"Why did she leave?" He asked softly, staring down at her under the dim lights of the convenience store. The delicate hum permeated into the solemn air, replaced by a sense of dismissal; Jue shaking her shoulders with disinterest.

"I don't know, she just didn't like us. I still see her around, Mum lives close to the university, actually." He wanted to follow her to ends of the earth as she aimlessly traipsed along the length of the aisle. "I still talk to her, help her around the house, steal her concealer." A sad smile painted across his features, the urge to just enamour her in his arms. God knew she deserved to be held in such a sincere way, that for the first time in her life she wanted to be held in a way that didn't feel like her skin was on fire.

“You’re really pretty.” Yunho blurted out.

Oh.

A faint blush tickled her cheeks as his ears heated red with embarrassment, the sudden proclamation instigating her to suppress a fit of laughter.

“Ok Yunho, what do you want? Help with statistics?” Her fingers danced across the aisle of packaged goods, each too expensive for her to buy. In a desperate attempt to avoid his stern gaze, she searched for the cheapest price tag.

“I’m being serious, you are very pretty.”

“I’m not Myeong pretty.”

“No you’re not.” She had no reason to be offended at that, it was a cold, hard fact that she had just accepted growing up. Myeong had always been the one boys wanted to talk to, be friends with, take out on dates and invite to parties. Jue had just been her quiet shadow that one would occasionally acknowledge. 'Oh, you're here too' as her friend tries to instigate them to include her. “You’re prettier. Smarter, yes she works hard but you work harder and at times I feel like it’s selfish that she overlooks that. You care a lot, maybe even too much, about other people more than yourself. So, you don’t have the right to stand there and say that you’re beneath her when you’re not. You’re on another plane that even she can’t reach.” His words had stunned her to the core, a quietude fell amongst them as his literature sunk into her skin her gaze tore away from the price tags to him. Her eyes brimmed with a sense of validation and adoration. Yunho stood firmly opposite her, his words were like a sworn oath he would take with him to the grave.

“Thank you. Nobody has ever said that to me before.” Her gratitude was sincere, bestowed from the depths of her heart and laid at his feet as if he was an emperor of ambitious lands and she was his follower.

“Well then they must have been blind. Because heaven knows how gorgeous you are.” With a breath lodged in her throat, she held tightly onto the shelves to stop herself from falling straight into his arms. To stop herself from pressing her lips tightly against his, to stop herself from devoting her life to him.

A weak soul she was, for she did it anyway. His touch softened the symphony of yearning trembling through her bones. The yearning that stemmed from years of neglect, all of the pent up love but nowhere to project it. Her knight, her lover, had arrived from distant lands to soothe the persisting ache of her vulnerable soul. When he went down on his knees, it took her less than a second to say 'yes', for she had already granted him every fibre of her being and became his dutiful supplicant upon a single sight of him.

Mr Jeong, a respectable criminal defence lawyer spent a majority of his time either in the office, or in the court of law, came home always around half five in the evening. Whereas his wife, Mrs Jeong (née Jue), worked as an engineer designing and processing equipment for manufacturing chemical products. She'd arrive an hour earlier on his command. The couple were a diligent pair, preceding their reputations as the best workers in their industries. After a long day of living up to their employer's expectations, Mrs Jeong came home to dreary night of living up to her husband's expectations.

Mrs Jeong couldn’t believe it took her to marry Yunho to realise how suffocating he really was. It took her too long to realise, his innocent face was a mask; beneath it lay a vicious, malformed creature who was self-conceited, rude and dissatisfied with those around him. Though it was particularly hard to prove, especially to herself at times. There came a period of love woven in between his callousness in such a subtle way that had her believing she was deserving of his aloof behaviour. Nights where he'd kiss away her tears, hold her hand and make promises to never lash out at her again. Now, three years into their marriage the fine line between his anger and love became so blurred that each pernicious trait went overlooked. There was also the notion of children suspended in the air, that she had tried her hardest to avoid, which her husband was constantly earnest to bring into a conversation.

They both slumped onto the sofa, the whirring of the television emptied into the room as he ran his slender fingers through her. Soft sighs and sweet hums permeated the restraint of their married home, despite its air of suffocation there was a paradoxical sense of amenity in the idea that they were there for each other.

“What do you think about a few children?” Yunho inquired, staring intently as she gradually shifts the position of her body to face him. Holding back a weary sigh, her fingers trace over the bridge of his nose, the smooth curvature of the soft cheeks and his sharp jawline.

“Define ‘few’.” She teased; he pursed his lips, in thought, as if he had never spent an endless number of nights thinking about it.

“Like two, three? Hell, we’re stable enough to have as many as we want. It’s up to you of course, you’ll be carrying them for nine months at a time.” His fingers drew to her stomach, gliding up and down the surface of the silk fabric, like there was a child settled in there waiting to meet its father.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for children yet.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Resting her forehead on his shoulder, his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her deeper into him; his larger frame enveloping her.

“I don’t know—what if I’m not a good mother? I was barely raised by my parents, and I didn’t do a good job of taking care of my brother, either.” Her reason was valid, yet Yunho’s persistence had made her feel that she wasn’t mature enough to understand his wants. It was ruthless, in its own sense, for she understood him in profound ways that even she couldn’t understand herself.

“That wasn’t your choice. This is your choice.” He was wrong. This wasn’t exactly her choice either, if it was up to her, they would wait a little while longer—even if it was just a day to herself to truly think about their future together. Mrs Jeong hummed to fill the empty space, her thoughts flooding with memories of her brother and their childhood. Sure she fed him, clothed him, took him to school, helped him with his homework but at the end of the day, he still did not become the man she hoped he would be. It was if that was a testament to how poor of a mother she would be. “Do you know how much it hurts, seeing everyone live the life I’ve always wanted, while I’m questioning if my wife still has feelings for me?”

“Is this not the life you wanted, with me? There’s more to life than being fucking parents.” Reaching for the cushion beside her, she threw it against his head. “You’re not even mentally stable enough to treat me like a human being, god knows what a child means to you.” Wrangling away from his grip, his wife stalked out of the room, the slam of the bedroom door reverberating off the narrow hallways of their home.

The afternoon light had dimmed, significantly, the sun dropping into the sky to be replaced by the moon. Her eyes had wavered, opening and shutting, occasionally, as an obscure sense of guilt tugged at her. Perhaps she should have not been so crude, there were many more sincere ways to reason with Yunho however- at times- he seemed heedless to her concerns. It was always what Jeong Yunho wanted and never his wife. She couldn't really put her finger on how, or why he changed, it just happened so drastically. The door creaked open, her wide eyes fixing shut as he sauntered in the room. With the bed dipping beside her, he lifted up the covers to shuffle by her side; pink lips moving closer to her ears.

He knew she wasn't asleep.

“Don’t hit me again, even if it’s with pillow.”

“It’s not like it hurt you.” She grumbled, dragging the comforter over her shoulders, a surge of warmth glissaded over her body. A discontented sigh escaped from his lips, snaking his arms around her waist he nestled closely against her, the heat from his body radiating onto her. On instinct, her entire figure shifted to embrace him closely within her arms.

“Oh, are we friends now?” He teased, gently lifting her chin so she could bore her eyes into his.

“You’re my personal radiator. Nothing else." He grinned, as her fingers nimbly ran through his hair.

“I love you so much, darling. I just wish you tried to understand me.” Humming into his chest, her eyes fluttered to a close falling deep into a peaceful slumber within her lover’s arms.

Once again, she’s met by the voicemail machine, huffing to herself as the crisp autumn air comes to grace her again. Standing outside her office building Mrs Jeong waits for her husband to pick her up; phone in hand trying desperately to reach out to Yeosang, their psychiatrist friend. He had become a lot more reserved upon beginning his new job as a doctor after completing five difficult years at medical school. Such was expected, they knew his hours would be long and exhausting though with psychiatry being his chosen speciality, they expected him to slightly return back to his sociable ways. Mrs Jeong hadn’t spoken to Yeosang in about three months and she was worried now.

After seven 'o'clock in the evening, she's settling their ironed clothes in the wardrobe, her husband in the living room on the gaming console. Momentarily, his grunts of agitation and loud groaning annoys her but Mrs Jeong is so used to his borderline childish behaviour that she dismisses the actions over her shoulder and persists with the house chores. The buzzing of her phone, immediately, tears her away from her duties in a hope that her childhood friend has returned to her call.

"Jue?" His voice is so timid and wrought with fear, her heart lurches in her chest. Rattling with anxiety, she settles the phone putting it on speaker.

"Yeo, what's wrong?" It's all so sudden. The way he erupts into a fit of sobs which empties out into the derelict bedroom, a sound she thought she would ever hear in her life. "Yeo, talk to me dear." She urges, her soft tone gently easing him out of his melancholia.

“I love you, Jue. I love you so much, I don't know how to stop." The beating of her heart had ceased, any moment now she'll be taking the Angel of Death's hand, joining her brother in a land far away from this world. "I spent so many years wishing that you wanted me too, but I’m no one in comparison to Yunho. He’s taller, more handsome than I-,” His words all bled together, body rattling as his wailing fails to stop. Yeosang sits in his bedroom, curtains draw and the lights off ready to sink into another world.

“Yeo, you are perfect in your own way. You're funny, clever. I have nothing but adoration for you." Her reassurances are menial, sycophantic, her friend thinks.

“I am a fool. A broken, drunken fool to think you’d want me.” She can't even get a word in before he continues to ramble, he just wants to speak. She just needs to listen. “Of course, there’s this girl at work that really likes me. But she’s exactly like you, I talk to her and all I can hear is the sound of your voice. She looks like you, thinks like you. Perhaps it’s the version of you that would have been mine if you’d never met Yunho.” Her eyes well up with tears, realising why Yeosang had become so withdrawn from everyone. A small piece of her imagination flickers to what her life would have been like if she never met Yunho or even married him. It's still a pretty dream but one she finds hard to fully forge and it breaks him. Her body shifts around finding Yunho paralysed by the doorway, full tears pool in his eyes.

"One last time, I love you Jue. I always have and maybe I always will until my last breath." Large tears slip down Yunho's cheek, his palm slaps to his mouth holding back the grieving dissonance of pitiful sobs. The line cuts, her phone is discarded somewhere as she reaches out for her husband but he ignores her grasp moving towards his bed. At the foot of the bed, his body racks in agony as he bawls his heart out to the moon.

“So this is why you don’t want children. You really don’t love me anymore, you’re going to leave me for Yeosang.” Crawling on the bed to him, her arms wrap around his neck rocking him back and forth.

“No, Yunho. You misheard, he said he loved me, but I didn’t say I loved him. My heart only belongs for you, dummy.” His wails are distressing, prolonging over a vast period of time, her heart waves in anticipation that he’ll never see her the same again. “There’s no me without Jeong Yunho, baby. Come on, stop crying.” His cries falter for a few seconds, collecting himself whilst he nuzzles deeper into her hold.

“You still don’t want my children though, do you?” He peers up at her through his long, wet lashes, cooing at his pouty face. Her lips travel down his face to ease him of his pain, before her arms circulate around his neck.

“Of course I do, I just want there to be you and I for now.” Tugging him under the covers with her, his hands mildly roam over the surface of her skin, lips a tease as he pecks so slightly. Their mouths move in sync, the sanctified synchronisation proves their understanding of each other. He knows her in such a way, he plans a response to her next movement as he pushes his body so he is hovering over her. His lips plaster chaste kisses down her neck, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt; her soft moan consumes him. With a growl, he snakes his hand under her shirt as a ripple of goosebumps litter her skin. His wife is oblivious to his next move, he’s done this before and retracted later. It’s only when he’s moving closer to her cleavage, a breath hitches in her throat at his unfaithfulness.

“Yunho.” She squirmed under his touch, feeling trapped under his body. “I don’t want to.” She breathed out, the cold circulating over her as the hem of her shirt hitched up.

“Please. For me.” He presses his lips to hers once again. As if that was any consolation for his indecency, any justification for him throwing his body over hers leaving her captured under the emblem of his own desire.

The stars scape across the night in the landscape of the dead, a fragile soul awakens in the aftermath of his despotism. Her heart lurches out of her chest, feeling the aches of his vulgarity inflicted upon her.

It must all be a sick joke.

It’s a joke, the way the moonlight streams in through their velvet curtains forging a halo around his slender body.

Reeling away from him, she slipped out from under the covers, picking up remnants of her modesty from the ground beneath her. A demeaning silence fulfilled the sombre atmosphere as she trudged to the bathroom, the light shattering the fabric of her dignity.

Hot water spurted from the shower head, as she weakly slathered the soap over her body before grabbing the loofah from the stand. Violently, she rubbed the sponge over her skin, scrubbing hastily in all the places where his touch had lingered upon hers. Scrubbing in all the places where she had felt like a clay pot indented by fingerprints before it could be hardened; moulded by his barbarity. But no matter how much she cleaned her skin, even until it littered red and flakes began to peel off her arms, even when it lacerated—blood boiling as she itched and plucked her neck; it wouldn’t remove feeling of his tender touches burning her. The water could dissolve the soap off her body, the sponge could be rinsed clean, the room could be scrubbed, windows opened, but the memory could not be eradicated. The memory of her begging him to stop and under his reticent command she was rendered subservient. His toy to play with, his doll to admire. Sinking to her knees, her hand slapped against the cool marble; figure convulsing as pained teardrops slid down her cheeks.

A woman’s body belonged to her own, it was to be forged from the roots of her femininity, whether it was to express her sexuality freely or maintain a figure of modesty. It was a not a man’s to hold or to control. Here, he had torn it ruthlessly from her grip, claiming that it was his, all his, as if when she had been bound to him in matrimony it was her body she was giving to him and not herself. Those vows. Those wretched vows he’d spoken at the altar, they were just bewitched lies glossed over by his insatiable beauty.

‘But you belong to your husband, he is entitled to each and every part of you.’ The old wives would say. Yet, a woman’s words are weak, a single plea, a cry, a laughter can so quickly be obscured by his own.

Just this once, hear me, my love.

I just wanted you to hear me say: No.

Mr and Mrs Choi were accounted as distinguished lawyers in the court of law. Whilst Mr Choi worked as a criminal defence lawyer, alongside his closest friend, Mrs Choi laboured in prosecution much to the surprise of her peers who had concluded that she'd been chasing and competing with San in his own field. Again, Yunho had been the one to prove to be much more reputable and the best dignitary in law. When they weren't advocates for justice, they came home to their beautiful daughter Choi Soo-Ah, who inherited her mother's beauty and her father's intellect.

Mr and Mrs Jeong stand outside the terraced home, constructed from red-bricks. They surpass up the staircase, the bow windows outcast over the front lawn, showing San play gently with his daughter alongside his old plushie, Shiber. Her hands raise to provoke the door knocker, where her husband leans closer to her ear.

“Just think baby, that will be us soon.” Placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head, they patiently awaited for the door to swing open. She had thrown herself into Myeong’s hold, the childhood friends squeaking and giggling like little school girls upon their reunion. Until Choi Soo-Ah comes to join them, jumping up and down herself as if she is too an old childhood friend. The old wives do say that you are carrying your child and your child is carrying hers even before they are conceived. In a comical way, little Soo-Ah has been with them for so long.

“Ach, Yunho, what’s this?” Yunho is carrying a heavy chicken dish in his hands and there’s dessert in the car that he’s careful about passing over to San who silently thanks him for saving their dinner party. Myeong’s cooking skills are pitiful, to say the least.

When they finally sat down to eat, Mrs Jeong draws herself out of conversation, reserving her attention solely to her food. For the first time in her life, she wants to scream. She wants to break down into a fit of sobs, howling until the midnight escapes from the sky, convulsing until her body begins to deteriorate and all that’s left is her husband burying her six feet under. She can’t tolerate the way his touch pierces her skin, her clothes feel too tight on her back, hair sticks to the back of her neck as beads of sweat form. Those wretched memories and lies she told him are creeping back. Walls shimmer, the shape of the spoon has somehow distorted, the food all bleeds together to form some sort of mush.

“My, you’re quiet today, brainbox.” A sheepish smile rests on her lips, at San’s comment, her eyes almost flutter close in the midst of her burdening exhaustion.

“Parenthood seems to have taken a bigger toll on you than your wife, San.” She goads, leaning back in her seat. Yunho’s hands draw closer to her own. Her eyes flicker, but they are dams holding back a flood of emotions that are threatening to fall. San laughs, it’s so natural that she envies him for it. She hates how in love he is with Myeong and would never force her to anything she doesn’t want to.

“Soo-Ah is a daddy’s girl.” His fingers raise to tickle his daughter’s cheek who giggles, revealing a dimple on her left cheek. Yunho has dimples too but they’re only really prominent when stress overtakes him and he loses too much weight.

"Has anyone spoken to Yeo? It's honestly almost like he's dead." Myeong jokes, a breath is lodged in her throat calculating what the next best word to say is. But her mind is spiralling out of control, because it was that tragic day when Yunho depravedly ripped her apart.

"I spoke to him the other day, he's doing ok. I've been meaning to get back to him but I haven't had the time." In truth, she's been calling Yeosang at least four to five times a day, spamming him with messages. Sometimes she even pounds on his front door when she knows he will be at home. Heaven knows, a flicker of a shadow has crawled across the floor, receiving her presence but he ignores her like she did to his feelings. They sit there, knowing its incomplete without all five of them.

Stood by the Choi family household's doorway, Yunho slips on his shoes his wife loitering behind him.

"Are you sure you want to stay here for so long? I'll miss you." His pout no longer makes her heart throb with reverence. The sight of him repulses her, the tsunami is rising high above the waves, there is no longer a fragment of her that would breathe at his will. “I love you.” His declaration reverberated of the walls in the foyer, the beating of her heart paused momentarily. It felt too quiet, as San’s dimpled smile behind them, Soo-Ah’s wide eyes and Yunho’s longing gaze rested heavy on her figure. As if they were all awaiting for her to say the words back to him. Her face heated with the pressure, which one would have mistaken for a love-sick blush.

“I love you too.” Love. A word that didn’t hold any meaning anymore, what even was it? She once thought she knew what love meant, after all, love was Jeong Yunho. Love was waking up beside him every morning to his groggy voice and a fit of kisses. Love was dancing to songs in the kitchen, chasing him through the park but failing because of his long legs. Love was discussing remnants of the future together, not forcing it to happen within a single beat. Love was him. Was. Past tense, something long gone to the wind and would never return.

"I don't know if something has happened to you, but it's almost as if you've completely shut down." They sit on Myeong's bed as both her husband and daughter have skipped down to the park. Her eyes outcast from the window, the bare branches of the trees sway with the billow of the window, the leaves drift across the pavement as a few pedestrians stalk down the street in their work attire. The Choi's neighbourhood is so full of sophistication, its enough to make her domestic village seem inferior. Her head turns to meet her friend's concerned eyes, prevailing as if she is so eager to make her way through the labyrinth of struggle Mrs Jeong has been plunged through. "Did Yunho say, or do, something to you?"

Tears well up at the front of her eyes, the pace of her breathing quickens, everything has blurred so suddenly. A malicious monster has plunged his hands to her lungs, suffocating her airways so much that she cannot breathe and is denied the pleasures of living. His slender fingers lodge in the lumen of her airpipe, mouth locked in place all that escapes her are muffled cries. Chains ensnare around her legs too, tightened she cannot even as so much move her leg a single inch. A voice is attenuated at her ear drums, the tumultuous tides have rushed into the shore, sweeping her body into the vast expanse of the cerulean sea. Her anguished roar saturates the room, much like the water filling into her lungs.

"He-he-" Her voice stammers so pathetically, her arms wrap around herself because a touch of another will just kill her. "He hurt me. I said no but he wouldn't stop, he just kept on going. I said, please but he wouldn't stop." Her head falls onto the pillow and she just gives up allowing Myeong, and Myeong alone, to embrace her. The cry is no longer so silent, no longer expressed in the loneliness of her married home when he is not there to hear her. It is spoke in a house where the notions of absolutism do not exist. It speaks to Myeong's soul, watching her cry is a nightmare for she had never seen any other emotion other than happiness on her face.

"I can't go back. Please don't make me go back to him." She wails, gripping onto her forearms as if any moment now, he would tear through the walls and yield her back into prison.

Slumped on the leather sofa of Myeong's office in her home, as the lawyer ardently works through reads of paperwork and emails. Little Soo-Ah’s body is draped over her own, her small chest rises up and down, soft snores escaping her. On maternal instinct, her arms wrap around, holding her closer. There’s a poignancy in the idea that this is what she could have had, had he not forced it upon her.

"We have TRO-temporary restraining order for up to two weeks until a full trial is scheduled. The judge needs more information. You are aware that Yunho can make an appeal to get his restraining order revoked, right?" Chewing down on her lip, she nods, knowing that things will only get much worse from here.

The Magistrate’s court is where all court cases begin, even sexual assault cases. It’s when the suspect pleads “not guilty” that things get messy, and it’s established as “indictable only” that cases are handed over to the Crown Prosecution Services. Jue is even surprised that it’s taken a few weeks to reach the trial; normally cases like hers take months upon months. Yet what hurts the most is that for the second time she reads out aloud her statement and it’s almost like she’s begging to the judge for mercy. As if they are the ones who can cure of her this ailment.

The court room is cold, is really all she can think about as she avoids her husbands deceived gaze across the room. Jue knows that if she looks into his eyes, even once, she might feel pried to take back all that she has set against him. She doesn’t live with him anymore, she moved as quick as she could to a women’s hostel—the feeling of living alone terrifies her.

“A work convention? So soon?” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, he doesn’t quite believe her but there is nothing from the tone of her voice or body language that suggests she is lying.

“Yes, dear. About a week?” He snakes his arms around her waist, inhaling in her scent.

“You’ll take the pregnancy test, won’t you? God knows how much I want that baby.” Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she nods eagerly, cautiously pressing her lips to his soft cheek. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

There’s a number of officials, including a circuit judge and a jury of twelve members of the public all awaiting for the case to start. The defence lawyer is yet to walk in.

The wooden doors swing open, following a gust of air as a pair of shoes click against the floor. The prosecution follow their eyes across their shoulders, Myeong’s heart stops beating for a second.

Her husband stands there in all his glory, their eyes meet in a quick second before he dips his head sitting next to Yunho. She cannot her believe her eyes, yet the same way she would protect her friend with her life, San would fight Yunho’s case for as long the blood ran through his veins.

The war begins.

Mr and Mrs Choi both prepare succinct, detailed opening speeches for the court. In cases like sexual assault, there needs to be a sufficient amount of evidence for the perpetrator to be punished. In marital rape, it’s a lot more difficult and is categorised under domestic assault. It’s her word against the court, and god was it difficult for Myeong to pull something together.

It seems like this wasn’t the case for San and Yunho, for when he presents his opening speech deeming his client isn’t guilty and his argument begins, he has the physical evidence Myeong was scrounging for.

"The defence argues that Mrs Jeong’s appeal extends from her ongoing paranoid schizophrenia. Here, we have a letter of diagnosis issued on the 12th September, three years ago, by Dr Park Taeo, working for the Light Goeul Medical Foundation." San dropped a folder in front of the judge, a copy handed to Myeong who flips through the folder at a rapid pace.

