my-name-is-namename

[my-name-is-namename]

YAY! it is a happy ending! 😭🫶🏼

Wooyoung pleaseee 🤣

forget me not | ix

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: some angst, fluff, a smidgen of smut

Fic Masterlist

a/n: crying happy tears because this is the final chapter 😭 a big thank you to everyone who followed along on this journey ❤️

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

Wooyoung blinked, surprise flickering across his face as he processed your question. His ears twitched slightly, betraying his curiosity, and he tilted his head, trying to gauge the weight of your words. 

“What do you mean?”

“By giving you the card to pass on to Yunho,” you clarified, voice softer, tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. You looked down, unable to meet Wooyoung’s gaze directly.

He studied you carefully, his expression thoughtful as he tried to piece together what you were feeling. 

“Are you saying you regret it?”

"Here," you said, thrusting the small embossed business card towards Wooyoung. The red and white design stood out crisply against your fingertips. Wooyoung eyed it suspiciously, eyebrows raised, as if the card might bite.

"What's this for?" he asked, one hand on his hip, the other reluctantly reaching out to take the card.

You shifted, resisting the urge to pull back. "I need you to deliver it to someone," you mumbled, glancing away to hide the blush creeping up your neck. But the avoidance only seemed to encourage Wooyoung’s mischief.

"Right," Wooyoung said, drawing out the word with a sly grin. "Does this someone happen to be tall, jobless, and obscenely handsome?"

You glared at him, your face heating up even more. 

"Just... give it to him, okay?"

"Alright, alright," Wooyoung said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He pocketed the card, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Way to tell him you forgive him."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "It’s not about that.”

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, boss," Wooyoung grinned. He slipped the card into his pocket, patting it for emphasis. 

“I’ll make sure this ‘mystery someone’ gets your little peace offering.”

You paused, letting his question sink in. It would have been easier to answer with a simple "yes" or "no," to shut down the conversation and avoid the ache you felt creeping into your chest. But instead, you found yourself caught in the truth of it, unable to ignore the swirl of emotions stirring inside you.

“No…” you began, though your voice wavered. “It’s not that. I just… I know he’s upset with me, and I shouldn’t be feeling this way, even though I was the one who left.”

“You know, just because you made a choice doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel the weight of it afterward. It’s human to feel conflicted. It doesn’t make you wrong, and it doesn’t make what you did the wrong choice.”

You bit your lip, eyes tracing the edge of the wooden counter as you turned the question over in your mind. Yunho had hurt you, in ways that felt like they had carved out parts of you that you’d never get back. 

The thought struck you like a whisper in the back of your mind: Hadn’t you been the one to erase him from your life? You’d been the one to choose oblivion over memories, to protect yourself from the ache of what had once been.

"He still thinks about you, you know," Wooyoung said softly, his tone holding that rare tenderness you’d only seen when he was truly serious. 

Your grip on the counter tightened as you struggled to absorb his words, a familiar ache in your chest now tinged with a quiet yearning. It felt surreal—after all this time—to think that Yunho might still care. That perhaps, despite everything, he hadn't let go.

“I’ve never seen him happier than when he talks about you or hears your name. He’s still holding onto you, even if you can’t see it. And I know the wound is still fresh, but you have to believe me when I tell you—he loves you, wants to make things right.”

The sincerity in Wooyoung’s voice made you look away, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. Yunho loves you. You’d told yourself a thousand times not to let those words get under your skin again, to keep the walls you’d built firmly in place. But here was Wooyoung, breaking down every defense with a few simple truths you weren’t ready to face.

“It’s just...” You struggled, each word feeling like a confession. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m still afraid he’ll hurt me?”

“I get it. You have every reason to be scared. He could have ignored that card and disappeared. But he didn’t. He’s willing to fight for you and face all of his own mistakes.”

Wooyoung’s words softened the edges of your fears, giving you just a sliver of courage you didn’t know you still had. Yunho hadn’t been perfect, but Wooyoung’s words reminded you that people could change, that maybe both of you had been hurting alone for far too long.

“Just...give yourself permission to feel it. To remember what it was like before everything went wrong. He’s not asking for everything all at once. He’s just asking for a second chance.”

You tried to recall the last time you’d truly allowed yourself to think about your relationship with Yunho—not just the heartbreak, but also the warmth and beauty of your friendship. Yunho wasn’t just a memory; he had been your best friend, your first love, the one person who understood you in ways no one else ever had.

You remembered the way he looked at you at the beach, the way his eyes held promises of a future you could almost believe in, making you think–if only for a moment–that “forever” was something within reach. 

Maybe, in some ways, you were still that person—naive, trusting, willing to hand over your heart with expectations that perhaps no one could ever meet.

But were you still that person now? 

So much had changed. You had changed. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep Yunho and everything he’d meant to you at arm’s length. It was safer that way—easier. If you never let him back in, he could never hurt you again.

When Wooyoung told you that Yunho, despite your rejection, still harbored immense love for you, you were stunned. Yunho's love had never wavered. Wooyoung saw it as clearly as the breath Yunho drew each day, as naturally as his heartbeat.

It was okay to feel, to take your time, to allow yourself the grace of uncertainty. You didn’t have to have all the answers or know where each step would lead. It was okay to be scared, to admit that this meant something to you. 

And maybe all you needed to do was…try.

As the thought settled, muffled voices, sharp and angry, punctuated by the heavy thud of footsteps were heard from outside the door. You straightened, heart racing as you focused on the noises, feeling an unmistakable surge of supernatural energy.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You moved to the shop’s entrance and peered through the small window, immediately recognizing the voice. 

Yunho. 

He was surrounded, eyes wide with frustration and something deeper—fear. And surrounding him, dark forms shimmered in and out of sight, their twisted shapes flickering as they taunted him. 

Without thinking, you threw open the door and stepped out into the night. The cold air bit at your skin, but the chill was quickly forgotten in the surge of adrenaline that took over.

“The shop is temporarily closing, so you’ll all have to wait a little longer. No exceptions!” 

A chorus of groans erupted from the creatures encircling Yunho. They would have to return when the shop reopened to gather whatever trinkets were needed for Lord Death’s Night Parade.

In one fell swoop, you reached out, fingers finding Yunho’s wrist. He flinched at your touch, a brief spark of surprise in his eyes, but you didn’t let go. Instead, you tightened your grip and pulled him toward you, drawing him away from the creatures’ prowling forms. 

You took a deep breath, the weight of the moment sinking in as you slammed the emporium door shut. Yunho stood beside you, breathing hard, his wrist still loosely held in your grasp. His gaze was fixed on you, eyes wide and disoriented, as if still processing what had just happened.

You loosened your grip, letting your fingers slide from his wrist with a gentleness that felt almost foreign amidst the intensity of the night. His skin was cool under your touch, and you could feel a faint tremor, as if fear and shock still held him in their grip.

“Are you alright?” you asked, voice low, each word softened by concern as the urgency of the encounter began to fade.

Yunho looked at you, his breath steadying. "I... I think so," he replied, his voice shaky. "Thanks for pulling me out of there."

“Oh…you’re welcome,” you replied gently, hoping to ease his mind even as you saw how shaken he was. 

“The veil is incredibly thin right now. That’s probably why you were able to see and feel them. The other travelers, I mean.”

His presence was almost overwhelming, making your heart pound in your chest. The way his eyes widened slightly as he processed your words made you want to reach out and reassure him, to tell him that everything would be alright. 

"It's... it's not something that happens often," you added, your voice softer now. "But when it does, it means the boundaries between our world and theirs are almost nonexistent."

Yunho’s expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on you, then shifting away as if he were searching for something in the silence between you. His gaze fell to the floor, tracing patterns on the worn wood as he seemed to gather his thoughts. 

The quiet stretched on, your anxiety building as each second ticked by. A thousand worries filled your mind—what he might think, what he might feel, now that he had glimpsed the world you’d become a part of.

"Why were you out there?" you finally, breaking the silence, your tone gentle, though curious. 

He hesitated, searching for words as his face softened. 

“I…was in the neighborhood,” he murmured, though there was an edge to his voice that suggested there was more left unsaid.

Your heart skipped a beat. You took a half-step closer, tilting your head to catch his eye, a playful smile tugging at your lips. 

“In the neighborhood, huh?” you echoed, sensing the familiar warmth of his presence. 

“Alright…maybe it wasn’t entirely by chance,” he admitted. His lips twitched, and he exhaled a small, resigned laugh, glancing down before looking back at you. 

He lifted his hand, revealing the small, slightly crumpled business card between his fingers. 

“I just wanted to see you.”

You felt the weight of Yunho’s gaze, his admission wrapping around you. It was as if all the memories you shared—moments of laughter, quiet conversations, the comfort of simply being together—were coming back to life, filling the silence around you. 

Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper. 

“You still wanted to see me after everything?”

“Especially after everything,” he murmured, his words carrying a quiet certainty that melted the last of your doubts.

“So you’re not…upset with me?” you asked, your voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might shatter the delicate moment.

You’d been bracing for this moment, convinced that Yunho must be holding onto resentment, that he’d come to finally air out the hurt you must have caused him. You hadn’t given him the closure he deserved, instead choosing to leave things unfinished.

But his eyes, so achingly familiar, held none of the anger you’d feared. They were filled with something…gentler.

“Oh god, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice calm but filled with urgency, as if he’d been waiting just as long for this moment. 

“I could never be angry with you. You have every right to be upset, I was the one who hurt you. I was careless with your heart, and that’s on me. It’s my fault.”

His admission left you speechless, each word stripping away the defenses you’d built. He wasn’t here to lay blame or defend himself; he was here to own the truth of what had happened.

“You did hurt me, Yunho.” 

The words came out softer than you expected, each one carrying a weight you hadn’t realized you’d held so tightly. Pain, long buried, surfaced as you finally spoke the words you’d once been too afraid to voice. 

“I felt like… I wasn’t enough for you," you admitted, the ache woven through your words. "Like no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much of myself I gave, it was never going to be enough.”

The sting of tears welled up, and you drew in a shaky breath, fighting to keep them at bay. You looked down, biting back the flood of emotions, as a huff escaped you—a last-ditch attempt to pull yourself back from the edge of breaking.

“I just wanted to feel like I mattered,” you whispered. It was as if saying it out loud for the first time gave it weight, made it real, and you felt the bittersweet release of finally letting it go. 

“To be the one you turned to, not the one you left behind.” 

When you looked up, Yunho’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes glistening as they held yours, reflecting the pain and regret you’d both felt.

“You’ve always been more than enough. I was the one who was too scared to see it, too afraid to do what was right, to be there for you when you needed me most.” 

Yunho took a step closer, his hand lifting slowly to rest on your bicep, his touch gentle, almost hesitant. The warmth of his hand seeped through you, grounding you in this fragile moment, pulling you back to a time when things were simpler, when trust between you was instinctive.

“I can live with the weight of my mistakes,” he continued, voice rough with honesty. “But I can’t live without you. I tried for three years, and every day was worse than the last. I hated it.”

He was painfully earnest, his voice tinged with the kind of regret that had its own gravity. You looked up at him, a gentle smile breaking through your otherwise solemn expression as his fingers traced gentle circles against your arm.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you were anything less. You’ve always the best part of me. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late. If there’s even a small part of you that’s willing to try again, I’d give anything for that to happen.”

The honesty in his words made your heart ache. All those times you'd wondered if you truly mattered to him seemed to unravel before you, evident in his words, his touch, and his gaze.

You searched Yunho’s face, catching a glimmer of hope, and realized that despite the years, lifetimes, and distance, maybe…just maybe, there was still something worth saving.

“I love you," he whispered, his voice trembling but resolute. "For as long as I can remember, and for all the lifetimes I couldn’t. You’ve been mine for so long, but I want to be yours.”

Your hands reached for his, as if drawn by an unseen thread. Rising onto your toes, you leaned closer allowing Yunho to close the distance. He pulled you into a kiss that felt like a promise, an apology—everything he’d withheld and everything he longed to give. His hands settled gently on your back, holding you close, as though grounding himself in this moment.

The kiss was slow, adoring, and vulnerable, filling every empty space within you. Yunho’s lips pressed against yours, gentle and reverent, it felt like coming home, like stepping into a future you’d always dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked up at him, your heart racing. A smile tugged at his lips, and he rested his forehead against yours. 

"I love you too," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, but just loud enough for him to hear. 

Yunho gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he leaned in for another chaste kiss. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing steady but filled with that same quiet intensity.

"Take it slow with me?" you asked, your voice a soft plea, tinged with vulnerability, putting your heart into his hands, hoping he would keep it safe.

Yunho’s face broke into a smile. Slowly, he moved his hand down, his fingers threading with yours. He held your hand between both of his, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles.

Life in the shop had settled into a comfortable rhythm, woven with little rituals that had become second nature. Each morning, you’d light the incense, watching as tendrils of fragrant smoke curled up to fill the air, a silent invocation for another day’s mysteries to unfold. 

Yunho, meanwhile, would be wrestling with the coffee maker, half-asleep as he mumbled curses under his breath, yet somehow managing to coax it into yielding two cups of strong coffee.

His work as a recruiter kept him busy. Some days were filled with back-to-back phone calls, scouting reports, and meetings with stakeholders. Other days, he’d be out in the field, his energy brimming as he made connections with future talents. 

But on quieter days, when he was in the shop, he’d drift down from his makeshift office to check in on you, often caught in wonder at some relic or enchanted object before remembering his intent to whisk you away from your responsibilities. 

Today of all days, though, Yunho was off to Namhae, scouting a promising player. Before he left, he had lingered a little longer, offering you a reassuring smile as if to say he’d be back before you knew it. And as the door closed behind him, the shop felt both a touch quieter and warmer, his absence a gentle reminder of the quiet home you’d built together.

“What do you think about starting a delivery service?” Hongjoong asked, pulling you from your reverie. His eyes sparkled with that unmistakable gleam, the one that always appeared when he was on the verge of something new.

You raised a brow, eyeing him with amused curiosity. “A delivery service? Are we low on customers?”

"Not exactly. But now that you can leave the shop, and with Yunho around, we actually have the manpower to pull it off." 

"Something tells me…this was spurred on by Lord Death.”

Hongjoong’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he huffed, crossing his arms with exaggerated indignation. 

"Seonghwa has no idea what he’s talking about! He said we wouldn’t last a week if we ever ‘ventured into the delivery business’—said I’d lose interest by day three!”

Hongjoong waved a dismissive hand, brushing off any lingering doubts. "Well, I’m going to prove him wrong. By the time we’re done, our services will be able to expand to other realms. Might need to hire another hand for that."

With a dramatic flourish, he snapped his fingers, summoning a swirling puff of smoke that quickly dissipated to reveal...a hand-drawn presentation, sketched in thick, colorful strokes. It hung midair, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the almost childlike quality of it. 

The first page of Hongjoong's plan was a roughly sketched map, barely more than a few wavy lines connecting a series of floating islands labeled "Other Realms," each island outlined in a different pastel shade. It was whimsical yet somehow serious, as though his haphazard lines could shape whole worlds. He tapped his finger on a small dot labeled “Astral Emporium.”

"This is our expansion plan. Right now, we’re here," he continued, pointing to the shop on the map, "but soon we’ll be...everywhere!"

“You really think Yunho and I are up for running around, delivering enchantments and charms to every corner of the city?”

Hongjoong chuckled, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms. 

"Actually, more like Yunho and Wooyoung. You and I will rotate manning the shop, keeping things under control. All we have to do is equip Yunho with a pair of magical glasses, and he’ll be able to spot clients without worrying about the veil."

You imagined Yunho, looking unexpectedly dashing with enchanted glasses perched on his nose, pedaling a vintage bike through the bustling streets. Wooyoung would be nestled in a woven basket up front, surrounded by tiny glass bottles of potions and carefully wrapped charms, all neatly packed and ready for delivery.

“I’m sold.”

"Really?" Hongjoong’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight. The sorcerer laughed heartily, clasping his hands together in a rare moment of unbridled joy. 

“Seonghwa’s going to eat his words,” Hongjoong said, his voice brimming with triumph and a gleeful satisfaction that was hard to resist. 

He turned back to you. “Before I forget,” he added, casting you a sidelong glance. "You planning on visiting your parents anytime soon? Leaving magical seed packets isn’t the same as actually seeing you, you know."

The question lingered in the air, and you felt a familiar ache bloom in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably, your gaze falling to the counter as though it might offer some answer. 

The last time you’d visited, it had been nothing more than a quiet spell—a small enchantment to slip through unseen, to place a few enchanted seed packets by their doorstep, enough to help your dad achieve his goal of growing the ultimate vegetable. 

It was the closest you’d come to a real visit since Yunho had broken the shop’s hold on you, freeing you from its grasp and allowing you to walk the world on your own terms.

“I know,” you murmured, running your fingers along the worn edge of the counter. 

"But they’ve already grieved, Hongjoong. They’ve accepted that I’m gone. It’s probably better that way. If I showed up now, after all this time…” You trailed off, your hands fidgeting as if your fingers could occupy the unsettled thoughts in your mind.

“I’d just be tearing open wounds that have barely healed. They’ve found a kind of peace, I think. I don’t want to be the one to undo that. And maybe,” you added, voice almost a whisper now, 

“Maybe it’s a way for me to move forward, too.”

Hongjoong’s gaze softened, a trace of understanding settling in his expression. “I get it,” he said, his voice gentler than usual. “But remember, you don’t have to carry all of that alone. Just because they can’t see you doesn’t mean they’ve stopped loving you.”

You managed a small, grateful smile, nodding in silent agreement. For now, it would have to be enough to leave small reminders of your love—a packet of seeds on their doorstep, wordlessly expressing your affection. 

The bell above the emporium’s door chimed, its familiar ring sparking an instant thrill in your chest. You turned, heartbeat quickening just a little at the sight of Yunho stepping inside. He noticed you immediately, his expression softening as he took a few easy strides toward you.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice warm and low, a tone he seemed to reserve just for you. He reached out, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was a reminder that home was here, and it was wherever he was.

“Long day?” you asked softly, your entwining with his as he let out a chuckle, nodding.

“Long but worth it,” he replied, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Especially knowing I get to come home to this.” His gaze lingered on you, and even as he glanced around the shop, it was clear his words were for you. The tiredness in his expression softened, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly in place.

Hongjoong looked on, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as if he’d always known that, somehow, you and Yunho would both end up here, together, ready to face whatever came next. 

And for Hongjoong, that future definitely included his long-planned delivery service.

Hongjoong cleared his throat dramatically, breaking the quiet between you and Yunho. “Well, since we’re all feeling cozy and inspired,” he said with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “might I propose a little idea?” 

He snapped his fingers, and with a soft poof, a floating, hand-drawn presentation appeared, complete with a slightly crooked title that read, “Yunho: The Delivery Driver.”

A deep chill had crept in with the early dawn, settling over you as you instinctively curled up tighter, trying to preserve whatever small warmth remained. Groggily, you reached out, fingers searching for the missing blanket, only to find nothing but the cool, empty edge of the bed.

Squinting against the morning light, you rolled over, and there he was—Yunho, cocooned in what could only be described as a fortress of blankets. He lay sprawled out, half-buried in a mountain of covers, blissfully unaware of conditions on your side of the bed. 

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you tried to tug a corner of the blanket back. But Yunho shifted, clutching the fabric even tighter, as if sensing your mission in his sleep.

“Yunho,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder. “You’re hogging the blanket.”

A muffled sound came from his side, something between a grunt and a sleepy laugh. One eye cracked open, blinking groggily at you, and a lazy, mischievous smile spread across his face. Without warning, he reached out, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you against his chest, the blanket effectively forgotten as his warmth enveloped you.

“Who needs a blanket when you’ve got me?” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

"I'm half naked and freezing," you whined, exasperated. He smirked, his fingers tracing slow circles along your spine.

“How about I give it back if you beg for it?”

You huffed a laugh, but his hand on your back, gentle yet insistent, was quickly making you forget your original mission. He tilted his head up to meet your gaze, his eyes dark, and before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another, closer, teasing.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you tried to turn away, but Yunho only grinned and smoothly flipped you onto your back, pinning you gently under him.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice low and playful as he braced himself above you, “Dream You would’ve folded by now.”

“Oh, would she?” you replied, raising a brow, trying to feign annoyance even as your pulse quickened. 

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, she tells me how much she loves it when I’m rough with her,” he teased, leaning in to kiss you again, this time deeper, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made you melt, his warmth seeping into every inch of you.

“Well she’s wrong because I love it when you wear your glasses.”

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling as you pulled him closer, the blanket entirely forgotten as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. You could feel his smile against your lips, his playful challenge lingering in every brush of his mouth.

Yunho wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you flush against him. He ground against you, his movements unhurried, savoring every shared breath, every flicker of connection between you. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the anticipation that hung thick in the air.

Your nails lightly grazed the delicate hairs at the back of his neck, drawing a low, contented hum from him. You traced along his nape, feeling the warmth and tension melt beneath your touch as he dipped his head, his lips brushing along your jaw before trailing down to your collarbone.

Your senses heightened with each delicious drag of Yunho’s cock against your walls—the warmth of his skin, the whispered promises between each kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, feeling the way his heart raced in sync with yours. 

Every touch, every kiss, every slow, tender motion felt like a culmination of countless lifetimes. Yunho wasn’t just here with you; he was here with every version of you that had ever yearned for this closeness, for the feeling of being truly seen and loved. 

And now, here he was, holding you close, as if he had always known you would eventually find your way back to each other.