“The defence would like to call Dr Park Taeo to the stand.” A man of average height with jet black hair ascends to the stand. He is clad in a smart suit, but Jue furrows her brows. She had never seen or met this man before. Granted, at one point Yunho had her meet a counsellor for her 'feelings' (an old woman who retired and had just passed away last year), yet there was no 'Dr Park Taeo' she had ever spoken to. Her lips move closer to Myeong, whispering words of defence.

"I have never met this man before. I don't even know who he is." Taeo is sworn in by the bible, pledging to the tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Could you inform the court of when you had first met Mrs Jeong, and what exactly had led you to believe she had paranoid schizophrenia?” San interrogates, he musters all the courage he can to avoid his wife’s gaze for he feels her stare burning holes in his back.

“Mrs Jeong came into my office on the 22nd of February, three years ago. She told me her husband had requested her see someone as she was particularly suffering from hallucinations, so seeing things that weren’t there. Hearing things. Delusions, withdrawing herself away from her family and friends. I also recognised a particularly disorganised train of thought, she stumbled over her speech.” Her heart stops in her chest.

22nd February. The same date she first saw her counsellor.

“And these are all symptoms of schizophrenia?” San provokes, to which Taeo nods followed quickly by a verbal confirmation. “Could you tell the court of her delusions?” The doctor sucks in a deep sigh, typically there’s ‘patient-confidentiality’ at play which is inherently discredited in the court of law.

“She perceived people were trying to hurt her. Usually it was people she was working with, sometimes it was her husband.” Jue squeezes her eyes shut.

That fucker.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Mrs Jeong stated, and I remember this so boldly: ‘Sometimes I feel that he doesn’t love me for any other reason other than to use me, or that I am of some value to him. Sometimes I feel he may hurt me, or is the wrong person to protect me from danger.’” A hand slaps to her mouth, her fingers squeezing her lips. Her heart palpitates in her chest, hastened breaths escaping her.

It’s exactly what she said, three years ago, to her therapist.

“What makes you say that?” Mrs Go’s soft voice is a dream, a melody dropped from the banner of a celestial plane. Her attitude eases the incessant pulsation of her heart.

“I wonder when he sees my scars if he loves me. Or when he hears of my past, that I am still the same woman he is in love with.”

“Why would any of that stop him from loving you?” Mrs Go never took notes. That woman had an impeccable memory, she wrote things down after the session, claiming her clients required her undivided attention.

“Men don’t like broken things.”

“Was there anything you believe could have been the cause of her condition?” Her ears have mellowed out San’s voice, she cannot bear it and it’s hard to avoid Yunho’s gaze now. She stares at him, though there’s no longer a betrayed look that settles in his eyes. A glimmer of triumph, a paint of melancholy.

“Yes, particularly her childhood is the main factor. Her father was a raging alcoholic who engaged in substance abuse. Her mother left him for that reason. His erratic behaviour eventually transgressed into acts of physical violence which he inflicted on his daughter and son. I believe Mrs Jeong’s brother—,” Her chair scrapes across the floor, she stumbles her line of sight blurring. There’s a mixture of voices and faces, they all wanting something to do with her. She wants nothing to do with them. Before she knows it, a spread of darkness fulfils her vision.

“I must look like a fool for fainting in court. That screams guilty straight away.” She breaks the silence in Myeong’s office, her body draped across the plush sofa. Her friend simply hums tightening her gaze across the spread of sheets littered upon her desk. Darting her eyes across the room, Myeong looks as deceived as Yunho did. After all, it’s her first time hearing any of this and despite her friend’s pleas that the diagnosis was never true—Myeong doesn’t know what to believe. For the first time since law school, there are dark circles under her eyes as she hasn’t gone home to sleep in a long time. Soo-Ah is with her grandparents and she doesn’t have the strength to face San. “I-my father did beat me.” Jue confesses, but the words splutter from her mouth. Disorganised, as Taeo would state. Passively, she gets up from the sofa, taking off her jacket revealing the t-shirt underneath.

Her arms are scarred, several indentations seem like streaks of white paint over her skin. None have faded, and they’re all relics of her past which seem like trophies of wars she has fought. Myeong has seen similar bruises, scars and wounds on victims of domestic violence; she may have never gone through it herself but seeing it in others is what prompted her to be a lawyer. Knowing that her friend was suffering whilst she was training to be an advocate is like a blow to the heart.

“How did we never notice?”

“Lots and lots of my mother’s concealer. Long shirts and jackets even in the summer…” She trails off feeling herself want to collapse. “I just—never expected him to use it against me. I confided in him, and he creates this lie that’s enough to close this case.”

“It’s absolutely boiling out there and you’re wearing a hoodie?” Yunho scolds as he rifles through their wardrobe, hands running through the hung fabric. They’re all long sleeve shirts, turtlenecks, jumpers and nothing with cropped sleeves. “I’ll have to give you one of mine.” He takes out the white shirt, slipping off the hanger before handing it to her. Her hands reach out, slowly, a fear striking through her heart. What if he sees those scars and doesn’t love her anymore? Muttering her thanks, the hoodie is replaced by the t-shirt. Yunho has noticed straight away, within an instance he’s on his knees whilst she bawls under his inquisition.

“We’re going to fight this, I’ve got evidence to prove he’s a fraud and this whole thing is fake. Second, I’ve called Yeosang in. We’re proving to the court you’re sane.” Jue just hopes there’s no bitter feelings amongst them; not after she completely disregarded his feelings in light of her husband’s.

The shatter of glass against the wall sent a jolt through her; the fragments bounced off the surface splitting into all corners of the living room. The black, leather sofa is pushed forward so she can squeeze her body through the tight spot. If she stays here long enough, he’ll eventually give up and leave. But she’s as wrong as she’ll ever be because when Mr Jue is drunk, he is the most persistent man on earth.

“If you come here now, then I won’t hit you.” Lie. He was stood by the doorway, blocking the exit to her bedroom. His body swayed from side to side, heavily intoxicated; having spent two weeks worth of food on a shit ton of alcohol and drugs in one night. “I can wait all day.” His low voice sending a wave of fear over her. Taking in a deep breath, she darted towards the space between his body and the doorway, wrangling away from the harsh grip of his greasy hands before scrambling up the steps. He pounded up the staircase behind her, hands outstretched for her legs, jerking her down, forearms slamming into the piercing edges. A cry escaped her lips as his elbow pummelled down on her head, his iron fists gripping her hair sending a violent punch through her head, the pain rattling at her core.

“That’s what we’ve got to do to clever bastards like you, go straight for the fucking head.” He snarled, throwing her body against the staircase. Where’s your brother?” He questioned, darting up to the stairs. Plastering her hands over her ears to drown out the sounds of his screams, tears soundlessly poured down her cheeks until the shrieks reverberated mercilessly through her head and she darted up to his bedroom.

“That’s enough, stop!” Her bellow carried over the expanse of the bedroom, her younger brother on the floor cradling his face in his arms.

“My own fucking children are ganging up on me now.” He cackles, mercilessly and she’s on the lookout for the Grim Reaper. But she doesn’t see him and she’s disappointed. The sight of him is better than the sight of her father. “Your mother was a dirty whore! She wanted fucking kids and then left me to deal with them. I didn’t even want you!”

“Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” He scowled, deprived of the energy to lash out again at her stumbling out of the door; slamming it behind them. Sinking onto the floor, her arms outstretched to encircle her brother into her—his body crawled in. Rocking him back and forth she ran her fingers through his hair as he sobbed pitifully into her chest.

The Jue siblings have been physically abused for as long as they’ve lived. Every morning the eldest child wakes up her brother, washes him, and applies a layer of concealer over his bruised skin. Then he wears long sleeve shirts, or a short-sleeve with a jumper on top, before being fed breakfast and taken to school. He is eight years old and doesn’t understand why he’s thrown against the floor like a rag doll. Often when he sees the father of his classmates hug them after school, he’s confused. So he asks his sister who’s only rendered silent as they eat dinner in her room behind a locked door.

Jue can’t tell him it’s his way of loving, because she doesn’t want to prepare her brother for a lifelong relationship of abuse. He deserves to know what love feels like, he just knows a bit of love is his sister staying hungry so he can have the last slice of oven pizza. He knows that a bit of love is her sneaking chocolate cake out of events so he can get a treat after dinner. Or her saving up from her measly wages so she can buy him a toy he’ll treasure forever. But he’ll never know what paternal love is.

Nobody knows of their secret. It’s something she’s forced her brother to not open his mouth on. If the teacher asks where the bruise came from, say you fell over. If the teacher asks where daddy is, say he’s at work. What about mummy? The truth. Mummy doesn’t live with us anymore.

(Mummy doesn’t love us.)

Myeong never knew, nor did San or Yeosang. No matter how deeply rooted Yunho’s infatuation was: he never knew either. Not until after they had married and he’d seen the scars on her body.

Having no maternal figure was awful for her, especially on days where she needed to rest and she physically couldn’t move her body from the bed. Her father storms into the room, he’s in his work attire but she knows he’s had one too many drinks from the pub on his way home from work. It’s a wonder how he’s never been sacked yet.

“Get up.” He roars. “What are you laying down for? Lazy bitch.”

“I can’t get up.” She croaked out.

“Get the fuck up.”

“I can’t.” She whined, groaning loudly as she pushed up her body from the bed. A scream erupted from her lips as he gripped her by the hair to drag her out of her room, her lower abdomen pummelling a wave of agony through her. He hauls her down the stairs, launching her body into the kitchen. Her figure slaps against the floor, a breath lodged in her throat as tears well up in her eyes.

“One of the men at the pub has told me you’ve been with a man. Not the doctor or specky-four-eyes.” She holds back the urge to roll her eyes, he’s only ever seen San with glasses on, she doesn’t bother to correct him that Yeosang is a medical student. “The lanky one. He’s supposed to be tall as fuck, I’m told. Who is he? Whose dick are you sucking now?”

“I’m not. He’s a friend, Yeosang’s friend. His name is Yunho.” She sits a little properly on the kitchen floor, but not up. Jue knows better than to shun her father’s superiority complex.

“What does he study?”

“Law and psychology.” He simply hums, she wonders what he’s thinking.

“Well don’t whore around with him, otherwise you’ll end up pregnant and he’ll leave you.” A breath of relief escapes her as he disappears from the first floor and enters his bedroom. She’s surprised. There is at least five objects in the kitchen that he can harm her with, she anticipates his arrival for the next fifteen minutes preparing herself to be battered by him. When he doesn’t reappear, she takes the opportunity to trudge back to her bedroom.

It was funny. Perhaps her father should have warned Yunho to not chase after her. After all, he was the one who ‘whored around’ with her and she was the one leaving him. But that’s all her past feels to her now: irony. Something to laugh and laugh like a crazed man. Perhaps her husband is right, she is insane.

Here she is, sitting opposite Yeosang in the clinic he works at. Unlike Mrs Go, he scribbles down her words as if he’s transcribing them across the page furiously with his fountain pen. When she stops speaking and a distasteful quietude fills the air, Jue knows exactly what he’s thinking and doesn’t have it in her to meet his scrutiny.

“I can’t believe you went through all of this, and never told us.” Those words she expected. “What happened to that bastard afterwards? I remember him at the wedding but what happened to him?”

“He just left of the face of the earth. I don’t know if he’s dead, or in jail or just shit faced in another city. Doesn’t matter, I won’t forgive him for what he did to my brother.” Wiping her nose, the scrunched up tissue is shoved back into her pocket; she peers at him through her lashes as Yeosang stares at his sheet.

"Well, the good news it that you're sane. It is normal to suffer as you have done and still be 'sane'. You've created a somewhat healthy coping mechanism to be relatively unaffected. Any history of mental illness in the family?" She shakes her head. There's just a history of abuse after abuse but somehow they've all managed to be escape the grasp of mental illness. For a minute she wonders if she ever had a child and if they would be the one to break. "Good. I'll pass this along to Myeong and I'm more than happy to testify."

"Thank you, Yeo. Are you ok? You didn't respond to my calls." He takes off his glasses and throws them to the side, his face falling into his palms as a long groan emits from his lips.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry I burdened you with what I said the other day. It was merely a moment of weakness." But it wasn't. It took him all the strength that laid within him for every moment it roamed within, it felt like his organs were being toxified.

"But did you mean what you said?"

"Yes. Without doubt."

In the middle of the biting winter, she shoves her fists into the deep pockets of her trench coat; as her heels click against the steps up to the court. Thank goodness the building is warm, she makes her way down to the room, the security guards are familiar with her now—after all her case seems to never end. Meeting Myeong outside, Jue gives San a curt nod as the couple engage in a private conversation.

A figure clears his throat from behind her, her head turns to find her husband loitering awkwardly by the double doors. His eyes are slightly tired, face sunken. He’s lost weight, so much so she can see the dimple his healthy face hides.

“Have you been eating?” She confesses, the words escape her before she can suppress them.

“Yes, my mother has been taking care of that. You?” She nods, though it is false nonetheless. Eating, sleeping, living is a luxury. All she can do is breathe and sometimes even that comes at a price. "You look like you've lost weight." She shrugs, perhaps she has. She's never neglected herself this much in her life, there's nothing to live but for freedom now. A spectral silence is suspended in the air before the door swings open and they are allowed into the court room. Myeong hooks her arm around her own, they walk in leaving their husbands behind.

There’s a quiet chatter as the prosecution lawyer discusses a few matters with her assistant. It’s tense at the moment, their witness has not arrived yet and session is about to start.

“Counsellor?” The judge prompts, all the eyes fall on her. Jue quickly texts Yeosang underneath the table but the message isn't received on his end.

There is no Yeosang.

Myeong's heart flutters with dejection, her face heating up as she feels the burning stares of tens upon tens. Her fists ball at her sides, her sharp eyes digging Yunho's grave.

"The prosecution would like to call the defendant, Jeong Yunho, to the stand." Ignoring the small murmur, Yunho is sworn in by the bible before he seats himself to be questioned. San narrows his eyes, flickering his gaze to Jue. The prosecution only speaks up after a few beats of silence.

“How long have you known Mrs Jue and how long have you been married for?” He pauses. Mrs Jue. As if she didn’t tear her father’s name away from her own the second she married him.

“I have known her for five years, and we’ve been married for three.”

“At what point did she begin to display manic behaviour?”

“Four months after we married. I suggested she went to see a psychiatrist.”

Lie.

“That’s funny, Yunho. Here, it states. She went to see Mrs Go, a psychotherapist—not a psychiatrist—on the 22nd February.” She picks up her folder, holding the receipts Jue managed to find in her folder. “You do know there’s a significant difference between a psychotherapist and psychiatrist, right?” He snickers, cocking his head to the side. It’s the small flickers of his egotism that roams within him, infiltrating into the cold, court room. It’s there and gone, as if it only belongs for his wife to see.

“I’m a psychologist by background, I think I know better than most people, Mrs Choi.” Myeong’s chilling laughter reverberates through the room, his eyebrows crease. A sentiment of annoyance.

“So then tell me the truth, Yunho. Who did she see on the 22nd February. Was it Mrs Go or Dr Park Taeo?”

“Dr Park Taeo. We didn’t need to see a therapist when it was a diagnosis she was seeking.” The folder is thrown onto the table, her hands rest on her hips, digging into the crevice of her cinched waist. A long, deep sigh.

“Seeing as though you’re a psychologist by background, what are some of the treatments available for schizophrenia?”

“Medication, cognitive behavioural therapy, there are care plans in place as well.” Yunho’s brown eyes move to his wife, her eyes tear away from his as quickly as she can.

“There are no medical records, not even on her past medical history that states she was ever on medication, such an Olanzapine. It doesn’t even state that she is schizophrenic, but for arguments sake: she is. If she was really was batshit crazy, wouldn’t you as a loving husband ensure she is under the correct medication? Wouldn’t she have made these allegations before but in order for her to make such a statement: wouldn’t you have had to have done something to prompt her?” Myeong sucked her a deep breath, her chest heaving in anger. “There’s nothing from her childhood that can even do so much as enable her to conjure such a thought. Yet you, her husband, a man who has continually emotionally blackmailed her throughout your marriage— is the man she deems has hurt her the most. Tell me, Jeong Yunho, what did you do to her? Tell the court what a vile man you are.” His bottom lip quivers, pearl tears welling up in her eyes.

“I would never hurt her. I love her too much. She didn’t go on medication because she refused to.”

“Bullshit! She was never offered medication from that fraud.” There's a slight warning from the judge on her language but Myeong will say all the profanities in the world if it means provoking her enemy.

“I never touched her without her say, even if it was to hold her hand. If she said no, I backed away within a second. You can’t force someone to go on medication, Mrs Choi and she is not ‘batshit crazy’ she is ill. All I ever wanted was for her to get better.”

“There is no illness, Yunho. Look.” Waving a piece of paper in front of his face. Before handing a clean folder to the judge. “Dr Park Taeo isn’t real, your honour. There was no illness to begin with, other than a surmountable amount of childhood trauma—which in several cases doesn’t always resolve to mental illness. I have a report from Dr Kang who carried out her psychological examination, proving this statement. Unfortunately he could not make it here today. Might I add, you, Mr Jeong was her her anchor in the entirety of your marriage. And you, had ruined that by assaulting her, a man who, may I also say, is a man of the law.” Her shaking hands run through her hair, San knows she is on the brink of collapsing. Her face has thinned significantly, Myeong hasn’t eaten; it’s why she’s reached this far in the case.

A pearly tear slips down Yunho’s face, glossing the curvature of his plump cheek. His body wracks with prevalent cries and the court is stunned by his vulnerability. His wife sucks in a painful breath, God he knows where it hurts her the most.

“Why did you do it, Yunho? Hm? To feel powerful?”

“I object, your honour. Question leads to speculation.” San rises from his seat, raising a questioning brow at his wife.

“Objection is upheld.” The judge agrees, yet Myeong has exhausted all that she has to say. She knows that if Yeosang was here with them, her argument could have been made stronger.

The homes on her street have stood still, like a broken clock whose hands don’t move as time steals by. It seems the very essence of the wind has defied the laws of nature—the leaves do not bustle in the winter air. Myeong sits alongside Jue, in her kitchen, Soo-Ah plastered on her hip as she stirs the steaming pot of food under her friend’s careful instruction. San is at his parents’ home, unwilling to stay in his house as he ferociously fights the case against his wife.

Mrs Jeong is at her table, the computer screen blaring at her. Too tired to continue, she gathers all of the diagrams compiling them into a neat stack before packing everything up. Everything feels too normal, it’s as if she isn’t fighting a brutal case against her husband. The TRO has ‘expired’ and she never bothered to get it extended knowing that at the end of the day, it will be a divorce she gets from her husband.

“I try to reach out for him, in my dreams, before I realise that he’s not the same man I fell in love with.” She blurts, the attention of the women in front immediately moves to her. Myeong watches her friend stuff food into her mouth at the kitchen table; her eyes glistening with tears, body wrought with exhaustion spending sleepless nights roaming the hostel and long days at work staring into the dull screen. Days at court, days at Myeong’s home, avoiding the ghost town where their home used to be. “I realise that I want him to hold me again, and pretend he didn’t ruin me the way he did. Sometimes I wish I never said anything, then at least I would have had someone.” Her friend’s eyes litter with empathy, though it feels so sadistic in an other-worldly sense. How can a woman in a secure marriage understand her? Biting down on her quivering lip, she refrains from letting out the sobs that have clogged up her throat. Painful sounds are released, her teeth grind against each other as her body lurches forward.

"J--," Her hand is held up to censor her friends movements, she has done this before on several occasions at the hostel. Nights curled up on the floor, suppressing a fit of miserable emotions. She doesn't need any of this, not now when her lover is long gone.

Kang Yeosang is officially missing; the local community searches for him when they get a chance. Though his best friend has spent the last few weeks trying to track down his location. After he psychoanalysed Jue, he remained in his clinic until 1700 hours in the evening. He arrived at his home at 1738 hours, information given by the courtesy of his neighbour. Nobody knows anything after that.

She can't help but go back to his house, maybe there's something there that can tell them where he's gone. The old neighbour walks outside to throw away the bins, when she catches Jue, Myeong and Soo-Ah roaming in his front yard.

"Excuse me!" Jue calls out. "I don't know if I remember me, but I asked about Yeosang a while back." Gesticulating to the front door as if she might remember, the old lady does. Nodding, she gravitates to the garden wall.

"Yes. I do. The poor boy hasn't been found yet, has he?" They shake their heads. "I think I forgot to mention, there was a man that passed by his home a few times. I think they may have been friends." Myeong meets her friend's eyes, urging the woman to continue talking.

"Ah, he was very tall, wore glasses and a suit almost every time he was here. He was here the same day he went missing." She pulls out her phone, rushing to her camera roll.

Pressing her phone to the older woman's face, "Was this the man, by any chance?" The neighbour nods, profusely. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?" She snaps before grabbing Myeong's hand leaving from his lawn.

It was Yunho.

She is sure of it. There is no one else in the world that would possibly want to hurt Yeosang more than him, for what reason: she can only speculate but pieces of her mind refuses to jump to those forbidden thoughts. Mrs Jeong is once again stood in Myeong's kitchen as the lawyer paces up and down her kitchen aisle.

"Well San says he left his house a while back, he's not at your in-laws." She doesn't even want to reach out to her mother-in-law, they know of the court case and probably hate their daughter with every fibre of their being. "Maybe he's at that summer home you have?" Myeong suggests. That's exactly where he is, but with no substantial proof they can't exactly storm in with the police or a search warrant. Besides Yunho is incredibly intelligent and resourceful, as if the court case isn't a testament to that already.

"Don't do something stupid like walk into his house. He's fucking dangerous at this point." She scolds knowing Myeong's stubbornness holds no bounds. The lawyer holds back a scowl, not long before she redirects the words back at her. "He won't hurt me, if he wanted to this fiasco would have been over a long time ago."

Yunho is mirror image of Mr Jue, his father-in-law. She has become her mother, running away from him except she has not left him with two young children.

"Amma, where are you going?" The younger version of herself stands by the doorway of her parents' bedroom as Mrs Jue profusely shoves the clothes into her bag discarding the hangers onto the floor.

"Baby, pick up the hangers from the floor will you?" Her mother orders, and obedient-her listens earnestly, placing the hangers inside the small ironing basket. She repeats the questions, to which her mother pauses in her actions to look at her daughter. "I'm just going to my mother's. Alone. So don't pack your bags. You'll be ok taking care of your brother, won't you?" She's still so eager to attain her mother's validation so she nods as if handling a young child is the easiest thing one can do.

How could she have not realised that her mother was leaving for good? It's not until her younger brother passes away that, at the funeral, her mother's wild cries boil her blood. There's something like a spurt of anger brewing within her as the jarring dissonance cripples her ears. Yunho is stalking after her as she saunters over to her mother.

Her hand raises, striking a harsh blow against her mother's cheek; there's a pin drop silence in the room. "How fucking dare you. As if you were his mother, you cry? You left us." Her voice cracks, Yunho's hand rests on her shoulder pulling her back towards him. "You left us and you're crying as if you raised him? You may have given birth to him, but I was more of his mother than you have ever been!"

Soo-Ah will be raised with lots of love, she knows that much. Mr and Mrs Choi's love is too strong to be torn apart by Yunho, no less. There's no need to be envious, a poor love is hereditary something that the Jue's are undeserving off. That's ok with her, she is last of them. There will be no more of them.

The front door blasts open, her grip on the handle of the knife tightens as a figure charges down the hallways through to the kitchen. San's clothes fit loose on him, hair dishevelled and with a flushed face he meets her stare.

"Where is she?" He demands, lifting his daughter off the high chair, holding her smaller frame closely against his body. As if she is anything like her husband and will harm her too.

Myeong left her home at 0900 on Tuesday morning, entrusting the care of her child with her friend. Jue has been taking care of Soo-Ah, taking a few days off work but when she doesn't arrive home by 1730; something is deeply wrong. She called everywhere including her office, San and his parents and in-laws.

Like Yeosang, Myeong is nowhere to be found.

"Do you know where she may have gone?" Jue slumps down on the chair, sucking in a deep breath.

"Yunho's. The summer home we have." He gives a look of pure confusion, that his friend cannot help but feel sorry for him. As intelligent as he may be, he is also incredibly oblivious. "Open your eyes now San, Yunho is not who you think he is. He's a goddam psycho."

"But why would she drive two and a half hours away from here, to your holiday home?"

"We believe he's the reason Yeo is missing. His neighbour said she saw Yunho on the same day Yeosang went missing." Pieces of the puzzle have now been put into place, San can envision the big picture now; he just wishes he listened to his wife when she scolded him for taking on the case. His heart palpitates within his chest, cursing himself for endangering his family.

"I'm going to go pay him a visit and you're going to listen to every word I say."

Their summer home is just of the coast, maybe two miles away from the beach. Regardless it stands in all its glory, with a large porch circulating around the home-it's antique salmun doors had been replaced for contemporary ones, panelled windows outcast the front lawn. In itself the driveway is a massive field with a pavement large enough to carry a vehicle up and down it. It's serene, at any time of the year yet its a 'summer' home because Yunho always drags her down there when the sun peaks at its highest. A low grunt and she rolls of the drivers seat, eyes scanning over San's message before she makes her way to his front door.

Yunho has already noticed her, settling down the book on the coffee table before dashing to the door to swing it open.

"Jagiya." He breathes out, it feels silent before she ambles in staring at him before taking of her shoes. Mrs Jeong knew she had to face him but she doesn't really know what to say now that she's here. Yunho seats himself on the sofa, motioning for her to do the same. "Why are you here?" He doesn't bother to ask how she knew he was here, his wife isn't unintelligible.

"I wanted to talk to you. But now that I am here, I don't know what to say." Her profession stuns him a little. Mrs Jeong always knows what to say. It's one of the things he loves about her.

“I always imagined you and I and a little toddler. Just the three of us." His eyes squeeze shut, she feels the urge to wrap her hands around his slender neck and wrangle him until he drops dead. How is her body the only thing he cares about?

“I could never give you that, Yunho. I believe that there is another woman who can give you the family you want.” Yet the plain truth is that he doesn't deserve to remarry and have children. He will just hurt them. He will suffocate them, the same way her father suffocated her.

“No but you could have. You’ll give another man exactly what I wanted.” Oh god. The incongruity. He took away Yeosang and Myeong, she wonders who is next. He will take away the next man that even so much as blinks in her direction.

“There won’t be another man after you, because it took me to fall in love with you to realise that I wasn’t brought on this earth to be a wife or a mother.”

“If you weren’t born to be by my side then God would not have listened to my prayers. He wouldn’t have listened to me when I went down on my knees and begged for you.” Gulping the lump in her throat she blinked back the tears holding in her eyes. "I really do love you, it just hurts me that you made this false allegation against me-," Raising from her seat she rushes towards him, glaring down at him in fury.

"Let's not begin with false allegations when all you did was lie in court. I fucking said no. God is my witness. I loved you more than you ever loved me, and you broke that by treating me as if I was your doll." Tears well up in his own eyes, he simply says nothing slouching further in his seat. With tiredness, Jue leaves the room, analysing the setting before her eyes fall on the basement door. "I'm going to the bathroom." He hums, picking his book back up as she carefully slips down to the cellar.

The lurid scent of damp perfuses the atmosphere, gentle steps descend the staircase where a dim light floods into the room. Her heart is heavy in her chest as she makes her way down, a warning sign that she is not going to see something she likes. The basement is small, with a low ceiling that she knows has her husband crouching down as he enters, its concrete floors and grey walls are unsettling.

Gripping her lips with her fingers, she sinks to the floor holding back an ear-splitting scream as two limp figures sprawl over the floor in a puddle of dried scarlet blood. Tears flood down her cheeks, a low hiss escapes her as she crawls towards the masculine figure. His face is almost unrecognisable, beaten to a pulp with a split lip and swollen eyes. His long hair is rumpled, his own saliva and blood sticking the oily strands to his neck.

"Yeo." She chokes out, his unresponsiveness deconstructs her. Resting his head on her lap, her tears drop onto his face bleeding into his own; he can just about make out her face through his weak vision. Her howls increase by an octave, but his hitched breaths diminish her by the second. "Please. Say something so I know you're here." He says nothing. Yeosang just breathes.

Until he stops. There's a beat of silence. Then another. She waits with some false delusion that he will breathe again, but he does not. A shriek, and the cellar door erupts open Yunho pounding down the steps. Her head whips around, launching of the floor she swings her body at him but he holds down her fists with an iron grip.

"You monster! You bastard! How could you?"

"You said you loved me more than I ever loved you, how could that be true when I killed someone for you?" His voice is so mellow it disgusts her. He speaks as if he did not take another life. "Nobody is allowed to love you but me." Shaking her head, she parries against his strident grip, launching a brutal punch against him. An annoyed look floods his face, he holds his ground stalking towards Myeong's limp figure.

"Let her go. This is between you and I." She orders. Yunho simply scoffs, grabbing a water bottle-draining its contents across her face. Myeong squawks for air, as she jolts away from her unconsciousness, drops of water dribble from her lips as she tries to strengthen herself.

"And this one. This witty, little bitch." He grips her hair, yielding her closer to him ignoring Myeong's cries. "She really tried to fuck me over. It's a shame that she's never been better than me at any point in her life." He bends down to Myeong's level, drawing his lips to her ear.

"You're good. But you're not better than me." His taunts irritate her, and she squirms, ferociously, in his hold yet it pains when all he seems to do is rip her hair from its roots. His wife's howls fall deaf at his ears, a look of pleasure fills his features. A cruel blade departs from his pocket, holding it close to Myeong's neck. "What do you say, baby, get rid of her too? All she's doing is separating us."

“YUNHO. PLEASE.” His knife draws close to Myeong’s throat dancing on the surface of her skin. “I’m pregnant!” His head snaps up, his grip on the knife almost falters. It's a long shot, but she knows how to hurt him.

“What?”

“Yes.” She chokes on her sobs. “I’m having our baby, so please don’t hurt Myeong. Then our baby won’t have an auntie and Soo-Ah won’t have her mother.” He drops the knife, stalking towards her in a few single strides. His pale hands rest on her cheeks, tilting her face so she is looking at him.

“How long have you known?”

“It’s been a week since I’ve known, but I’m 8 weeks along.” He holds back a cry, he’s a fucking monster. A second ago he was ready to take Myeong’s life. Her face is tightly fixed in the palm of his hands as he peppers kisses on her forehead, down the bridge of her nose and finally on her lips. She allows him, just this once, to roam his hands around her body. “Just leave Myeong.” Yunho is so sure that there’s a patter of footsteps behind him, yet his wife’s hands drag him down her neck deeper. His soul is completely intoxicated by her essence, there is some figment that has him so utterly devoted to her.

Her heart pounds, incessantly, against her chest as she storms down the hospital hallways ignoring the burning stare of the clinicians and nurses. It’s not long before she skids into the emergency ward—pummelling towards the end of the room.

Her brother is lying on the bed, so weak and helpless she cannot help but cry out for his ruptured soul. He does not deserve this. He did not deserve every minute of torture he was subjected for every second he was alive. His small lips form her name as he barely sees through the slits of his eyes.

It’s her baby, after all.

His body is cradled in her arms, repressing tears. There is something so inhumane about the way his body is butchered, the depth of the lacerations astound her—as if they were trying to cut down to his bone. His staggered breaths send a wave of fear through her heart.

“Who did this to you?” Her whisper, low enough for him to hear.

Dad.

A silver blade ruptures tissues, indenting the skin. Blood bursts from its banks like a scarlet river flooding through the ghost town, he grunts; breath hitched in his throat.

“Before you, there was my father. Before him, was me.”

“My darling daughter! What brings you here?” He slurs, sliding down the wall. Her hand shakes as she screams at him, her ears are deaf. Jue doesn't really know what she's saying to him other than a plethora of vulgar words that she deeply despises.

"How could you hurt him, you fucking bastard!" Her bellow carried over the humid atmosphere, her father barely snickers. It is a gift from god that he is intoxicated. But a curse from hell that his daughter has been brought to his doorstep, in a fit of frenzy. "You have lived to hurt us long enough."

The knife in her hand is not unfamiliar. The way it has dragged under supple skin is not new. She has done it in a time before, Yunho is unbeknownst to this as he sinks to his knees clutching his abdomen, a roar erupting from his lips. His wheezes infiltrate the atmosphere, but his wife is quick on her feet as her arms outstretch for Myeong—eyes widened in shock. Is she an accomplice to this crime?

"Come on!" She shouts, panicked their footsteps launch up the basement staircase, an attempt to escape onto the upper floor in a haste. The door handle rattled, profusely, in her harsh grip yet the door won’t budge.

Fuck.

Their hastened breaths quicken in a deep panic, before a quick thought rushes to mind. There's a hidden tunnel that leads out. They run past Yunho's frail body, ignoring his threats she summons all of the adrenaline she has before pushing past the massive wooden door covering the exit. An ache grinds at her muscle but as her husband raises from the floor she flocks out of the basement in a frenzy.

The smell of the hallways is enough to make them nauseous, but the magnetic force of apprehension is stronger that all they can do is run whilst he chases after them. The end is in sight, the door at the end is always open; seeing as though Yunho could never find a builder to fix it shut. All of a sudden, something sharp drills through her leg, a distressing yelp escaping from her. Groaning she falls to the floor, a metal rod from the unattended copper pipes has obstructed her path.

“Run, Myeong! RUN!” She screams, cradling her leg; a torturous wave of pain lays within her; enough to render her paralysed. His pounding footsteps quicken behind them, grunting heavily as he limps down the hallways to them. Myeong’s movements falter slightly but she dashes through the door leaving it open as she darts through the open field.

A cool gust air blesses her bruised skin, she has never ran this fast before in her life. A sense of guilt resides as she ponders if her friend will make it, yet the car in the distances rips away that thought. It’s San’s car and she clamours his name as loud as she can.

The coolness floods into the narrow passageway, grappling onto the copper pipes for support she staggers feebly towards the exit, the metal rod inserted in her leg weighs her down. Each step is like walking on a million shards of glass, it’s as if coal sizzles under her skin. Was she born just to be in pain?

“Nae sarang, come back. You’re only going to hurt the baby.” The tears draw in her eyes, tickling the edge of her jawline before they clink onto the earth below. The sound of his voice lingers too close to her ears, beckoning all her might she stumbles faster towards the exit breaking out into a run.

Screams expend from her, she doesn’t care to refrain them as she bolts down the fields where Myeong is in San’s arms. There are shackles tied to her feet, the force of gravity is strong.

“Come back here right now!” Yunho roars into the wind, as if they bow to him they stop to let his voice circulate the atmosphere. She will not return to him, she would rather die. Her heart savagely crushes against her chest—phlegm clogs her throat. Pain gnaws at her. Why does the distance to San’s car seem longer than it should be? She shrieks his name while Yunho calls after her.

I’m so tired.

Her knees drop down to the earth beneath her feet, chest hurling with exhaustion. The vast fields are met by an excruciating howl; enough to shatter her voice box. With fingers gripping around the locks of her hair, tears endlessly cascade from her eyes—she’s begging for the Angel of Death to take her away. So much so as her head hits the earth, she speaks to its entity.

“Amma! I can’t do this anymore.” Because what does a child in pain do when the world turns against them? Nothing more than call out for their mother. There’s nothing more left for her to do. She can run to San with a metal rod prodded through her leg. Chances are: she won’t make it when Yunho can easily outrun her. She can stop here and allow her husband to consume her, force her to give birth to a child she does not want.

Or she can turn the weapon against herself. What can go through the leg can go through the heart, right?

Her head whips around to meet Yunho’s stare. There’s no anger, there never is any when he’s looking at her. He’s slowed down in his path, arms nimbly outstretched for her.

“Come back to me, baby.”

In the valley they run, the grass tickling her feet as she dashes across the landscape. A melodic laughter escapes him, like a chorus sung by angels. She’s always been fast at running but it’s never been a chore; it’s a joy to skip through the meadow at lightning speed. The sun illuminates their figures, nobody but them for miles and miles.

Perhaps this is what death feels like.

Or this is what death should be, for now she knows how her fate should resume.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Jue' of chinese origin, stems from 'zhou' 'Soo-Ah' meaning butterfly 'Myeong' meaning bright or clear

A/N: please do NOT romanticise this piece of work, it addresses heavy issues. if you have ever been sexually harassed/assaulted by your s/o (or ANYONE), please report it!!! just because they’re your husband/boyfriend e.t.c doesn’t mean that they’re allowed to be let off the hook! I wanted to write this fic because I’ve-first hand- seen the exploitation of female bodies to establish male superiority. take care of yourself and know your worth, I know it’s difficult to speak out against someone who you’re supposed to love but you’re worth much more than that. i hope you enjoyed reading this, it was a little difficult to write but I believe it’s a fic that’s been worth writing.

big thank you to @poartz-writes for hyping me up during this writing process

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @barbielibra

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months ago

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Anonymously - or not - tell me what passage, fic, line of narration, or anything you remember me by as a writer.

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months ago

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The deepest green in a seemingly infinite forest.

⤷ At the end of your story, everything may not be perfect or even the way the readers may want it to be, but everything is ok. The ending is what your characters need, not necessarily what they want. You know how to write strong plots that are perfectly able to balance the right mixture of pain and lightheartedness. Writing tropes is one of your favourite things to do and yet somehow your take on it is always something so original it’ll make your readers jaws drop.

no pressure tags: @potatos-on-clouds @n0v4t33z @goayeos + anyone else that would like to participate <3

what color is your writing? — ✸

found this today and thought it was cute!

The smooth beige of a handwritten letter. Every piece of writing you put out is a love letter to both your characters and your readers. Each word is carefully planned and placed to have the most impact possible. After finishing reading a piece of yours, your readers often will have a warm feeling in their chest and a lightheartedness that stays with them for the rest of the day

tagging: @daemour @flurrys-creativity @sanjoongie @limjaeseven @potatomountain

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months ago

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Nearly Liminal :: Teaser

wooyoung x reader

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Empty. Nothing? Yes, nothing. Nothing felt present. Not my thoughts. Not my heartbeat. Maybe it had been like this for a month or two now. I lost count. Not like I could keep track anyway. There was nothing here, just a thick smog everywhere. I felt trapped in this little space. Maybe I was back in my own head? This is what it felt like before. I think so anyway. Every memory feels miles away.

The sound of boxes being toppled over and two men arguing shook me out of my daze from this odd limbo between consciousness and a void. The fog from my head felt present in front of my eyes. Too harsh after standing up too quickly and the black smears in my vision were a temporary sign of a my blood rushing down from my head. Getting my balance back, I rubbed at my eyes with my knuckle. The dark spots disappeared clearing my vision into a hazy and foggy view of my room. Had I accidentally taken a magic mushroom and just gone through a horrendous drug induced dream? Maybe. Who knows what Aunt Ann puts in her brownies.

Sitting up on my bed I noticed the lack of sheets. Had I been so tired last night that I forgot to take it out of the dryer? It wasn’t wash day. Maybe I stained it? Jesus. I have to learn to say no to Aunt Ann’s brownies. I shook my head and brushed my hair out of my face and smacked my lips.

Thinking back, what was the noise I heard earlier?

Maybe Wooyoung decided to drop by with San. He does have a habit of walking into my flat with no warning after I gave him a key for emergencies ONLY. But as he said, all occurrences can be emergencies if you think about it hard enough. Like the one time he left his hello kitty hairclip in my bathroom and remembered it a week later only to burst in at midnight distraught at the missing item.

Glancing down, to make sure I was presentable, I pulled my socks a little higher and adjusted my shorts. The two men arguing continued, one definitely being Wooyoung with how quickly he was spitting out words. I sighed and slipped through my open bedroom door.

“Just come back later you gym freak.” Wooyoung pouted as San slipped through the front door locking it. “I’ll just call her mother if there’s anything they don’t want moving.”

Looking from him to the open boxes around him, I noticed the bubble wrap surrounding my plates and cups. Was this another of his pranks?

“Hey Wooyoung, usually you’re better at this!” I laughed taking the boy’s attention.

This quickly followed by Wooyoung’s head snapping towards me and a loud shriek erupted from his chest. His knees quickly collapsed below him as he grabbed the closest book to him and threw it in my direction.

“Oi! What did I tell you about throwing shit, I had enough cleaning up after you and Yeosang got drunk.” I crouched down, ignoring Wooyoung’s odd noises, to pick up the tattered book. Only for it to seemingly slip through my fingers. Huh? I turned around to Wooyoung to glare at him, but he was staring right back. Confusion and angered seemed to swirl in his eyes.

“Is this some sick prank? San you’re not funny you can come back!” He grumbled getting up and towards the front door.

“Wooyoung come back and pick this book up, what did you do?” I followed after him.

He glanced back, eyes growing wider and lips trembling. “No. No. No. Nononono!”

I rolled my eyes and folded my arms. “C’mon Woo. This isn’t working anymore, now put my plates back.”

“Nope! I must’ve mixed up Ann’s brownies with my own. YOU were just in the hospital.” He covered his ears and shook his head.

“Dude. What are you talking about. I woke up ten minutes ago to you and San making a racket.”

His lip continued to tremble as he looked back at me before his eyes shot down to the floor.

“Where’s Yunho’s crucifix,” the mumble was barely audible as he pushed through me.

Through me. It felt cold. Like a zap of electricity. Or when you drop something precious to your grandmother.

“I think you’d be the one to get exorcised first out of all of us boo,” I laughed awkwardly. A sense of unease and worry starting to settle in my gut.

“You were just at the hospital…” He continued to mumble some words.

“Woo. Speak up,” I scratched at my hands as the worry and confusion grew.

He turned back at me. Eyes wide with tears and mouth falling open as he looked down at me.

I had walked into my table. Right into the middle.

“You’re a ghost. I’ve gone mad!” He laughed looking back at my face.

“What? No. No there’s something wrong-“

His eyes rolled into his head, and his entire body collapsed below him.

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This is very much just an experimental piece, so I will appreciate all feedback as I haven't written in a long time.

taglist: @the-midnight-blooms

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #fanfic #fanfiction #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez crack #crack fic

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the-midnight-blooms · 2 months ago

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from the artist's studio | cs

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader AU: historical au, joseon dynasty word count: 10.5k

masterlist

I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You’ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not to see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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the-midnight-blooms · 3 months ago

Text

Me as soon as I see that I’ve reached a 100 followers:

This probably sounds quite pathetic and sad but thank you!! so much!!! I’m glad there’s people out there that actually like to read my work, even if it’s a bit underwhelming at times.

take care xx 🥰

#ateez #kpop #ateez fanfic #thank you #you guys are my babies 🥹

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the-midnight-blooms · 3 months ago

Text

the only correct response to that honestly 😭😭

Me And My Husband

pairing: CEO!park seonghwa x scientistwife!reader

AU: modern au

word count: 6.3k

masterlist

In the midst of a fragile soul dwindling under the aches of animosity, the married couple laid in bed with their backs facing each other. The husband, Park Seonghwa, an esteemed CEO of a pharmaceutical company ‘Park Pharmaceuticals.’ had the front board of the book lodged into the silk casing of his pillow with his other hand steadying it so he could still, quite painfully, scan his eyes over the text. Agitated, he got up with a grunt before sitting up to finish the chapter of his book. With his scientists publishing reports on the latest medicine they were developing, he immediately rushed back to his university textbooks to affirm he was still equipped with the necessary knowledge to understand the science. Meanwhile, Mrs Park- a research scientist at Park Pharmaceuticals' rival company, ‘Kim Pharma.’ was battling against her insomnia despite motherhood knocking her straight her off her feet. Their daughter, Park Dami, was fast asleep in the room next door to Seonghwa’s study cuddling the little Toothless toy he had gifted her when she was still a cherub. It had seemed that Mrs Park was prone to falling asleep at the most odd times of day, whether it be during dinner or cleaning the home.

Perhaps it was the heartache she was suffering from. The love that she had held for her husband was a permanent fixture, a vow that she had promised not to break, and one she had not and never would for as long as she lived. However, the increasingly distant behaviour from her husband in light of his burgeoning role as CEO had her heart yearning for him. Being a mother was difficult and of course, so was Seonghwa’s job. Yet, he also had duties as husband and a father, which he seemed eager to abandon altogether.

“Why can’t you try to understand how difficult it is for me to do all of this? So much pressure at work, then I come to you going on about some stupid dinner with your parents!” He shouted, she flinched at the dissonance of his noxious tone reverberating off the walls of the small study- biting down at her lip.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”

“Sorry, my arse. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be fucking nagging in my ear all the time, would you?” He barked, as she sped out of the room. It had been three weeks since she had, politely and quietly, asked her husband if he was free to attend her mother’s dinner party. He refused, erratically, and despite having apologised with saccharine kisses and diligent promises, he didn’t turn up to dinner in the end.

“Oh he’s busy Mum. He’s seeing to some of the lab work, you know how stressful it was for me.” Her father complained light-heartedly, raising how unfair it was of him to neglect his family.

“Do you want to me have a chat with him? I can give him a good word.” Hastily, she steered her father away from that direction. The last thing she needed was Seonghwa to turn around and blame her for the earache her father would give.

With a relentless sigh, she sat up reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand. His eyes flickered at her movements, lips moving up and down to form the shape of the words as he silently committed them to memory, forming judicious links between the knowledge and application.

“Seonghwa.” She called out for him, he hummed in return, barely reeling his eyes off the page. Please look at me. “I was thinking about going back to work again. I contacted my manager about restarting and at the moment I would only need to go in for about two days or so.” Shutting his book close, he finally met her stare deep in contemplative thought.

“Do you think you can work and take care of Dami at the same time?” He questioned. She had thought about this several times before she dialled in her manager’s number. As much as she had inherited her father's kind-hearted nature, stunning beauty, and soft-spoken voice in the end it was the passivity she had drawn from her mother naturally rendering herself subservient to prioritise ones needs over her own. Essentially, if she had told Dami to keep her lips on a tight seal and remain of the sofa the whole day: she would.