Yunho whimpered your name into the curve of your neck, his movements becoming rougher, each touch and thrust a silent promise woven across time as the heat between you surged to a crescendo. 

He pulled you closer, his urgency spilling over as you felt yourself unravel, swept up in the bliss that enveloped you both. His gasps blended with yours, and in the haze of it all, you were aware only of him—his scent, his warmth, and the way he fit perfectly against you.

“Love you. God I love you,” Yunho murmured softly, his voice tender and thick with emotion. 

You giggled, reaching up to brush his tousled bangs from his forehead, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his face as you took in the softness of the moment. The warmth in his gaze made your heart flutter, even in the gentle light of early morning. The world outside was waking up, but here, wrapped in his arms, it felt as though time had slowed just for you both.

“Love you too,” you whispered, your voice filled with the same affection that he’d poured into his words. “But…” You grinned, tapping his nose playfully. 

“You’re going to be late for deliveries.”

He groaned in protest, tightening his hold around you, as if to shield himself from the reality of a busy day waiting just beyond the sheets. 

“Just a few more minutes,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. “Deliveries can wait. I’d rather stay here with you.”

You felt his breath tickling your skin and laughed softly, only to hear a loud, impatient voice call from the other side of the door. 

“Y/N! Feed me, I’m dying of hunger!” Wooyoung’s dramatic tone was followed by a series of thumping sounds as he pawed insistently at the door. 

"I’m going to die!" he wailed, drawing a groan of frustration from Yunho. Your boyfriend sighed, glancing at the door with thinly veiled irritation.  

“I swear, he has the worst timing,” he muttered, shifting reluctantly as though debating whether to let you go. He held you tighter instead, as if Wooyoung’s complaints were some distant nuisance that could be ignored. 

“Y/N!” 

With a soft laugh, you planted a kiss against the tip of Yunho’s nose in an attempt to placate him. “He’s just lonely,” you murmured with sympathy for your familiar.

“He probably needs a friend to keep him occupied. He seems to be making it his mission to ruin your mornings.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering something about demanding cats under his breath, but before he could say more, a dramatic wail sounded from the other side of the door.

"I’m fading away… I can see… the light…” Wooyoung yowled, his voice an exaggerated plea for attention.

“Alright, I’m coming!” you called out, with a chuckle. 

With a playful smile, you pressed another quick kiss to Yunho's lips. His eyes softened, the irritation all but forgotten as you stepped toward the door. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the trace of a smile breaking through Yunho’s resigned expression.

The threads of your past lives wove delicately between you, fragile yet enduring, stronger than time itself. Fate had always teased the possibility of you together, leaving behind only fleeting traces and unfinished stories. But in this life, you had taken the first step—crossing the line, to lower the walls you had so carefully built around your heart. 

For so long, you’d been bound to the shop’s mysteries and the shadows of your past. Now, you felt a sense of release, as if a tether that had held you in place had finally loosened, granting you the freedom to shape your own path. With Yunho by your side, every moment held the promise of something new, a life you could build together. 

And you couldn’t wait. 

<< viii | epilogue >>

a/n: it was always going to be a happy ending, I had to set it up for the epilogue hehehe 🤭

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie @jonghosbrainrot @e3ellie @koyagifs @notevenheretbh1 @corgilover20 @almondtofu006

[my-name-is-namename]

Ahhhh i hope it is a happy ending 😭

forget me not | viii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 6.8K Warnings: none really, just some swearing, mentions of the supernatural, two idiots sharing a single braincell

Fic Masterlist

a/n: we’re almost to the end 😭

"Lady Keeper, I need a—"

"Done," you replied smoothly, cutting off the client's request before they could finish. 

"My lady, I need—"

"Granted." You waved your hand, and the artifact the fae sought manifested into existence on the counter as another eager client stepped through the door.

From around the corner, Hongjoong watched, arms crossed and brow furrowed. The high rate of customers had been increasing steadily over the past few days, a sign of the approaching Night Parade. 

For one week each year, the Astral Emporium opened its doors to travelers from all realms—including the mortal kind. This period was the most profitable, drawing in business from humans who came in droves, seeking the protection of talismans to ward off wayward spirits, or to immerse themselves in the festivities of the supernatural, hosted by Lord Death himself. 

This annual event transformed the Emporium into a bustling haven of curiosity and wonder, where mortals unknowingly brushed shoulders with fae, demons, and spirits who frequent the shop regularly. 

With Seonghwa’s annual event only a week away, supernatural beings from every realm were pouring in, readying themselves for the notorious celebration that attracted spirits, demons, and creatures drawn to chaos.

Business was booming, but at what cost?

Since your return from your weekend with Yunho, your laid back demeanor had frayed, your responses were clipped, and your smile faint. Even the Emporium, usually brimming with vibrant energy, felt slightly off-balanced. The air inside was restless, chaotic, and the shop itself mirrored it: shelves rearranged themselves, and artifacts hummed with a tense anticipation, as though they, too, sensed the approaching storm.

“That’s the fifth client in under five minutes,” Hongjoong murmured, stepping further into the shop. A line had formed out the door. His gaze shifted to you as another customer entered, and he leaned closer. 

“You’ll burn out before the real chaos even begins.”

Without looking up, you handed a relic to a waiting spectre.

“It’s fine, I can handle it.”

Hongjoong’s frown deepened, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t miss the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremor in your hand as you completed yet another transaction without pausing. He sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Wooyoung and I are here to help, too. You don’t need to do this alone,” he muttered, though he knew you wouldn’t listen. 

With one last look at you, Hongjoong reluctantly turned and made his way up to the shop's upper level. He climbed the stairs, each step weighted with concern, until he reached the balcony overlooking the main floor. From there, he had a clear view of the growing crowd below—all creatures from every realm, all buzzing with excitement, each clamoring for your attention.

After several more hours of granting wishes and peddling artifacts and other magical objects, you finally found a quiet moment to yourself. You sank down behind the counter, feeling the strain in your legs and the weight of exhaustion settle over you. 

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, leaning your head back against the shelves. You tried to push Yunho from the thoughts and the heartache you had left behind. But the memories clung to you like salt on your skin, fresh and stinging. 

It had been a month since you’d last seen him, both of you heartbroken and tear-streaked, standing together on that deserted beach.

"If you’re willing to do anything… anything,” your voice cracked, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks, your breaths hitching as the weight of it all pressed down on you.

"Then let me go."

The words fell between you, and Yunho’s face crumpled as if he’d been struck. Panic filled his eyes, denial poised on his lips, as though he hadn’t truly considered this could be the cost. 

Could he really let you go? After finding you again, after all he’d held onto—the hope that somehow, fate had given him one last chance to make things right?

Every moment, every desperate wish that had driven him back to you, seemed to fray under the harsh reality you’d forced him to face. And he didn’t know if he was strong enough to do what you were asking.

He held your gaze, his heart breaking as he tried to hold onto this moment, knowing it would be one of the last. There was no guarantee he would see you again, no promise that this wound could ever heal. 

But for your sake—for the love he felt for you, he had to, no matter how much it hurt. 

“I…I will.” 

He swallowed, his gaze falling as he confessed, “I want you to know that I’m sorry for everything, Y/N. I hurt you in ways I can never take back. I called you pathetic… when you’re the farthest thing from it."

"And I let someone else hurt you, let Sungjae hurt you, because I was too much of a coward to stop him. I let my pride ruin our friendship—I thought that if I pretended it wasn’t happening, I could avoid the conflict and nothing would change.” 

You looked away, swallowing the emotions that threatened to consume you. The wounds he’d left were still raw, reopened and aching. Yet… there was something in his voice that reached out to you in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“But all I did was betray you in the worst way imaginable. I should have protected you. I should have fought for you… instead, I stood by, and I did nothing."

“I was selfish,” he continued, “I thought only of myself and what I was afraid of losing. And in the end, all I did was bring you pain." 

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I’m so sorry I failed you. I took everything from you without even realizing it, and you deserved none of this.”

“I’m not here to listen to your apologies,” your voice shook as you held his gaze.

Yunho’s face twisted, guilt and regret etched deeply into his features. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words, but nothing came. He just stood there, silent, helpless, his eyes pleading with you, and it only fanned the flames of resentment. 

“Are you here to absolve yourself? To finally clear your conscience because guilt’s been eating you alive? Because if you’re here for me to tell you it’s okay, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“No. I’m not here for that! I’m here because I want you to know that I was wrong. So…so terribly wrong and that I’d do anything to make things right." 

“Then why try? I’m tired of this curse. Tired of being the one fate chooses to suffer while everyone else moves on, while you—” You took a step closer, daring him to move. 

“You get to carry on like none of this ever mattered. You get to live your life while I’m left to bear the weight of all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to face.”

Yunho’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes widening as he struggled to respond. His hands clenched at his sides, fingers twitching, reaching—like he wanted to pull you close, but he didn’t dare. He knew he had no right.

His expression faltered, and for an instant, you watched the last flicker of hope fade from his eyes, dimming as your answer settled between you both.

You looked at him one last time, feeling your own heart break with each second that passed. Somehow, in this quiet parting, there were no words left to comfort him, or even yourself, so instead you turned away, letting go of what could never be, leaving him standing alone.

“I have to go.” 

No matter how much hurt you carried, no matter how many sleepless nights you spent trying to convince yourself that leaving was for the best, the love you had for Yunho remained—stubborn, aching, and persistent.

It was a love that refused to be buried, resurfacing in quiet moments: in the scent of woody florals that lingered in unexpected places, in the softness of mornings when you awoke before the world fully settled into focus, in the way the fall blooms greeted the sun. 

At the same time, you knew you needed to live your own life. Your freedom, as new as it was, felt like something precious—something to be fiercely protected, even from the memory of what you and Yunho had once shared.

You wanted to believe that someday you’d find peace with it, that the sadness and bitterness would fade, and that, eventually, you could look back at your time with Yunho and remember it with something close to fondness. 

But the voice in your head wouldn’t let you. Or at least, Hongjoong wouldn’t.

⋆

Yunho had always been easy to love. It wasn’t just his kindness or the way he looked at the world with unwavering optimism, but the quiet strength that radiated from him. People could test his patience, or even try to strike the fear of god in him, and he’d remain completely unperturbed.

Except for when it came to you. 

Everything he felt about you was real and undeniable, a sensation so profound that it seeped into his bones. His love for you wasn’t a passing emotion; it was rooted within him, settling in his chest, deep and unwavering. 

“Hey, you good?” Mingi asked, eyebrows raised as he noticed Yunho staring off into space, his focus clearly elsewhere.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. 

“Just a lot on my mind. You know, with the engagement ending and all.”

Mingi gave him a sympathetic look before a grin spread across his face.

“Look on the bright side, I’m paying for food.” 

Yunho nodded absently, only half-listening as Mingi launched into a story about the dangers of cephalopods. The words drifted over him, blurring into the background noise of the bustling shop and the clinking of dishes. In truth, he barely registered it. 

He couldn’t shake the thought of the last time he’d seen you, standing together on that deserted beach, both of you shattered and clinging to pieces of something already broken. It had been weeks, but the memory was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. And deep down, he knew he might never see you again.

Yunho made his way back up to the house, feeling the weight of every step as he climbed from the beach. The night air clung to him, cold and damp, after what felt like a lifetime out on that beach alone. He let the waves drown out the sound of his own quiet sobs as he stared up at the stars. 

And when morning came, he awoke to an empty, quiet house. He staggered to his feet, checking every corner, clinging to the hope that maybe you were still there, that last night had just been a nightmare.

But it wasn’t. He could feel it—this aching certainty that you had slipped away like a ghost in the night.

Your belongings were gone, the bed neatly made, as if you’d never been there at all. It was as though you’d left no trace of yourself, nothing for him to hold onto. You hadn’t just left the room—you’d left him. 

“You’re out of it, man. I know breakups aren’t easy, but it seems like this one hit you harder than usual.”

“Processing takes a while,” Yunho replied with a small smile. 

But the words were empty, a placeholder for emotions he couldn’t name, let alone explain. The truth? He wasn’t alright. Not even close.

You’d left a void inside him, vast and unyielding, and he couldn’t seem to find a way out. The world moved on around him, but he remained stuck, unable to bridge the gap between what was and what would never be again. Yunho felt both terrified and whole, knowing that he would carry his love for you as long as he lived, regardless of the choice he’d made to let you go. 

But letting you go hadn’t freed him, it had only shown him the depths of what he felt, of a love that was his to keep, even if it was yours no longer.

He let out a sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool glass as he stared out the window, hoping the sight of the world outside might ground him.

Then, something caught his attention.

In the distance, he spotted a familiar figure—a sleek black cat with a red ribbon tied neatly around its neck. Wooyoung. His tail flicked back and forth, the subtle motion beckoning him to leave the restaurant. 

Yunho’s heart pounded. He pressed a hand to the window, half expecting the cat to vanish. But Wooyoung remained, still and waiting, as if giving Yunho the choice to follow. It wasn’t an answer, but it was something—a thread pulling him forward, a glimpse of a door that might not be shut after all.

“Oh, um... I have to take this call,” Yunho said, quickly coming up with an excuse, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

“Potential job interview.” His voice was light, as he stood up from the table, glancing back at Mingi who was scrolling through his phone, waiting for their soba to arrive.

“Yeah, don’t be too long before your food gets here!” Mingi called after him as he stepped outside. 

Yunho barely had time to catch his breath as he stepped off the curb, crossing the street toward the bench where Wooyoung was waiting, now in his human form. 

Without a word, Yunho sat beside him, sinking into the comforting presence of the cat he’d grown fond of, even if he won’t admit it. Wooyoung didn’t look at him right away; instead, he tilted his head back, gazing up at the night sky with an air of feigned exhaustion.

"I was really rooting for you two, you know," his voice light but tinged with a trace of disappointment. 

Yunho let out a soft, resigned laugh, as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His smile was wry, tinted with acceptance and a bit of lingering regret. 

"Yeah," he murmured, more to himself than to Wooyoung, "I was too.”

They sat in silence for a while, both staring out at the bustling street, sharing an unspoken understanding of what had been lost. 

"I had to let her go," Yunho finally said. He didn’t bother to hide the truth from Wooyoung—he never really could, not with how deeply the cat-turned-companion was tied to everything that had happened.

"I should’ve been honest with her from the start. I should’ve trusted her enough to tell her everything instead of pretending everything was fine. But all I did was push her further away."

Wooyoung watched him quietly, his gaze trailing a few stray leaves as they drifted lazily in the evening breeze. 

"Well, you’re not wrong," he replied, his voice softer, almost contemplative. 

"Humans always get tangled up in their own fears. Fear of hurting someone else, fear of facing the truth—it’s all the same in the end. You spend so much time trying to protect what you have that you end up losing it anyway."

Yunho let out a hollow laugh, running a hand over his face. "Guess that’s what I get, huh?”

His hand dropped, and he looked down, almost as if searching the cracks in the pavement for the pieces of what he’d let slip away. His heart ached with the weight of all the what-ifs, the moments he had replayed in his head over and over again. What if he hadn’t been so afraid of doing the right thing? What if he’d found the courage to face the truth sooner?

“There’s probably no way I could ask the shop to turn back time?” he murmured half-heartedly, earning a scoff from Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung scoffed, a familiar sound, sharp but softened with underlying sympathy. 

"Turn back time? And mess with timelines beyond this one? No, thanks. You’d basically unleash chaos," he replied dryly, shaking his head as though even entertaining the thought was an absurdity.

Yunho sighed, his gaze distant, searching for answers in the shifting shadows cast by the streetlights.

"I don’t even know what I’d say if I had the chance," he admitted quietly. 

Wooyoung tilted his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 

“So why not reach out and do it?” he suggested, a slight edge of impatience slipping through his tone.

“After everything that’s happened, I don’t even know if she’d want to hear from me. I’d just be reopening wounds.”

“Nothing’s going to be the same, but that’s the point. Maybe it’s about finally meeting each other as you are now,” Wooyoung urged, rising to his feet.

A flicker of hope sparked in Yunho’s chest. His heart beat just a little faster, caught between fear and longing. The thought of meeting again—not as best friends, nor as soulmates, but as two individuals shaped by their struggles, carrying whatever love remained—was both terrifying and exhilarating. 

It wasn’t the clean slate he’d wanted; it was something richer, messier, and somehow more real.

“Humans are complex creatures and the worst clients to deal with,” Wooyoung muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. 

“One minute you’re on the verge of falling apart, and the next you’re out there bullying the COO of a major league baseball team. You all have this strange, inexplicable way of forgiving each other.”

Yunho’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, but Wooyoung didn’t stop there. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something from his pocket and held it up, pinched between his index and middle finger–an embossed red and white business card, pristine and gleaming under the light.

"What…?" Yunho’s voice trailed off in disbelief as he reached out to take the card from Wooyoung.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he warned, the words carrying a weight that went beyond the usual teasing. There was an urgency, a reminder of everything that lay on the line.

Yunho stared down at the card, his heart racing. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process this sudden turn of events. But one thing was clear: the path in front of him, while uncertain, was filled with a glimmer of possibility.

And maybe, just maybe, the door was still open after all.

“Do you think if I throw something at her, she’ll pay attention to me?” Wooyoung pouted, leaning over the balcony railing on the second floor of the shop.

“I need attention.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes but let out a sigh, his gaze shifting from you to the shop door. With a quiet, resolute breath, he lifted his hand and, with a flick of his finger, commanded the door to swing shut. A subtle sweep of his hand sealed the lock, the latch clicking into place. The shop was now officially closed for the day, and any customers left would have to come back later.

You glanced up, your brows knitting in confusion as your tired eyes met his. 

“What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he replied, descending the staircase with quiet determination. The way he looked at you was both tender and unwavering, his gaze insisting on something you’d been too tired to see in yourself.

“You need a break,” he said gently, allowing no room for argument. “The shop will be here tomorrow. Right now, you’re done for the day.”

You started to shake your head, brushing off his words. “I’m fine,” you muttered. 

“You haven’t been fine for a month,” he replied as if he could see right through the walls you’d put up. 

“Whatever happened between you and Yunho is hurting you more than you’re admitting, even to yourself.”

You tried to tell yourself it was just the exhaustion, that he was reading too much into it. But Hongjoong’s gaze was unyielding, piercing right through the walls you’d carefully constructed. His expression softened momentarily, as if he’d hoped you’d open up, but when you didn’t, when you remained silent, petulant even, his patience began to thin.

“I don’t have time to think about him.”

You away, hoping he’d drop the subject. You busied yourself with a stack of old books, avoiding his eyes, trying to brush off the conversation like dust on your hands.

“Wearing yourself down to avoid dealing with what’s eating at you will catch up eventually.”

“I’ve already accepted my fate,” you whispered, a bitter edge creeping into your voice.

“I’ve been doomed to a life of solitude every lifetime, why does it matter in this one?”

“But what if you’re not?” Hongjoong’s tone sharpened, his voice rising with frustration.

You hadn’t expected him to be so… blunt. Hongjoong usually knew when to draw back, but this time, he held his ground.

“What if you’re the one who hasn’t done enough?”

You met his stare, a simmering anger rising within you. Searching his face, you looked for some flicker of understanding, something softer. But all you saw was the raw, unfiltered truth staring back.

“Me? Done enough?” You bit back, voice rising in anger. 

“Done enough to be someone’s punching bag, to keep pretending everything’s fine just because it’s easier for everyone else?” 

He shook his head, exasperated. “Y/N, you say you’re stuck, that you’re ‘doomed’ to this life. But have you even tried to change it?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you snapped, bitterness lacing every word. 

“It’s not your life that’s dictated by destiny, that falls apart no matter what you do. You don’t understand, Hongjoong. No matter how many lifetimes I’ve lived, it always ends the same—hurt, disappointment, betrayal. Every time I think I’ve gotten close to something real, it’s taken away, or I’m left in the dark, wondering if any of it was ever true.”

Hongjoong’s face softened for a moment, but he didn’t back down.

“You think I don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re a pawn in something bigger than yourself?”

“It’s not the same,” you shot back, voice cracking. 

“You’ve got choices, Hongjoong. You’ve got a life that you can actually control. I’m chained to something I never asked for, and every time I reach out, it only slips further away. How am I supposed to keep trying when I know where it always ends?”

“Fate isn’t the one who hurt you. Yunho did,” he corrected. “And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve known that for a long time.”

You felt the urge to push back, to deny it, but Hongjoong’s words struck deeper than you wanted to admit, hitting at a truth you’d tried to bury. You bit back a retort, feeling exposed in a way that made you want to turn away. But his words stayed with you, stirring something fragile and stubborn in your chest.

“What if this time, you break the cycle? What if that’s why you’re here now? If you’re sick of being hurt, if you’re tired of always feeling this way… maybe it’s on you to change it.”

“You’re waiting for Yunho to come to you,” Hongjoong continued, unrelenting. 

“Waiting for him to fix everything, to somehow just know what you’re feeling without you ever saying it. But that’s not fair—not to him and not to you.” 

His voice softened, and there was a plea hidden in his words that you hadn’t heard from him before. Your chest tightened at his words, an uncomfortable mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. 

“You’ve been through so much, both of you. You’re not the same people you used to be. Maybe that’s why it feels so impossible to connect now, but it’s also exactly why it’s worth trying.” 

“The only thing standing in your way… is you, Y/N,” Hongjoong continued. 

The truth settled over you slowly, like a fog lifting to reveal something hidden beneath the surface. Maybe Hongjoong was right—maybe you had been waiting, expecting Yunho to make the first move, to somehow understand your heart as if he could read it by instinct alone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the edges of that fear start to soften. The thought of taking that first step—of actually fighting for something instead of letting it slip away—was terrifying. 

In so many lifetimes, you had watched things pass by, often telling yourself it was better to let fate decide than risk the vulnerability of wanting too deeply. Yet here you were, at a crossroads, the possibility of reaching for Yunho’s hand close enough to feel but still so distant.

You thought of all the moments you could have taken that step, could have fought to keep him close. You had let him go time and time again, watching him drift away because you’d never dared to ask him to stay.

“Look,” Hongjoong said, gentler now, “you two are completely different people now, but maybe that’s exactly what makes moving forward together even more possible. You can have that real chance, just trust that he’ll meet you there.”

“I know Yunho’s carrying his own doubts and regrets. But if you’re willing to try, that’s enough.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. Trusting Yunho meant risking yourself in a way you never had. Vulnerability—actually choosing him with all the uncertainty that came with it. But now, if you were willing to try, if you were willing to step out of the shadows of all those lives before… it could be different.

“Fine,” you sighed, the weight of reluctance tugging at each word.

“I’ll take the rest of the day off.” You tried to sound indifferent, but a flicker of relief escaped as you admitted it.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Excuse me,” a voice called out from beyond the locked door, the words muffled but clear. 

You exchanged a glance with Hongjoong, both of you attuned to the quiet shift in the shop’s energy. It was almost imperceptible—the walls thrummed with the slightest ripple of magic, a feeling you recognized from countless other times when the shop had acknowledged a peculiar presence. 

“Looks like rest can wait,” you said, snapping your fingers to unlock the latch. 

⋆

“Mr. Jeong Yunho?” The receptionist's voice broke through the steady hum of office chatter, and Yunho perked up at the sound of his name. He gave a polite, practiced smile, bowing slightly to the receptionist before following them down a long, glass-lined corridor.

They stopped in front of a frosted glass door with “Chief Operating Officer” engraved in elegant lettering. Yunho took a deep breath, straightening his suit jacket, and walked inside, immediately struck by the panoramic view of the city skyline stretching across the office windows. 

“Mr. Jeong, pleasure to meet you. I’m Ahn Jong Chan, Chief Operating Officer,” the man said, his voice warm yet tinged with an air of formality that instantly commanded attention.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sir,” Yunho replied, bowing deeply, a gesture of respect learned from years of navigating formalities in a world where hierarchy mattered.

“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Ahn gestured to the chair across from him, his movements fluid but slightly unsteady, as if he were trying to project confidence while grappling with his own nerves.

Yunho sat, his back straight and hands resting calmly on his lap, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity as he took in the man across from him. He seemed fidgety, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk as if he were counting down to something, a nervous smile lingering on his lips that hinted at an underlying tension.

Mr. Ahn’s suit, though expensive, looked worn and slightly rumpled, as if he’d been too preoccupied to care for it. There was something guarded, almost wary, in his expression, a hint of a man who had learned to suspect those around him.

“Mr. Jeong,” he began, his tone sharp and without warmth. “Tell me, what exactly makes you think you’re the right fit for this position?”

"Moving from finance to scouting may seem unconventional, but that experience sharpened my analytical skills and my understanding of risk and reward—both essential for identifying talent and assessing players' long-term potential."

Yunho took a breath before continuing, “I believe it’s essential to recognize that each player has a unique path to success. By focusing on their individual strengths and tracking their development over time, I can build a team that combines talent with a unified vision.”

Mr. Ahn nodded, seemingly content with Yunho’s response. 

“Your knowledge of the game is clear,” Mr. Ahn said, his tone measured but with a hint of approval. 

“However, scouting isn’t just about numbers or assessing stats from afar. It’s about intuition, understanding players’ potential beyond what’s visible. Tell me, if you were to approach a young, rookie player, what qualities would you focus on?”

Yunho gathered his thoughts as memories of watching players both rise and fall from their peaks came to mind. He thought about the players he’d admired for their talent, but even more for their grit—their ability to grind through slumps, come back stronger after injuries, and persevere.

“Resilience,” he said finally.

“It’s something you can’t measure on paper, but it shows up in the clutch moments, in the way a player reacts to pressure. Mental fortitude is just as important as physical ability—sometimes even more so. When someone gets knocked down or loses a game, it’s how they bounce back that shows their potential.”

"That’s a perspective not everyone brings," Mr. Ahn replied, a hint of admiration in his voice. 

"Resilience is... rare. Hard to spot, even harder to train. And it’s crucial."

He leaned back, seeming more at ease, as if a weight had slowly faded between them. The impersonal formality of the interview gave way to a more open, genuine exchange. 

"Yunho, it’s clear that you don’t just understand baseball—you understand what it takes to build a team, to truly recognize a player’s spirit beyond their technical skill.”

As Mr. Ahn continued with his questions, Yunho responded with newfound ease, his passion coming through in every answer. He felt more like himself again—focused, driven, and ready to show that he had the insight and determination to make a difference for the team.

Stepping out of the office, Yunho slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingers closing around the card Wooyoung had given him days earlier. His thumb brushed across the card’s surface, as if trying to feel the magic you had likely imbued in it.

It felt like a silent message, a gesture that whispered of forgiveness and second chances. He stood there, silently thanking you, a promise forming within him to make the most of this opportunity. Holding the card close, he felt that you were right there beside him, ready to take this step forward.

⋆

A balding man stepped hesitantly onto the shop floor, his posture uncertain, yet his eyes darting around with a nervous urgency, twisting his hands as if unsure of whether he should really be here.

“Can I help you?” you asked, your tone clipped, a trace of impatience slipping through.

The man flinched, visibly startled by your briskness. “Yes, I—I hope so,” he stammered, his voice little more than a whisper. Clearing his throat, he seemed to muster what little courage he had left. 

“I was told… well, I heard that this place could handle certain, uh, problems.”

“Problems?”

The man swallowed. “A colleague of mine mentioned that he and his wife sometimes visit, uh, shamans for when things… go wrong.”

“I’m not a shaman,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms as you surveyed him. “I’m a witch.”

Mr. Ahn recoiled at the word, the lines of his face tightening as though he’d just uttered some unspeakable heresy. 

"I know," he whispered, “I know I shouldn't be here... but I had nowhere else to turn.” He paused, casting his gaze downward. 

“I’ve been a devout man my whole life. This... this feels like I'm..." He trailed off, swallowing hard, as though finishing the thought would send him straight to damnation.

"Committing a sin?" you offered dryly, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, shame radiating off him like heat from a fire. “Yes,” he whispered, “a grave one.”

For a man so steeped in beliefs of salvation and damnation, stepping into your shop felt like crossing a forbidden threshold, an act of desperation that tested the very tenets of his faith.

“P-Please, I—I need this curse lifted from me,” he begged, his voice cracking with desperation as he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. 

“I’ll do anything, pay anything!”

The shop had already informed you of his arrival. The man before you, was Mr. Ahn Jong Chan, Chief Operating Officer of the KIA Tigers—a powerful title rendered meaningless by the man’s current state. Sweat poured down his brow, his eyes darting around the shop like he expected some unseen terror to descend upon him at any moment. 

Mr. Ahn had a long track record of questionable choices—embezzling funds from his own team, blackmailing rivals to climb the ladder, even cheating on his wife–every action dripping with greed. And now, his sins had finally come back to haunt him, courtesy of an “amateur witch” who had placed a curse on him.

“Of course you will,” you replied after a moment, crossing your arms over your chest, your expression unchanging. 

“This shop thrives on exchange.”

“Just make it stop! Everywhere I go, something terrible happens. If word gets out that I’ve been embezzling funds—” his voice cracked.

“I can’t let that happen. My hair is falling out in clumps, and even the doctors don’t know why. And my wife—she can’t find out about any of this!”

From where you stood, you could see a devilish little ghoul clinging to him, rubbing its behind on his bald head, poking and prodding at him with malice. 

The mischievous imp tormenting Mr. Ahn had been drawn to his essence, attracted by the weight of his deeds. It fed on his secrets, magnifying his misfortunes, as though his own actions had trapped him with the very forces he sought to escape.

You tapped your fingers lightly against the counter, the soft rhythm filling the silence as you carefully chose your words. 

“Money won’t fix this.”

He blinked, stammering. “W-What? No, please don’t take my life! I can give you my car!” he blurted, his voice pitching higher as desperation seeped through. 

“I have a collection! Vintage, imported—you can have all of them! The house, even!” He leaned forward, hands trembling, as though clinging to the last remnants of his world.

You allowed a faint, unsettling smile to touch your lips, watching the man squirm as you let him dangle on the edge of his fear. 

“I could take your wife’s life,” you murmured, the words slipping from your mouth like poison. His eyes widened, hands beginning to shake.

“Or your daughter’s,” you continued, voice soft but deadly. “Innocent, isn’t she? But curses rarely care for innocence.”

A strangled sound escaped him, and he shrank back, clutching his hat as if it could shield him from your words.

“Or maybe…” You tilted your head, feigning a thoughtful expression, “your ailing father? He’s not long for this world, I hear. Just a nudge, and he could slip away peacefully.”

“N-no, please!” he whispered, voice cracking, horror flickering across his face as he began to shake. “Don’t hurt them—please. I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything.”

You paused, letting the silence stretch, before sighing in resignation. Then, with a casual flick of your hand, you pointed a finger at him, “Give me your business card.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off, as if you’d struck him with something as foreign as mercy. 

“Huh? A business card? That’s… that’s it?”

You leaned in, your voice lowering as you met his frantic gaze. “One business card. I’m going to put someone in contact with you, and you’re going to give him a shot. No excuses. No backing out. In exchange, I’ll lift the curse.”

Mr. Ahn blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of your request, but desperation outweighed any hint of suspicion. His hands fumbled as he reached into his suit pocket, producing a crisp, embossed card, thrusting it toward you.

“H-Here! Take it—just please, make it go away.”

“Consider it done,” you said, straightening to your full height. 

“The curse will lift once you’ve held up your end of the deal. Don’t forget.”

Mr. Ahn nodded vigorously, relief breaking over his face as he scrambled to his feet. 

“Thank you, thank you!” he stammered, his voice trembling with gratitude and desperation. Each bow seemed to be an attempt to rid himself of the darkness that had followed him for too long.

“W-What’s the name of this person?” he asked, his eyes wide with urgency as he scanned the shop.

“Jeong Yunho.”

Yunho hesitated outside the shop, his feet rooted to the spot as he glanced at the door. He took a tentative step forward, his hand inching toward the handle, only to pause, brows knitting as doubt swelled in his chest. The thought of just barging in felt suddenly absurd. Maybe he should walk away, he figured, retreating a few steps as if he could escape the decision entirely.

Yeah, that’d be for the best, he thought with a firm nod. Turning, he took a few steps away, ready to abandon the entire idea and maybe come back later.

“Hey! You’re cutting the line!” a voice rang out, snapping Yunho from his daze.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding as he took in the strange sight before him. Ghosts aren’t real, he tried to reason with himself, but each otherworldly figure in the growing line challenged that logic. The fine hairs on his arms prickled in warning, and he swallowed hard.

A grumpy demon with a tusks and a tattered vest shook his tiny fist from near the middle of the line. 

“Yeah! Wait your turn like everyone else!” a fae with iridescent wings chimed in from above, her voice shrill as she flitted between two ghostly figures cloaked in mist.

Others in the line began to join in, grumbling and casting annoyed looks in Yunho's way. The crowd was a strange patchwork of creatures—beings with glowing eyes, feathers, scales, and forms that seemed to flicker and fade with the approaching twilight. 

Their voices overlapped into a low, unsettling chorus of complaints, and Yunho’s eyes darted from one ethereal figure to the next, wondering how he’d stumbled into such a bizarre scene.

“The end of the line is back there!” a rough, gravelly voice called from somewhere behind him. Yunho spun around, feeling the prickle of eyes boring into his back. His skin tingled as he caught sight of a huge, lumbering figure glaring down at him with a disdainful snort.

“Human! He’s a human!” a towering creature muttered, its golden eyes narrowing as it leaned forward to inspect Yunho with predatory interest. 

“A human?” another voice gasped.

“Is he lost?” a spectre with sharp features muttered, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement as she hovered just above him. 

The crowd pressed in around him, a shifting sea of spectral faces and gleaming eyes, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Yunho could feel their cold, probing stares on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. The chorus of voices grew louder, overlapping as each creature muttered in hushed tones.

“Scared… he’s scared…” a ghostly figure drawled, its hollow, translucent eyes narrowing with perverse delight as it drifted toward him. Thin, smoky fingers lifted, reaching out to brush against his cheek, its touch like a winter chill sinking beneath his skin.

Yunho’s breath hitched, his heart hammering in his chest as he stepped back, his voice a low growl. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Ooh, he’s got spirit,” a fae with twisted wings, sneered with glee.

A grotesque patchwork of creatures bore into him, eager and hungry. Each step Yunho took back seemed to draw them forward, closer, as though they fed off the fear that clung to him.

He could barely breathe, his chest tightening as the figures closed in. Their whispered taunts and laughter echoed in his ears, a twisted mockery of his own terror. Hands reached out, fingers ghosting over his skin, each touch sending another shiver down his spine.

“You don’t belong here,” one of them sneered, voice thick with disdain.

Yunho clenched his fists, prepared to shove through them—anything to get away from their frigid touch—when suddenly, a hand pulled him sharply from behind, yanking him out of their reach. 

“The shop is temporarily closing, so you’ll all have to wait a little longer. No exceptions!”

<< vii | ix >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie @jonghosbrainrot @e3ellie

[my-name-is-namename]

Reading this chapter was like a roller coaster ride 🤣

At the beginning, it got me so happy and giddy and then it was hot when the sexy time came.

Towards the end, I was crying and then the cliffhanger got me screaming and anxious of what’s going to happen next 😂

In summary:

☺️ > 🥵 > 😭 > 😫

forget me not | vii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.4K Warnings: poorly written SMUT (cunnilingus, unprotected p in v), swearing, fluff, hurt/no comfort

Fic Masterlist

a/n: read fate bound for context and listen to silver springs by Fleetwood Mac, k bye

You sat on the edge of your bed, gripping the covers tightly as a dull, relentless throb pulsed through your skull. Your vision wavered in and out of focus, as if the world was shifting beneath you and you couldn’t find steady ground.

You wiped at your tears, hands shaking uncontrollably. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was as if the memory you had seen moments ago had ripped something open inside you, something deeper and more primal than you could understand. 

Jongho’s quiet, steady presence grounded you as he entered the room. He moved deliberately, swiping through his medical tools that floated in the air. He was focused, gentle as he examined your head, his fingers pressing lightly against the spots where the pain seemed to sear the most. His touch was clinical but comforting, the faint hum of magic from his hands soothing the sharp edges of your migraine.

He took a deep breath before manifesting an intricately carved device from his bag. He held it up and flicked it on, the tip glowing with a soft, steady light. He shined it into your eyes, watching the way your pupils reacted, murmuring something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

The pain behind your eyes spiked sharply, making you wince as fragments of visions began to flood in—faces, voices, moments of another life. In the visions, you could see Yunho—sharp, detached, devoid of the kindness you once knew. Your heart raced, and you felt a cold sweat break out across your skin as the memories clawed their way to the surface. You couldn’t control them, couldn’t stop the rush of fragmented emotions they dragged with them.

Jongho clicked off the light and sighed, pulling back to observe you for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. “That wish,” Jongho began, “definitely weakened your magic and the shop’s hold on you.”

Your brow furrowed as you processed Jongho’s words, eyes narrowing. “Meaning?” you urged quietly as if you feared the response. 

“Yunho’s wish reversed the magic that erased your memories and restored them. Fragments of your past lives, of your connection to him, and to this realm are coming back in pieces, but it’s causing immense strain on your mind and body.”

“Memories?”

“Your mind is attempting to reconcile the past with the present, to piece together everything that was erased. The migraines will subside eventually,” Jongho assured you, his voice calm and steady. 

“In the meantime, get plenty of rest and no strenuous activities. I do hope you enjoy your time off from the shop, my lady.”

As he spoke, his medical bag—hovering midair like it had a mind of its own—began to respond to his movements. With each flick of his wrist, instruments and vials floated back into place, reorganizing themselves with a series of smooth, mechanical clicks. With a graceful dip of his head, Jongho stepped back from you. His form shimmered, growing fainter, until all that remained was a trail of smoke curling in the air. 

You blinked at the now-empty space, rubbing your temples as the dull throb of the migraine continued to pulse beneath your skin. 

“Why do I have a feeling everyone in the magical realm knows about this outing?” you muttered, turning to face Wooyoung and Hongjoong as they made their exit from your room. 

“Word travels fast,” Wooyoung said with a shrug, his voice light and teasing. “Get some sleep.”

You offered a weak smile in response, but your mind was elsewhere. As Wooyoung moved toward the door, you glanced at Hongjoong, a knot tightening in your chest. A thousand questions swirled in your mind and you couldn’t let him leave without asking. 

“Did you know that this would happen?”

Hongjoong paused in the doorway, the usual lightness that accompanied his presence was replaced by something more somber. He exhaled slowly through his nose, leaning back slightly as if bracing himself for the conversation ahead. 

"I had my suspicions," he finally admitted, his voice softer now. "When I granted your wish, there was resistance. That’s when I realized there was a magical force tied to you—something inevitable, woven by Fate herself."

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, confused. 

“There’s no way I could go against anything predetermined by destiny,” he replied. “I must say, Yunho’s desire to set you free probably surprised the emporium itself,” he added, almost as an afterthought, as if that part had surprised even him. 

You let out a breath, trying to absorb the weight of his words. There was so much you still didn’t understand—so much you wished he had told you before—but part of you recognized the truth in what he said. Fate had its own rules, its own way of working, and no matter how much you fought it, some things were simply destined to happen.

Hongjoong gave you a small, knowing smile then, his tone shifting back to its usual playful cadence. “You should rest before your getaway this weekend,” he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick during your date with Yunho, would we?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in mood. “It’s not a date,” you sputtered, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. But Hongjoong just raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening.

“Sure, sure,” he drawled, clearly unconvinced. “You two are just going to the beach, alone, for the weekend…no date at all.”

Hongjoong left, closing the door to your room with a quiet, final click. The sound echoed in the stillness, and you slumped under the covers, your body heavy with the weight of what he had just revealed. 

The truth was overwhelming. How could you possibly make sense of it all? How could you begin to reconcile the life you thought you knew, with the life you had apparently lived before entering the emporium? You couldn’t even remember that version of yourself, and the moments that had shaped the bond between you and Yunho. 

All you had were vague impressions and fleeting feelings that left you both terrified and comforted.

⋆

"I can do this," you whispered to yourself, your fingers trembling slightly as you held the door of the emporium open. The familiar scent of jasmine incense and old books wafted from behind you, mixing with the sharper, vibrant smells of the world outside. 

You glanced out the wide-open door, the sunlight streaming in like an invitation. It felt like the edge of a cliff, daring you to leap into the unknown. Beyond that door is the chaotic, bustling human world—the one you've watched but never stepped into since becoming the emporium’s keeper. 

"The shop isn’t going to stop you," Wooyoung chirped from his seat in the counter, legs swinging slightly with a lollipop in his mouth. "It’s rude to keep Yunho waiting," he added, the teasing edge replaced with something more sincere. 

You opened your mouth to protest, the words forming on your tongue before you could stop them. "But—"

"There are no buts!" he interrupted, his voice louder now, impatient. "Are you seriously going to keep the love of your life waiting, or what?" He raised an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look as if daring you to argue.

Your cheeks flushed at his boldness, and you crossed your arms, grumbling under your breath, "He’s not–"

Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head as he waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine," he relented, though his grin only widened. 

"Your soulmate, then."

You shot him a glare, but there was no denying the way your heart leaped at the word. Soulmate. It felt heavy and loaded with meaning and expectations you weren’t ready to face. Yet at the same time, you yearned for it. Despite your hesitations, there was something in you that craved the connection with Yunho. That craved him. You loved Yunho in a way that felt deeper than you had ever known. It was more than just affection, more than just a desire to be near him—it was as though your very being resonated with his.

Yunho took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His eyes flickered to the door of the emporium for what felt like the hundredth time in the last few minutes. He couldn’t help but feel like a teenager waiting for his crush, that same flutter of nervous energy coursing through him. 

His hand tightened slightly on the roof of the car as he spotted movement at the door. There you were, lingering at the entrance, hesitating. His heart gave a little jump at the sight of you. Despite the anxiety buzzing in his chest, just seeing you—standing there–made everything seem a little more bearable.

He stepped around the car, worried that you would change your mind. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze flickered to meet his. For a moment, he thought you might turn back, retreating to the safety of the shop’s shadows. But instead, you stood still, eyes searching his face for reassurance.

"You’ve come this far. Don’t let fear hold you back now," Hongjoong encouraged from behind the counter. 

Your heart calmed as you focused on Yunho. You can do this. You have to. The shop isn’t trying to stop you. There’s no invisible force dragging you back. Yunho's steady gaze promised that nothing bad will happen once you take that first step.

His soft, patient smile and presence alone made the unknown seem less daunting. He’s the thread that pulled you toward something tangible, something real. No matter how deep the emporium’s magic runs, Yunho was your tether to the world outside.

And then, you stepped forward.

You took a deep breath, the air outside smelling fresher than you remembered. Slowly, you lifted one foot and placed it on the sidewalk beyond the emporium’s threshold. The pavement beneath your shoe felt real—solid and grounding. You waited for a pull, some magical force yanking you back into the safety of the shop, but nothing came.