“I’m sure I can as long as she's in sight. She'll be in nursery from September, so I'll be able to start work.” He fell a little quiet, turning to drop his book onto the night stand.

“Ok, if that’s what you want. If you need me to come home earlier, I mean I can’t at the moment, but in a few weeks time if you need me to-then I will.” Nodding, she sent him a grateful smile before sliding back under the covers to turn her night light off.

Her heels clicked, exasperatedly, on the porcelain white floor dashing straight through the double doors; her heart pounded furiously against her chest, a violent ache gnawing at her arteries. With her body almost barging into a number of figures, her anxious apologies echoed into the swamped corridors, in which her colleagues shook their tired heads in annoyance. Finally, reaching the top floor she scuttled out of the elevator catching the eyes of Mrs Lee.

"Lab coat, darling, lab coat." Squealing, she unbuttoned the off-white coat, scowling at the permanent pen marks and splashes of iodine before handing it to Mr Kim's assistant. Mrs Lee, threw the coat onto her seat, gesticulating for the young scientist to follow her. After a short knock, the heavy glass door was pushed open; several pairs of eyes darting their way.

"Ah, Miss Cheong! How nice of you to join us!" Hongjoong exclaimed, a teasing glint in her eyes that wanted to make her wipe the smirk of his lips.

"My apologies, Mr Kim, we ran into a problem down at the lab." She explained, a blush forging on her cheeks as a grave set of eyes burned into her skin.

"No worries. This is Miss Cheong, she will be our project lead on the next Kim-Park program." The Kim-Park program was founded by Kim Hongjoong of Kim Pharma and Park Seonghwa of Park Pharmaceuticals. With both companies leading the pharmaceutical industry, both founders decided in order to produce a greater economic boom, and serve an excellent supply chain of mandatory medicine; both of their greatest minds could work together to create poignant breakthroughs in scientific sector. After all, the two companies had the countries top scientists working for them but together they could very well improve the nature of modern medicine. Hence, today both CEO’s came together for a kick off meeting establishing the blueprint for their next, biggest projects.

"'No worries?'" A derisive voice arose from across the room, where she snapped her head to find a man wide eyes and thin-rimmed square glasses that sat at the bridge of his long nose, staring back at her. His long, slicked back hair that fell past his ears as he, mockingly, cocked his head to the side in amusement. "I didn't know Kim Pharma tolerated tardiness, Mr Kim." Returning his stare back to Hongjoong, he raised an eyebrow anticipating his answer.

“What was the problem down at the lab?”

“House fire." She retorted, "And I had to assign interns some lab work. Kim Pharma doesn't tolerate tardiness Mr Park but your project manager doesn't seem to be here? We'd have valued him being present at the kick off meeting." His face heated red in embarrassment as he gritted his teeth.

Park Seonghwa was insufferable.

The worst thing about him wasn't even that he was pedantic and scrutinised her work with a keen eye, or that his sharp attention-to-detail left her wanting to force him to chug a beaker of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It was that under his strictly co-ordinated demeanour, he was a beautiful man blessed with an angel's aura. It was that he was tall and that his voice could hypnotise her; send her lunging over a precipice into the expanse of uncharted oceans. At times his allure had her wanting to excuse her pathetic hatred. They bickered at every meeting, every email was sent with 'Regards' rather than 'Kind Regards'. It wasn't long before the bickering had transgressed to shouting in the boardroom as he began to question her teachings, snickering at every intellectual point she made as if she had not graduated from university with the same degree as himself.

"You forgot to add that cisplatin is a cis isomer." He stated, as she sat across from her in his office. This time, she didn't bother to retain herself from rolling her eyes. "A problem, Miss Cheong?"

"Who's reading this report, Mr Park? A high school student or the manufacturer? Any man with common sense and college level chemistry knows that cisplatin is a cis isomer. Do you want me to also write down that it has a square planar shape with a bond angle of 90 degrees?" She snapped, leaning back in her chair with a disgusted look. He smirked taking off his glasses, cleaning the lens with the hem of his blazer sleeve. Dear god. Sedate me.

"No, but you do need to explain how cisplatin works in detail. It only works as cis isomer, not trans. You didn't specify that."

"You're incredibly pedantic." Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his perfectly defined nose, the smirk remained fixed on his lips. "I'm not surprised people are handing in resignations, at your company, every week."

"They can leave if they wish, lazy people don't contribute to Park Pharmaceuticals' success." Oh and he was cocky too. As well as being a pretty face full of wits, Park Seonghwa was also wrought with egotism that made her want to wrangle his gorgeous, slender neck. "Have you ever considered joining our company?" A snicker escaped from her lips which eventually transcended into a laughter that wholly baffled him.

"I'm afraid I'd be a part of that sorry statist-,"

"I'm sorry for being an arsehole, Miss Cheong. Can I make it up to you?" And when she questioned him how he would make it up to her, he proposed the idea of a date. All he wanted was her, regardless of her much she was everything he was not. “Go on a date with me, please.” He blurted, with her feet rooted to the ground and lips falling into a thin line his heart palpitated within his chest. He sought the way her hair fell over her shoulders in light waves having ripped it from its knot after she walked out of the lab. Her pink lips were practically begging to be touched by his, he wanted to soothe the symphony of weary sighs that dispersed from her, and the headache that wracked her brain from his abstruse behaviour. Above all, he was falling in love with Miss Cheong because he despised her in such a paradoxical way. He hated the way she was smarter than him and beautiful in the way that she must have been carved from the clouds of heaven.

It often made her giggle at Hongjoong's astonishment when she handed him the wedding invitation. His excitement when he ripped open the seal to read Seonghwa's name as the groom, dropped the smile from his face as he looked at his college friend.

"You're marrying the enemy?" She shook her head at him, almost scolding him for deeming Seonghwa the 'enemy'. "This isn't what I meant when I said 'Fuck Park Seonghwa." Lobbing the pillow at his head, he dramatically sunk into his sofa as their childlike laughter eructed into the blithe atmosphere.

It had felt like a distant dream now, to be loved and adored in the ways that he once did. To be held as if every touch was their last, to be kissed as if their lips would never meet again and they were lovers in the midst of an age-old war that would tear their nimble hearts apart. To have her husband again and not a dispassionate demon who tore past the gates of hell and inflict all the condemned’s curses on her.

Giving you my all, giving you my everything. Laying my life down at your feet, stripping myself of my own honour just to feel something by you. A glance, a breath, a sigh. You tell me to leave- I don’t mean anything to you anymore.

"Hwa, you could have at least told me you weren't going to go in the first place. Then I wouldn't have gone to the company party." Sat at the foot of the bed, he pulled the jumper over his torso, pulling his trapped hair out from the neck hole. He bit his tongue as his wife rebuked him for his absence, once again. "Do you know how humiliating it was for me to be the only one sat without her husband there?"

"I told you I was going to run late."

"You were four hours late, and you're a half an hour drive to the office! Why didn't you say no, in the first place?" Tearing the earring out from her lobe, she sunk into the chair trying her hardest to not slip into tears; the sympathetic stares of hundreds etched into her memory. How stupid did she look for being dressed so ostentatiously, when the real jewel was not even in her possession? The clatter of pearls emptied into the drawers, hands buried into palm of her hands closing her eyes to relive the myriad of dejection. They never said marriage was this painful. Hard, yes. But not painful. "Hwa, do you love me?" She inquired, turning around in her seat.

"What?"

"It's as simple as you think. Do. You. Love. Me?" Her voice wavered as she asked him, the distant stare in his eyes revealed answers to the questions that she did not want answered.

“If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have married you. Or given you a beautiful daughter. I miss one, silly, company event and you start throwing a tantrum.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve completely abandoned me!” Her shout restituted off the thin light blue walls, jumping from her seat at his petty arguments. “You are such a terrible husband and you make me feel trapped in this marriage!”

“And you fucking suffocate me! You suffocate me!” He roared across the room, his strident tone penetrating through her, grazing down the surface of her heart. Rupturing the weak seams that held it together. Stumbling backwards, her palms gripped onto the mahogany table; shaking, biting down her lip to prevent a sob from escaping. "The only time I felt like I could ever breathe, in this marriage, was when I was not with you. When I was at work, or with the others, or just anywhere else. But never with you." Dipping her head, away from him, she shut her eyes as tight as she could.

"Please stop." she whispered, a plead so quiet it almost went unspoken. Yet Seonghwa heard it anyway because no matter how angry he was, their souls were still intertwined. Their hearts beat as one, they were uniform, one whole being. Slowly, he treaded towards her, mimicking the dip of head.

"Why? Can't you take the truth?" he mocked. Full tears pooled in her eyes, her chest burning from holding in her breath. "I should divorce you." He proclaimed, without a stutter. That was enough to break her. An obnoxious wail infiltrated into the void of the room. Was that what he wanted? To provoke some sort of emotion from her to satisfy his ego? He scoffed, before darting from the room-slamming the door shut behind him. Wrought with tears she trudged to her bed, slipping under the covers; sobbing herself unconscious.

"Mummm. Ammiii. Ammaaa." A small voice whispered, the softness soothing the persisting ache in her chest. Holding back the smile ready to break through, she fixed her eyes shut waiting to see what her daughter would do next.

"Dami, let your mother sleep. Come on." The urge to smile had dropped instantaneously, the familiar sense of forlorn gushing into her again; his sweet, addictive voice puncturing holes into her heart.

"I'm hungry." She could hear the pout on her daughter's lips. Huffing, she groaned loudly snapping at her daughters attention, who jumped up and down in excitement of her mother awaking. Reaching out for her child, she picked her up settling her down on her laps. "Mama, I'm hungry." She squeaked.

"Have you washed up yet?" She shook her head. "Ok, let me go to the bathroom first. Then I'll help you."

"I'll help her wash up." Seonghwa offered. Refusing to look at him, she simply gave him a curt nod, the sight of his face wanting to make her erupt into a fit of sobs.

"I promise I'll never make you cry." He had promised, before their marriage. They sat under the stars, the cool wind brushing at their cheeks. Astronomy books sat scattered around her as she attempted to map out constellations in the beaming night.

"And if you do?" She challenged, playfully smirking. With a cute frown he gave her a nudge.

"I promise I won't but in the 0.00001 percent chance that I do, then you should leave me. You’re worth more than the moon to me, and to hurt you is the deadliest sin I can commit." He immediately leaned forward to swoop her into a deep kiss- both of them smiling as they did. The memory of his now-broken promise brought tears to her eyes again. Tightly pressing her palm to her mouth, to hold back her cries, she sucked in yet another breath. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Gripping onto the bathroom sink until her knuckles bled white, her knees hit the floor. Nicking the handle of the tap- tears freely flowed down her cheeks as the water rushed through the basin at rapid speed. I want my baby back.

Feeling the heavy burden of a collapsing marriage, her shoulders sunk as she chopped at the onions, preparing their dinner. Dami sat on the stool by the kitchen island, with her mini crayons scribbling over the pictures in the colouring book.

“Mama, why did Appa sleep in my room yesterday?” Scraping the onions into the pan, she grabbed the wooden spoon to stir it.

“He was missing his little princess. He wasn’t causing you trouble, was he?” She teased, sending her a forced smile. God, it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay happy. To smile was to pain her cheeks, they felt more contented relaxed than to uplift and radiate an aura of joy that didn’t seem to exist within her anymore.

“He’s so big, I fell off bed.” She snorted, laughing at her child’s proclamation. It was not long before a thought occurred to her that whenever they slept in the same bed- it was always her that took up the most room-rather than him. A fond memory occurred to her, specifically a night where her body was plastered to his.

“Ah, jagi, can you move a little? I’m up against the window?” Her body shuffled slightly to the left, giving him room to breathe a little bit more. “Thank god.” He huffed out a sigh of relief, her lips fell into a pout- as she rolled further away from him towards the edge of the bed. If space was what he wanted, then she was going to give it to him. Seonghwa’s arm outstretched for her, the cold air battering his skin was no comfort, he wanted her again. A tantalising laugher infiltrated the air, he shuffled closer to her pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“Never mind I need my cuddly bunny.” He sang, nestling his face into the crook of her neck. Now, she couldn’t remember the last time he had held her so close to himself. If anything, he needed the space now and rested just less than a metre apart from her each night.

“It was nice! Appa is a teddy bear.”

“Am I, my princess?” Turning away from the doorway, she opened the cupboard to reach for the spices, shielding her melancholic face away from him. The sweet dissonance of giggling entered her ears, if he had no love to spare for her at least he had enough to spare for his daughter. “Ahem, I’m going on a business dinner tonight.”

“Ok.” Seonghwa watched her, resting his hand on the top of his daughter’s head who went straight back to colouring in the flowers in her book-switching to a pink crayon at that. “What time will you be home?” He shrugged, then quickly noticed that with her back to him she wouldn’t see.

“I don’t know. Don’t wait up.” How could he say that knowing that there wasn’t a night in their marriage where she didn’t sit patiently on the sofa, waiting for him to come back home. Even on the days where he warned her he’d be back a lot later than usual. Regardless, she’d stay plastered to the sofa switching from the tv, to her phone, to a random book-eyes continuously flickering to clock- skipping to the kitchen to shove snacks into her mouth, as she’d never eat without him.

The urge to erupt into a fit of sobs inclined, chewing on her lip violently provided her with enough solace to finish making dinner, feed her daughter and put her to bed. Then at last, when she closed the curtains to her bedroom, a hushed cry escaped her; spending the rest of her night as she did prior, wailing and wailing until fatigue had lulled her weary heart to sleep. The creak of the door went unnoticed to her, Seonghwa crept in; her sleeping figure rested in the bed, the comforter dragged over her head. He sighed, contemplating whether to slip beside her or retreat back to Dami’s room for the night.

This sequence continued for the next few weeks, every night she would cry herself to sleep and Seonghwa would sleep in Dami’s bed. It wasn’t even their room at this point, it was hers with Seonghwa’s things in it-just like her flat pre-marriage. Her room with Seonghwa’s books, few pieces of clothes and odd bits of trinkets. One morning she woke up to find a stack of papers on her nightstand. Fear coursed through her blood, were these the divorce papers that he had suggested to her? Rifling through the papers, her heart soothed as soon as she realised they were just Dami’s crayon drawings. Stick figures of Appa, Amma, and little Dami in the middle. Drawings of flowers, then one just of Amma and Appa, a big heart between them. If only that were true. If only his heart still beat for her the same way hers beat for him.

She heard his voice trail out of the study, as she almost raised her hands to knock and summon him downstairs for lunch. The rapid muttering halted her movements, instead she tentatively pressed her ears against the door to assess the situation.

“Yes, honey, I’ll be there soon…She’s pissing me off right now. I’m trying to get the papers set at the moment…I don’t know about a few more weeks?” Slapping her hand to her mouth, she squeezed her lips shut to prevent any pained sounds from releasing. Honey? There was another woman? And the papers? Was he really, truly, trying to divorce her? Rushing to the bathroom, she slammed the door shut, flipping the tap back open to relive the same endless cycle.

“I’m going on a work trip to Japan, for a week. We have an important business meeting. I might need you take care of Dami by yourself.” His head snapped from up Dami’s unfinished Lego project. She’d fallen asleep when playing, so her father took it upon herself to finish building the set.

“You should have asked me beforehand. You can’t just accept to go offshore, and then give me a week’s notice.” He scolded, playing with the pink block between his fingers.

“I only got told today. I tried to call you whilst I was still in office, but I couldn’t get through to you.” Sighing, his shoulders slumped as he shook his head in disappointment. It appeared that Mrs Park was also refraining important matters from her husband; making decisions of her own that they promised they’d always make together. An uncomfortable silence remained suspended in the tense air, shifting uncomfortably in her spot as she awaited for him to say something else. Even if it was to belittle her, she urged to hear the sound of his voice.

“If you cared enough about me, you’d know I’m busy too.” Chewing down on her lip, she held back a painful sigh. There it is. “We’ll be with my parents for a week while you’re gone. When’s your flight?”

“Sunday night.” Nodding, he scooped up the remaining pieces on the floor pouring them back into the packet before getting up himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

The work trip to Japan was just as tranquil as she anticipated, the host company was as hospitable as they could be. The days were cut short, the air silent subsiding one into deep thought, even if they denied themselves the pleasures of having to think. With her knees tucked up to her chest, she stared out onto the vast market of skyscrapers, the teeming arena beneath contributing the noises that fell deaf at her ears. She needed to leave the home, its confining airs strangling the lumen of her windpipe. She didn't exactly know what to do now that it was confirmed: Seonghwa did not love her. The declaration was enough to send her into delirium, enough to have her jolting up at night; drowning in cold sweats, preaching his name like a mantra. The flight home did not come soon enough, she boarded the plane with such eagerness and drenched even further in pain when she was assigned the seat next to her colleague and her husband.

Nervously, she dialled in his number once more hurriedly, tapping her feet against the cobbled footpath; her free hand latched onto the sweaty handle of the suitcase. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Being met by the voicemail service was disheartening, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind blew harsh against her skin sending a ripple of goosebumps over her.

"Mrs Park, is your taxi late?" Whipping her head around to find her colleague, she shook her head in dismay. "Do you need a lift? We don't live too far from each other."

Pushing through the large wooden gates of his childhood home, she adjusted the straps of her back pack lifting her head to find the blaring of orange lights through the slits between the window blinds. A small bustle of activity could be heard from the other end, tentatively, her fingers rose to provoke the silver door knocker.

"I'll get the door!" His voice floated through the surface, reaching out to caress the aches on her skin bruised wholly by him. As soon as their eyes met across the doorway, the smile was wiped clean from his lips. “Oh god, I’m sorry, it had completely slipped my mind-,”

“You don’t forget things, Hwa. The truth is: it didn’t slip from your mind, you just didn’t care.” You haven’t cared about me for a very long time. You haven’t loved me in a long time. I am no longer your wife but just Dami’s mother, to you. Though some sort of vile emotion named fear had prevented her from saying those words, becoming lodged at the crux of her throat, floating on the tip of her tongue.

The worst thing was, he didn’t say anything. He was silent, unwilling to reckon against her and fight for their marriage again. When did he become so passive? Up until now, when was there a day in their relationship when he didn’t fight to keep her at his side? Trudging into the household, the warmth lacerated her skin, taking off her shoes as the pattering of small feet came her way. A small body engulfed her larger frame, the delightful giggles of her daughter infiltrated her ears as her mother finally came home to her.

"We ate sooo much food. We had tteokbokki, dakgalbi, ramen. Halmeoni tried to make me eat yaksik but it was nasty." Letting out a tired moan she fell onto the floorboard, Dami crawling on top of her, as her mother-in-law stuffed her with enough food to last her a century.

"Ugh, Dami. Please get off Amma, my tummy is going to explode."

"Halmeoni! Amma ate too much!"

"Your Amma didn't eat enough!" Eomeonim shouted back from the kitchen. Seonghwa ambled into the room settling a cup of green tea in front of her, whilst simultaneously lifting Dami from her stomach. There was an uncomfortable silence amongst them as their daughter, oblivious to the obvious tension between her parents, entertained them nevertheless by dancing around the room and singing. He left the room in between to see to his mother in the kitchen. Feeling terrible for leaving her to tend to the mound of dishes, she carried behind walking straight into the enemy's territory.

“Are you stupid, boy? How could you even suggest a divorce?” She hissed. “It was only yesterday when you came running to me, with your eyes so full of love. Where is that love now?”

“People change.” He deadpanned, hot tears fulfilled her eyes, blurring her vision as she rushed back to the front room.

“We’re going, now!” She ordered, a pout on her daughter’s face grazed the surface of her heart. She couldn’t stand here, and hear her husband declare that he didn’t love her anymore. She couldn’t watch the love of her life slip from the tips of her fingers, whilst she sunk beneath the earth under her feet. She grabbed his car keys, from his jacket. “We’re going home, eomeonim. I need to go into the office, tomorrow. Thank you so much for taking care of Dami.” Kissing the top of her mother’s head, she slipped on her shoes before carrying Dami out of the home. Seonghwa followed hot on her heels.

“Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?”

“Home, Hwa.” The lock clicked out of the place, she jerked open the car door to fasten her daughter into the seat ignoring her cries and pleads to stay at her grandmother’s. “Dami! Quiet!” She roared, the same way Seonghwa would shout at her for nights on end for doing nothing other than being his wife.

“Stop acting like a child and come back inside right now!” He commanded.

“I won’t, Hwa. Because the next time I go back in and let myself be hurt by you, I’ll have no one to blame but me.” He fell quiet, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat. “I am the still the girl who would wait nights for her husband to come home to her. But you are no longer the boy that would walk straight into her arms.” Choking on her sobs, she jerked open the car door to slip inside, her daughter calling out for her father. After all, they were the same woman. Both so utterly in love with the same man that could not love them both in the ways one could dream of being in love. For being in love with him was asking for annihilation, his devotion unreachable like the stars studded in the midnight sky. Was he not made from the stars? An angel borne from light, whose banner was a celestial plane that would diminish the human essence in a heartbeat? Steering the car out of his driveway, Seonghwa stood plastered to the floor a single tear dropping from his eye as he felt his soul meander away from him.

That night, when they reached home, Dami was tight in her arms after having cried the whole journey home from missing her father. Eventually, exhaustion overpowered her and she reluctantly slept in her mother’s arms. She was so sure now that her daughter thought she was the villain for ripping her away from her father. Nuzzling her small face deeper into her mother’s neck, she felt her bottom lip tremble as she called out for her father.

There was no need to frantically run to the post box every time a letter slipped through, meeting the ground with a loud thud. Though, she did it anyway, with little Dami scuttling behind her as if she was expecting a letter herself though deep down Mrs Park knew that she wanted her Appa to come home. It had been a month having not heard back from him. No messages or calls. After work, she ventured over to his office only to be turned away by his assistant; catching a quick glance at his shadow through his window.

“I have to make an appointment to see my own husband?” She uttered through gritted teeth, though the woman in front merely nodded, disinterestedly. “When is Mr Park next available?” The jarring clatter against the keyboard gnawed at her ear drums, annoyance fulfilling her.

Fuck this. Rushing to the handle of his door, she keeled it open storming inside-the loud slam of the door jumping him up from where he sat in his seat. The assistant rushed behind, squawking about how she had to leave.

“Cilla, it’s ok. Go do your job.” He ordered, softly with his eyes fixated on his wife. She didn’t expect him to look this way, the clean, composed Seonghwa now with tousled hair and small dark circles under his eyes. Eyes bloodshot red as if he had been crying for weeks on end, exhaustion piling in them. His sunken face as if he had not eaten for weeks-Seonghwa, not eating? The same man who used to kiss her hands and go for seconds, claiming there must have been some magic in them for she made such delicious food?

“Dami is getting upset. She misses her Dad. The least you could is come home and see her, so she doesn’t think that her father abandoned her too.”

“I’ve been busy-,”

“You’ll always be busy, Hw-Seonghwa. But not busy enough that you can’t spare an hour or two to see your daughter.” She spat, storming straight out of his office, sending the assistant a dirty look on her way to the elevator.

“Appa!” Dami’s animated tone weighed down her father’s heart, his arms wide open as she jumped into them. Fixing her spot by the kitchen doorway she watched as her husband play with her daughter. After a few hours, when they had put Dami to sleep, they sat with each other in the front room Seonghwa pulling out an envelope from his work satchel.