You took another step, then another. The bustling sounds of the city—cars, chatter, life—gradually filled your ears as the magic of the emporium faded into the background. For the first time in what feels like forever, you were standing on the other side of that threshold.

Free.

You paused and glanced back at the shop. Its door remained closed behind you, quiet, as if respecting your choice to leave, even just for a little while. 

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and a small smile tugs at your lips. "I... I’m free," you whisper to yourself, the excitement of the realization coursing through your veins.

“Hey,” he said gently as he stopped in front of you. His hand rested on your arm, grounding you in the moment. “You okay?” His voice was so tender, as if he was afraid you might change your mind at the last second.

"I’m okay," you murmured, your smile growing. "I just...I can’t believe I can leave the shop whenever I want to." The words felt foreign on your tongue, but at the same time, they carried so much truth, you couldn’t help but feel giddy.

“You did it,” he said softly, pride evident in his voice. His hand slid down to take yours, fingers gently intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah…same,” you breathed, meeting his gaze. 

You ready?” he asked, but his tone was playful now, the anxiety replaced with a light-heartedness that made you giggle.

“Yeah,” you nodded, feeling the excitement bubbling up again. 

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Without letting go of your hand, Yunho gave it a gentle tug, leading you toward the car. As you slid into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of anticipation fluttering in your chest. 

“Young love,” Wooyoung sighed dramatically, watching with a fond smile as you and Yunho drove off.  

Hongjoong, however, wasn’t having it. He stood with his arms crossed, brow furrowed like a disapproving father watching his daughter head out on her first date. His narrowed eyes were fixed on the fading car.

"Is this what it’s come to?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Watching her drive off into the sunset, with Yunho?”

"Relax, Dad," Wooyoung teased, the playful tone only making Hongjoong huff in response. "Something tells me they’ll be just fine."

You and Yunho arrived late in the afternoon, the golden hues of the setting sun casting a warm glow over everything as the ocean breeze gently tousled your hair. The air was filled with that familiar, salty tang of the sea, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into a memory—even if you couldn’t quite remember it.

Yunho pulled into the driveway of a cozy seaside cottage, the kind that felt like it had been there forever.

"This is where we stayed during the summer as kids," he said softly, glancing over at you with a hopeful smile. 

"I thought that by coming here, it might help with your memories."

The little house, the ocean just beyond, the faint sound of seagulls in the distance—it all felt strangely familiar, like a dream you couldn’t fully grasp. But more than anything, it was the warmth in Yunho’s voice, the gentle way he was looking at you, that made you feel…safe.

You smiled at him, feeling the tenderness in his words. He had brought you here with hope in his heart, thinking it might spark something within you. 

“I appreciate it, really,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “Even if I can’t remember everything, I know that this is at least a start.”

Yunho’s eyes softened as he held your gaze, his expression full of quiet understanding. Whatever you couldn’t remember didn’t seem to matter in this moment. Being here with him felt…right.

But then, the spell was broken by the sudden sound of his stomach gurgling loudly. He blinked, his eyes widening in surprise as the unmistakable noise of his stomach made itself known. His cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink, and before he could stop himself, he let out a sheepish laugh, the sound breaking through the tension. 

“Let’s unload, and then we can grab something to eat,” he suggested, his voice as casual as if you’d done this a hundred times before. “I know a place.”

As the two of you strolled through the quaint town, Yunho pointed out all the spots where you used to visit.

"That’s the ice cream shop we went to every summer. You always got matcha, even though you’d end up stealing my salted caramel," he teased, nudging you playfully as you passed the familiar storefront.

You laughed, the image of a younger you doing exactly that playing in your mind. "We should stop by for dessert, except maybe this time I’ll have the salted caramel.”

A little further down the road, Yunho’s eyes lit up as he pointed toward the boardwalk. "And there," he said, his voice softening, "that’s where you won the puppy plush." His smile turned fond, his gaze lingering on the spot. 

“You were so determined to win it, and somehow beat the system on your first try. You were pretty good at shooting.”

Something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes sparkled with the memory, made your heart swell. You could almost picture it—your younger self, beaming with pride, clutching that puppy plush as if it were the greatest prize in the world.

As the evening rolled in, you found yourselves at a little restaurant by the beach front. You sat across from each other, as Yunho guided you through the fragments of memories that slowly began to feel less distant. He painted vivid pictures of your childhood, his voice warm and full of fondness for those simpler days. 

“We used to spend entire afternoons at each other’s houses,” he began, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Most of those days were either trying to stop Gunho from doing something stupid or helping your dad grow the ultimate vegetable.” His eyes grew distant, like he was reliving each memory as he spoke.

There was a certain magic in those days, when the biggest concern was who would win the next game or who could build the tallest fort. It was a time before the weight of growing up had set in.

“And baseball.” He chuckled. “Baseball was always there, too. I’d always insist on batting while you pitched because you had the better arm. You never missed.” He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing grin. 

Yunho’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief as he continued, “You tried convincing me that the Samsung Lions were better than the Tigers. I think it’s the only real argument we had as kids.” 

“I think blue still looks better on you.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a moment, you weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe you had told him the same exact thing before.

Yunho’s expression softened as he continued. “You know, you were a great artist,” he began, his voice tinged with admiration.

“Every time there was a school festival or some club event, it was always the same—everyone would come running to you, asking for help with posters or signs.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “But you’d always turn them down,” he said, shaking his head as though the memory amused him.

“You’d tell them you were busy, then you’d go right back to drawing in that journal of yours. I used to think you were hiding something in there.”

The mention of the journal stirred something deep inside you, a sense of loss that clung to the edges of your mind. You had always been protective of it, guarding it like it held the most important pieces of yourself. But now, the very thought of it brought a dull ache that began forming behind your eyes, slow and insistent. You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to will the discomfort away, but the memories came flooding back, vivid and cruel.

Sungjae flipped through the pages with exaggerated movements, revealing sketch after sketch of Yunho. “Look at this!” he laughed, his voice dripping with mockery as he showed Yunho your illustrations. 

“You’ve got a whole gallery dedicated to him!” He turned to face you, your cheeks burning with fury. “What are you, obsessed with him or something?”

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Yunho’s voice was filled with worry as it pulled you back from the memory. His hand hovered near yours, unsure but ready to offer comfort if needed.

You blinked hard, trying to steady yourself, but the edges of your vision wavered, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill over. You nodded even though the pain was still there, pounding in your head. 

“I…I’m fine,” you lied, grabbing your glass of water. “It’s just a headache,” you added quickly, trying to explain away the unease. “I’m probably dehydrated.”

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his eyes searching your face for any sign of the truth. “Do you want to head back?” he asked, his voice soft, careful, like he didn’t want to push you but didn’t want to ignore the obvious either.

You hesitated, the throbbing pain in your head clouding your thoughts. Part of you wanted to leave, to escape the growing tension and the memories that had started to unravel inside you. But another part of you didn’t want to cut the night short. Being here with Yunho felt like you were on the verge of something—something you couldn’t even name yet. 

“I’ll be okay,” you finally said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We can stay a little longer. I still want ice cream.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but you knew the effort was only half-convincing.

Yunho’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied you for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. But he nodded, his concern evident in the way his hand hovered near yours, like he was ready to catch you at any moment. 

“Alright,” he said quietly, “but let me know if it gets worse and we can leave, okay?”

⋆

There was something timeless about the way Yunho looked, as if the universe had carefully crafted every detail. The way his dark hair fell slightly into his puppy-like eyes, soft and warm, gave him a boyish charm. His lips curved ever so slightly, as if he was always on the verge of a smile, and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was meant to be…yours.

You glanced over at him, watching the way the fading sunlight settled across his features. He looked peaceful, his eyes fixed on the horizon, but there was a gentleness in it that made your heart flutter.

He must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned his head slightly, catching your eyes with a small, knowing smile. There was something playful in the way he looked at you, like he knew exactly what you were thinking but was content to wait for you to say it.

“Enjoying the view?”

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and you smiled back, trying to play it cool.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, “it’s not bad, I guess.”

There had been moments recently—small, fleeting things. The way he would look at you for just a second longer than before, the way his touch seemed more intentional, more deliberate. And you had felt it too, this slow, quiet shift. But you weren’t sure what it meant, and a part of you was afraid to ask, afraid to break whatever fragile thing had been building between you.

"How’s your head?" he asked, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves. 

“The migraine is gone. Probably thanks to the ice cream.”

“Must be the magic of the salted caramel,” he teased. 

You let out a soft laugh, but as the sound faded, you could feel the weight of unspoken thoughts settling between you, unsure whether to say what was on your mind or let the moment pass. Without fully thinking, you blurted out, 

“Do you…believe in soulmates?”

The instant the words left your mouth, you felt a wave of panic. Your face flushed with embarrassment as your hand flew to your mouth. Yunho blinked, surprised by your sudden question. There was a pause, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he smiled softly, the expression both tender and thoughtful.

“Soulmates, huh?” He tilted his head slightly, looking at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were the only person in the world. “Why do you ask?”

You scoffed, feeling a little flustered. “Wooyoung mentioned something about us being soulmates once.” You rolled your eyes at the memory, trying to lighten the moment. “I thought he was being ridiculous.”

“Well,” Yunho said, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in closer to you, “maybe he’s not so far off.”

Wait, what?

“When I’m with you, everything just…makes sense,” he began, the words heavy with meaning, like they had been weighing on him for far too long. He let out a slow breath, as if finally releasing a burden he’d been carrying for years.

“The night I showed up at the shop,” he continued, his voice quiet but clear, “I was desperate. I wanted a fresh start—a chance to rewrite everything because every choice I’d made felt wrong. I was miserable, I didn’t know who I was anymore, or what I wanted.”

He paused, searching your eyes, as if looking for reassurance, for a sign that you understood what he was trying to say. And you did. 

“But then…” His voice dropped lower, filled with a quiet awe that made your heart ache. “I found my way back to you. And after a series of twists and turns and some bullying from Wooyoung, I just knew…I couldn’t let you go again.” He reached out, thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand, the touch gentle but full of meaning. 

“If soulmates are real,” he whispered, his voice catching slightly, “then I’d like to think you’re mine.”

This was the deepest truth Yunho knew. There was no one else, and for him, there never could be.

“Yunho–”

Yunho squeezed your hand gently, as if grounding himself in the moment. His eyes, earnest and full of emotion, never left yours. “You don’t have to say anything right now,” he murmured, his voice steady but tender. 

“To be fair, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the rejection. But! I-I don’t want to push you, because I want you to know that I’ll wait. As long as it takes. Because…” His voice cracked ever so slightly as brought the back of your hand to his lips.

“It will always be you,” he confessed, so quietly it was as if the words were meant just for you to hear.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the weight of his words left you speechless. As your gaze met his, you found yourself caught in the pull of his eyes. And then you saw it—the sincerity, the vulnerability, the hope, all laid bare just for you.

You and Yunho walked back inside, the quiet comfort of the evening settling around you. As you reached the door to your room, you shared a small smile, both of you trying to hide the reluctance to say goodnight.

"I’ll...see you tomorrow," you murmured, as you gave a half-hearted wave from the doorway.

"Yeah…see you tomorrow," he whispered, his heart fluttering as you closed the door behind you.

But as the door clicked shut, you hesitated, your hand still gripping the handle, unable to let go. You stood there for a moment, that invisible thread tugging at you. Was he still out there? The thought crept in, and with it, an undeniable ache—the need to stay in his presence, even just for a moment longer.

With a deep breath, you slowly turned the handle and pulled the door open, half-expecting to find only the quiet emptiness of the hallway. But there he was, standing right where you left him, as if he hadn’t been able to leave either. Your eyes met, the air between you thick with anticipation, neither of you daring to move. 

Then, without saying a word, Yunho stepped closer, and you did too, closing the distance between you. 

The kiss started soft, tentative, as if testing whether this was the right choice. But when his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, something inside you broke free. You kissed him because you needed to, because you wanted to. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it wasn’t—but right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was Yunho, and this moment you had right now.

Yunho backed you up against the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. His hands settled at your waist, firm yet gentle, guiding you until your legs hit the mattress behind you. You stumbled slightly, falling back onto the soft sheets, your breath hitching in your throat as you looked up at him, heart pounding with anticipation.

His hand trailed up your side, fingers brushing against your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. He leaned down, his body hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but still not touching. Without hesitation, his lips found the juncture of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw. Each kiss was deliberate, lingering just long enough to make your heart race, your body responding to his ministrations. 

You let out a soft mewl, barely aware of the sound leaving your throat, as his fingers found the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. In one smooth motion, Yunho lifted your shirt, pulling it overhead without breaking contact, his lips never leaving your skin for more than a second.

“This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” he murmured, voice low as he trailed his hand up your stomach to brush the underside of your breast. Your back arched off the bed when he flicked his thumb over your nipple, drawing circles before squeezing. 

"Shut up," you playfully smacked his chest, your voice teasing despite the heat rising between you. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, before tilting his head and capturing your lips in a kiss, deep and urgent this time, as if he couldn’t bear even a second of distance between you.

“It’s not fair you’re still dressed,” you pouted in between kisses, reaching for his button down. 

You hastily unbuttoned the shirt, pushing the garment off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor with a light thud. His hand came to grip your jaw, thumb pressing into the underside of your chin, tilting it upwards. Your lips met, and he nipped your bottom lip, tongue slipping past your teeth. You let out a breathy moan, eyes fluttering closed as you felt him press his erection against your clothed core. 

“Yunho, please,” you whimpered, hands grasping at his trousers. Your hands were shaking too much to unbuckle it, so he pushed your hands away, swiftly undoing it himself.

“Please what?” he mocked, kicking off his trousers to bite down on your nipple with a wet pop. He smirked at your flushed face as his fingers trailed down your stomach, teasingly dipping below the hem of your underwear. He leaned back, tugging off the fabric that separated you, and you felt heat creep up your neck and face at the way he licked his lips.

“I need you.” 

"Not yet," he hummed, refusing to give you what you craved except for a light smack against the underside of your ass. “Wanna taste what I’ve been missing.”

He hooked his fingers over your panties under the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off in one motion. He pushed your thighs apart, spreading you open as his lips descended to devour your heat. He groaned as his tongue made contact with your heat, savoring your very essence. The vibrations caused you to squirm, but Yunho held you still. He continued to lick at your heat, tongue dipping into your hole, then dragging up to press against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your breath hitched as you watched him, mouth falling open in a silent moan. A string of praises slipped past your lips, as his tongue pressed into your slit, nose brushing against your clit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, looking down at Yunho lapping at your folds. The sight of him between your legs was almost enough to send you over the edge as a weak, shaky moan escaped your lips. But you didn’t want to come undone without him inside of you. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him away from your dripping cunt. You yanked him towards you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. The tip of his cock brushed against you, and your entire body tensed with need. 

"I love you," he confessed, his hand intertwined with yours, fingers locking together as if anchoring himself to you in that moment. 

He leaned down for another kiss, groaning against your mouth as he pushed into you. The stretch of his thick cockhead had your back arching off the bed, and Yunho moved one hand to grab your ass, keeping you in place as he slid all the way inside you.

"Yunho!" you gasped, your walls fluttering around him as your head pressed back into the pillows. His hips pulled back slowly, almost all the way, before thrusting forward and seating himself deep. He repeated the movement, and you couldn't help the sounds that fell from your mouth as you felt him thrust in and out of you.

He pressed chaste kisses to your chest, your neck, anywhere his mouth could reach. Your arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every part of him, every heartbeat. Yunho shifted positions, bringing one of your legs hooked around his waist over his shoulder, increasing his pace, where you suddenly found yourself teetering on the edge as you clenched around him.

“Like that, Yunho just like that!”

"Feel so good," he grunted, his hips snapping forward harder, faster and the pressure in your core grew. “So good for me.” 

Your mouth hung open as you could barely focus on anything Yunho was saying. Your face twisted with pleasure and your legs shuddered against his shoulder. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you cried out, barely contain the noises escaping your lips and Yunho was relishing every second of it.

"Come for me, love.” His breath mingled with yours as he brought his forehead to rest gently against yours, the closeness heightening the intensity of the moment. “I’ve got you.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, a wave of overwhelming pleasure consumed you as you rode out your orgasm on Yunho's cock. Every nerve in your body was alive, sparking with sensations that came together, making it impossible to focus on anything but the sheer ecstasy surging through you. Yunho’s hips stuttered against your ass as his own release followed, groaning into your ear as he filled you completely to the brim. 

The only sound in the room was the ragged rhythm of your breathing, mingling with his as Yunho pressed his forehead to the nape of your neck. The feeling of him inside you, so intimate and real, like finally grasping something you’d been reaching for in the dark. 

The man who had haunted your dreams, who had lived in the corners of your mind and heart for so long, was now here. With you. 

⋆

You crept out of the room, careful not to disturb Yunho as he slept beside you. The warmth of his body still lingered on your skin as you slipped from the bed, the sheets rustling softly as you pulled them away. You hesitated for a moment, watching him—so peaceful, so unaware of the turmoil swirling inside you. 

Another migraine. Another memory resurfacing.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside, a welcome contrast to the heat that had built up in your chest. You inhaled deeply, the salty air filling your lungs as you made your way down to the shore. 

The image struck you like lightning—a flash of a distant life, one of many you had shared with Yunho. You stumbled slightly, gripping your head as the pain intensified. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him, feeling the weight of his indifference. “Are you seriously telling me that your girlfriend’s shitty friend matters more than me? You don’t even like him, Yunho!”

Yunho looked away, his jaw set in a hard line. “Haewon’s friends are important to her, and I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, but it quickly turned into a choked sob. “So fuck my feelings, right?” you said, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your face. “You’d rather protect that asshole than stand up for me?”

Yunho’s eyes finally met yours, but they were empty, cold, devoid of the warmth you once knew. “She’s my girlfriend, Y/N. I have to prioritize her!” He spat, his voice growing harsher. “And maybe if you weren’t such a loser, always clinging to that stupid journal, you wouldn’t be in this mess! You’re so embarrassing, it’s pathetic.”

You felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under you. The words cut deep, each one a dagger to your heart. You took a shaky breath, the pain piercing through you. 

Your body trembled, curling in on itself instinctively as the memories, once forgotten, now surfaced with brutal clarity. Cold sweat broke out across your skin as you gasped for breath, each inhale shaky and uneven. Everything came crashing back, the hurt, the anger, the loneliness—and the emptiness that followed your disappearance. 

The night you disappeared—the fight, the cruel words Yunho had thrown at you—replayed over and over in your mind. He had blamed you, walked away, and in doing so, left you to unravel alone. 

Now, doubt began to cloud your thoughts, creeping in slowly, suffocating, making you question everything that had happened earlier that evening, and all your interactions with Yunho before. The confusion was maddening, and you felt yourself sinking into a pit of despair, unsure if you could ever climb out.

Yunho's arm instinctively reached out for you, but his fingers brushed against the empty sheets where your warmth should have been. Panic settled in and he shot up in bed, his eyes frantically scanning the room. 

You were gone.

For a split second, he froze, his mind racing with a dozen possibilities. But before he could think, he scrambled out of bed, barely pausing to put on clothes as he rushed toward the door. His eyes darted across the horizon, searching desperately until they finally landed on you, sitting quietly by the edge of the beach. 

Without a second thought, he made his way toward you, his footsteps quiet on the sand as he approached. He knelt down beside you, the tension in his body easing the moment he was close enough to feel your presence again. 

“You scared me,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. His hand found its way to your back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. “I woke up, and you were gone.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile, though there was a quietness in your eyes that hadn't been there before. “Sorry,” you whispered. 

“I’ve been having these migraines,” you sighed, leaning into Yunho’s touch. “Makes it hard to sleep.”

Yunho frowned, concern etched deeply into his features, and you felt his thumb gently caress your cheek before he pressed a kiss against your temple.

“They come in flashes like episodes from the past. I don’t really know how to explain it, but the most recent one…was with you.” You paused, gauging Yunho’s reaction, but he remained silent.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence between you growing thick and heavy. This wasn’t how you had imagined this moment. This was supposed to be a chance to reconnect, but instead, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one wrong step away from falling into an abyss.

“You told me that I was everything to you,” you finally said, the bitterness creeping into your tone despite your best efforts to stay calm. “So when were you going to tell me the truth?”

Yunho’s eyes widened as if the ground had suddenly given way beneath him. His lips parted, but no words followed—just the sound of his shallow, uneven breathing as the reality of what was happening settled in. His reckoning had come.

Your memories had returned.  

"Tell me," you demanded, voice trembling with the weight of years of pent-up anger and hurt, "were you ever going to tell me the truth about how fucking horrible you were to me?”

"Y/N.” There was a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, hoping that somehow, you would understand that he regretted everything—every word, every action, every painful second of his silence that night.

“Please…just let me explain. I–" His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. "I never meant for it to go that far. It was wrong of me to take it out on you. I didn’t know–"

"You didn’t know how to what?” you interrupted, voice rising. “How to stand by me when I needed you?"

"You left me, Yunho. You blamed me, doubled downed on me, and called me pathetic.”

Yunho winced as if the memory physically pained him. “Y/N, I didn’t mean it,” he choked out, his voice barely holding steady.

“I’m so sorry—God, I’m so sorry. I’d take it all back if I could.”

You let out a hollow laugh, the sound devoid of any warmth. “Didn’t mean it?” Your eyes burned with a fury that had been waiting for this moment. “You didn’t care enough to mean it.”