“The-uh- papers. Divorce papers.” A pang struck through her, hands shaking as she reached out for them.

“As her mother, I’ll have custody over her. You should be allowed to see her every week, so maybe the weekend?” Her voice quivered, slightly as she opened up the seal of the envelope, its woody scent wafting up her nose. With little energy, to pull out the form- she settled it onto the coffee table. “We’ll move to my mother’s house.” She trailed off biting down on her lip as Seonghwa closed his eyes shut.

“That’s fine. You can just post it to the lawyer. I’d like to see Dami at my office next week, could you do that?” Nodding diligently, she owed him that much. He’d be counting down the days soon until he’d rarely see his daughter. How would they tell her Amma and Appa weren’t as happy as they were in the drawings?

Her eyes scoured over the woman sat in front of him, as she opened the door to his office. God, she was beautiful with her long, black, silky hair, siren eyes, her chic office look. Everything she was not, though she had managed to pick herself up and put a lot more effort than she usually did with her fitted suit, hair tied back into a sleek bun-held up by the closest pen she could find on her dressing table since her silver claw clip was nowhere in sight. Was she the woman he was going to leave her for? She couldn’t even blame him at this point, why keep something expired when you could throw it away and have something new? Gripping onto the straps of her handbag, she slowly let go of her daughter’s hand who ran to her father’s side.

“Gaeun, this is my wife Mrs Park.” Timidly Gaeun shook her hand. Gaeun saw Mrs Park as an intimidating woman, with her silent face as she ambled into the room with her daughter, her neat hair, pointed heels and tailored skirt that accentuated her curves. She matched Mr Park’s daunting presence perfectly, and of course her intelligence was known to all as well as her insistence to remain at his rivals’ company. “Dear, this is Gaeun- she’s one of the project leads on the next Kim-Park collaboration.”

“I see.” Her head picked up, giving both parties a short nod before leaving the office. She reckoned there was enough to time to make it to her own company and break down in the toilets before beginning the work day.

The rain thundered down from the sky on a solemn afternoon, the clatter of dishes being returned to the cupboards entailing the home; followed the thundering knock at the door. Peeking into the peep hole, the swung the door open, she pulled her husband in immediately rushing around him as he jerked off his shoes.

“Into the shower now.” Without hesitation, he grabbed his clothes from her bedroom before soundlessly making his way into the shower. She only assumed he had come to their home for the signed papers, it had been a while since he’d given them to her; though all she could think about was the way her pen could not even touch the sheet. The door to the study creaked open, as she bit her lip with the unsigned line glaring back at her.

“I haven’t- I haven’t signed the paper, yet.” His breath hitched in his throat, inching closer and closer to her. With the tickle in her throat pervasive, the pen neared the line her heart shattering with every second that her hands rebuked the damned sheet in front. How did she even do her signature?

“I’m sorry that you fell in love with me. I’m sorry that you married me. I’m sorry that I’m not enough. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the perfect wife for you.” She blurted, the pen falling from her fingers onto the table. He called out her name, drawing forward arms outstretched to encircle her into him. To hold her as tight and as true as she deserved. To fulfil her of kisses that he had deprived her of, to ease her of her pain. Though she stopped him in his tracks, with a palm to censor his movements. “No, Hwa. I haven’t been enough for you for a very long time. I must have done something wrong for you to hurt me like this, I must have done something much worse than what you’ve done to me. I just wished you spoke to me than gave me this stupid sheet and trying to end us in a single heartbeat.” An agonising wail left her lips, as she dropped to the floor tucking up her knees to her chest. Her lungs burned, desperate for air running her fingers through her hair as she slowly breathed out to ease the throbbing sensation loitering at her temples. He sunk to the floor with her, engulfing her frame within his. His jumper so soft, drenched in the scent that she adored. The same scent that he wore when they first met. Her bottom lip quivered again.

“You did nothing, it was all me. I forgot who I was, I forgot it was you who gave me life.” Her tears stained his shirt, he held her closer to his body. “I came to here to change your mind. I didn’t want you to sign those papers. I was so scared you had.” Their bodies rocked back and forth as the painful sound of her sobbing gradually declined.

“I couldn’t do it.” She whispered, her throat sore from this prolonging nightmare. Kissing away her tears, his fingers gently tilted up her head so he could bore his eyes in her beautiful ones. “I just need to know if there’s another woman. If there is, and you love her the same way you loved me, you can have her.”

“There was never another woman. It was always you I swear.” He pledged, as his own tears rushed down his face tickling his jawline before pattering carefully on his sweater. “I was just a poor excuse of a man, a poor excuse of a husband. I admit that I felt like you’d never leave me, but when I realised you really could it hurt me so much.” Drawing lines over his sweatshirt she listened to the sweet sound of his voice whisper into her ears.

“I’ll be a better man. I’ll work on me, and you can just keep on being a great wife and mother.” Their lips met in a frenzy of emotions, their palpitating hearts enamouring their befallen entities as passionate kisses filled the wounds that penetrated through them. His hands snaked around her waist, as hers ran through his long hair emitting a husky groan out of him. “Do you think Dami would like a sibling?” Whacking the back of his head, they deepened the kiss before she happily rested her head against his chest.

“Maybe, but not now. Right now, you need to come home to us.”

“It’s just you and me now. Nothing’s going to hurt you baby.”

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

cheong meaning 'quiet' 'eomeonim' means mother-in-law (husband's side) 'halmeoni' means grandma

A/N: i'm sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, i'm going on some meds soon and i have no idea how shit i'm gonna feel while on them. wanted to update in case i have no energy to release something else for a while😖 Hope you guys liked this one! ✨✨

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

#ateez #kpop #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #park seonghwa #seonghwa #seonghwa x you

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the-midnight-blooms · 3 months ago

Text

me and my husband | psh

pairing: CEO!park seonghwa x scientistwife!reader AU: modern au word count: 6.3k

masterlist

In the midst of a fragile soul dwindling under the aches of animosity, the married couple laid in bed with their backs facing each other. The husband, Park Seonghwa, an esteemed CEO of a pharmaceutical company ‘Park Pharmaceuticals.’ had the front board of the book lodged into the silk casing of his pillow with his other hand steadying it so he could still, quite painfully, scan his eyes over the text. Agitated, he got up with a grunt before sitting up to finish the chapter of his book. With his scientists publishing reports on the latest medicine they were developing, he immediately rushed back to his university textbooks to affirm he was still equipped with the necessary knowledge to understand the science. Meanwhile, Mrs Park- a research scientist at Park Pharmaceuticals' rival company, ‘Kim Pharma.’ was battling against her insomnia despite motherhood knocking her straight off her feet. Their daughter, Park Dami, was fast asleep in the room next door to Seonghwa’s study cuddling the little Toothless toy he had gifted her when she was still a cherub. It had seemed that Mrs Park was prone to falling asleep at the most odd times of day, whether it be during dinner or cleaning the home.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”

“Oh he’s busy Mum. He’s seeing to some of the lab work, you know how stressful it was for me.” Her father complained light-heartedly, raising how unfair it was of him to neglect his family.

“I’m sure I can as long as she's in sight. She'll be in nursery from September, so I'll be able to start work.” He fell a little quiet, turning to drop his book onto the night stand.

"Ah, Miss Cheong! How nice of you to join us!" Hongjoong exclaimed, a teasing glint in his eyes that wanted to make her wipe the smirk of his lips.

"My apologies, Mr Kim, we ran into a problem down at the lab." She explained, a blush forging on her cheeks as a grave set of eyes burned into her skin.

"No worries. This is Miss Cheong, she will be our project lead on the next Kim-Park program." The Kim-Park program was founded by Kim Hongjoong of Kim Pharma and Park Seonghwa of Park Pharmaceuticals. With both companies leading the pharmaceutical industry, both founders decided in order to produce a greater economic boom, and serve an excellent supply chain of mandatory medicine; both of their greatest minds could work together to create poignant breakthroughs in the scientific sector. After all, the two companies had the countries top scientists working for them but together they could very well improve the nature of modern medicine. Hence, today both CEO’s came together for a kick off meeting establishing the blueprint for their next, biggest projects.

"'No worries?'" A derisive voice arose from across the room, where she snapped her head to find a man with wide eyes and thin-rimmed square glasses that sat at the bridge of his long nose, staring back at her. His long, slicked back hair that fell past his ears as he, mockingly, cocked his head to the side in amusement. "I didn't know Kim Pharma tolerated tardiness, Mr Kim." Returning his stare back to Hongjoong, he raised an eyebrow anticipating his answer.

“What was the problem down at the lab?”

Park Seonghwa was insufferable.

"No, but you do need to explain how cisplatin works in detail. It only works as cis isomer, not trans. You didn't specify that."

"I'm afraid I'd be a part of that sorry statist-,"

"I told you I was going to run late."

"What?"

"It's as simple as you think. Do. You. Love. Me?" Her voice wavered as she asked him, the distant stare in his eyes revealed answers to the questions that she did not want answered.

“If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have married you. Or given you a beautiful daughter. I miss one, silly, company event and you start throwing a tantrum.”

"Have you washed up yet?" She shook her head. "Ok, let me go to the bathroom first. Then I'll help you."

"I'll help her wash up." Seonghwa offered. Refusing to look at him, she simply gave him a curt nod, the sight of his face wanting to make her erupt into a fit of sobs.

"And if you do?" She challenged, playfully smirking. With a cute frown he gave her a nudge.

“Mama, why did Appa sleep in my room yesterday?” Scraping the onions into the pan, she grabbed the wooden spoon to stir it.

“It was nice! Appa is a teddy bear.”

“You should have asked me beforehand. You can’t just accept to go offshore, and then give me a week’s notice.” He scolded, playing with the pink block between his fingers.

“Sunday night.” Nodding, he scooped up the remaining pieces on the floor pouring them back into the packet before getting up himself. “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

"Mrs Park, is your taxi late?" Whipping her head around to find her colleague, she shook her head in dismay. "Do you need a lift? We don't live too far from each other."

"Ugh, Dami. Please get off Amma, my tummy is going to explode."

"Halmeoni! Amma ate too much!"

“Are you stupid, boy? How could you even suggest a divorce?” She hissed. “It was only yesterday when you came running to me, with your eyes so full of love. Where is that love now?”

“People change.” He deadpanned, hot tears fulfilled her eyes, blurring her vision as she rushed back to the front room.

“Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?”

“Stop acting like a child and come back inside right now!” He commanded.

“Dami is getting upset. She misses her Dad. The least you could is come home and see her, so she doesn’t think that her father abandoned her too.”

“I’ve been busy-,”

“Appa!” Dami’s animated tone weighed down her father’s heart, his arms wide open as she jumped into them. Fixing her spot by the kitchen doorway she watched as her husband played with her daughter. After a few hours, when they had put Dami to sleep, they sat with each other in the front room Seonghwa pulling out an envelope from his work satchel.

“The-uh- papers. Divorce papers.” A pang struck through her, hands shaking as she reached out for them.

“As her mother, I’ll have custody over her. You should be allowed to see her every week, so maybe the weekend?” Her voice quivered, slightly as she opened up the seal of the envelope, its woody scent wafting up her nose. With little energy, to pull out the form- she settled it onto the coffee table. “We’ll move to my mother’s house…” She trailed off biting down on her lip as Seonghwa closed his eyes shut.

“Gaeun, this is my wife Mrs Park.” Timidly, she shook her hand. Gaeun saw Mrs Park as an intimidating woman, with her silent face as she ambled into the room with her daughter, her neat hair, pointed heels and tailored skirt that accentuated her curves. She matched Mr Park’s daunting presence perfectly, and of course her intelligence was known to all as well as her insistence to remain at his rivals’ company. “Dear, this is Gaeun- she’s one of the project leads on the next Kim-Park collaboration.”

The rain thundered down from the sky on a solemn afternoon, the clatter of dishes being returned to the cupboards entailing the home; followed the thundering knock at the door. Peeking into the peep hole, she swung the door open, she pulled her husband in immediately rushing around him as he jerked off his shoes.

“I’m sorry that you fell in love with me. I’m sorry that you married me. I’m sorry that I’m not enough. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the perfect wife for you.” She blurted, the pen falling from her fingers onto the table. He called out her name, drawing forward arms outstretched to encircle her into him. To hold her as tight and as true as she deserved. To fulfil her of kisses that he had deprived her of, to ease her of her pain. Though she stopped him in his tracks, with a palm to censor his movements. “No, Hwa. I haven’t been enough for you for a very long time. I must have done something wrong for you to hurt me like this. I must have done something much worse than what you’ve done to me. I just wished you spoke to me than gave me this stupid sheet and trying to end us in a single heartbeat.” An agonising wail left her lips, as she dropped to the floor tucking up her knees to her chest. Her lungs burned, desperate for air running her fingers through her hair as she slowly breathed out to ease the throbbing sensation loitering at her temples. He sunk to the floor with her, engulfing her frame within his. His jumper so soft, drenched in the scent that she adored. The same scent that he wore when they first met. Her bottom lip quivered again.

“I’ll be a better man. I’ll work on me, and you can just keep on being a great wife and mother.” Their lips met in a frenzy of emotions, their palpitating hearts enamouring their befallen entities as passionate kisses filled the wounds that penetrated through them. His hands snaked around her waist, as hers ran through his long hair emitting a husky groan out of him. “Do you think Dami would like a sibling?” He joked, before being met by whack to the back of his head, they deepened the kiss before she happily rested her head against his chest.

“Maybe, but not now. Right now, you need to come home to us.”

“It’s just you and me now. Nothing’s going to hurt you baby.”

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

cheong meaning 'quiet' 'eomeonim' means mother-in-law (husband's side) 'halmeoni' means grandma

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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the-midnight-blooms · 3 months ago

Text

oh my god this means so much to me, thank you 🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 I love you more darling!

Till Death Do Us Park

pairing: yandere!park seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: modern au

word count: 7.9k

warnings: yandere themes, mentions of a miscarriage

masterlist

Obsession (n) : the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire. Obsessive (adj) : being, pertaining to, or resembling an obsession.

Her fingers ran down the brown page of the old dictionary, reeling in the words typed in classic typefaces of the past, the primitive vanilla scent reaching out to her. Gently she leaned her forehead against the window; the sway of the leaves, billowing, with the howl of the wind. The thin branches always reached out for her, and she wanted to grab onto them, allow it to ensnare its coarse body around her frame. To transgress from one form of entrapment to another. Moving between one space to another was to honour the mere notion of liberation. Freedom was her ecstasy, to get intoxicated on the thought had her stumbling down the hallways hands gripping onto the walls as the doors flung open. The void beckoned her, called for her, summoned her. She'd heed its call if only it wasn't for the shackles tied to her feet. Or for the demon that could penetrate his hand through her skin and ensnare his slender fingers around her spine; staggering her movements through the room he called his home. Under the guise of what he deemed: love.

"All you have to do is feel my love for you. Then you'll love me back all the same." Those words from the night after she married him, echoing within the pits of a dark chasm beneath her soul. Loving was a difficult emotion when she never had the privilege of experiencing it before. All this pent up sentiment and with nowhere to put it, loneliness was something she had to get used to.

Then there came Park Seonghwa.

He took that conviction without asking.

Seonghwa first saw her in a park, sat on a red and white checked blanket sketchbook on her laps, pencils scattered around her. One behind her ears, one between her puckered lips as she nimbly rubbed away at whatever mistake she had made. Alone, she came. Nothing but the comfort of herself to entertain her with no friends to listen to her, no husband to ease the persisting empty ache in her heart, not even a child to make her laugh with their extraordinary antics. Nothing but a vast emptiness contempt to haunt her. Thus she had the park with the rustle of the bushes, the laughter of children to cease the war roaming within her soul. Even the saccharine scent of the flowers eased the loneliness gnawing away at her. Seonghwa, too, was sat alone with a book spread across his laps enjoying the cool wind tousle his long hair. His wide eyes latched onto the shape of her perfect eyes, the smooth round of her cheeks, the curvature of her pink lips- her head snapped up feeling a pair of eyes burning into her. Searching the grass, high on some delusion that someone would willingly want to look at her, they finally bored into another's. Her muse. The man drawn on her sketchbook. Unbeknownst to Seonghwa, she had been hypnotised by his presence ever since she saw him. The face to the blurry man of her dreams, his sweet demeanour was enough to keep her intoxicated. She was an idiot for thinking that a man as gorgeous as himself would want anything to do with her.

To an extent it was concerning for herself to have a drawing of a stranger sitting in her notebook. Peering over at him through her lashes, he looked as if he wasn't going to leave anytime soon. Packing up her utensils and throwing them into her bag, she slung it over her shoulders sketchbook in hand. The beat of her heart quickened, as she approached him. Clearing her throat, his wide brown eyes piqued up. A pleasant smile rested upon his features as she timidly plucked up the courage to piece her words together.

"Hi, I actually drew you." Great start, that's not weird at all. Hastily, she handed over the piece of cartridge paper. Gently, he took it from her hands a small gasp escaping from his lips.

"It's great, thank you so much." Nodding, gratefully. “I- it’s very accurate.” He complimented, his beam so adorable it swayed her heart.

That’s all it took, didn’t it? He was a dream; eyes studded with stars scintillating in their wake. His name itself: “to be a star”. His soul, an unmapped constellation. There was something particular about him, like a magnet drawing her to his depths. Falling into his arms as if he was a safety net, enamouring her befallen entity. If only she knew not get trapped by a man’s insatiable beauty. Didn’t they say? A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

Where she had adored Seonghwa, the man had become fully infatuated with her. After work, he found himself outside her home peering through her window as she carried out mundane chores: folding and ironing laundry, vacuuming and dusting the home after her own working hours. Then on the weekends, like clockwork, she woke up at 9am, and left the house by 9:30 to walk to the supermarket and collect groceries. Occasionally she’d meet up with her ‘friends’, people she’d agree to hang around in hopes of having someone to talk to even if it wasn’t allowed to be about the way her mind was collapsing in on itself. Sometimes Seonghwa was present himself- just at the back of the coffee shop, in another aisle of the grocery store staring between the space in the shelves, head down staring at a book as they exchanged whispers in a bookshop.

When he had finally plucked the courage to talk to her, he’d bumped into her in the convenience store after work-where she was rendered under contemplative thought over which drink she wanted. Through her peripheral vision she caught Seonghwa staring at her from where he was stood with a few snacks in hand. A friendly smile dawned on her, giving him a wave to which Seonghwa issued as a sign to engage in a conversation.

“Hi! How are you?” She asked, almost a little too enthusiastically for her own liking.

“I’m great, how have you been?”

“I’m good. How is the drawing?” She teased, almost a failed attempt at a joke.

“I actually got it framed, it’s on my wall.” She laughed at him, but god knew Seonghwa was not joking. He indeed did get it framed, and it was proudly sitting on the wall of his study. Her arms outstretched from the door of the fridge, pulling it open to release a massive gust of cold air. Reaching for the coffee, Seonghwa subtly shook his head in dismay. He was concerned about her coffee consumption, she averaged about four to five cups of strong coffee a day. He’d change that. “Listen, I- I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?”

Her first biggest mistake was agreeing to the date. So destitute of attention she latched onto the idea of being with a handsome man at that-whose unfathomable beauty was what other's may have labelled as 'way out their league'. But how was she to know how insane the man was for her? On their first date, Seonghwa took her to an art museum.

"Who's your favourite artist?" she asked. It came as a surprise to her when he proposed the idea of going to an art museum. Out of all places, she didn't think art was Seonghwa's forte but his extensive knowledge of art movements had astounded her. His sweet honey voice was delightful, when he spoke it was almost as if flowers were falling from his lips.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti." The infamous obsessed artist himself. She gasped in surprise.

"He's my favourite too!" she chirped. But Seonghwa already knew, because he saw the art books aligned next to her anatomy books and pieces of Buonarroti's work on her messy worktop, littered with unscrewed paint bottles, pencils, paintbrushes and charcoal. At first he felt repulsed at her untidiness, but when he watched her clean up after herself afterwards he felt a swell of pride in his heart.

That’s my girl. She is so much like me and me, her.

“Do you draw?” She quizzed.

“Not really. I’d love to be your muse, I can sit perfectly still.” She giggled at him, shaking her head as she strolled further into the museum. At the end of their date, Seonghwa offered to walk her home as darkness befell among them.

“Will I see you again?” He questioned, as they stood outside her front porch.

“I think you will, as my muse.”

That was her second biggest mistake. Meeting up in cafe’s, parks, each other’s homes with hours filled with silence as she drew him. He learnt to draw from her, translating some of her tips and tricks for a true likeness. Instantly, she had become his muse. Gradually, the art dates had blossomed into something more. She’d come to terms with her feelings for him.

At this point, having her as his girlfriend wasn’t enough for him. He wanted all of her, every last part that existed. He wanted to come home to her every evening, her arms outstretched for him and only him. He wanted her to bear his children, to begin a family with him. He became so fanatic with this domestic fantasy, he began to start plotting ways to plaster her at his side. Especially when he came home one evening, and she was baking in his kitchen. Her hands, dusted with flour reached towards the Windsor knot. Pulling his tie, she leaned in pressing her lips to his to which he reciprocated. He smiled, placing his hand on her lower back, deepening the kiss.

“Welcome home, husband.” She joked, before shooing him out, to get changed for dinner. Slightly dazed, from the deep kiss, Seonghwa smiled to himself in the bathroom. She wants me too.

“Here.” He placed a cup of tea in front of her, a frown complacent. “No, no coffee for you madam. Too much coffee is not healthy, then you complain about not being able to sleep.” He nagged, repressing a smile she rolled her eyes playfully raising the hot beverage to her lips.

“Hold on, I need the bathroom. I’ll be back.” He nodded, occupying himself with the cookies. She skipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs of his home. Before she ambled down the steps, a door creaked open swaying back and forth; parrying against the push of the wind. Sauntering to the door, it hauled itself open the light from the hallway spilling into the room.

The sheets of paper littered upon the desks grabbed at her attention, allowing curiosity to get the best of her she inched forward. They were pictures of her. Pictures of her going to the grocery store, coming home from work, doing the laundry. Pictures of her bedroom, her sketchbooks, her work. Frantically, her hands gathered through every page dissolving the sight of every little thing about her sprawled across the pages. Copies of her birth certificate, her passport, bank details. Where had he obtained these? Tears rushed to the brim of her eyes, her mouth slapping her lips shut to prevent any sounds from escaping.

“Nae sarang! Are you ok?” He called from the bottom of the stairs. Holding back her tears, she left the sheets as they were rushing out of the room- closing the door, but not fully shut to raise suspicion. She descended down the stairs, her pale face raised Seonghwa’s attention. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I feel a bit unwell. My head is pounding.” She proclaimed, the truth nonetheless. She could barely even look into his eyes now, feeling vulnerable and stripped bare. He knew everything possible about her that there was to know. And for what reason?

“Have you started your period? You’re not due yet, you always start at the end of the month.” Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, god he knew that too? “Ach, don’t be shy you told me.” She didn’t remember telling him, ever.

“You know I keep sanitary towels in the cupboard if you need-,”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just exhausted.” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. She was full of energy when she first arrived at his home. What had happened that all of it had dissipated within a few minutes?

“Take some rest-,” she’d interrupted him once more, a sense of irritation fulfilling him.

“I’m going home.” Without a word more, she grabbed her bag from the kitchen and fled from the door as fast as she could. Seonghwa’s heart sunk in his chest, a pang settling deep as she left without kissing him- like she always did.

She didn’t call him once, after that night. Not even a message to ask him how he was. Sitting on her bed, with her knees tucked up and pressed against her chest, she pondered on what to do next. What was there even left to do? He knew everything about her, what were the chances he was still watching her in this very moment? She couldn’t go back to her hometown, he’d know where to look first. She didn’t have a friend’s house she could go to. She could move, but to where? There was the matter of her job, moving all of her personal belongings, then having to change her billing address on all legal documentation. That was fine, she could suppose, the real problem lay in how she was going to execute all of this without him knowing.

A ferocious knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts. Darting to the window, her eyes carefully peered outside to find the devil himself on her front step. As if he could sense her fixation, he looked up sending a patronising wave. Dear god, help me. Tentatively, the door unlocked Seonghwa teared through the open space; stumbling backwards as he strode to her. His pale hand settled on her cheek, bringing her closer to him.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why have you been ignoring me?” Words lodged in her front, pathetic stutters escaped her- unable to construct together a rational sentence.

“I’ve not been well, and I’ve been wanting to be alone.” Her reasoning was good enough, yet he knew that there was something brewing beneath the surface. After all, he found that the pictures in his office were not in the exact order that he’d had them in. He was particularly meticulous about that sort of thing.

“You could at least return my calls, no? What’s on your mind?” His soft voice no longer soothed the pervasive yearning that existed for centuries.

“I think we should break up, Seonghwa.” She stated, attempting the control her quivering voice. Balling up her palms into tights fists at her side, she avoided gazing into his eyes for they were wrought with such brutality.

“Why? What did I do wrong? What did you see?” Squeezing her eyes shut, her bottom lip began to tremble as he bombarded her with those treacherous questions. What did I do wrong? Everything and anything that was humanely possible for a man to do wrong. “WHY? WHY DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME?” He roared, tears burst through the banks, pitiful cries echoed into the home.

“The pictures!” She shouted, “The pictures, the birth certificate, the passport, everything. The way that you know things about me that I haven’t even told you, the way that you’ve thrown yourself into every aspect of my life and have left nothing for myself. The way that you attach yourself to me, its suffocating.” Heaving breaths infiltrated the empty space, pearl drops slid down her cheeks, the tears tickling her jawline as they gracefully blessed the floorboards beneath them. The objects in her line of sight all began to bleed together, her head pounding with an incessant pain.

“I need you to leave, Seonghwa. Before I file for a restraining order.” It was sheer stupidity that she had not gone and done that first, yet with the persisting fear and delusional hope that it had all just been some sick dream- she refused to go to the police station. Beads of sweat lined upon her brown, her body convulsing under his despotism.

“I’m not leaving.” He ordered, a cunning smirk falling on his perfect features. "You don't understand, my dear, how long I have wanted you. Do you think that now that I have you in the palm of my hand, I'm going to let you go?" Her heart began to palpitate, as the shaking of her body cultivated a booming agony that seemed to exponentialise.

"Took you long enough, do you feel it now?" He tutted, the dissonance jarring in her ears. "Poison takes too long but I am a patient man." Black dots clouded her vision, the walls were caving in on her. Stumbling backwards her, the ground slipped from beneath her feet-meeting the floor with a distasteful grunt she glissaded into unconsciousness.

The throbbing at her temples persisted, as her eyes fluttered open finding herself in a dark room with the curtains drawn. The room was particularly large, painted in a navy blue yet adorned with light coloured furniture, including the soft, white blanket that was thrown over her. With a heavy grunt, she sat up blinking rapidly so her eyes could accustom to the surroundings. Getting out of the bed, she staggered out of the room and out of the steps, the surroundings completely different than what she knew. This wasn't Seonghwa's home, but a completely different one at that. To begin, she remembered the stairs being on the right of his room in his home. Here, the were built on the left. The kitchen was still across from the stairs, his slender figure was fixed by the kettle. Upon seeing her, he rushed to her side helping her settle at the table in the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" He brushed the hairs from her face, paying no attention to her disorientation.

"Seonghwa, what am I doing here? Where are we?"

"This is our home now, just you and me and nobody else for miles." He spoke with a dreamy face, oblivious to her apprehension. "Never mind that. Here, sign this." He placed a sheet of paper in front of her to which her eyes reeled over the page sinking in the words. A marriage certificate. Snickering, she gritted her teeth in resentment.

"A marriage certificate? Have you gone mad?"

"What do you mean? We both love each other, what more do you want? We should just get married."

"Seonghwa, I used to love you. Until you decided to be a creep and fucking steal my personal documents. I used to love you until, you poisoned and kidnapped me to a house, god-knows-where." Her chest suspired furiously, he looked back at her as if she had just said something cursed. "This isn't love, this is obsession, and you need help." Grabbing the neck of her dress, her body gravitated towards his.

"Sign. The. Sheet." He ordered. A consternation stormed within her, his face like an angel, heart of a devil. Her hands trembled as the ink pierced through the paper, indenting the sheet. With a smirk on his face, Seonghwa looked over her shoulder only to cock his face head to the side as his tongue poked the inside of his mouth in annoyance.

‘F U C K Y O U’

Roughly, he grabbed her wrist her body falling over the chair bare feet slapping against the floor. She wrestled for hand back, as he dragged her up the steps but his strength overpowered hers. He shoved her into a bedroom, scrambling backwards until her spine hit against the foot of the bed, convulsing as he edged closer.

“Maybe you’ll learn the hard way.” He whispered, “but a pretty face shouldn’t say such hideous words.” Storming out of the room, his arms grabbed for the door handle, door narrowing the space. Clambering to her feet, she darted to the door, twisting the handle only for it to be locked in place. Her fists pounded against the wood an panicked breaths escaped her.

"Seonghwa! Let me out!" Please.

He returned at evening around six o’clock, like clockwork, with a tray of food in hand. Ignoring the pathetic rumble of her stomach, the lethargy of her muscles, the tugs and pains all digging into her heart, she denied herself his food. Because Seonghwa was a madman and even the act of accepting his morsel would give him a glimmer of hope that she’d sign the wretched document. On some days he’d sit on the chair in the corner of the room, to see if she’d eat but she never did. With her body tucked up in the bed, her face sunk into the pillow-the dim of the dusk light spilling into the room. Suppressing a groan, her fist was buried into her stomach as if it would cease its cries for food.

“If you don’t eat, then I don’t eat. How does that sound?” He provoked, getting off the chair to sit on the edge of bed where she was aimlessly drawing patterns over the bedspread.

“Delightful.” She croaked out, her throat parched, begging for a sliver of water.

“You don’t want me to fall ill, do you? If I fall ill then I can’t go to work. If I can’t go to work, how am I going to provide for you and our children?” Thwack. Her hand collided with his cheek, sending a stinging jolt through his pale flesh. Weakly she grasped at his formal shirt collar, his body oscillating back and forth.

“How dare you? I am not your wife, Seonghwa.”

“But how could you not understand that I am so in love with you?” He pushed her hands away from his collar, locking her wrist within his tight grip to place them at his chest. “I’ll tolerate all of this, just for you. Know that it hurts me to see you like this.” Tears rushed to the front of her eyes. She could not bargain with him, she could not ask for help since he deprived her of any source; having locked her in this bedroom. Whether it was days or weeks she’d been isolated, her knowledge was indifferent with her perception of time being distorted. The only option was to sign that goddam marriage contract, but even then, self-annihilation seemed preferable. She was just waiting for her body to deteriorate and one day when Seonghwa would walk into her room, he’d find her stone cold dead. With an exhausted huff he got up from the bed, still clad in his work attire. Closing the curtains, he walked out of the room shutting the door behind him. But the lock did not click in place.

A sense of hope entered her as adrenaline flooded through her veins. Silently, she got up from the bed, resting her ear against the door. When she heard no sound, carefully the door swung open the vast hallways empty as the door to Seonghwa's bedroom was fixed shut. Hurriedly, she scuttled out of the room descending down the steps-darting straight to the kitchen; the emptiness catalysing a surge of disconcerting emotions within her. Twisting the lock on the kitchen door, she sped out feeling the soggy grass beneath her feet as she headed straight for the mass of trees.

It hadn't occurred to her that the house was isolated in the middle of the woods, with at least no other home for about three miles. But she knew that the nearest town could not be too far away as Seonghwa still made his way to work every morning and to the shops on the weekends. He heavily prioritised work being a commutable distance from where he lived. She fled down the woodlands-the abrasive bark lacerating her bare feet the cold mud clenched around her toes manifesting feelings of disgust. Whilst her body ached, with no fuel but adrenaline to keep going she spared a look behind to find the dark obscuring her view of the home in the distance. Nevertheless she dashed through the woodlands.

Seonghwa realised that he hadn't actually locked the door to her room. Shit. Stalking out of his room, he twisted the handle to her room swinging to find it completely desolate. Releasing a tired sigh, he shook his head aimlessly wandering out of his home to find his lover.

Sinking to the floor, the sizzling of her throat sent an abiding anguish through her the leaves crackling under her weight. Her name echoed through the trees, being carried through the wind, its entrails infiltrating her ear. Every octave raising like the pulse of her agitated heart. Picking herself up again, heavy pants penetrated the woods as panic flooded through veins- the night carrying her through. Weighty footsteps had caught up behind her, breaths quickened as her pace accelerated tiredness tugging at her aching muscles. Her throat burned as blood hammered through the arteries, ventricles contracting. A biting grip wrapped itself around her wrist her body jerking backwards towards the perpetrator, a small weight settled on her waist as he manoeuvred her body to face his.

"Where do you think you're going?" His husky voice whispered into her ear. Exhaustion domineered her, with her legs giving out she collapsed to the earth defeated tears rushing down her face. Squatting down to her level, he grabbed the bottom of her cheek, her neck snapped back, cheeks paining from the intensity of his brutish grip- as if she wasn't subdued to enough pain already. "I asked you a question." His patience was wearing thin.

"Let me go, Seonghwa. I won't tell anyone what you did. Please-." His palm connected violently against her cheek.

"How dare you even suggest that. Get up. We're going home." Remaining settled on the ground, she wrapped her arms around herself to generate a sense of warmth to parry against the biting winds burning her supple skin. "Fine, I'll drag you there." Balling up her hair in his fist, he turbulently hauled her body in the direction of the home; her hands flinging to his to push away his tight grip.

"Seonghwa, please stop." Her cries were futile, he paid no attention to her. Upon entering the home, he lugged her up to her bedroom; her ankles hitting harshly against the edge of the stairs. Throwing her into the room, as if she was a doll, her body fell against the floor, incessant cries persisted in the haunting atmosphere.

With no option left for her, she tiredly picked her body up from the floor crawling towards the nightstand. Her hands shook as she picked up the pen, resting her cheek against the cold surface of the tabletop. The nib scratched against the crisp, clean sheet forming the outline of her signature.

“I knew you’d sign it. Thank you, jagi.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ear. He had sewn the strings to her back, the day that he met her. Every limb of hers beckoned to his command.

The car parked in the parking lot of the supermarket store, her face pressed up against the glass almost repelled against the sight of so many people present at this time of day. How long had she gone without seeing so many people in one space? She was just used to herself and her husband at home. Opening up the door, a gust of wind followed them through the automatic doors, her eyes travelled up to the tall ceilings of the store gratified by large shelves packed with all sorts of comestibles. He grabbed a basket from the entrance, looping his arm through the handles-strictly adhering to his list whilst his wife reeled in the endless sight of jars which seemed to stretch out for miles.

“Do you remember what else we needed? I’ve got all the vegetables, the pasta, the jam you wanted. Need anything else for the cake?” He quizzed. Her lips pursed in deep thought.

“Ah yes! I need double cream and…light brown sugar. I’ll go get it.”

“It’s just here, I’ll go with you.” He offered. Oh, there goes my freedom. They moved to the following aisle drifting their eyes over the reams of sugar packets. “If you see the 1.5 kilo pack get that, it’s cheaper.” Humming in agreement, she inched away from him grabbing the pack of sugar from the shelf.

“KCN followed by dilute acid, it’s the reagent needed for the reaction.” She smiled, as flashbacks from chemistry lessons in college flooded back to her.

“CN?”

“Yes, you know C triple bond N. Cyanide.” The girl rolled her eyes as if her brother should have known the answer. It gave her a sense of nostalgia, knowing it was the exact same way she used to react with her own brother.

“Is there anything else we need? I got the double cream.” Seonghwa’s voice snapped her engrossment away from the siblings’ conversation.

“Can we get cherries?” He nodded, a loving smile gracing his lips. Their hands entwined moving back in the direction of the fruit aisle.

Hand rested meekly upon her belly, he urged himself closer in her direction- pressing a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder. They laid on their shared bed; the afternoon light swallowing them whole, nothing but the comfort of each other. Rubbing it softly, a small warmth generated from the friction easing the cramps in her stomach. He didn’t know yet. He still very much thought that there was a child, his child, growing in her womb. How did she submit under his despotism?

He was so excited, jumping all over the place when she revealed the news of her pregnancy to him. So much so, he spared her his anger for slipping out of the house to see the doctors without telling him. One evening he came home to her lying in bed, wracked with exhaustion. Her head picked up at the sight of him, hiding something under his coat. Raising a questioning eyebrow, he sat himself next to her-the head and arm of a bunny peeking out of his coat. Moving the arm of a bunny as if it was waving at her, she snorted nudging him with her knee.

“I got it for the baby.” Her fingers ran down the white fur, the softness relaxing the tension in her muscles. “What should we name it?” He asked.

“That’s not for us to decide. Our baby can name it.” Our baby. Our, the pronoun shocking them both. There was a prescience of acceptance that lay beneath that word; a notion that the crazed obsession he had with her was worthy of her forgiveness. Perhaps she had gone mad, tipped over the edge- her hands kicked over the precipice.

When she had asked her mother, “Why do some married couples still have children even though they don’t love each other?” Her mother laughed in her face, more mocking than it was endearing.

“You think if I didn’t love your father, I would let him get close to me?” She shrugged, was it lust that they were drawn by? Was she drawn by lust, the temptation to have her husband in all the ways no woman had ever had him before? To feel the heat of his bare skin pressed against hers, body moving in swift rhythm pumping her desire. His passion cut deeper than a knife cut through skin, bestowing his wild emotions through littering kisses as if it would seal the rupture of her soul. Mine. Mine. Mine. “I loved your father when I was having your brother, when we had you? Not so much. We just had another child, so I could separate myself from the fact that I may have been falling out of in love with him.” She often thought where her mother was now. Her brother had moved out with his wife a long time ago, severing any forms of contact. She thought they loved each other, as siblings did. They spent their nights sneaking into the kitchen, raiding their pantry, comparing each other to the ugliest, fattest people they’d seen on the internet. Perhaps it was their mother. When she had moved out for university, her mother told her not to speak to her again. At the time she thought her mother was just upset over her leaving, refusing to talk to her- barely engaging in a conversation when she came back home for the holidays.

It wasn’t until, the last year of her degree- perhaps the most stressful time of her life she had ever faced; trying her hardest to balance academia and job interviews. Eventually, she tore through the burden completing her final exams, leaving her shared dorms for the last time to go back to her home.

Except it wasn’t. For when she knocked on the door, confused as to why the key wouldn’t fit through the lock, the door opened to reveal a man she had never seen before. Toddlers were scuttling up and down the stairs behind him, a woman (who she could only assume to be his wife) worked diligently in the kitchen taking the dishes out of the cupboard. Who was this man and what was he doing in her home?

It only seemed he could ask her the same question.

“I live here, this is my property.” He demanded.

“I’m really sorry Sir, but I’m the daughter of the woman who previously owned this home. I wasn’t aware that she was selling this property.” A look of pity fulfilled his features, his once stern face softened under her statement. “If you could just let me know, if you do by any chance, where I can reach her, where she might possibly be now?” It was a desperate attempt, but here she was looking like a fool with a suitcase in hand, her small car parked behind her loaded with boxes of her University material. Hungry, exhausted and just wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed; she was deprived of that now, refused that.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I can contact the estate agents and ask for you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll give you my number. Please reach out to me if you have any news.” Taking a scrap piece of paper and a pen from her bag, she scrawled her number across the page; handing it over to him. Bidding him goodbye, she displaced her luggage back into the car; driving off and away from her childhood home, knowing it was the last time she’d ever see that street again.

It was safe to say that the subsequent years had been the most difficult years of her life. Living alone was never the problem, but she was already wrought with so much university debt and finding apartments with reasonable rent was difficult. She wasn’t proud to admit that for two weeks she had to live with a friend who was beginning to despise her, work a few jobs during the summer where she was supposed to relax in order to cultivate enough money to rent an apartment. Even after she managed to land a good job at a revered company, the struggle persisted with wanting to maintain a good image in front of her superiors. There was no money to spare for herself, a majority had been lost to rent, the remainder for food and basic necessities.

It was a punishment from her mother, she was so sure of it. A punishment for being born, a punishment for unknowingly making her life the misery that it was. She wasn’t struggling as much, especially now that Seonghwa was the primary breadwinner. He earned good money from his corporate job, enough so that he stopped her from going to work.

At the end of the day, Seonghwa was right. Nobody in her life cared about her as much as he did.

“I’m so sorry for the way that I hurt you, Hwa. You don’t deserve that.” She choked out as her body wracked with sobs. An endless stream of tears ran down her face, her husband encircling her in his arms peppering gentle kisses over her face. He wiped away her tears, before lifting her face up with a single finger to stare deeply into her eyes.

“It’s ok my love, I know why you did it.”

“No, you don’t understand. I am not a good wife to you, I lost our baby.” His face had dropped, bottom lip culminating into a quiver that ached her heart more than it should have. “I’m such a failure.” She sunk her head further into the pillow, letting her tears consume her. Slipping his hands around her waist, he brought her closer to him, her entire figure almost dissolving into him. With gentle hushes, he wiped away her tears, again, easing her wails.

“You are not a failure, these things just happen.”

Things like being poisoned and kidnapped by your ex boyfriend just didn’t happen. Things like being forced to marry him just didn’t happen. Being pressured to have his child just didn’t happen. Yet here she was, in the same situation her mother had been prior to her birth thinking that a child could be an escape from this hell hole, and the universe snatched it from her hands, mocking her desperation for emancipation.

If she went any further, she knew she’d feel obliged to slit her own throat in front of him. It was either his life or hers. Wasn’t the number one rule to prioritise your life over anybody else’s?

"Honey, I'm home!" He called out into the foyer. Ambling into the kitchen, he sought his wife pulling a cake tin from the oven. Leaning against the fridge door, he drunk in her impalpable beauty. Her hands reached for his tie, pulling his fabric, she pressed her lips to his to as she did once ago.

"Are you thirsty?" She pondered. Handing him the glass of cold squash perched on the countertop, he gratefully took it from her hands. He shot her smile, gulping the drink. Resting her head on his shoulder, he draped his hand around her pulling her closer to his body. Her eyes darted to kitchen clock, the hand circulating dreadfully slow as it usually did. Finishing the rest of the drink, he settled the glass in the sink.

Hoarse coughs had disrupted her from her slumber, her bleary eyes shot open twisting to find Seonghwa's body shaking as he violently coughed into a tissue. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, skin paling significantly. With squinted eyes, she sat up-he jumped out of the bed swinging the door open. Hastily, she followed after him. Light from the bathroom illuminated the dim hallway, treading closer she sought him hunched over the toilet, vomiting. When his sickness ceased, a painful gasp released from his lips- he began to wheeze slumped against the bathtub as his body continued to convulse.

"Hwa?" Lingering in the doorway of the bathroom, she questioned his dishevelled state. It was perhaps the first time she had ever seen him so ill and vulnerable. "Can you get up?" He sat up wearily, shaking his head no. His entire body wrought with agony, limbs limp as if they were tied down by shackles.

"Get me some water, please." His weak voice had barely travelled to her.

"Do you know what it feels like to be tied down, now?" With creased eyebrows, he stared at her bewildered. The objects in his line of sight were bleeding together, her figure wavering. Head pounding, he attempted to crawl to her but his arms felt heavy. Was this her doing? What had she done to him? At first, he thought it was food poisoning but he hadn't eaten anything from outside of this home. He had made sure to overlook all of the dates on the food packages, after all he could not have him or his wife eating expired food. "How long were you going to keep me here, trapped like a bird in a cage?"

It was her. His mind ran at a million miles a minute, barging through the barriers that blocked his rationality. Each thought was strained, as if a metal rod had pierced straight his head severing the nerves in his brain. It was the drink. She had poisoned him. His breaths quickened, as panic coursed through his veins.

"You deserve to suffer, Park Seonghwa." Malice present in her tongue, a humourless chuckle left her-she moved away from the door frame speeding back to her room.

"Help me, jagiya!" he shouted. The nerve of that man. To be in such pain and still dare to address her as if she was his. Grabbing the packed bag from her wardrobe, slipping her phone into her pocket she raced down the stairs. Slinging the jacket over her, she rushed out of the home shutting the door behind her. The slam of the door, silenced the voices in her head. Was that all it took? A low, soft hum propelled her away from the home, the light of the bathroom blaring into the woodlands. Birds chirping in the warmth of the morning air, lotus flowers blooming from the grass of his front lawn. Wind blew at the loose hair that sprung from the loose knot. The scent of liberation was as rousing as it could get.

It had taken over a year for her to not jump every time someone had approached her. She was so sure that Seonghwa was dead now, when she laced the cup with poison, she didn't expect the effects to kick in so quickly. Poison, usually took its effects several days after consumption. It was the cyanide inside the cherry seeds that had inspired her, the most deadly chemical compound capable of causing death within a few minutes or hours. She wasn't sure if she had extracted it carefully, having crushed the cherry pits or stored it since Seonghwa had the habit of rummaging through every cupboard in the house as if she was hiding things from him. Regardless, she prepared herself: packing a bag of essentials with rolls of cash and ID, and completely moved into a new city far away from Sacheon. Though her hand would freeze when filling out forms. Was she still a 'Mrs'? Were you still bound to your spouse in holy matrimony if they were dead? Is that why they said, 'Till death do us part'. Staying hidden in a city fearing that Seonghwa’s ghost would haunt her through the streets, was not enough to keep her alive and paying the bills. So, she took up a job at a college lecturing in Chemistry, it was more than enough to stop her from going insane. Despite the impartial pupils, the overachievers, and the lesson planning and marking that had accumulated, she enjoyed her job nevertheless. For a while it felt like she had freshly graduated University again, struggling to make ends meet. When the load lightened, it was as if mercy had finally been bestowed upon her.

Why did the grocery store never have anything when she needed it the most? No cocoa powder. No demerara sugar. Lemon juice? No, it seemed that they had run out of them too. Drifting down the aisle of supermarket, she huffed throwing the apples into her basket before drifting into the second aisle for jars of pasta sauce. With her mind elsewhere, her body collided with another's the poor shopper dropping the things from their hands. Apologising profusely, she knelt to pick up their items. Raising to lock her eyes with another familiar set.