Yunho recoiled again, eyes wide, his breathing shallow. His mouth opened, but no words came—just the unbearable silence between you.

“Some shit friend you turned out to be,” you continued, your rage impossible to contain.

“You cared more about what they thought of you than standing up for me. You let me take the fall because you were too scared—too scared of what people would think if they saw you defending someone like me. Someone who didn’t fit into their perfect little world of what was acceptable.”

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he began, voice rough with emotion. “And I’ll always regret that I wasn’t the person you needed me to be. I let you down, and I’ve spent every moment since thinking about that night.” 

“You regret it?” you spat, your voice quivering with disbelief. “That’s it? You regret it, and now what? We just pretend that’s enough? That I’d move on like you didn’t tear me apart?” 

You paused, your breath ragged as you struggled to keep your emotions in check, but the weight of the moment was too much, the years of buried hurt and confusion rising to the surface as tears blurred your vision. 

“I loved you, Yunho. I loved you so much, I would have done anything for you. But I realized that no matter how connected we are. No matter how many dreams or lifetimes I see you in, you never changed for me. But for others, you did.”

Yunho’s face paled, the color draining as your words hit him like a blow. It was as if everything he believed about fate—about you and him—was suddenly crumbling beneath him. His breath quickened, and he searched your face, desperately trying to find something, anything, that would reassure him this wasn’t happening. That this wasn’t the moment he lost you.

“I was never going to run from this,” he replied, his voice soft, but no less urgent. "I’m scared because I don’t want to lose you, but I’m not trying to pretend like it didn’t happen. I know I hurt you. I know I fucked up.” His words came fast, desperate, as though if he spoke them quickly enough, they could stop you from leaving. 

“I’ll face everything—the mistakes I made, the way I hurt you. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it right. I’ll do anything."

You turned to face him fully, the ache in your chest growing sharper with every second that passed. It would be so easy to give in, to let his desperation pull you back into his arms. But the thought of always wondering if he would ever truly choose you, was a weight too heavy to carry.

Tears blurred your vision, spilling over before you could stop them, and you could no longer hold back the sobs that had been building in your chest. Your shoulders shook as the dam finally broke, and the pain of everything you’d held inside came pouring out.

“I wanted nothing more than to think that we were meant for each other," you choked through the tears, the words barely audible between sobs. "That Fate was pulling us back together, that all of this was just part of our destiny, and that we’d be together." 

You paused, trying to steady your voice as the emotions surged. “But love shouldn’t feel like this…like something I’m always waiting for, only to be heartbroken over and over again.”

Your heart clenched, the ache almost unbearable as you fought to hold yourself together. But you had to let the words out, the one thing that had been tormenting your soul for what felt like lifetimes.

“If you’re willing to do anything… anything,” your voice broke as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks, your breath hitching between sobs. 

“Then let me go.”

<< vi | viii >>

a/n: just two more chapters and then the epilogue to go :D

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie @jonghosbrainrot

[my-name-is-namename]

It is a Yandere! The reader is the obsessive one instead of Yunho muahahahaha 😈

Well~ we all know that delulu is the solulu 😌

𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 | 300 Followers Event

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x yandere!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: What if in another life, you were the villain? Word Count: 9.8K Warnings: dark themes including stalking, m*rder, torture, asphyxiation, mental health issues, mentions of blood, violence--PLEASE do not interact if you are adverse to any of these themes. i want you to take care of yourselves.

a/n: here's the belated 300 follower event! it can be read alone but also fits into the forget me not universe now to work on my other wips

Forget Me Not Masterlist

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

And then, he turned away.

The officers dragged you out of the room, your body still struggling against their grip. The last thing you saw was Yunho’s back, his shoulders hunched as he walked away from you, leaving you behind.

The air in the courtroom felt suffocating, every breath you took weighed down by the dozens of eyes watching your every move. You could feel the heat of the crowd’s gaze on your back, the low hum of whispered accusations, opinions, and judgments hanging in the air like a thick fog.

"Ms. Lee," he began, his deep voice resonating through the small space, "how do you plead?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t react, except for a subtle clench of your shackled hands. It was Choi Jongho, your lawyer, who spoke for you.

"Not guilty by reason of insanity, your honor," Jongho said, standing tall beside you, his tone as calm and collected as ever. His voice was a shield, firm and unwavering. 

The murmurs that rippled through the crowd were quickly silenced by a sharp rap of the judge’s gavel. Beside you, Jongho remained calm, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at the defense table. 

Judge Baek leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving you. "The court will hear evidence to support this plea in due course." He straightened again, addressing the prosecution. "The state may present its opening argument."

"Thank you, your honor.” Prosecutor Ahn began, her steps slow and deliberate as she moved to the center of the room. 

“Esteemed members of the jury. What you see before you today is a facade. A woman who has worn the mask of a dutiful wife, presenting herself as gentle, caring, and harmless. But beneath that mask lies something far more sinister. A murderer, hiding in plain sight." She took a slow step toward the defense table, her eyes never leaving you.

"A murderer," the prosecutor repeated, louder this time, letting the word hang in the air. "One who premeditated the killing of each of her victims, who calculated every step, every detail with precision." She turned to the jury, her face twisting into a sneer. 

"Lee Y/N didn’t just act on impulse or in a fit of rage. No, she was cunning, manipulative—"

She gestured toward you, her hand slicing through the air as if to emphasize the supposed deceit. "—just as she manipulated her husband into believing she was harmless. That she wouldn’t—couldn’t—kill his best friend, Jung Wooyoung. Or that she was incapable of murdering Ji Myungsoo, a close business associate of her father-in-law and his daughter, Soyi." 

"And that," the prosecutor’s voice cut back into focus, "is the woman sitting before you today. Calculating, cold, and capable of manipulating anyone to suit her own purposes." She took a step closer to the jury, leaning in as if to share a secret. 

"She is a murderer, plain and simple."

Jongho shifted beside you, preparing for his turn, his calm exterior a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. He turned to the jury, his eyes sweeping over their faces as he spoke, pulling them into a tragic story. 

Your story.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let’s address the most critical point that the prosecution conveniently overlooked–my client, the defendant, is not even on the stand because she has been declared psychologically unfit to stand trial by reason of insanity. Yet here we are, with the prosecution making baseless allegations, attempting to sway you with a narrative that cannot hold up under scrutiny.”

“Objection!” 

“Sustained,” Judge Baek replied. “Get to the point, Mr. Choi.”

Jongho paused for dramatic motion before continuing. 

“Can we truly expect someone living in such a mental state to calmly and rationally plan the murders she’s been accused of? We’re talking about hallucinations, delusions — breaks from reality. During these episodes, Ms. Lee is not in control of her actions.”

You could see the jurors leaning in now, their attention firmly on Jongho. They were hooked, feeding off his indignation on your behalf. But they didn’t know, couldn’t know, how little you cared for their sympathy. 

"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, stepping toward the front of the room, "the person you see before you today—Ms. Lee Y/N—has lived through more tragedy than most of us can even imagine. At fifteen years old, she lost everything. Her parents, her brother, her sister—all gone in a single, devastating moment."

"Ms. Lee was the only survivor. Just fifteen years old and left to navigate a world without her family." He let the silence linger for a moment before pressing on. 

"The system put in place to defend her failed her. It left her alone, untreated, with the kind of trauma that no child should have to bear. And worse than that—it allowed Ji Myungsoo, the man responsible for the accident that took her family, to walk free." 

You kept your head down, lips pressed into a thin line, as Jongho’s impassioned speech filled the room. He truly believed what he was saying. He thought this was about grief, about a mind broken under the strain of unresolved trauma. 

"Her mental health deteriorated," Jongho continued, casting a glance in your direction as if to emphasize the fragility he believed lay behind your eyes. 

"And it was only a matter of time before that untreated pain turned inward—until she lost control of her actions, driven by the overwhelming sense of loss and confusion."

He gestured toward you. "We are not dealing with a criminal mastermind here. We are dealing with someone who has been failed by every system designed to protect her. Someone whose untreated traumatic disorder has led her to a state of paranoia and psychosis, an illness that, tragically, went unnoticed until it was too late."

Jongho’s final words echoed through the room, his tone full of somber determination. "My client isn’t a monster. She’s a victim. And today, we are here to ensure that she gets the help she should have received all those years ago."

You could feel the tension in the room shift again, the jury’s sympathy building. They were buying it. Jongho was good, no doubt about it. He returned to his seat beside you, his hand lightly brushing your shoulder in a gesture of support. 

The world ended the day your family’s car tumbled into the ditch. You remembered the screech of metal and the world flipping over and over. 

A drunk driver had collided with the car, sending it spinning off the road. By the time everything went still, the smell of gasoline and blood filled your lungs. 

You crawled from the wreckage, dazed and broken—your head pounding from the concussion, your body screaming with the pain of fractured bones. Blood trickled from your mouth and eyes, but it wasn’t just the injuries. It was something deeper—something inside you broke too, as your world collapsed around you.

The doctors said you’d be fine. But your parents weren’t fine and neither were your brother and sister. They weren’t coming back. And as you lay in that hospital bed, staring. Then, it happened. A sharp giggle escaped your lips, so out of place in the heavy silence that it startled even you. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late. The dam broke. Laughter, wild and uncontrollable, erupted from deep within your chest. It spilled out in frantic waves, rising higher and higher until the sound of your own hysterics filled the room, drowning out everything else.

You were laughing because nothing made sense anymore. How could it? Your family was gone, and all you could do was lie there, broken and alone, the absurdity of it all twisting in your mind like some cruel joke.

Then came the news. The drunk driver, a wealthy executive, had walked away with barely a scratch. A slap on the wrist, a fine, and he was free to return to his life. Free to laugh at dinner parties, to kiss his children goodnight. And you? 

You were left to piece together the shattered remnants of a life no longer recognizable. The system failed you, abandoned you. Just like your family had, though not by choice. You were alone in a world that felt cold and indifferent, the edges of your grief hardening into something else—something dark and unforgiving.

The world felt different after your family was taken from you in that car crash. Every noise was too loud, every shadow too long. The nightmares came first, the panic attacks next. And then, the moments you couldn’t explain—the times when it felt like someone else was inside your body, reacting, lashing out, making choices you couldn’t remember later.

It wasn’t long before your behavior began to spiral. You’d always been guarded, suspicious of others, but something had shifted. Everyone around you started to feel like a threat—each smile hiding a blade, each friendly word masking a darker intent. 

And then, one day, you snapped.

It was your first year of college. Everything was supposed to be different, better. But the tension had been building for weeks. You were running on empty, stretched thin between assignments and sleepless nights, haunted by old wounds. 

“Y/N, you look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Yujin’s voice was casual, the way someone might ask about the weather. But to you, the words were an accusation, sharp and cutting, a spotlight shining on your fragility.

“Yeah, you look like you’re carrying bags on your face,” Jiwon chimed in with a laugh.

That was the moment. Something deep inside you, already frayed, snapped. The edges of your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the heat rising in your chest, your pulse pounding so loudly it drowned out the rest of their laughter.

Before you knew what was happening, your body moved on its own. You lunged across the desk, your fist colliding with Jiwon’s face. You didn’t hear the gasps of your group mates, didn’t notice the way the library went silent, all eyes fixed on you.

You grabbed Jiwon by her hair, twisting it in your fist with a strength you didn’t know you had, and slammed their head against the desk. Once. Twice. Again. The screams around you faded into nothing, your world narrowed to this singular moment of violence.

Hands tried to grab you, pull you away, but they were too late. You were beyond their reach, beyond control. You swung again, wild, desperate to silence the laughter still echoing in your ears. 

But then, amidst the chaos—professors rushing in, students frozen in horror—you were dragged away, yanked back from the scene of destruction you’d created. Your arms were pinned, your movements restricted, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

And in the aftermath, as your body trembled with the adrenaline coursing through you, all you felt was…peace.

It was a strange, twisted sense of calm that settled over you as you stood there, panting, your knuckles bruised and raw. The world around you still buzzed with activity—professors shouting, students calling for help—but to you, it was all muffled, distant. Like the storm inside had finally subsided.

Prosecutor Ahn’s heels clicked against the floor as she approached the easel, her movements precise, deliberate. She taped a photograph of the first victim, Ji Soyi, to the board. The image showed a vibrant, smiling young woman, full of life and promise.

“Let’s start with the first victim—Ji Myungsoo’s daughter,” Ahn said, her voice cutting through the silence in the courtroom. “Ji Soyi. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her, unaware that her final moments would be spent gasping for air as the defendant, Ms. Lee strangled her.” 

Ahn didn’t flinch, her gaze unyielding as she gestured toward the autopsy report in her hand. “Signs of asphyxiation. Bruises on her neck from sustained pressure. This wasn’t a quick death—this was slow, deliberate, cruel.”

She let the words sink in before moving on, the click of her shoes resuming as she taped another photo—this one of Ji Myungsoo, a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes—next to his daughter’s.

“And then there’s Ji Myungsoo,” Ahn continued, her voice dropping to a darker tone. “This wasn’t a random killing. The defendant poisoned him, ensuring a slow, agonizing death. But that wasn’t enough. Ms. Lee inflicted wounds on him over time, stabbing him more than fifty times. He suffered greatly, ladies and gentlemen.”

It was a battle not to react to every detail she laid out, every twisted image she painted of you. The room had become uncomfortably quiet, each juror hanging on Ahn’s every word.

“And finally,” Ahn turned back to the easel, placing the last photograph—a picture of Jung Wooyoung, a smiling man with tousled hair—beside the others. “Jung Wooyoung, an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. For that, he paid with his life.”

Prosecutor Ahn continued, turning to face the jury with an air of false sympathy. “Three lives. Taken without remorse. Without hesitation. Each death meticulously planned and executed by Ms. Lee.”

“I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look at the evidence. To listen to the testimonies. To remember the faces of these victims. This was not a series of accidents. This was murder. And the defendant must be held accountable.”

As the prosecution’s final words lingered in the air, tension gripped the courtroom. All eyes shifted to Jongho as he rose to present the next crucial piece of evidence. He stood before the court, his expression calm yet resolute, and began playing the audio recording, allowing everyone to listen closely as the exchange between Wooyoung and San unfolded.

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

The jury listened intently, leaning in as they hear Wooyoung’s concerned voice, only for it to be interrupted by your frantic shouting. 

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

The recording continued with the faint sound of a struggle. Then, the unmistakable and chilling noise of the knife meeting flesh. Wooyoung’s shocked, labored gasp echoed like a whisper of death. The phone clattered to the floor with a muted thud.

As the recording ended, silence swallowed the room. The courtroom seemed frozen in that moment of tragedy, suspended between disbelief and horror. Jongho allowed the gravity of the evidence to sink in. After a moment, he took a measured breath and stepped forward, his face somber as he addressed the jury. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "what you just heard was a man trying to help a friend. Mr. Jung Wooyoung, a close friend of the defendant and her husband, recognized something was wrong. He wasn’t a threat. He didn’t raise a hand in violence. He was trying to help."

"But Ms. Lee didn’t recognize Mr. Jung at that moment. She wasn’t in her right mind. The recording clearly shows that she was disoriented, frightened, and acting out of what she perceived as self-defense. ‘I don’t know where I am,’ she said. A statement that gives us crucial insight into her state of mind."

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before speaking again. "This is not the behavior of a calculated killer. This is someone who was mentally unwell, someone struggling with the reality around them. And that is why we must understand this case for what it truly is: a tragedy brought on by untreated trauma and mental illness."

"No one is denying the pain this incident has caused,” Jongho’s voice softened as he motioned to the jury. “But we must consider the true state of mind that led to this tragic event. Ms. Lee is not a cold-blooded murderer. She is a victim of a condition she didn’t choose, a condition that robbed her of her ability to understand what was happening in that moment."

As the trial resumed after a brief recess, the atmosphere in the courtroom felt heavier, as the court proceeded to the cross-examination. Jongho stood up smoothly, striding toward the witness stand where Dr. Kim Hongjoong, a seasoned psychiatrist, was seated. 

“Dr. Kim,” Jongho began, his voice calm but commanding, “you’ve been treating the defendant, Ms. Lee, for how long now?”

Hongjoong sat upright, his hands folded in his lap. “Approximately six months,” he answered, his tone measured and professional.

Jongho nodded, pacing slightly as he glanced at the jury. “And in those six months, you’ve had the opportunity to evaluate her mental state thoroughly, correct?”

“Yes. I’ve conducted multiple sessions with Ms. Lee, as well as comprehensive psychological evaluations.”

“Let’s talk about those evaluations,” Jongho said, his eyes sharp as he approached the heart of his cross-examination. “In your professional opinion, what was Ms. Lee’s mental state at the time of the alleged crimes?”

Dr. Kim took a deep breath before answering. “Ms. Lee was suffering from severe psychosis, compounded by years of untreated trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder. She was not in full control of her actions. Her ability to distinguish between reality and hallucinations had been severely impaired.”

“So, are you saying that during the time in question, Ms. Lee would not have been able to fully comprehend the consequences of her actions?”

“Yes. Ms. Lee was experiencing delusions and episodes of dissociation. In my professional opinion, she was in a state of psychosis when the alleged incidents occurred.”

Jongho paused, allowing the weight of Dr. Kim’s testimony to sink in. “Doctor, could you tell the court about any specific episodes Ms. Lee experienced that support your diagnosis?”

“Ms. Lee described recurring visions, fragmented memories of violence, and a deep-seated paranoia that others were out to harm her,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber. “In her mind, she wasn’t acting out of malice or cruelty, but out of a distorted sense of survival,” Dr. Kim explained, his voice steady but somber.

Jongho stepped back, giving the jury a moment to digest this before delivering his final question. “In your professional opinion, Doctor, had Ms. Lee received the appropriate mental health care before these tragic events occurred, could this situation have been prevented?”

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and he nodded gravely. “Yes. If Ms. Lee had received immediate psychiatric intervention and proper treatment, it is likely that these tragic events could have been avoided.”

“Nothing further.”

The silence that followed was palpable. Jongho returned to his seat, leaving the jury with the image of a woman failed by the system, a woman whose suffering had been ignored until it was too late.

⋆

“Your Honor,” Prosecutor Ahn began, her voice crisp and authoritative, “the prosecution calls Choi San to the stand.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as San stood up. He walked with a calm demeanor, but there was something unreadable in his expression. His eyes flickered briefly toward you as he made his way to the stand, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched as if holding back the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

"Mr. Choi," Ahn began, "you were married to the defendant, Ms. Lee Y/N, correct?"

San nodded slowly, his voice firm when he spoke. "Yes, we were married."

Ahn clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze unwavering. "And during the time of your marriage, did you notice any unusual behavior from Ms. Lee? Anything that might indicate she was…unwell?"

San hesitated for a moment, his eyes drifting to you again before he spoke. “There were moments. She would have these... episodes, where she would act out of character. She would get confused, paranoid.”

Prosecutor Ahn stepped closer, her voice soft but piercing. "Can you elaborate on these episodes?”

"I guess..." he hesitated, his voice quiet, "it started when we met my father’s business partner at a dinner," San’s voice faltered, the words catching in his throat. 

"He was the one who killed her family in that accident ten years ago."

He took a deep breath before continuing his testimony. "After that run in, she wouldn’t let it go," he continued, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. 

"Y/N started tracking his every move. She started talking about an eye for an eye, and how the system failed her. That if she didn’t do something to take care of him, he’d take me away. And that he deserved to lose everything he loved.”

"I didn’t believe anything she was saying," San confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I thought it was just her way of venting out her frustrations and the pain she felt from losing her family."

Ahn pressed forward, her voice dipping into a quieter, more somber tone. “Mr. Choi, do you believe your wife was capable of committing the murders she’s accused of?”

San hesitated. His gaze locked onto yours for what felt like an eternity before he answered, his voice rough but steady. “Yes. In the state she was in... I believe she could have done it.”

Prosecutor Ahn nodded and glanced at the jury, making sure their attention was firmly on the tragic narrative she was building. 

“Mr. Choi,” Ahn said, her voice quiet and deliberate, “do you believe Ms. Lee poses a danger to others?”

“Yes.”

"Thank you, Mr. Choi," Ahn said, before turning toward the defense table, offering the floor to Jongho. He stood up slowly, his expression unreadable as he prepared to dismantle the prosecution’s carefully crafted testimony. 

“Mr. Choi, what was your relationship to the victim, Jung Wooyoung?”

San blinked, his expression hardening, clearly not expecting the shift in focus. He squared his shoulders and answered, "He was a close friend of mine. We had known each other for years."

"Now," Jongho continued, his voice calm but cutting, "you testified earlier that your wife, Ms. Lee, had episodes where she experienced paranoia, confusion, and breaks from reality. These episodes, as you described them, made her unpredictable, correct?"

"Yes," San replied, his voice strained.

"During these episodes, did you ever witness Ms. Lee act violently toward Wooyoung? Was there any indication that she harbored ill will toward him?"

San hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "No."

“But you also testified that you believed your wife was capable of committing these crimes because of her mental state. When these 'episodes' occurred, did you ever seek medical intervention for her? Did you ever attempt to get her the help she needed?"

"I thought I could handle it. I thought...it would get better."

Jongho’s tone turned sharp again. "But it didn’t get better, did it? And instead of intervening, you allowed her mental state to deteriorate further, and divorced her?"

"Objection!" Prosecutor Ahn shot up from her seat. "Counsel is badgering the witness."

"Sustained," Judge Baek replied, her voice firm.

"I’ll rephrase, Your Honor."

Jongho turned back to San, his eyes locking onto him. "Mr. Choi, did you ever try to commit your wife to a psychiatric facility, or ensure she received treatment when it became clear she wasn’t capable of seeking it on her own?"

 "No... I didn’t."

“So at no point did you take any formal action to protect her or those around her. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has been portrayed as a dangerous woman, out of control and violent. But the truth is, the people closest to her, who should have protected her, did nothing. They left her to spiral, and now, they seek to blame her for the results of their negligence."

Jongho’s voice rose in impassioned defense, but you barely heard him. It was all noise now. The trial, the evidence, the testimonies—they were irrelevant. His defense painted you as a victim—of trauma, of untreated mental illness, of circumstance. It was a masterful performance, really. He was doing everything he could to save you, using every legal trick in the book to cast doubt on the prosecution’s case.

But the truth? The truth didn’t matter to you.

None of what Jongho said applied to you. It never had. The psychological evaluation—full of words like unstable and delusional—had been nothing more than a tool. You needed it. The evaluation was a key piece of the puzzle, a carefully laid foundation in your plan to ensure your return to him.

Jeong Yunho.

He wasn’t just another doctor assigned to pick apart your mind after that brutal incident. You’d been sent to Cromer Asylum after the incident that left the faculty bewildered and your peers terrified. Everyone thought you were unhinged, unstable, dangerous—and maybe they weren’t wrong. But in the eerie, stuffy walls of the asylum, Yunho had been different.

It was Yunho’s kindness—those small, thoughtful gestures—that first made you feel something again. Like offering you tea during your sessions or slipping you an extra book from the library. But the gesture had been far from simple to you. It had been intimate. Thoughtful.

During sessions, never rushed you. Even when your words came out fragmented, your thoughts tangled in chaos, he listened, really listened, without judgment. There was a warmth to his presence that none of the others possessed, a patience that was unnerving in its sincerity.

You fell for him, deeply and irrevocably. The way he looked at you, the way his presence brought a sense of peace in the madness. He didn’t know it then, but you had seen it—the connection between you. You had felt it. He didn’t know it yet, but there was something between you. Something right. 

But when you were informed of your release from the asylum, you begged him. You begged him to stop it, to keep you there, to let you stay with him. You pleaded with him like a drowning person reaching for something—anything—to hold on to. 

You were supposed to be getting better. Supposed to be moving forward. But the thought of leaving him, of stepping into a world where he wasn’t there every week, listening to your deepest fears and watching you with those careful, thoughtful eyes—it was unbearable.

"Yunho!" you screamed, twisting against the weight of the officers escorting you out. Your mind was spinning, unable to process what was happening. You searched his face for something, anything, that would tell you this wasn’t real. That he was going to stop them, that he was going to save you. 

But all you found was silence.

"Yunho, help me!" you sobbed, your voice raw and pleading. You reached for him, but the officers were too strong, dragging you backward as you fought to break free. Your limbs flailed in desperation, but it was no use. 

Yunho stayed silent. His eyes met yours one last time, filled with sorrow, regret, and something else—something you couldn’t place, maybe pity. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

When you were finally discharged, you felt hollow. The outside world swallowed you whole, indifferent to your desperation. And Yunho? He moved on. His role in your life ended the moment you walked out of Cromer’s doors.

But you couldn’t forget. You’d always find your way back to him, one way or another. 

You weren’t quite the same person who had walked out of Cromer Asylum all those years ago—though, in truth, you had never really left that place behind. No matter how much you tried to suppress them, to move forward, they lingered, always just beneath the surface. And in the center of those memories, was Yunho. He was never far from your thoughts, even as you built a new life with San.

When you received the invitation to the dinner party hosted by Ji Myungsoo, your father-in-law’s business partner, you felt a chill run down your spine. The name alone was enough to make your skin crawl, but you couldn’t refuse the invitation. San insisted it was important to attend. The business connection with Ji Myungsoo was vital, and he wanted you by his side.

The man who had taken everything from you—the man responsible for your family's deaths—was not only thriving, but he was hosting you, offering you drinks, parading you around his opulent home like you were all part of the same privileged world. The rage bubbled just below the surface, but you forced yourself to smile, to nod politely, and to keep up the facade for San’s sake. Every moment felt like an eternity.

Halfway through dinner, as the conversation turned toward families and futures, Myungsoo casually mentioned his daughter.

“You’ll meet her soon. I hope you two will become fast friends,” he said with a proud smile. 

You nodded, forcing a polite smile, though your mind was elsewhere. The edges of the dinner party felt blurry, sounds muffled under the weight of your thoughts as you fought to reconcile with the fact that your family’s murderer was standing right before you. 

Your heart raced, trying to keep your composure, knowing this was just another chapter in a long, cruel joke the universe had decided to play on you. 

And then she appeared.

Soyi entered the room, but it wasn’t her entrance that made your blood run cold. No, it was the man beside her, the one she had looped her arm through.

Yunho.

You hadn’t seen him since the asylum, since the day they released you and tore you away from him. You thought you had buried those feelings, those memories, but seeing him now—so close yet so impossibly out of reach—made it all rush back with a force that left you breathless.

He hadn’t changed. The same calm, thoughtful presence radiated from him. And then, as if fate itself had conspired against you, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on you.

Seeing Yunho again had set everything into motion.

As you stood there, watching him laugh beside Ji Soyi, the daughter of the man who had ruined your life, you felt a bitter twist in your chest. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

That night, when you lay beside San in bed, your thoughts were plagued with Yunho. His face, his voice, the way he had looked at you all those years ago. You had felt that connection with him immediately, and it had never faded. It had only grown stronger, all consuming, until it had taken over everything. Even your life with San. Especially your life with San.

He had been everything you should have wanted—a loving husband who was gentle, kind, and devoted. San gave you comfort, security. For a while, you tried. You really did. 

But now, you were going to be reunited with Yunho, no matter the cost. San had been collateral damage—necessary, inevitable. You had always known that this life with him wouldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to.

Because your life, your future, had always been with Yunho.

⋆

Ji Soyi had been first. 

Beautiful, kind, so perfect for Yunho. She was an obstacle, a barrier standing between you and Yunho. It was her constant hovering around him that grated on you the most. The way her laugh would ring out just a little too loudly whenever he spoke, her hand lingering on his arm a second too long, as though she had some unspoken claim to him. She would bat her eyelashes and brush against him, whispering things in his ear when she thought no one was watching. 

But you were always watching.

And Yunho, ever so polite, didn’t see it. Or if he did, he played it off. He always played it off. You had seen it in his smile—the one he gave her, the one that was meant to be reserved for you.

Her death came swiftly, almost too easily. You played the long game, weaving your way into her life with care. Befriending her was almost laughably simple, as if your shared connection to San could bridge the gap between strangers. You used it to your advantage, knowing that her guard would drop. And it did.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” you hissed as you brought your hands around her neck. “You don’t know shit about him, you don’t deserve him.”

You had expected more from her, something resembling a fight, but when you knocked her out, it was over too quickly. She struggled, clawing and kicking at you as she tried to break free, the pulse beneath your grip beating frantically, begging for life, but you didn’t flinch. You watched the way the light left her eyes, how her breath came in sharp, erratic bursts, until it suddenly didn’t. 

“He’s mine.”

It was quiet now, the room heavy with the absence of her breath. You lingered for a moment, taking it all in, before you stood up. You had done what needed to be done.

Upon hearing of his daughter’s death, Ji Myungsoo was consumed by grief. He had no idea that his own tragedy was about to begin.

The day had unfolded like any other, ordinary and unremarkable. But for you, it was anything but. Soyi’s death had been the first step—necessary to clear the path to Yunho. Now, with her out of the way, it was time to exact your revenge on the man who had destroyed your world. Ji Myungsoo. 

His death would not be quick or merciful. No, it would be a meticulous masterpiece of suffering, each moment designed to make him feel every ounce of the rage that had been festering inside you for years.

You invited him over for tea, expressing your condolences, telling him that San would be running late. There was no hesitation in his acceptance; why would there be? You were, after all, mourning Soyi’s loss alongside him. And as always, Myungsoo’s arrogance blinded him. He saw only the fragile, heartbroken woman before him—not the calculating mind that had orchestrated everything.

“You were right when you said that she and I would become fast friends,” you said, your voice calm as you poured him a cup of tea. The poison swirled invisibly in his drink, a silent killer that would take its time.

He sipped, oblivious. The poison worked slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. A slight discomfort twisted across his face, but he pushed it aside with a casual shrug. Perhaps he thought it was nothing—just stress or a mild irritation. 

But as the minutes passed, the real symptoms began to set in.

You noticed the first signs before he did: the subtle clenching of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. His hand reached for his stomach as nausea began to creep in, followed by a burning sensation that you knew must be coursing through his veins by now. He looked at you, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Are you alright?” you asked, feigning concern as he grew more uncomfortable in his seat. He forced a smile, but panic had already set in.

He attempted to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. His breath came in shallow gasps as his body convulsed, the poison coursing relentlessly through his veins.

The moment he realized he was going to die, his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear. He tried to speak, but the words came out garbled, a pathetic attempt at pleading for his life.

But you weren’t done yet.

Dragging his half-limp body to your car had been easy enough, though the drive to the warehouse felt almost surreal. This was what you had waited for, planned for, every detail meticulously crafted for this moment.

You stared down at him, tied to the chair, his skin already pale from the poison. His eyes flickered open, unfocused, as you stepped closer. His breathing was ragged, each gasp a fight, and you savored the sight of his vulnerability.

"Do you remember where you were ten years ago?" Your words were venomous as you slapped him across the face with the hospital report—the one from the accident, the one you kept as a reminder of that night. The slap echoed in the empty room, but his head just to the side, too weak to hold itself up.

"It was rhetorical, don't answer that," you snapped, tossing the papers aside.

You began with his hands, driving the blade of your knife into the back of his hand, dragging it down each of his fingers as his screams echoed off the cold walls. 

“You took everything from me,” you whispered, the words calm but seething with fury as you tossed aside the knife and picked up an iron stake. The glow from the metal illuminated the look of realization that dawned on Myungsoo’s face. But it was too late for it. The stake hissed as it seared into his skin, his body convulsing uncontrollably, and you pressed down harder, savoring the way his flesh bubbled and blackened under the heat.

His words were a garbled mess, his once-commanding voice reduced to pitiful moans. You didn’t care. You weren’t looking for his answers—just his suffering. He begged for mercy, of course. They always do in the end. But you weren’t in the business of mercy. Not for him. Not for the man who had destroyed everything.

“Did you think I would just forget?” Your voice was soft, almost caring, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. His eyes rolled back, his chest heaving, but all that came out were pitiful whimpers.

You took a step back, circling him like a predator. “Your family…” You spat, your disgust palpable. "All of you, filthy, corrupt pieces of shit." The iron stake gleamed in your hand as you lifted it, bringing it down with brutal force.

The first stab was almost surgical, controlled, as you sunk the metal deep into his shoulder. His scream was ear-shattering, but you barely registered it over the roar of blood in your ears.

“You destroyed my family!” Another stab, this time to his chest, your hand trembling not from fear but from the rage that had built up for years. "You took Yunho from me! Took everything!" 

Your voice cracked as you drove the stake in again, punctuating every word with a strike. His body jerked with each stab, his life force dwindling with every ounce of blood spilled, but still, it wasn’t enough. Not for what he had done.

"You ruined my life!" you screamed, your throat raw from the force of it, but there was no stopping now. Not until the last shred of his miserable life had been bled out.

Ji Myungsoo had taken everything from you. But in the end, you had taken everything from him, too.

“Y/N?” 

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath, heart raced as you turned to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Of all the people to walk in, it had to be him. San’s best friend, the real estate agent who had been helping you scout this very warehouse, now stood frozen, eyes darting between you and the bloodied mess that was Ji Myungsoo. 

His face shifted from confusion to dawning suspicion, taking in the scene with wide eyes—the discarded iron stake, Myungsoo's lifeless form slumped in the chair, and you, soaked in sweat and smeared in blood. Wooyoung wasn't meant to be part of this. You hadn't planned for his death—not here, not now. But fate had a way of forcing your hand, and as you stood there, you knew there was no turning back.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.

"Wooyoung," you began, your voice steady, even as panic clawed at your insides. You tried to keep calm, but his eyes betrayed his growing doubt. He knew something was off.

"I-I don’t know what happened. I blacked out and found myself here," you cried, your voice shaking just enough to sell the lie. The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, and you watched as his brow furrowed in concern, his guard lowering slightly.

"Blacked out?" he echoed, glancing around the dimly lit warehouse. "What do you mean?"

"I swear, Wooyoung, I don’t remember! One moment I was home, and then... everything went dark." You let your voice tremble, tears welling in your eyes as you faked a sniffle. "I never wanted any of this! You have to believe me!"

Wooyoung hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. His eyes softened, his loyalty to San overriding his doubt. "Okay," he said, his tone gentler now. "We’ll figure this out. I’ll call San, he’ll know what to do."

You followed him outside, feigning hysteria as he led you toward his car. He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed San’s number. He was trying to stay calm, trying to protect you, but he had no idea what was coming.

"I’ll drive you home," he said, opening the passenger door for you. You slipped inside, wiping fake tears from your cheeks, watching him get into the driver's seat beside you.

As Wooyoung lifted the phone to his ear, you reached for the knife tucked into the waistband of your pants. Your breath hitched, not out of guilt but out of anticipation. 

"San, I think something’s wrong. Y/N is—"

"Let go of me, Wooyoung! Don’t touch me, I don’t know where I am!"

Wooyoung’s eyes went wide, not in pain, but in shock as the blade of the knife came in contact with his throat. Blood trickled down as the phone slipped from his hand, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

"Wooyoung? Wooyoung?" San's frantic voice crackled from the phone.

You sat there for a moment, your chest heaving as you stared at Wooyoung's lifeless body slumped against the driver's seat. Unlike with Ji Myungsoo or his daughter, there was no satisfaction in this kill. No personal vendetta.

Wooyoung’s death wasn’t about revenge—it was about necessity. You needed chaos. You needed San to break, to crumble under the weight of grief and guilt. Wooyoung’s murder was the key, the catalyst that would force San’s hand.

Everything was falling into place. Wooyoung’s death had served its purpose, just as you had intended.

Wooyoung’s arrival wasn’t a mistake–it was destiny. The piece you hadn't accounted for but hoped fate would deliver. His blood on your blade, the chaotic scene at the warehouse—it was all necessary. For the world to collapse, to fold back on itself, to bring you back to that asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

But the jury wouldn’t see it that way. They would see only the surface: a cold-blooded killer, a twisted mind, someone trying to claim insanity and self-defense for the bloodshed. And that was the point.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice firm yet measured, “we’ve spent the past few days unraveling a complex and tragic series of events. You’ve heard the prosecution’s version of events,” Jongho continued, his voice low, almost intimate. 

“A calculated killer. A deranged individual who took lives without remorse. But this case—this trial—is about more than cold facts. It’s about understanding the human mind, the trauma that shapes it, and how one can be driven to unspeakable actions when their grip on reality slips away.”

He took a step forward, his eyes softening as he spoke, appealing not to their logic but to their empathy.

“When you look at the evidence, at the bloody scene, you see only the aftermath. But I ask you to dig deeper. To see Ms. Lee as a victim, not just of circumstance but of her own fractured psyche.”

“To convict Lee Y/N of murder, to ignore the clear signs of mental illness, would be to deny them the help they so desperately need. It would be to condemn them to a system that doesn’t heal but punishes.”

He walked slowly toward the jury box, lowering his voice once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t about vengeance. This is about justice. True justice. The kind that doesn’t close its eyes to the complexities of the human mind. Y/N is not a monster. She is a victim of circumstances and trauma she couldn’t control. For that reason, I plead with you—find Ms. Lee is not guilty by reason of insanity. Don’t let this tragedy end with another one.”

The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence as the jury left to deliberate. It was as if the room itself had been holding its breath, waiting for the judgment that would either seal your fate or offer a sliver of mercy. Every sound—the shuffle of papers, the creak of chairs—seemed amplified, yet muffled by the overwhelming tension. 

You were so close to Yunho. His face lingered in your thoughts, hazy and distant, but still the anchor that kept you grounded. You had tried so hard to return to him, to undo the chaos, to find the way back to the asylum where it had all begun. All of this—every desperate choice, every life you’d taken—had been to right the wrongs, to set the world on a course that could lead you back to him. Back to the only place where you’d felt whole. 

Would the jury see beyond the blood and violence? Would they understand that your actions, twisted as they were, had been born from a mind in torment? Or would they condemn you, as the prosecutor had urged, to live out the rest of your days in darkness, with no hope of return?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the heavy wooden door creaked open. The jury filed in, their expressions unreadable, faces drawn and pale as if the weight of the decision had drained them of life. 

The world around you blurred and you barely registered the judge’s voice asking for the verdict. Your pulse quickened, each beat pounding in your ears, drowning out all other sound. Every nerve in your body tensed, bracing for the moment when your future—everything you had done, everything you had been—would be reduced to a single sentence.

“In the case of Y/N, we the jury find the defendant…not guilty by reason of insanity.”

For a moment, the world had stopped to process the verdict. And then, chaos erupted. The courtroom exploded into a cacophony of shocked gasps, outraged shouts, and the frenzied hum of disbelief. Reporters scrambled to capture the scene, their cameras flashing like bursts of lightning, while murmurs of shock rippled through the gallery.

You barely registered the noise, the protests, the frantic movement around you. The words not guilty resonated within you, surreal and distant, as if they had been spoken for someone else. But they hadn’t. They were yours. You had been spared. 

You had won.

A strange giddiness bubbled up inside you, an almost glee that coursed through your veins. Your limbs felt light, your pulse quickening with the intoxicating rush of relief and triumph. You could hardly believe it. You had done it. You were going back. Back to where it all began. Back to the asylum. 

Back to Yunho.

It didn’t matter what they thought—what they saw in you. They would never understand. They couldn’t see what you saw. This wasn’t about guilt or innocence. This was about destiny. And destiny had delivered exactly what you needed.

As you were led out of the defendant’s seat, the press rushed toward you, their voices clamoring for a piece of you, a glimpse into the madness they’d only seen from the outside. 

“How could you let this monster go free?” one reporter shouted, his words seething with disgust.

“This isn’t about freedom,” Jongho’s voice cut through the mayhem, firm and unyielding, though no one seemed to hear him. “This verdict means treatment, not freedom.”

But you heard. And it made your pulse race even faster. Treatment. The word tasted sweet on your tongue. They didn’t know it, but they were giving you exactly what you wanted. They were sending you back to Yunho, back to the place where everything had started to unravel and where, finally, you could set it all right.

A nervous, giddy laugh threatened to spill from your lips as security escorted you down the courthouse steps, flashes from cameras exploding like fireworks around you. You felt lightheaded, as if you were floating. The trial was over. They had given you exactly what you needed. You had won.

Soon, everything would be as it was meant to be.

As you descended the final steps, you caught Jongho’s eye. He gave you a curt nod, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t care. None of this was for him. This was for you and Yunho.

The asylum was waiting. He was waiting. And soon, you’d be together, just as fate had intended.

⋆

Yunho moved through the halls of the asylum, his footsteps steady, his mind focused on the quiet, predictable routine that had become his refuge. There was a strange comfort in the monotony—the steady rhythm of making his rounds, checking on patients, administering care where needed.

The asylum was a place where chaos was contained, where he could maintain control. And after everything that had happened, he needed that sense of order more than ever.

Since Soyi’s death, Yunho had distanced himself from the outside world, retreating into the sterile, unchanging walls of the asylum. Here, within the asylum, the order and routine soothed the jagged edges of his grief. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. All he had to do was keep moving—one foot in front of the other—through days that blurred together in a haze of a routine. 

But today, there was something different in the air. An odd tension hummed beneath the surface, something Yunho couldn’t quite place. The staff seemed restless, exchanging glances as they passed, but no one said anything. He brushed it off, convincing himself it was just another day.

As he headed toward the lounge for a break, he suddenly froze. Whispers drifted through the air like spectres. His back was to the nurses, but their words hit him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Did you hear the verdict?” one of them whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“I can’t believe it,” the other replied, shaking her head. “After everything that’s happened, they’re sending her back here?”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Yunho’s heart began to race, his feet were fixed to the ground but his mind was spinning, grasping for a rational explanation. 

You couldn’t be coming back.

He slowly turned toward the nurses, the look on their faces told him all he needed to know. It wasn’t a rumor. It wasn’t a mistake.

You were being brought back to the asylum.

Yunho had tried to help you back then, hadn’t he? He had thought he could guide you through the darkness in your mind. He had thought you could be saved. But you had twisted everything—warped every moment, every act of kindness, until the lines between reality and fantasy blurred beyond recognition.

Yunho clenched his fists, recalling the strange things you used to say, the way you always looked at him with a strange intensity, as if there was something between you that had never been there. He had been your doctor, your guide through a fractured reality. But to you, that had never been enough.

In your mind, every small interaction, every professional courtesy had turned into something else. Something far more intimate, far more meaningful. He remembered the way you would smile at him after a session, lingering in the doorway longer than necessary, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling warmth.

The tea. You had held onto that memory like it was a shared moment of affection, but Yunho had only brought it to you so you could take your medication. He never lingered or stayed with you—it was just protocol. And the books—you believed he had slipped them to you as a secret gift, but in truth, you had stolen them from his office. While you imagined a private exchange, Yunho had been searching for those missing books, unaware of the narrative you had created in your mind.