"Mum?" She blinked, the cans plastered to her palms as her heart began to palpitate. Her mother's mouth was agape, an unreadable expression tightened across her features. "How are you?" Wasn't this the question that you'd ask over the phone, after a long day at work-followed by promise to see her when you had a day off. Not a question to be asked, as if you had bumped into an old friend from high school.

"I'm great. I saw you, a few years ago. In Sacheon, with a man."

"Yes, he was my husband."

"Was? I knew a handsome man like that wouldn't stick around with a woman like you." She bit her tongue in annoyance. Of course her mother never changed with the snide remarks. There didn't seem to a scent of an emotion on her face even having seen her daughter after a long time.

"He passed away, Mum." The remark faltered the smirk on her mother's face. Then when her mother asked if she had any children, she shook her head in dismay. "I miscarried. I lost my baby, the same way you lost yours."

“You’re still my baby.” The nerve of that woman to make that preposterous claim. Had she even felt the maternal bond each woman had felt to their child?

“Am I? Am I really? Because I wasn’t your baby when you left me abandoned outside my childhood home, leaving me to question if you were dead or alive. I wasn’t your baby when you told me you never wanted me. I was never your baby. But you were always my Mum. And that means more to me than me being your child does.” A tear slid down her mother’s face, under the dim lights in the empty aisle of the grocery store where she poured out her soul. “I never had, and perhaps never will, have the privilege of being a mother. Regardless, I swear that if I ever neglect my child the way you neglected me, I would let them kill me in cold-blood. Such is a death that is deserved for a woman like me.” Dropping the cans into her mother's basket, she looked down at her feet.

"I don't even want to know why you became estranged from me. I just want to know if you regretted it." An uncomfortable solicitude hung in the suffocating air. Tragic. Refusing to let the tears escape from her own eyes, she stalked off in the opposite direction ignoring her mother's melancholic call for her name.

When she entered her home again, she dropped the bags onto the kitchen worktop-walking to her bedroom to tear the jacket and scarf off her body. A bunny was perched on the bed, encrusted between the two pillows encased in a cotton light blue cases. She froze. Her breaths accelerated, fear pulping through her.

It couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

"I've missed you, jagiya." A single tear slipped down from her eyes, her sobs lodged in her throat. His warm breath tickled her ears from behind her, he pressed his lips to the nape of her exposed neck.

“How?” She whispered, refusing to look around and stare him in the eye. As if that would take back the fact that he wasn’t dead, stood behind her in a home she’d built far away from him.

“I knew what the cherries were for. I saw the poison, I just replaced it with something less toxic.” He whipped her body around, her body hitting roughly against his chest. “You’re mine, and you belong to me.” He sang, sliding his hands down to her waist, he swayed their bodies to the rhythm of his saccharine hums which serenaded the air, tantalising her ears. Once again, he attached the strings to her back, controlled the movements of her body. Resting his face in the crook of her neck, he fluttered his eyes close in the night. “You’re mine, until death do us part.”

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: yes, I am inherently deranged for using such a cutie pop banner for this fic. BIG thank you to the loml @n0v4t33z for helping me decide on the name of this fic!

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#ateez #kpop #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #park seonghwa #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x reader #i love you

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the-midnight-blooms · 4 months ago

Text

visions of you | cs

masterlist

Trope: Forbidden Love

Choi San.

Borne from the roots of a pious tree, sprung from the ashes of his father's shadow was the Kingdom of Qiān's esteemed Crown Prince, scholar, charming bachelor and skilled swordsman. His name roamed in the villages of foreign nations, where the people believed his rubric was the elixir of eternal strength and beauty. For his mere presence intoxicated weakened souls, harbouring an essence of rebirth within the individuals that sook a replenished health. Though it was merely an old wives tale, Choi San was indeed a potent, renown individual who rose to power after the death of his predecessor: King Choi.

King Choi, on to contrary to his beloved son, was by no means the greatest King to ever rule over the ambitious lands neither was he the poorest. Though, he was the reaction intermediate, used to form something much more powerful. A much more historical ruler ascended to the throne in his wake.

The once coddled prince, who spent his carefree childhood sauntering the seven seas, reading books until the stars blurred into the dawn, playing chess with the strategists, could no longer escape from responsibility. His father's weakened hold on his hand had almost drained the life out of him. Momentarily, he had felt soul meander towards his ancestors; though they had rejected him.

Show them how powerful a King can be.

Hunched over a small desk, in a large tent, sat Lieutenant Seok- Qiān's first female high-ranking officer. With a quill fixed between her nimble fingers and a sore back, she scribbled away at her commanding officers report transcribing his poorly written work for the King. The dim light from the candle swayed in the desolate tent, bending to the will of small wisps of wind that flooded in through the slits between canvas fabric. With a tired sigh, she settled down her pen at last exercising the tense fibres in her muscles. A patter of loud footsteps ascended from outside the tent, her head piqued up as the fabric tore revealing Major Seong, his eyebrows creased in irritation as he stalked towards her.

"Hand me that." Snatching the sheet in front of her, her hands remained hovered in the air repressing the urge to roll her eyes at his short-tempered antics. His stern, hazel eyes peered over the sheet down at her as she stretched out her arms to correct the complacent stiffness. "King San requests your attendance his office. Major Baek will be there too." Momentarily, the Lieutenant felt a pulse of shock run through. The King requests my presence? She wasn’t aware that the esteemed King knew who she was. After all, her superiors had made many attempts to dissolve the rumours of there being a female military official. It didn't occur to her why, surely that was something to be proud of, yes- it defied convention but this could potentially further Qiān's image internationally catalysing the need for society to become modernised. Besides the Royal Army had, historically, suffered from a shortage of its members-if women had to fill the shoes of men then so be it. Unfortunately, her commanding officers did not share her contemporary mindset so she left the advocation for her less passive successor.

"Hurry up or it'll be off with our heads." Major Seong deadpanned, apologising profusely she shot out of her seat grabbing her jacket off the back off the chair before disappearing out of the tent.

Lieutenant Seok dashed through the ostentatious palace walls, her boots smacking against the marble floor heart pounding against her chest. Fixing the lapel of her jacket, she snatched a quick glance at her appearance through the blade of the guard's spear.

Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in.

A slight nod, and the heavy doors to the King's office were heaved open, the crystal white paint of the room blaring in her eyes. At the top, first and foremost sat the King's ebony chair and desk, along the expanse of the wall behind him was a bookcase full of books, the vestigial walls plastered with portraits of the preceding Kings. Large royal blue velvet curtains hung over baroque windows, reminiscent of the crests symbolic metallic silver and deep blue colours. Her own uniform was a navy blue jacket, shoulders padded with an expensive silver beadwork, and a long pleated skirt. Along her breast jacket sat her ribbon rack, adorned with all of the honorary medals she obtained during her service. Elegantly, she strode down the aisle; the King's careful eyes following her as she fell into a deep bow.

"Your Highness." She rose with grace too, hands firmly fixed at her sides, lowering her gaze before the King. "I am Lieutenant Seok." San cocked his head to the side, raising from his seat. Major Baek, the mentor to Seok stood adjacent to the King's desk sending a small sheepish smile, an odd emotion lingering behind it that she could not quite put her finger on. He was an old man, of about late sixties with thinning grey hair and a crinkled smile that stuck on his face throughout his life. He was renown for being the more compassionate of military officials she had ever come across, immediately taking the younger girl under his wing as soon as she stepped foot into the camps.

Being the only female lieutenant was more threatening to the cause than inspiring. Typically, women were not allowed to serve, in the military, unless they were Nurses or Administrators. Despite this, Lieutenant Seok's quick wits and admirable strength had her soaring through the rankings though she hated to admit that her father's occupation as Military Strategist may have been what allowed her to even step foot on the soil, or even what got Major Baek to show her some kindness. They loved to remind her of that. Though he was not the one to get her that far. Hell he had even died before the thought of joining the military had even crossed her mind.

The King rose from his chair, moving to stand in front of his desk waving a stack of papers in hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, she shifted her gaze to Major Baek who only avoided eye contact.

"Here, I have all of Major Seong's reports. Very meticulous, very well-written. Such is what I expect of my men." The pulse of her heart rose, blood rushed through her veins at a palpable speed, clenching her pleated skirts within the tight fist of her sweaty palms. Had he realised that she was the one writing all of his reports? "Except there's a slight problem and I need you to fix it for me." San provoked, she shifted uncomfortably under his hard stare.

"Look at me whilst I speak to you." Her eyes widened, was this King deranged? Who dared to even look into the King's eyes? Tentatively, lifting her chin, she bored into his crescent eyes. His high cheekbones and defined jawline created an intimidating impression, a current of virtue circulated around him as he spoke. His robes accentuated his broad shoulders and cinched waist. "In the Battle of Myeongnyang, by how many men was Admiral Yi Sun-Shin outnumbered?"

"333 to 13." Lieutenant Seok answered before San could blink, he fought back the smirk dancing on his lips.

"In which battle did he die?"

"Battle of Noryang on December 16, 1598."

"Exactly as its written here." San held up the report again, sharing a look with Major Baek that she failed to read. "So when I asked Major Seong, why did he say Pyeongyang?" Oh God. She thought as quickly as she could, reeling her mind through ways to answer the King.

"Everybody makes mistakes, Your Highness." she answered, settling upon the weakest argument one could make.

"He said December 14, 1598. I don't think this is a mistake Lieutenant. Now, I'm not concerned that our military officials don't know our countries history. I should be, but I'm not. This here." He shook the paper as furiously as he could. "Means nothing. But I asked him to recite basic facts from this report and he stuttered like a man with a lisp." Flinching at the King's harsh insult, she fixed her gaze to the ground again realising that the King knew that all along she was writing Major Seong's reports for him, which was one of the biggest crimes one could commit as a member of the Royal Army.

"I could ask you, on the other hand, and you would read this off like it's the back of your hand. Do not lie to me, Lieutenant, have you or have you not been writing Major Seong's reports and carrying out his duties which are significantly above your pay grade?" The King's voice seethed with anger, a large gust of wind emptied into the tense atmosphere as if the wind itself was mirroring his vexation. Once again, she fleeted her gaze back to her mentor who was painfully silent during this assembly. "I asked you, not him."

"Yes." She responded, weakly. "I did, Your Highness." San sighed, dropping the reports on the table with a loud thud. He didn't need to question why, he already knew that despite the fact that she was a particularly hard-working individual committed to carrying out her duties diligently, she was also just a woman- being punished for her sex.

"As you know, every King gets to choose his General. I have to be able to trust that my General can lead me into war and win." He paused, a breath hitched in the night's air. "How does General Seok sound?" Her eyes lit up at the sound of ‘General’ in front of her name, the urge to gasp out and cry was hanging heavy on her tongue. Looking into Major Baek’s eyes, they were full of joy and admiration for his mentee. Prior to this meeting, he had spoken with the King, believing it was time Qiān had elevated their distinguished reputation further through their first ever female General.

"With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, there are many Majors and Lieutenant Colonels who have much more leadership experience and the desired skill set to fill this role. I am not sure if I possess the qualities that you are seeking." Besides, why had he even called her into his office? To humiliate her before giving her the title of General, to prove that even though she would have the power of the military in the palm of her hands-above all King San held a more divine power that only she could dream of?

San saw in both her eyes and her slight discomfort of her face, that it pained her to say such words. Then why did she say them? Was it the fear of being rejected by those who looked down on her? The fear that accepting this esteemed position would exacerbate the conditions she was living in. Men hated powerful women, history made that story known. Though, there was something about the woman before him being by his side, ruling his Royal Army that magnetised him.

“I disagree. You are General Officer Seok’s daughter, who helped us win a number of battles. Before he died, he told me you would win a thousand wars for Qiān.” Major Baek inputted. She always thought that her father had a hyperactive imagination; simply put he said the things he said to motivate his daughter. But her father was never wrong.

Is this not what she always wanted? Was King San not giving it to her on a hot silver platter dish? Yet, did this not mean her hands would be drenched in blood even more than it already was?

“Sacrifices have to be made, pet. In war, you sacrifice your sanity.”

"I accept this position." Falling into another deep bow, she rose as a wilted plant once did when it was blessed with water from the skies after a deserted period. "Thank you, my King. I promise I won't let you down."

General Seok strode down to her office situated in the East Wing of the castle, yet a distance from the King’s quarters. It was usually derelict at this time yet as she walked down she felt the burning stare of a hundred military officials, all jealous of her rank. She recounted the wave of discontentment that spun over the room like a wild fire, all questioning their noble King’s decision. Her mind fixated over the way her name reverberated through the room, a wave of gasps infiltrating the tense air. The officials heads snapping towards her, their mouths gaped.

"Men will never take you seriously if you are too afraid to look them in the eye." Staring at her father from across the chessboard, she bit her lower lip. "Are you afraid of me, my child?" Shaking her head no, she captured his bishop with her rook. With a contented humph, her father got up.

"Then look at me next time, when you have won. Show me that you are more powerful than Generals, wits great enough to be our Queen."

Pushing past the door to The General’s office, the large room was wavering with a warmth, the shut of the door silencing the bustle of movement outside the wall. Bookcases were plastered across the walls of the room, the palace brimmed with profound knowledge each published piece of literature could be found in Qiān's halls. A large mahogany table with a soft leather chair resided by the glass pane windows overlooking the garden. On a much smaller table, in the far corner, sat a chessboard- two chairs on opposite ends. A bundle of ink quilled pens rested above the table, a stack of plain books on the right hand corner. Sighing, she dropped the pile of books in her hand onto the table.

“War is looming over us. Freyr will not rest until they have seized our lands and we will not rest until we have secured ours." Over several generations, from the beginning of time when Kingdoms were forged from molten rock, a foreign tension bloomed between two of the most powerful nations of Earth. For the longest time, Qiān had always been imperilled with the possibility of war; they had just been harmless threats from a King that was too dim to strike against an equally powerful nation that would cause mutually assured destruction. Until now, King Jeong proved one of the more impulsive of Kings from his ancestors. Her kingdom's safety was now at stake and she needed to protect it with her life. "Over the next few weeks we need to prepare for a potential war-” She was cut off by the grumblings of the militia.

"I will not have a woman lead me into a war."

"How pitiful, death awaits for you from the male Generals that have this country running in blood."

"You sound incredibly confident, General, that you'll lose the least number of men." One mocked, the crowd of men let out a taunting laughter only be silenced as San rose from his chair.

"Had I believed we'd conquer this war by a man, would I have not chose him to stand by my side? Do you think me unintelligible of making a wise decision?" A deafening silence punctured her ears, her head dipped under his omnipresence. Did they go reticent out of sheer embarrassment or because they thought that King San would be one to disperse their Kingdom into ashes? Granted, her first assembly as General was a disaster, the uproar from her comrades induced a thumping headache; her forehead hit against her table a long groan escaping from her lips out of sheer exhaustion.

"My, my General-you're going mad already." Hastily, she jerked up her head straightening her posture as the King slumped into the chair opposite her desk. When did he enter?

"Your Highness, should I call for some tea?" San snickered, dimples adorning his cheeks. His heart fluttered slightly at her disorientation he could not put his finger why. Perhaps it was that for the first time, the organised, composed General had been caught off guard by his surprise visit. There was something so domestic about the fact that she was summoning tea for him; he didn’t even get to say ‘No thank you, I’ve had three cups already and it’s one in the evening.’

Certainly, the woman before him was beautiful- he noted that on first sight. He did not know how to feel now that he assigned her the role as his General. The whole world could see her sacred beauty, she was not something for him to lock up in a treasure chest and keep her all to himself. How dare she sway his heart into unchartered seas that San had spent the duration of his life running away from.

“Your Highness, the maids have told me that you haven’t had lunch yet. Perhaps we can have tea another time.” She stood by the doorway, arms folded as if she was his wife scolding him on his lack of appetite.

“First of all, I didn’t come for tea.” Her face heated up in embarrassment; pressed in her palms in realisation that she had jumped to a sudden conclusion. “Secondly, I’m not hungry. I’ll drink your tea anyway.” Huffing, she grabbed the tea tray from the maid thanking her before shutting the door with her foot. She picked up the porcelain teapot, the air fulfilled with the aroma of Jasmine tea; tranquillity succeeded the exhaustion felt by both King and his General.

“Jasmine tea?” San questioned, he preferred green tea with its grassy undertone. Jasmine tea was too floral for him.

“Yes, it’s good for calmness and mental clarity.”

“So that’s your secret, lots of Jasmine tea.” She nodded, placing the teacup in front of him. He sucked in a breath before raising the cup to his lips. Oh, it’s sweet. A lot sweeter than the cups he had been forced to drink as a child.

“I added honey.” The General added, on cue as if she had read his thoughts. “With respect Your Highness, if it wasn’t tea you came for: how can I help you?” He settled down the cup, clearing his throat.

“I excused Major Seong. As of tomorrow morning, he will be a normal civilian working in his father’s farm. He’s best off serving the country in another way.” Her chest heaved in shock, she leaned back in her chair chewing on her lip as she could not help but feel that she was to blame.

“He was still the best of us.” She retorted, after a long, painful silence.

“Not good enough. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dismissed him. Also, I don’t know if Major Baek has told you but he is retiring.” With her elbows perched on the desk, her face rested within her palms.

“Don’t you have anything good to tell me, Your Majesty.” He laughed, shaking his head at her forlorn attitude.

“Call me San.” He retorted, the beauty of his name flew her heart into oblivion. “Tell me something, that reads like poetry.” He blurted, though his claim was abrupt a part of her understood where he came from. Tell me what’s on your mind, he wanted to say.

Tell me what your deepest wish is so that I can fulfil it.

“I believe, in a hundred years time, my successor will be the vessel that tells the people of Qiān that a woman’s rule can be as bold and as true as a man’s.” His eyes narrowed, infatuation settling into his heart, bewitched by his General's moving words. “I will be the woman to win the wars against our enemies. She will be the one to win against society.” A comfortable quietude penetrated the tense atmosphere, San sat still in his chair, afraid to make a sound as he swallowed her words with a heavy heart. For the first time since his father's death, he felt weak. As if he wanted to fight the war, that she was fighting, with her. Her wish was one those that even as omnipotent as he was, he could not fulfil.

"I shall take your leave. Enjoy the office." Smiling, San strode out of the room, his powerful aura remained suspended in the air in his absence.

Within the subsequent weeks General Seok was burdened with bourgeoning responsibility, abetting a series of migraines that not even Jasmine tea could fix. They ranged from completing reports, training soldiers, attending her own training-during the day that was. Then at night, she read books on the Freyr-learning about their language, culture, and then reading upon all of their wars. She managed to find books on previous Generals that served the Freyr Kingdom, noting their battle strategies. She became reserved to her study, papers scrawled across the floor, hooking up drawing pins as she noticed trending schemes. There were multiple different outcomes, like a game of chess. One move by the opponent unravelled up to ten to the power of a hundred and twenty-three potential outcomes, much like war and its soldiers.

"You just started your job and it's already exhausting you." Her mother claimed, as she placed her book on her nightstand. Sat at the foot of her bed, the elderly woman looked at her daughter's tired eyes-witnessing the same determined gaze; once held by her husband.

"I know, a big position only means more responsibility. Besides, I think I've got most things worked out. I have a meeting with the King, tomorrow and then the whole day to myself." Letting out a stifled yawn, she sunk into her cotton sheets hair sprawled across the pillow.

"You've been busy, General." With a single nod, she watched as San drew his eyes down her veraciously detailed report. A pair of round glasses sat at the bridge of his nose, she could not help but notice how they heightened the sharp features of his face. "Your work ethic is incredible, even I don't think I could have done this in the time span you did. You can rest now."

It did not occur to her that she had fallen asleep in the King's office, right in front of His Majesty's eyes. The sight of her tenacity lead his heart to swoon a little. General Seok was a sight to behold, especially with the way the soft afternoon light streamed in through the window, beaming across her face forging a halo. Her hair which was usually straightened and fastened tightly behind her shoulders had become loose from its knot. She breathed gingerly; the strands of hair that fell structurally over her face drifting as the air spun around it. He wanted to outstretch his hand and brush the hair from her face.

"I need tighter security, here." she ordered, pointing to the farming village, the kingdom's most vulnerable district. "If I were the Freyr, I would attack here. It's unscrutinised and connects to the Valley-perfect for pushing equipment and aid through. We need to block any shipment through these borders." The valley connected to the farming village became one of the fundamental ways that the Freyr and Qian people traded over centuries.

Gathered in the War Room, the military officials were all stood around large chestnut table, a map of the world and it's seven seas. Adjacent was a black box, which she recognised as holding pawns, figurines, as well as odd bits of trinkets. The dark walls were plastered with weapons of all sorts, a preview of all the artillery they held in the War Inventory. Despite the spectrality in the thin air, there was an odd sense of comfort to be found here. Something like she could spend the rest of her days trapped within these four walls and she'd be surprisingly at comfort with it.

"If we close the bridge, how will we trade?" Major Baek questioned.

"We can trade at the Centre." Her finger fell over the busiest and the most surveyed port in Qiān. "Let's just tell them it's closed for repair." An influx of complacency infiltrated the room. Her eyes glanced towards San, who was staring intently at the map over her shoulders, with a calculating look.

“We’ll have to have a talk with the foreign diplomats, otherwise good job General.” With a single nod, he left from the room signalling the end of the meeting. All left except Major Baek, sat in front of her, sipping on the Jasmine tea she had called for.

“You’re doing incredibly well, dear. If it’s any reassurance.” A genuine smiled plastered on her, soothing the agitation in her muscles.

“It is. I can’t believe you’re retiring. What was a few more years? I can’t do this without you.”

“You can, you already are. Besides it’s not like I was ever going to become General.” He joked, they shared a small laugh that echoed in the dim light of the War Room, where for the last time: the man who had treated her as if she was his own daughter was soon to be a name written in a history book, his memory lost to the wind.

General Seok found that the women of the palace grew indifferent towards her success for they taunted her with dirty looks as she surpassed them. Their snake like tongues spat venomous rumours, claiming that whenever she entered the King's chambers she was carried with a promiscuous sense of duty. To which this enraged her but there was simply nothing she could do, because they were just rumours; there was no substantial proof that they were rallying against her.

"Here comes the whore." They sang in an undignified manner as she strode down the hallways, a book pressed against her chest. Biting down on her lip so she did not release a snarky remark, she merely ignored them as their giggles venerated through the hallways. Pushing through the doors to his chambers, Seok entered his bedroom finding him sat by the balcony reading a book. Her anger had diminished at the sight of him, following the pout of his pink lips, the crease between his eyes as he revelled the words; the breeze tousled his hair. Within this moment he was no longer the King that ruled over his kingdom with a tight fist and sharp mind but rather an amiable man with a thirst for knowledge. Clearing her throat, his head craned to find her standing by his desk. A strand of hair fell over his dark eyes, he rose from his seat; gaze travelling up and down her body.