Yunho had been oblivious at first, chalking up your behavior to the paranoia and delusions of your condition. But as the months had worn on, it became clear that you were building something dangerous. You began to speak as if he were yours, as if the two of you shared something secret and forbidden. And when he tried to correct you, to explain that none of it was real, you had lashed out.

He had been forced to distance himself, to reassign your care to someone else. He couldn’t risk letting you believe any longer. But even then, you hadn’t stopped. The stalking had started—notes left in his office, small gifts appearing on his desk, the feeling that you were always there, watching.

You had vanished without a trace after your release, and though there had been whispers, rumors—mostly mundane—no one seemed to know what had truly happened to you.

But when he saw you that night, at the dinner party, and that unsettling smile playing on your lips, something in him had recoiled. He’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t really you at first—maybe a shadow of his imagination, a trick of the light, the product of too many sleepless nights. But it was you.

Married to another man nonetheless. 

You hadn’t changed, not in any way that anyone else could notice, but to Yunho, there was something different. Something darker. The way you watched him—how your gaze never left him, even when you pretended to mingle with the other guests. 

At first, he tried to ignore it. To tell himself that he was imagining things, that the distance between you had made him overly paranoid. But the gnawing feeling never left. The unsettling gaze you cast his way lingered, even in his dreams.

And then the deaths came.

Soyi was first. Found in her own home, strangled to death. The image of her lifeless body flashed across his mind like a nightmare he couldn’t shake. She had nothing to do with any of this, yet her murder felt…deliberate. Calculated.

The police hadn’t found any leads. Yunho knew Soyi wasn’t a target, but a message. The first drop of blood in what would become a flood.

Then her father, only days later. The grief had barely settled over the funeral before another tragedy struck. He was found in a warehouse, unrecognizable as he was branded and mutilated to death. 

Wooyoung’s death didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit your pattern. Where Soyi and her father’s murders were deliberate—carefully tied to your twisted sense of fate—Wooyoung was different. He wasn’t part of the narrative you’d constructed around Yunho. He wasn’t a pawn in your obsession, nor did he pose any threat to your plans. And yet, there he was—dead.

Yunho tried to make sense of it. He wanted to believe it was all some horrible coincidence, that Wooyoung’s death wasn’t connected to you. Why would a married woman go on a killing spree, carefully orchestrating deaths that, at first glance, seemed unrelated?

But the more Yunho thought about it, the clearer the truth became. Wooyoung wasn’t just collateral damage in the fallout of your unraveling marriage. His death had been deliberate—another piece of your twisted puzzle. A final push.

Yunho’s stomach twisted as the realization sank in. Wooyoung’s death had been the last piece of the puzzle to get San to divorce you. The timing was too perfect. San had been distancing himself, pulling away the moment the killings began. But Wooyoung? His death was the breaking point—the one thing that pushed San over the edge.

Yunho couldn’t escape the truth now. Your silence, the way you had watched him before you disappeared, the cold calculation behind every move—it had all been leading to this. You wanted to sever every tie, burn every bridge.

And it worked.

Now, standing in the asylum, Yunho felt the dread he had long tried to suppress rose to the surface. You weren’t just a memory or a ghost lingering in the corners of his mind anymore. You were here—flesh and blood—inside the place where everything had begun to unravel. The line between reality and delusion had long since blurred.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached his office. The hallway seemed longer, the air heavier, as though the very walls of the asylum were closing in around him. His hand trembled as he reached for the door handle, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing down the corridor. 

And there you were—sitting in the chair, waiting for him, your presence filling the room like a ghost that refused to be banished.

“Yunho,” you said softly, your voice carrying a strange intimacy that made his skin crawl. You rose from the chair, stepping toward him with a slow, deliberate grace, “I’m back.”

Your smile—small, almost innocent—didn’t reach your eyes. They gleamed with something Yunho couldn’t quite place, something darker, obsessive. His heart pounded, and for a split second, his instincts screamed at him to run, to leave, to escape. But he couldn’t move. His body was frozen, tethered by the force of your gaze, by the sheer gravity of your presence.

“Can you believe it? Fate finally brought us back together.”

Your words tightened around him like a noose, each one pulling tighter, cutting off his air. Together. That was what you believed, wasn’t it? That this was fate. That everything—the years of distance, the separation, the silence—had all been leading to this moment. This reunion.

You were smiling now, a slow, eerie smile that didn’t match the sharp edge in your tone. “Do you understand? All those years of waiting, of watching you live your life without me…it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” Your voice trembled with emotion as your lips curled into something that might have been joy, if it hadn’t felt so disturbingly wrong. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” you cooed softly, reaching out to brush your fingers along his arm, the touch light but charged with an undercurrent of possessiveness. 

“This is what was meant to be. We were always meant to be together, Yunho. Nothing can change that. Not time. Not distance. Not even death.”

The pit in Yunho’s stomach churned violently. He stared at you, the full horror of your words sinking in like poison. You had killed for this—for him. Because you truly believed that your twisted bond, your warped sense of destiny, justified everything.

You stepped even closer, your breath warm against his skin. 

“Just like it was always meant to be.”

[my-name-is-namename]

✨ The aura ✨

SEONGHWA 240929 Paris Fashion Week

[my-name-is-namename]

Urgh the heartache 😭😭😭

fate bound | from forget me not

Pairing: king!Jeong Yunho x court lady!Reader AU: non-idol | historical au Summary: Realizing that Yunho's love, no matter how sincere, will never be enough to change your fate, you decide that you cannot spend your life waiting for a love that might never fully be yours. Word Count: 4.2K (I guess it's not really a drabble?) Warnings: angst/no comfort, mentions of death, poisoning, execution, political turmoil, history repeating itself, yunho is dumb in every lifetime

a/n: I was inspired to write this scene after watching the 'the red sleeve' but then cut it from forget me not because it was too long. I figured it faired better as a oneshot but wanted to share it with you all

Forget Me Not Masterlist

"Why do you refuse me?" Yunho’s voice was low, almost pleading, as his fingers gently toyed with a thick lock of your hair. 

You hummed softly, your gaze drifting out the window to the expanse beyond the palace walls. The night sky stretched on endlessly, stars twinkling with a freedom you could never claim. As you shuffled closer to him, your hand came to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. You wished, for just a moment, that things could be different—that you could wish for more. More of Yunho’s love, more of his time, more of a life that wasn’t bound by duty.

“I am a bird, Your Majesty," you finally murmured, your words measured. "I was born to roam the skies untethered. But if I stay with you, I will be caged.”

Yunho’s fingers stilled and you felt him tense beneath your hand, his breath hitching in his throat as the truth of your rejection created a rift neither of you had wanted to acknowledge. He tilted his head down, searching your face for answers, for a glimpse of hope as if willing you to reconsider.

"You wouldn’t be caged," he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup the delicate juncture of your jaw. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheekbone, lingering with a tenderness that made you shiver. Yunho’s touch was so gentle, so familiar, yet it carried the weight of a man on the brink of losing everything.

"I would give you everything," he continued, "Anything you want, anything you could dream of—just stay." His eyes, dark and unwavering, locked onto yours, filled with a longing that was impossible to ignore. "By my side."

You shook your head, a bittersweet smile pulling at your lips. "I have no place in your world," you whispered, the words heavy with truth. "You are the king. You have a queen. And I am just another face of the court."

"I don’t care about the crown, or the court," he cut in, the conviction striking through his tender facade. “I care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice should have melted your heart, but instead, it only caused it to ache. You turned your head, refusing to meet his gaze, your eyes drifting toward the floor as if looking anywhere else.

"I care for you more than you’ll ever know, Yunho. But…”

Yunho stood frozen for a moment, the weight of your words sinking into him. His heart clenched, panic flickering behind his eyes as he reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against your arm, desperate to stop you from pulling further away.

"You are asking me to be something I cannot be," you said quietly, your back still to him. "A concubine? I do not want to lead a lonely life as someone who will always live on the fringes of your court." 

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand linger on your skin, but the hesitation in his touch told you everything. He didn’t want you to leave, but his actions, his choices, had spoken louder than his words ever could. He was asking you to stay in a world where you would always be second, where you would live in the shadow of his crown, his duty, his queen. And no matter how much he said he cared, no matter how much he wanted you by his side, it would never be enough. You could never be enough—not for the life he led, not for the future he was bound to.

"I cannot spend the rest of my life waiting for a love that might never fully be mine."

⋆

You lay on the cold, hard ground of your prison cell, bruised and broken, your breath shallow in the suffocating silence. You had been framed. It was too perfect a plan, too flawlessly executed to be anything but a scheme crafted by another minister's family—one determined to weaken Yunho’s hold on the throne by any means necessary. Their daughter, they said, was meant to be a concubine, but their ambition reached far beyond that.

Poisoning the queen. Treason. The word itself had echoed through the court like a death sentence. There had been no time to protest, no chance to prove your innocence. The evidence, though fabricated, had been damning, too precise to be questioned. And just as quickly, the sentence had been passed: execution.

You think back to your life before all of this—before the accusations, before the cell. You had come from a family of scholars, where the value of knowledge had been instilled in you from a young age. Your father had risen through the ranks, earning King Minho’s favor with his intellect and wisdom, eventually becoming the Minister of Education. His rise to power had elevated your family, and with that came a life closely tied to the palace.

You spent countless hours within the palace walls, learning how to be a proper lady—a lady fit for court. But behind the formality, there had always been the occasional glimpse of something more. You often caught sight of the young prince, Yunho, moving through the halls with the carefree spirit of someone who had yet to feel the full weight of his royal duties. He was tall even then, always smiling, the future crown not yet a shadow over his life.

But those days felt like a distant dream now, lost to the chaos and schemes that had brought you to this prison. The innocence of the past seemed almost laughable, given how tangled your life had become in the politics of the court.

It started with whispers—soft enough at first to ignore. The Queen had fallen ill, but illness was not uncommon in a palace rife with stress and intrigue. You thought little of it at first, assuming it would pass as other ailments had. But then, the whispers grew louder. The Queen wasn’t recovering. Her condition worsened day by day, and soon, the court began to search for someone to blame.

You never imagined it would be you.

“This was found in your room,” Captain Song Mingi said, holding the small glass vial in his hand. His eyes—once kind, once familiar—were now filled with disgust. There was no mercy in them, only judgment.

You stared at the vial, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing. The color drained from your face as panic began to rise. You knew what it was. The poison that was now sitting in the hands of the guards, supposedly discovered in your room.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head as the full weight of the accusation settled over you like a suffocating blanket. “No, I don’t know how that got there! I swear!”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The guards were already moving, pulling your arms behind your back with brutal efficiency. Your protests were swallowed by the indifferent air of the palace as they forced you to your knees.

“I haven’t done anything!” You were pleading now, your voice shaking as you reached for the captain, only for the guards to step forward, forcing your hands away. “Please, listen to me! Someone put it there!”

It was only then that you realized how thoroughly you had been framed. The poison had been planted in your room. Someone must have placed it there, slipping it in when you left to visit your family, weaving the web that would entangle you and leave you helpless. Someone had outplayed you without you even realizing there was a game.

Your thoughts spiraled as you were dragged through the palace corridors, the weight of the accusations crushing you. The same faces that had once smiled politely at you now averted their eyes, murmuring behind their hands. Some looked at you with pity, but most with thinly veiled disdain. You had gone from a respected lady of the court to a condemned woman in mere moments. The court, so fickle and cruel, had already made its judgment.

And then you saw him—Yunho.

"Your majesty!" you called out, your voice breaking. “Please!”

He stood at the far end of the corridor, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft light pouring in through the windows. His eyes were wide, filled with disbelief as he watched the guards drag you toward the dungeons. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and you silently begged him to say something, to stop this madness. But he didn’t.

His silence was louder than any accusation.

In that moment, you realized that the love you shared with Yunho—the bond that had once felt unshakable—meant nothing in the shadow of the crown. He had chosen his duty, the kingdom, over you. 

And in doing so, he had chosen to abandon the truth.

Crown Prince Yunho ascended the throne on a spring day, the warmth of the season at odds with the bitter chill weighing down his heart. His father, King Minho, had ruled for over three decades, a formidable monarch whose strength held the kingdom together through years of external threats and internal discord. But illness had claimed him in the end, slowly draining the life from the beloved ruler.

Now, as he sat on the same gilded throne that had once seemed so far from his reach, he realized that he had inherited more than just his father’s crown. He had inherited a kingdom tearing at the seams.

The court had been divided long before Yunho took the throne. His father had managed to keep the peace through sheer force of will, balancing the opposing factions with a mixture of diplomacy and coercion. 

However, as illness claimed him in his final years, that delicate balance began to crumble. His once-commanding presence was diminished by weakness, the voice that had once filled the grand hall now strained and frail. The nobles, sensing the king’s grip slipping, grew bolder. Whispers of unrest began to spread, and loyalties once firm started to waver. Minho’s iron rule, so effective in his prime, had become brittle, and the cracks in his reign were now visible to all.

By the time Yunho ascended the throne, the court was a fractured landscape of competing agendas, all vying for control of the new king. And they watched him now with eager eyes, waiting to see whether he would prove as strong as his father—or if he would stumble, providing them the opportunity to seize power for themselves.

When Yunho was fifteen, King Minho arranged his betrothal to Jang Mina, the daughter of the Minister of War, long before Yunho had any say in the matter. The engagement had been settled when Yunho was still a young prince, barely of age, and the weight of his future crown felt like a distant, far-off burden.

To King Minho, there was no better way to cement lasting peace than by binding his son to the general’s only daughter, ensuring that the most powerful military family in the kingdom remained loyal to the crown. 

As the crown prince, Yunho’s life was one of duty, each step already plotted long before he took it. And so, on the day of his twentieth name day, under the watchful gaze of the court and the kingdom, he wed Mina. The ceremony was a grand affair, a spectacle of wealth and power designed to solidify alliances and display the unity of the throne and the military. 

While Mina was everything the court could have hoped for in a future queen, their marriage had been built on necessity rather than love. Yunho had known Mina for years, but not in the way one might come to know a friend or a lover. Their relationship had been formal, shaped by their roles and the expectations placed upon them. Conversations were polite but distant, and though Mina was never unkind, there was an unspoken understanding between them—they were bound by duty, not affection.

⋆

“My lady,” Heesook’s voice broke the silence, shaking you from your thoughts. Your lady-in-waiting stood at the bars of your cell, her hood pulled low to hide the bruises on her face. Her hands reached through the iron, desperate to touch yours. You rose slowly and grasped her fingers, your own trembling slightly.

“Heesook,” you said softly, offering her a faint smile despite the heaviness in your chest. “I didn’t think they’d let you come.”

“I had to see you,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. Tears already welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Her gaze flickered over your bruised face, the cuts and swelling a stark reminder of the violence you’d endured while captive. She clenched her fists as if trying to hold herself together, “I had to see you one last time.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, straining to give here a smile despite your swollen features from the endless torture by guards. 

Heesook choked on a sob, her grip tightening around your hands. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re innocent. None of this is your fault.”

You smiled sadly, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve already decided my fate.”

There was no escape from this. The court had condemned you, and soon, they would come for you. Yet, despite the fear deep inside you, there was something else—a strange sense of relief. No more fighting, no more struggling against the endless tirade of lies and deceit.

But as you stood there, clutching Heesook’s trembling hands, one thing still weighed heavy on your heart—one thing you couldn’t let go of, no matter how much you tried. The words you needed to say were caught in your throat, choking you, but you knew you had to speak them.

“I have no regrets,” you repeated softly, your voice faltering as you tried to convince yourself. “Except for one.”

Heesook looked up at you, her tear-filled eyes searching your face for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. Her fingers tightened around yours, as if holding on could change what was to come. 

“What is it, my lady?” she sobbed. 

You hesitated, the truth weighing you down like the shackles around your ankle. The one thing you had clung to for so long, the one thing that had given you strength in the frenzy of court politics, the thing that had kept you alive through the betrayals and the lies—it was also the very thing that had destroyed you.

“His Majesty.”

Heesook’s tears spilled over, her sobs breaking the quiet stillness of the cell. “But you love him,” she cried, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “How can you regret that?”

You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against the iron bars. The memories of Yunho flooded your mind–memories before the crown, before the burden of duty weighed down his shoulders, before the court’s games had stolen him away from you. 

“He was everything to me,” you said quietly, your voice a fragile whisper in the air between you and Heesook. “And in the end, I was nothing to him.”

Heesook shook her head fiercely, tears streaming down her face as she clung to your hands, her sobs louder now, desperate. “That’s not true. He loves you. I know he does. I’ve seen it in his eyes.”

“Perhaps once, Heesook. Perhaps he did,” you said softly. “But love… love is not enough to compete against the crown. And I was selfish for asking for too much.”

You could see the hope crumbling in Heesook’s expression, her grip on you faltering as the reality of your words sank in.

“I’m ready to face whatever comes,” you sighed, pulling your hands away from hers, letting go of the last tether to the life you once fought so hard to hold onto. “And in my next life…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I wish to forget him. I hope my heart can be free.”

⋆

Shackled in heavy chains, you were marched through the bustling courtyard, every step echoing against the stone. The crowd gathered to witness your final moments, a sea of faces filled with judgment and fear. Whispers of "traitor" followed you like a dark cloud. But in your heart, you knew the truth: someone had framed you.

Yunho stood there, his face, usually so open and warm, now shut tight like a stone wall guarding his emotions. You wondered if he believed the accusations, or if, deep down, he knew the truth. But he had said nothing in your defense—not once. And that was what hurt the most—not the accusation, but his silence.

As you were forced to kneel before the executioner, your body remained steady—not from fear, but from a readiness that had settled deep within you. You had already lost everything: your name, your reputation, and soon, your life. But you were not afraid. You would not beg for mercy or forgiveness for a crime you did not commit. You would meet your end with dignity, knowing that the truth would one day come to light.

The crowd around you was restless, their voices a low hum of anticipation. You met Yunho’s gaze across the courtyard, searching for any flicker of the man you had once known, the one who had looked at you with tenderness, who had trusted you. But all you saw in his eyes was duty and distance, the warmth you had once shared now a cold, unyielding barrier.

You closed your eyes, the sound of the executioner’s blade grinding against the whetstone reverberating in your ears, each stroke sharpening the edge that would soon claim your life.

This was it. There would be no last-minute pardon, no miracle intervention. The court had made its decision, and you were to meet your end here, on this platform, due to a crime you never committed. You didn’t flinch. There was no point in pleading for mercy that would never come. The blade would fall, and it would all be over.

The executioner loomed before you, his shadow stretching long across the platform as the sun dipped lower into the horizon. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, each movement methodical, almost ritualistic, as though the act of taking a life had become second nature to him.

In one swift, practiced motion, the executioner brought the blade down. It sliced through the air with a chilling whistle, the sound sharp and final, like the severing of life itself. You braced for the cold bite of steel, for the end you knew was coming, your heart hammering in your chest. You could almost feel the edge of the blade as it drew closer, an inevitable end to your suffering.

But the end never came.

You gasped, heaving as your eyes snapped open, the terror of the dream still gripping you. You were disoriented as you shot upright, your heart racing as though you'd just escaped death itself. For a moment, the weight of the executioner’s presence still lingered, and it took a few rapid blinks to fully shake off the lingering nightmare.

Fumbling for your phone, you squinted as the screen lit up, the harsh glow revealing the time—2:52 AM. A sigh escaped your lips. You’d fallen asleep while studying again, your mind consumed by the pressure of your upcoming history exam. 

In the days following your execution, Yunho couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Mina had recovered, but there was a quiet unease that settled over the palace, a heaviness in the air that no one spoke of, but everyone felt. Whispers crept through the court like shadows, and though the formalities had been observed—the execution had been swift, justice had been served—the disquiet within Yunho only grew.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when Mingi stood before the king in his private quarters. 

“Your Majesty,” Mingi began, his voice steady despite the tension that thickened the air. There was no formal bow, no flourish of titles—just a direct approach. Yunho knew instantly that whatever his captain carried with him was more than routine palace matters. 

Mingi shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I bring news that bears great significance," he continued, never breaking eye contact.

"You may speak freely, Captain." Yunho’s tone, though calm, held a weight that pressed the moment deeper into somber territory.

“A confession has been made by a maid. She was caught trying to flee the city during a routine check,” he continued, each word deliberate, sharpening the already taut atmosphere. “Upon being questioned, she confessed that the Hwang’s had conspired to poison the queen and she was tasked to plant the poison in Lady Lee’s chambers."

Yunho's breath stilled in his chest. He knew well the Hwang family’s ambitions, their subtle rise through the ranks of court by exploiting every opportunity, every weak link. A lower noble class family, yes, but one with clear designs on rising further. They had sought his favor before, attempting to entwine themselves with his household, but never had he suspected their ambitions would stretch into something so dangerous.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as anger and grief brewed within him. He had always believed in justice, in the truth prevailing, but now he was faced with the stark reality that the court was a place of manipulation and schemes, where innocence could be twisted into guilt.

You had been dragged through the cold halls of the palace, your voice pleading, broken, as you called out for mercy. He had stood there, frozen, unable to move, unable to stop the guards as they pulled you away. The pain in your eyes, the betrayal, the terror—it haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you pulled away, your voice cracking with desperation. And he had done nothing.

The last time Yunho had come to your chambers, it was a desperate attempt to hold on to you, to shield you from the dangers he knew lurked in the palace. Once again, he offered for you to become his concubine, the only way he could think to protect you. It wasn’t the future he wanted for you, but it was all he could give, even if you could never wear the crown of queen.