“You’re dressed like a bride.” He blurted. My bride. Clearing his throat as his cheeks blushed pink, he stuttered over his words, "Eastern brides traditionally wear red on their weddings days." Handing over the book, she sat herself down on the chair, dazing out of the window. To think of it, why did she always dress so ostentatiously around San? Was it his nobility that intimidated her? Or the need to live up to the King's standards as his General?

"What's wrong?" San chimed. She shook her head, as if there was nothing wrong with herself. Maybe the women were right, she was gnawing at his attention trying to keep him to herself. There was no denying Choi San was beautiful with his sleek dark chair, cut-throat jawline, his angelic eyes, his benefaction. His concern whenever she tired herself, slaving herself over her work. Then came his desire to stand next to her in every meeting, his body pressed close to hers fighting of all of the griping stares as she fought gruellingly to protect their kingdom.

"Nothing, nothing." With a wave of her hand, she brushed him off. He slumped down onto the chair opposite her, chin resting with the palm of his hands cupping the sides of his cheeks.

"Oh its something, something." His crescent eyes peered into hers, she wanted nothing more than to delicately kiss them. Then to drag her lips over the bridge of his nose and then his plump lips. "Is it not your duty to share the people's concerns?"

"No because I am not a member of parliament." She quipped, with a smirk that made him scoff. "My duty is to protect you."

"But you did not protect me from you." He got up from his seat, walking around the table to face her. His hands outstretched towards her face, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear, with his lips dangerously close to her own, she basked in the sight of her King as a hungry soul reaching for the fruits of love to which only she could hand down to him.

“San, what am I to you, if not your general?”

"You are my heart and my soul. You are what keeps me beating, and what brings me back to life every morning. You are everything I want and even more. It is painful to be so in love with you, so tell me you don't love me and free me from this anguish." As if he had knocked the life out of her, her body glissaded under his devotion. How cruel of him to beg her to purge herself of the profound emotions she held for him. Did she not want him too, in all ways whether it may be forbidden?

"We shouldn't do this." Her mutter reached to him through a series of rough, passionate kisses-a fire burning wherever his touch lingered upon her skin.

"Then tell me to stop" But she could not as her hands ran into his hair. Her every scent pulled the strings of his heart, every pulse was hers as their arms circulated around each other in the darkness of his chambers. Every touch felt as if they would never feel again, every sight relished as if they would never see again. Their clandestine marriage of hearts was so potent, it was enough to send them into a drunken haze for eternity.

The Royal Palace was struck with chaos- servants bustling around in desperate attempts to create an illustrious image of decadence, in honour of Qiān's annual banquet held in order to improve international relations. This year it was to celebrate the strong tradesmanship formed between the Qiān and the East. That also included inviting their enemy, Freyr, to maintain an image of agreement to their people. Of course, this enraged her as the Freyr became more hostile, finding multiple ways to pose threats on their country. For all she knew, they could see this as a perfect opportunity to strike as the Qiān would not want to damage foreign relations by keeping a tight security. Having raised this with the other military commanders, they all mocked her by deeming her paranoid.

“I agree.” San’s cold voice bellowed over the War Room. “Our allies may perceive our tightened security as a threat. The Freyr were already adamant to not attend the ball, convincing them was hard enough.”

“Your Highness, this is exactly what they want. We should at least have tighter security at the border and ports.” He shook his head in disagreement, a pang of annoyance jutting through her.

“Stand down, General. You are not a member of parliament.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sunk her head in humiliation. He had never disagreed so bluntly before, if he had ever disagreed: he would raise the point so gently or provide another solution, not outright dissipate her suggestions. Later that day she was huddled up in a chair in her office; finishing up the finality of her report. She was so wrought with exhaustion she wished for some comfort. A pair of arms would soothe the headache from the burden of stress that persisted on her shoulders. As soon as she walked in through the doors to his chambers, he invited her with a look of irritation.

“What do you want?” He snapped, flinching at the harshness of his tone- she rushed forward to hand the report to him. Next time she’d hand it to the Royal Secretariat if he was going to act this way. Turning on her heel, she hurried out of his chambers biting down her quivering lip. Wrapping her arms around herself, as if it would reprimand the damages he inflicted upon her.

Hidden behind a pillar, her head was thrown back-hands pressed over her abdomen in order to soothe the persisting ache residing. San's voice carried out of the room, to which she listened to his manufactured speech which rendered their hearts into submission. General Seok, herself, was clad in an embellished silver dress her ears and neck were bejewelled in a matching set of silver with the infamous General’s sword to her hip. Her eyes peered through the open doors to the ballroom-a sea of fabrics enveloping the white marble ceilings as a cacophony of sounds emptied into the room. Despite its elegance, an ominous feeling was pensile within the humidity, a dark cavern with a haunting soul ready to be unleashed onto the crowd. It was too liable, susceptible to attack.

Something felt off.

At the top through the window, she noticed a glint penetrate through the glass. The silhouette of a sharp blade pointing down in San’s direction as he spread his arms wide summoning the attention of the nobles. Her hand reached for the hilt of the sword, but the figure retreated. Instead, she sought a shadow move closer across the skylines, as soon as he placed one foot on the chandelier, his arrow pointed straight at the King of Qiān. Swiftly, she stole a knife from the nearest guard. His bowstring pulled back. Dashing towards San, she drove his body into the floor as the arrow penetrated through the air, landing less than a foot away from his feet. Chucking the blade into the air, the dagger pierced through the rope holding up the chandelier- the glass sinking in the ground releasing a camaraderie of panicked screams.

Unsheathing her sword, she struck down at him only to strike again, the rim slicing through the surface of his skin. This time, he pounded a harsh blow against her to which the colliding of his weapon against hers created a screech loud enough to bleed ears; the sword in her steadfast grip was growing heavy and acuminating at her tiredness. The attacker stumbled backwards, falling to his knees under her powerful blow. The full length of her blade impaled through his heart, ripping the seams that held his soul together- blood bursting from its banks. A breath hitched in his throat, a loud thud gratified the throne room. Her hands shook as the adversaries screams mimicked the cries emptying into her detached soul; thick scarlet blood painting her fingers as her body roamed through the folds of his dead body. Bingo. Ripping the crest from his body, she threw it at San's feet.

“I want this castle searched for any more intruders.” When the Royal Guards did not move, rage flooded through her. “Now!” She roared, parading out of the room.

Her back slid slowly down the wall of the War Room, tears sliding down her cheeks. Tucking up her knees to her chest- her body wracked as an excruciating wail echoed into the room. General Seok felt the derisive stare of the chess pieces, the maps, the strategy books. What kind of General was she? One who could barely protect her king. They were right. All of them: the nobles, the ministers, officials, the noblewomen and even the servants. A woman was in no position to protect the country, she had spent hours, days and weeks cooped up drawing out plans, playing out schemes in her head, sketching them out like role play over the board. All of that work seemed futile now that the enemy was daring enough to unleash an attack against the King. The painful creak of the door snapped at her attention, she roughly wiped away her tears with her sleeve a harsh stare befalling on her face.

“I thought I told-Your Majesty.” Her rough tone transgressed into a soft voice as she bowed deeply, San rushing into the room.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you?” She shook her head no, avoiding his gaze. “My love, look at me.” Hesitantly, her red eyes bored into his own. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his lips to her forehead. That was enough to break her walls again. Digging her face into his neck, she erupted into a fit of sobs, her weary body slumping against his robes. His slender fingers pulled out the clip to ease the strident tug of her hair gnawing at her scalp; his hold around her waist tightening.

“I should have listened to you. The faults mine.” Lifting her head she looked at him, mouth parted as if to reason. Placing a finger on her lips, he silenced her. “No- none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have possibly known any of this was going to happen. In fact, you told me this was a possibility and I didn’t listen. It was an uncharacteristic and a foolish attack. General Seok, we have the upper hand now.”

"That's what they want us to think. God, San, my head hurts. I'm struggling. I can't come to terms with what they want."

"For now, you need to rest. You must be exhausted."

"I can't rest. Tomorrow the officials will be at my necks. 'General Seok you never saw this coming, did you?', 'This is why you should leave it to the men.' They won't see how I almost sacrificed my life to save yours, they'll only see the fact that you were endangered in the first place."

"I've warranted a search for the rest of the attackers around our villages too. More royal guards have been posted, security is much tighter. King Jeong seemed unsurprised, but not his son. This was an attack by Freyr. I saw the crest" He ambled towards her, sinking to his knees in front of her. Her breath hitched in her throat, a king kneeling to his servant? Had this man gone mad? His hand drifted towards her cheek, “You need sleep. You’re unwell, my General.”

"Get up, if anyone sees you kneeling before me, it will look nasty for the pair of us." He shook his head.

"I don't think I care." Encasing an arm around her neck and under her knees, he effortlessly lifted her up from the chair. "Don't say anything." he warned, walking to the other end of the room towards the large banner pinned to the wall. Moving the fabric with a few fingers, he grunted twisting the door handle. Leaning against him, her eyes fluttered to a close as he surpassed into the hidden passageway. The next morning, she was prescribed with escorting the Crown Prince of Freyr, Yunho to his carriage. They strode down to the horses in silence, wind brushed against them, left with tired sighs and quiet hums to serenade the airs.

"You are ok, aren't you General?" Nodding gratefully at his compassion, they stood outside his carriage, ready to exchange their final goodbyes. Yunho, himself, despite his incredibly tall stature, and depictable strength, held more altruism in the tip of his finger than his father held in his whole body. In comparison to King Jeong, whose violent tendencies and insatiable appetite for destruction was now the impending cause of his deteriorating health, he was renown for his charity work and advocating for peace instead of war. However, at times she could not help but think he was executing a carefully constructed façade to move the hearts of the Qiān officials. Primarily, herself. For she sought the way that he looked at with the same level of infatuation that San had. "I'd love to get to know you General and I feel as if soon we will be obliged to work more closely together. I know you understand that our countries enmity is a product of egotism, which I hope we can soon come to a conclusion on." Her head nodded slowly, as Yunho have her one last final smile before entering his carriage.

The officials were bashful in the following meeting. A few spoke of an outbreak of a plague, San walking into the meeting late addressing the militia's concern.

"The village is under lockdown?" she questioned.

"Yes, and some villagers were on their way to Freyr too." A thought processed through her mind, vaguely. They needed something against Freyr. Something to make them pay for attacking her Kingdom.

"Nothing is immoral in war, pet." her father beamed at her as she sat in his bedroom reading through his journal. "Don't let emotions cloud your judgement, the second it does? You're as good as dead."

"That's it, Mr Seok! Stop trying to turn our daughter into a tyrant!" Her mother’s cry clamoured into her bedroom. Sharing a smile with her father she turned back to her book.

"What if we sent some of them to Freyr?"

"We can't do that, there'd be an ou-." Her cunning grin censored his reasoning.

"Can we not?" she challenged, the officials all shared a look. "Meeting adjourned." Is this what you meant Father, when you said nothing, in war, was immoral?

Nestling her head in the crook her neck, she sat on his laps staring out into the dusk. Pressing his lips to her cheeks, he breathed her in as if she was oxygen.

“The council is talking about your marriage now, aren’t they?” He hummed in agreement, sadness provoking through her. Was it possible for them to be together for eternity? Could she be both General and Queen? Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, what if his intentions weren’t marriage? What if he wanted a little bit of fun? As if he read her thoughts, he rested a hand upon her cheek to console her.

"I’ll find my way to you, if not I’ll make my way.” But just how would he make his way to her, when he could not even do as much as hold her hand for longer than a minute under the table? How would he do so, when he had to drag her into the nearest empty room to stoop her into a dulcet kiss for a mere second before they played their respective roles again? The sweetest things are forbidden. The things you desired the most are the ones you cannot have. Therefore, did she desire him more than she desired to be great and true? Was it love that she was seeking rather than power and intellect?

It was one or the other. It was San or General. How could the universe make her choose? It was like when she was asked if she preferred her mother or her father. When she was younger she always chose whoever had bowed to her wishes and pleased her the most. Her father-tending to her every need whereas her mother taught her that patience would give you more than what you desired. What was she to do now? She waited, and she became Qiān's acclaimed military official standing next to their eminent King. What would the people think? What would the naval think? They already hated the fact that she ruled over them, but as their Queen no witty remark would slip past her.

“I can make you my wife, right here and right now.” I love you, but I can't have you. "Marry me and let me make you Qiān's most powerful queen."

"San, do you think they like the fact that a woman has to tell them how to win a war? Do you think they'll like me even more when I become their queen? Your duty to this kingdom is to be its face, to unite, create stability between yourself and the people. Mine is to protect."

"You also have a duty to your heart. What does it want?” The booming of their incessant souls prevailed, the strings attached to them, curtailing. His tantalising aura pulled her in, yet the fact that she could not have him drew her away. It hurt that he did not belong to her, having spent the remainder of her life ruled by rationality than emotion, she knew it was better to let go of what she desired.

"It wants you. But we can't always have what we want. We have to live with that San."

"Then I won't marry. This kingdom can die with me, for all I care. After my death they can tear this palace apart. When my ancestors ask me why I broke their legacy, I'll say I fell in love."

"Don't be ridiculo-."

"I am irrevocably in love with you. My heart beats to your name, I'd abdicate-" Her hands pressed up against his lips. Tears rushing to front of her eyes.

I want you, I want you so badly.

"San, you fool.” she sobbed, her hands sliding down his face before settling on his chest.

"Can't you see? I'm a fool for you." He kissed away her tears, slowly inching towards her lips. The taste of it so sweet, so divine, something to get drunk on every night until her soul was too intoxicated to stay alive. “I’d let kingdoms fall for you.”

“We can build this kingdom together, just not as King and Queen. Just as King and General. As it should be.”

“Please. Think, we can make our way to each other, we can make it work. I beg.” Her hold around his neck tightened, he gripped her so tightly as if he would lose her and it seemed that any second now: he would.

“The Freyr have surrendered their threats? They wish to organise a peace treaty?” Her voice rose by an octave with every word as the Major revealed to her the latest political news. “Why wasn’t I informed of this? This is great.”

“Mainly so, King Yunho has requested to meet with you rather than His Majesty.” Once the migrants had reached the Freyr border, unbeknownst of the news of a disease- a sudden epidemic occurred across the nation, the death count inclining exponentially. Freyr’s army depleted significantly with the plague, Qiān locking its borders- keeping the spread of infection on a tight leash. Finally, when the disease had reached the palace- King Jeong became a victim; with his prolonging amenability, his life was taken from him a new ruler acceding to the throne. “I hear he may be visiting soon, after a period of isolation- of course.”

As claimed, Yunho made his way to their kingdom with a restricted access to the palace grounds and movement to prevent the spread of disease. She caught him traipsing across the guest's quarters with white gloved hands and a face mask- to meet with San who wore the same protective dress. Entering the room, the King of Freyr was sealed behind a transparent white fabric. Joining San on the opposite side, she greeted him with a deep bow.

“Your Highness. To what do we owe the pleasure?” The treaty was signed now, the threat of war had been consumed. Was he after something more malicious?

“I was thinking what would be better way for us to create an efficacious partnership than to bind our kingdoms together in matrimony.” She shared a look with San.

“Are you talking about the Freyr Princess, Yeji?" He nodded, dubiously.

"We'll have to think about this prospect, Yunho. Our people will not take lightly to a Freyr Queen." San spoke, his careful words penetrating through Yunho's heart. His way of speaking was hypnotic enough to make his counterpart submit under his command. Through the sheer fabric, a long arm outstretched before hers dragging her body violently towards his.

“I know this was all your doing General Seok. You are a very clever woman and I respect that you will do whatever it takes to defend your country. Do not mistake my lack of maleficence for weakness.” He whispered, before releasing his rough grip on her. Pounding out of the room with his officials on his tail, her ears rung, the sonority of voices calling her name fell deaf to her ears. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, blundering out of the room her palpitating heart pushed into the furnished hallway knocking over porcelain vases.

“General? General Seok!” Her head snapped up from the picturesque map pinned to wood. The naval all scrutinised her from the top of the table where she sat nursing a headache. She couldn’t care how weak they thought of her now. Yunho knew. How did he know? Was there a spy within her troops she did not know? Or was he sharper than she had forseen? The latter brimmed her heart with solicitude.

“Go on, Major Kang. Tell me, I didn’t see that coming. Tell me that I have driven this country into the ground with my wit.” Her noxious tone reached out to them through gritted teeth. For the first time in her life, there was an odd sense of sympathy in the room that wasn’t foreseen before.

“General Geon cried in this very room when he lost his precious battalion to the Freyr in the Valley. In front of us all. We do not care if you ripped your hair out in front of us, we care that you move us forward.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, battling the tears that threatened to leach out of her eyes, her head oscillated. “It’s ok to not know what to do, General.”

“I can’t have the Freyr Princess in this kingdom."

“Then Qiān will be sunken under the sea.” San spoke, a mutter of agreement fulfilled the War Room.

“If we have to shed blood, let’s do it now. Their troops have minimised, we’ve blocked all ways in, they’re still suffering from a chronic disease. If they declare a war, they won’t win.”

“He doesn’t have to declare war now. He can declare war in ten, fifteen, twenty years time. Will we win then?” San argued. Under their heated gaze, the officials left the room leaving their General alone to rally with the King.

"I can't and won't stand here and watch another woman take my place in your heart." Tears pooled at the bay of her eyes. He drew closer to her, pulling her into his chest.

"I'm afraid you have to."

"Sannie, my love. Please." she begged, weakly. He turned his head away. "You can't do this to me." A painful sob escaped from her lips as she sunk to the floor, dragging San down with her. Her cry weakened him, breaking down the exterior of a powerful King that had been fabricated from his coronation.

"If I were to hold you in my arms, in front of them all, that would be all the more reason to let you go. You are my heart and my soul. You are everything that keeps my body moving. But to love you is a sin that would condemn me to eternal damnation."

“I would lose a thousand wars, willingly, if it meant I could have you." she choked out. His lips fell into a pout, as his own tears forged from the ardent fires of his love.

“Anything to win a war, right?” Their heads pressed together, pearly tears staining her supple flesh. “You will always be my queen.” With a final kiss pressed to her forehead, he got up escaping through the door. Her heart entwined between his fingers, blood dripping down the palace walls as they were mercilessly parted by fate.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

��seok’ meaning stone

A/N: I decided to remaster the whole thing because I was a bit iffy about the first version, since the first half is different I just didn’t want to edit the older version. lmk if you find this edition better!!!

tagging some folks who read the old version, hope you don’t mind!

tags: @potatos-on-clouds @n0v4t33z @jean-swolo @wooyoungjung99 @yeontaegu @butterflydemons @ajuniceagain @chocosuh

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the-midnight-blooms · 4 months ago

Text

till death do us park | psh

pairing: yandere!park seonghwa x wife!reader AU: modern au word count: 7.9k warnings: yandere themes, mentions of a miscarriage

masterlist

Obsession (n) : the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire. Obsessive (adj) : being, pertaining to, or resembling an obsession.

Then there came Park Seonghwa.

He took that conviction without asking.

"Hi, I actually drew you." Great start, that's not weird at all. Hastily, she handed over the piece of cartridge paper. Gently, he took it from her hands a small gasp escaping from his lips.

"It's great, thank you so much." Nodding, gratefully. “I- it’s very accurate.” He complimented, his beam so adorable it swayed her heart.

“Hi! How are you?” She asked, almost a little too enthusiastically for her own liking.

“I’m great, how have you been?”

“I’m good. How is the drawing?” She teased, almost a failed attempt at a joke.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti." The infamous obsessed artist himself. She gasped in surprise.

That’s my girl. She is so much like me and me, her.

“Do you draw?” She quizzed.

“Will I see you again?” He questioned, as they stood outside her front porch.

“I think you will, as my muse.”

“Welcome home, husband.” She joked, before shooing him out, to get changed for dinner. Slightly dazed, from the deep kiss, Seonghwa smiled to himself in the bathroom.

She wants me too.

“You know I keep sanitary towels in the cupboard if you need-,”

“Take some rest-,” she’d interrupted him once more, a sense of irritation fulfilling him.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why have you been ignoring me?” Words lodged in her front, pathetic stutters escaped her- unable to construct together a rational sentence.

“You could at least return my calls, no? What’s on your mind?” His soft voice no longer soothed the pervasive yearning that existed for centuries.

"How are you feeling?" He brushed the hairs from her face, paying no attention to her disorientation.

"Seonghwa, what am I doing here? Where are we?"

"A marriage certificate? Have you gone mad?"

"What do you mean? We both love each other, what more do you want? We should just get married."

‘F U C K Y O U’

"Seonghwa! Let me out!" Please.

“If you don’t eat, then I don’t eat. How does that sound?” He provoked, getting off the chair to sit on the edge of bed where she was aimlessly drawing patterns over the bedspread.

“Delightful.” She croaked out, her throat parched, begging for a sliver of water.

“How dare you? I am not your wife, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa realised that he hadn't actually locked the door to her room. Shit. Stalking out of his room, he twisted the handle to her room swinging it open to find it completely desolate. Releasing a tired sigh, he shook his head casually wandering out of his home to find his lover.

"Let me go, Seonghwa. I won't tell anyone what you did. Please-." His palm connected violently against her cheek.

“Do you remember what else we needed? I’ve got all the vegetables, the pasta, the jam you wanted. Need anything else for the cake?” He quizzed. Her lips pursed in deep thought.

“Ah yes! I need double cream and…light brown sugar. I’ll go get it.”

“KCN followed by dilute acid, it’s the reagent needed for the reaction.” She smiled, as flashbacks from chemistry lessons in college flooded back to her.

“CN?”

“Is there anything else we need? I got the double cream.” Seonghwa’s voice snapped her engrossment away from the siblings’ conversation.

“Can we get cherries?” He nodded, a loving smile gracing his lips. Their hands entwined moving back in the direction of the fruit aisle.

“I got it for the baby.” Her fingers ran down the white fur, the softness relaxing the tension in her muscles. “What should we name it?” He asked.

When she had asked her mother, “Why do some married couples still have children even though they don’t love each other?” Her mother laughed in her face, more mocking than it was endearing.

It only seemed he could ask her the same question.

“I live here, this is my property.” He demanded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I can contact the estate agents and ask for you.”

At the end of the day, Seonghwa was right. Nobody in her life cared about her as much as he did.

“It’s ok my love, I know why you did it.”

“You are not a failure, these things just happen.”

"Get me some water, please." His weak voice had barely travelled to her.

"You deserve to suffer, Park Seonghwa." Malice present in her tongue, a humourless chuckle left her-she moved away from the door frame speeding back to her room.

"I'm great. I saw you, a few years ago. In Sacheon, with a man."

"Yes, he was my husband."

“You’re still my baby.” The nerve of that woman to make that preposterous claim. Had she even felt the maternal bond each woman had felt to their child?

It couldn't be.

It wasn't possible.

“How?” She whispered, refusing to look around and stare him in the eye. As if that would take back the fact that he wasn’t dead, stood behind her in a home she’d built far away from him.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: yes, I am inherently deranged for using such a cutie pop banner for this fic. BIG thank you to the loml @n0v4t33z for helping me decide on the name of this fic!

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#ateez #kpop #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #park seonghwa #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa #ateez imagine #ateez fic #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #ateez yandere

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