But you refused him, as you had before, your eyes filled with unwavering resolve. You were proud of your independence, too proud to become something lesser, to live in the shadows of the palace. You would not sacrifice your dignity to ensure his bloodline while he remained bound to another.

Could he have saved you from the hell that followed? The knowledge that you had died believing he had turned his back on you was unbearable. 

The court had demanded action, its eyes watching his every move, waiting to see if he would uphold the law or let his emotions cloud his judgment. He had always prided himself on being a just ruler, one who believed in fairness above all else, but this...this was something he could never have prepared for.

You had been accused of treason, framed by the very forces that lurked in the shadows of the palace. And despite everything inside him screaming that you were innocent, the court had brought forth "evidence," twisted and manipulated to cast you as the perfect culprit.

Yunho had to prove them wrong. He had to show the court and the entire kingdom that he was not above the law, that no one was beyond the reach of justice—not even someone he cared for as deeply as you. It was the hardest decision of his life, one that tore his soul apart, but in that moment, he had no choice.

So, he gave the order. He signed the decree, his hand shaking as the seal from his ink dried on the parchment that would seal your fate. 

“She was innocent… all along?” Yunho’s voice cracked, as if by saying it aloud he could force reality to change, to undo the horrible truth. His chest tightened, the weight of it suffocating, and his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Captain Song said, his voice steady but tinged with a sorrow Yunho couldn't stomach. 

Yunho’s body lurched forward as the enormity of the revelation hit him, tears already streaming down his face. A sob tore from his throat, low and strangled, as if all the pain he'd been holding back burst through at once. It was the sound of a man broken beyond repair.

He clutched his chest, gasping as if trying to pull the guilt, the anguish, the horror out of himself. He had killed you. He had chosen duty over you, over truth, and it had cost you your life.

Yunho leaned forward, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, shattered beyond repair. How could he ever forgive himself? 

"I'm sorry," he choked out between cries, though his words were swallowed by the emptiness that surrounded him. "I'm so... so sorry."

But the words were meaningless, swallowed by the void your absence left behind. He had condemned you, betrayed the love you shared, and now he would live with that burden for the rest of his life. 

The throne he sat upon felt cold and hollow, a constant reminder of the price he had paid for power. And as Yunho sobbed into his hands, the weight of the crown now felt unbearable.

[my-name-is-namename]

Ahhhhhh!!! Yunho! Finally! Took you long enough! After all that heartbreak ahhh!!

Fate has always finds its way huh? Cause If it wasn't for Wooyoung and his bullying tendency, I don't think Yunho that dumbass would even know and realized what he had done although he doesn't fully know yet.

I am glad for Wooyoung and his big mouth 😌 sorry not sorry.

forget me not | iv

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.5K (my bad) Warnings: infidelity, use of the k word

Fic Masterlist

a/n: my stitches reopened and I had to go back and get restitched 😬 so I spent all day in bed editing this chapter. i love reading everyone's theories and feedback is always welcome!

The first time Haewon saw Yunho, it was at your dorm during a study session. You were both surrounded by books, notes, and various pieces of stationary scattered across the floor. While you were focusing on writing out your note cards, Haewon was dancing around the room in an attempt to “activate her brain cells”. 

She had been caught up in her own world until the sound of a knock interrupted her antics. You stood up to answer the door, and a low voice followed, mingled with a chuckle—deep, familiar, and warm.

Yunho.

He was your best friend, someone she’d heard about but hadn’t paid much attention to. But that day, something was different. He sat with a pile of books and a look of quiet concentration that intrigued her. His presence was magnetic, though subtle, and without realizing it, Haewon found herself sneaking glances at him, captivated by the calm determination in his demeanor.

She wasn’t sure when it happened exactly, but at some point, between stolen glances and shared laughter over late-night group study sessions, she started to fall for him. Yunho was kind, always the first to offer a helping hand, and his dedication to his friends and family was unwavering. He had a way of making everyone feel valued and heard.

And when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she was over the moon. 

"Did you know Yunho was going to ask me out?" she beamed, her voice laced with an excitement that made your heart sink.

You froze for a second, your pencil hovering above the page. There was a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe even hurt—but you quickly swallowed it down. 

"Maybe," you muttered, your voice light, almost teasing, though it took everything in you to keep it that way. Haewon didn’t see the way your grip tightened on the pencil, or how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I can’t believe it," she gushed, oblivious to the turmoil behind your composed expression. "I mean, I’ve liked him for a while now, and I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, but when he asked me…God, it was perfect."

"That’s great, Haewon" you said, your voice quieter than before, trying desperately to sound convincing. 

You fell in love with the way Yunho truly saw you, even when you tried to hide parts of yourself. He understood you in ways no one else ever had, knowing your fears, your dreams, and all the things that made you tick. Somewhere along the line, you stopped worrying about what he would think of you because with Yunho, you never had to pretend.

That’s when you knew you loved him—because the idea of life without him didn’t feel like life at all.

But how could you tell him? You weren’t like Haewon—bold and unafraid, able to voice her feelings as if vulnerability wasn’t terrifying. She was all confidence and ease, speaking her mind without a second thought, while you were cautious, overthinking, content to blend into the background.

Telling Yunho how you felt would mean stepping into the unknown. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him if things went wrong. So you stayed silent, burying your feelings deep, hoping that somehow, you could protect what you had by keeping your secret. 

But things went wrong anyway.

You tried not to not let their relationship affect you, told yourself you were happy for them. Haewon and Yunho were two of the most important people in your life, and they deserved happiness. You repeated that to yourself like a mantra, hoping that if you said it enough, you might actually believe it. 

It hurt seeing them together, knowing that while you were happy for them, you couldn’t help the ache in your chest every time Yunho laughed a little too easily at something she said, or when she rested her head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The worst part was that you couldn’t even be angry. How could you? Haewon hadn’t done anything wrong; she hadn’t stolen Yunho from you, and Yunho hadn’t abandoned you. It was like watching sand slip through your fingers—nothing to hold on to, nothing you could do to stop it.

Yunho was happy, and you cared about him enough to want that for him, even if it wasn’t with you.

After you disappeared, everything fell apart in ways neither of them expected. Yunho and Haewon participated in search parties, posted on social media about your disappearance, and cooperated with law enforcement. But there were no answers, no trace of where you’d gone or why. The emptiness you left behind was palpable, a gaping hole in both their lives.

At first, Haewon believed they were grieving together. She felt the weight of your absence in every corner of her life, and Yunho, in his quiet way, did too. But then, she began to notice the way their relationship shifted. 

It was subtle at first: a slight distance in Yunho’s eyes, the way he seemed preoccupied even when they were alone. He would zone out in the middle of conversations, and even when he held Haewon in his arms, his heart wasn’t fully there. 

Slowly, painfully, she realized the truth. Yunho wasn’t just mourning you—he was waiting for you. He was still tethered to you, pulled by an invisible force that Haewon couldn’t compete with.

She never considered herself a mean girl. Sure, she had grown up in a comfortable world, surrounded by friends who were a little more tightly wounded and concerned with appearances. But now, standing on the other side of it, Haewon could see the truth for what it was. Yunho was never really hers to begin with. She hadn’t stolen him—not intentionally—but she had taken something that was never really hers to claim. 

Then there was Sungjae. 

Sungjae had never been a close friend, not really. He was more of a background figure—someone on the outskirts of Haewon’s social circle who, little by little, had weaseled his way in. He was everything Yunho wasn’t: impulsive, flirtatious, unpredictable. And it was those very qualities that ignited something in her.

The affair began quietly, like a secret Haewon wasn’t ready to admit even to herself. It started innocently enough—casual conversations, coffee outings after shared classes. They’d stay up late in the library, long after everyone else had left, talking about things that felt too personal, too vulnerable to share with anyone else. Haewon convinced herself it was nothing more than a close friendship—after all, she had a large circle of friends. What harm could one more friend do?

As time passed, the line between friendship and something more blurred. In the quiet moments following your disappearance, Haewon found herself relying on Sungjae in ways she hadn’t with Yunho in years. He became her anchor when the world felt uncertain, someone who made her feel alive and seen.

At first, it was easy to justify: she and Yunho had been drifting apart. Haewon had noticed it in the way their conversations had become shorter, less meaningful; the way they sat together in silence more often than not, the air between them filled with unspoken tension. 

But there was also something darker about Sungjae—something tied to the past Haewon desperately tried to forget. The night you disappeared, Sungjae had humiliated you, his cruel words cutting through the air as everyone watched in uncomfortable silence. And Haewon had stood by, doing nothing. She had stayed silent, too afraid to confront him, too indifferent to speak up.

Yunho had done nothing, either. His usual kind, gentle demeanor had turned into passive inaction, making excuses whenever Haewon brought up the topic like "It's just a phase" or "They’ll work it out."

“Do you think Sungjae had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” Haewon suddenly blurted out as the two were cooking dinner. 

Yunho froze, his jaw tightening. He knew the answer—he had always known. The last time anyone had seen you was when you stormed out of the apartment, cheeks flushed with shame and frustration. And yet, Yunho couldn’t admit it out loud. Admitting that Sungjae was responsible meant confronting his own failure, his own role in pushing you away.

“If he did,” Yunho said, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“But you were the last one who saw her.”

His entire body tensed, the weight of Haewon’s accusation hitting him harder than he expected. He turned to face her fully, eyes dark and cold.

“You think I had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” His voice was low, hurt and anger threading through each word. He could feel the bile rising in his chest, burning with the injustice of her suspicion.

“That’s not what I said—”

“But it’s what you meant.” Yunho cut her off. “You think I’m the reason she’s gone?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” she murmured, her voice softer now, though the accusation still lingered between them. 

“All I did was walk her out, and the CCTV proved that! You have no idea how much Y/N’s disappearance is affecting me! But to even suggest that I could’ve done something…” His voice trailed off, swallowed by a surge of emotion.

“I can’t do this,” Yunho muttered, his voice barely audible now as he turned away from her. Grabbing his jacket off the chair, he headed for the door, his movements tense and deliberate. “I’m done with this conversation.”

His footsteps faltered just before reaching the door, the frustration inside him boiling over. He spun back to face Haewon, his voice sharp and biting.

“Every time it comes to Sungjae, you choose him. Why?”

“I–” Haewon’s voice cracked, but Yunho didn’t stop. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Haewon knew it wasn’t fair to keep dragging him along when her heart was no longer fully his. But the thought of actually leaving—the finality of it—terrified her. The knowledge that once she walked away, there would be no going back was something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

And then Yunho proposed. 

It caught her completely off guard—a moment she hadn’t prepared for despite all her doubts and uncertainty. She hadn’t expected him to propose, not now. But instead of facing the truth, instead of admitting that her heart had drifted away and she was entangled in an affair with someone else, Haewon did the only thing she could think of: she convinced herself that accepting Yunho’s proposal would fix everything.

Haewon felt trapped. She felt the walls closing in, suffocating her as she tried to play the part of the happy fiancée. On the night of the engagement party, everyone around them was celebrating, toasting to their future, but all she could think about was how wrong it all felt. Her heart wasn’t in it—not fully—and she knew it.

The alcohol didn’t help. Glass after glass, Haewon drank to drown out the noise in her head, to silence the guilt and doubt. She wanted to forget, to numb herself to everything, but instead, it only made her feel more exposed.

She avoided Yunho most of the night, choosing instead to party with her friends, laughing too loudly, her smile brittle around the edges. Yunho tried to get her to slow down, to pull her back to him, to hold her close, but every time he did, it felt like the air was being sucked out of her lungs. It wasn’t his fault, but being near him only made the weight of her choices heavier.

Finally, something inside her snapped. Right there, in front of everyone. The frustration, the guilt, the suffocating pressure of pretending—it all came to the surface. She knew it was unfair, that Yunho didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. 

Now, as she laid in bed next to Sungjae, the weight of her betrayal closed in on her. The wedding was fast approaching, a date circled on the calendar like a death sentence, and there was no backing out now. The dress had been chosen, the invitations sent. Everyone was expecting a celebration, but all Haewon could feel was dread. 

Yunho had betrayed you too, hadn’t he? He had stood on the sidelines, just as complicit, watching as Sungjae’s cruelty unraveled you. And yet, he had stayed—stayed with her, proposed to her, tried to build a future with her. It was laughable. 

The two of them, pretending like they could escape what they’d done, like they could forge something real out of ashes. But the truth had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. 

They were no better than the man lying next to her now.

Perhaps this was what she and Yunho both deserved—two people who had betrayed you, condemned to a life of misery together.

Life in the Emporium was nothing short of magical surprises.

Each day began with a quiet ritual, a moment of calm before the shop's unique energy fully awoke. The first thing you’d do each morning was reach for the incense—carefully selected for its cleansing properties—and light it. As the fragrant smoke curled into the air, it seemed to reset the entire space, gently sweeping away the lingering energies left behind by the previous day’s visitors.

Above, the flowers in the hanging garden stirred with the first touch of morning light, their vibrant petals responding as if in greeting. You watered them with a flick of the wrist, though it felt more like a gesture of care than necessity—they thrived on the shop's magic more than on water.

The shop had its own rhythm, a delicate balance between the mundane and the mystical. Travelers, clients, and even the occasional spirit wandered in, drawn by the promise of wishes granted—some simple, others far more complicated. You had seen all kinds: the weary traveler who just wanted safe passage home, the desperate lover seeking a second chance, or the ambitious merchant hoping to change their fortune.

But nothing in the emporium was granted without a cost, and the price wasn’t paid in gold or silver. Every transaction required something far more precious—a wish. Not the kind made on a whim, but a deeply held desire, pulled from the very core of one’s soul.

You would watch as they approached the counter, hands trembling ever so slightly as they revealed their request. Their eyes flickered with doubt as the weight of the exchange settled upon them. Standing before you, they were caught between what they needed and what they were about to give up, realizing that their wish, once surrendered, would be gone forever.

You always asked if they were certain. If they understood the nature of their sacrifice. But the emporium never rejected a payment once it was offered. 

You had become accustomed to the shop’s quirks, trusting its ancient magic to maintain a balance that you could only partly comprehend. It was more than a shop; it was a living entity, guiding not only the customers but you, its keeper, shaping the course of both your lives in subtle, unseen ways.

Everything functioned smoothly, like clockwork—until the day Yunho arrived.

From the moment Yunho stepped into the emporium, his presence unsettled you. There was a calm assurance in the way he carried himself, grounding everything around you. Despite never having met him before, something inside you insisted Yunho wasn’t a stranger. 

You recalled the strange memories that had flooded your senses—the wind whipping around you as you sat in a car with Yunho, the sun illuminating the way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It felt so real, as if you’d lived that moment before, but then it dissolved into something deeper, something raw. 

The emotions had gripped you before you could react, dragging you under like a riptide. Your knees buckled, and the world tilted, leaving you gasping for air. Yunho was there, of course. Even through the thick haze of your feelings, he kept you steady, his arms the only thing keeping you from crumbling completely.

Even now, the echoes of that moment lingered in your body. You could still feel the weight of the emotions that had passed through you, as if the magic had left an imprint on your soul. 

“Fate has already tied their threads together.”

Your mind raced, trying to grasp Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s conversation. 

What did that mean? What threads? Could the connection you felt—this strange, undeniable pull—be part of some cosmic plan, one that had existed long before you even stepped foot in the emporium?

But how could you accept something so profound when you couldn’t even remember him? The thought haunted you, and yet, deep down, the pull toward Yunho only grew stronger, as if Fate itself refused to let you walk away.

You sighed, taking a long drag from your pipe, leaning back as you watched a few late summer blooms drift down from the skylight’s hanging garden. Their petals fluttered like tiny omens in the gentle breeze. Fall had arrived, and with the change in seasons, the line between the living and the departed would thin, bringing even more travelers and clients from different realms. 

The bell above the door jingled faintly, drawing your attention. You glanced over, catching the sleek, shadowy form slipping through the crack in the door—a flash of fur before it darted out into the evening. You immediately knew who it was.

“Wooyoung,” you called out. The cat froze mid-step, his tail twitching with surprise. Slowly, he turned his head, his onyx eyes gleaming mischievously in the dim light.

“Don’t even try it,” you added, placing your hands on your hips. He blinked at you, feigning innocence, but you weren’t about to let him slink away without answers this time.

The cat stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to sneak out, then padded toward you with that familiar, too-casual saunter. By the time he reached you, he shifted back into his human form with a dramatic sigh, ruffling his messy hair as if you’d truly inconvenienced him.

“I was just stepping out,” Wooyoung said, giving you that infuriating smirk of his. “Needed some air. It’s stuffy in here with all this—" He waved his hand around vaguely, “—magic.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. “You are magic, Wooyoung.” Your tone was teasing, playful. “Haven’t you had enough of the outside world and tormenting humans for one lifetime?”

“I’m a cat. Gotta see what the world’s up to,” he shrugged. 

There was a beat of silence, and you took a breath before speaking. “I heard your conversation with Hongjoong last night.”

Wooyoung froze for the briefest moment, his eyes widening just slightly before he masked it with another lazy grin. The shift in his demeanor was quick, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the flicker of panic he tried to bury. 

"It’s not polite to eavesdrop," he teased, his voice light but edged with a subtle wariness.

You weren’t about to let him wiggle his way out of this one. You had seen the way he was squirming, avoiding the real issue, and this time you needed answers. 

"What does fate have to do with me and Yunho?"

His smile faltered, a crack in his usual carefree facade. Wooyoung shifted uneasily, searching for the right words to soften the blow, but knowing there was no easy way out. He could feel your frustration mounting, the tension stretching unbearably thin.

"It’s... well, it’s like this," His voice lowered, and for once, he sounded serious. "Hongjoong thinks you and Yunho are bound together in ways that we don’t fully understand. It’s something that’s deeper and older…something that humans refer to as soulmates."

Soulmates.

It sounded ridiculous, unbelievable. You and Yunho, tied together by fate? He was just a traveler, someone the shop had revealed itself to. There was nothing special about him. 

"How?" you scoffed, shaking your head as if the mere action would dispel the ridiculous notion. "He’s a stranger, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you. 

"Well… the thing is you have met him before.” But the thing is... you don’t remember. Because you can’t, Wooyoung wanted to say. 

"What are you talking about? Then why can’t I remember him? What did I forget?"

Your chest tightened. The frustration, the confusion, the pull you’d felt around Yunho ever since he first entered the shop—it all started to transform into something deeper, something more unsettling. It was as if a fog was lifting, revealing shadows of memories you couldn’t quite grasp.

He let out a long breath, rubbing his face. "It’s complicated. There are things...about you, that you don’t remember. That you chose not to remember."

Your mind raced. Memories? With Yunho? The man you barely knew, who had walked into your life like any other traveler? It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

"If I erased him from my life, then maybe I had a reason," you snapped, the words tasting bitter. Wooyoung winced but didn’t argue. 

"Fate doesn’t just disappear because you forget. He’s still tied to you, even if you can’t feel it." He paused, his eyes searching your face, hoping for some sign of understanding. "Maybe it’s why the shop revealed itself to him. It’s fate, pulling you back together."

You could feel the ground slipping from beneath you, your grip on reality loosening with every word he spoke. What Wooyoung was suggesting—soulmates, forgotten love, fate—it sounded like something out of a dream, a fantasy too far removed from the life you knew. 

"Why does it matter if I’m connected to him or not?" you continued, your throat tightening as the question lodged itself there, too painful to speak.

The air grew heavy, thick with tension, as if the walls themselves were reacting to the storm brewing inside you. The shelves rattled, and the shop’s energy pulsed erratically, reflecting the confusion and fear you could no longer keep at bay. The lanterns flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows that danced along the walls, twisting in the growing unease.

You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the chaos within, but your mind raced with unanswered questions, with the gnawing suspicion that Wooyoung was right, and it terrified you. 

Wooyoung’s face fell, the spark of his usual wit dimming into something darker, something almost sorrowful. He shifted uncomfortably again, as though he wished to be anywhere but here, at this moment.

"Because no one wants to see you hurting, Y/N,” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with regret. "You were in so much pain that you thought forgetting him and becoming the keeper would make it stop."

That name again. Y/N. It echoed in your mind, a foreign weight on your chest. It felt like a name you should know, but it slipped through your grasp. A name tied to a life you no longer remembered. 

"That toy," he continued, "it triggered something, didn’t it? The memories—the emotions—they were too strong. And when you felt that, your magic went unstable. The shop could barely handle it."

You shuddered, the memory of that moment still fresh, still raw. But one question clawed at you, louder than the chaos you’d unleashed.

What had been so unbearable that the only answer was to forget?

“Why is it so cold?” you groaned, bouncing on your toes and rubbing your hands together, trying to get the blood flowing. 

The train station was always drafty, but today it felt like the cold had settled into your bones, refusing to leave. You shivered and glanced around, surprised to see no snow on the ground. It was odd—this time of year usually meant blankets of white everywhere, the world covered in a quiet stillness. Yet now, all you had was the biting wind and a gray sky threatening snow that never seemed to come.

Yunho stood beside you, his breath puffing out in small clouds as he huddled deeper into his coat. He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. 

“You’re always cold,” he teased, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Should’ve worn more layers.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re practically a furnace,” you grumbled. 

The two of you had decided to take the train home for the holidays after your first semester of university. You were both exhausted—finals had drained whatever energy you had left—but there was excitement in the air as Christmas approached. 

“I’m surprised there’s no snow,” you mused, gazing up at the dull, overcast sky. The clouds hung low, thick and heavy, but still no sign of snowflakes falling. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Christmas without snow.”

Yunho hummed in agreement beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he followed your gaze. “Yeah, it’s like something’s missing. Hopefully, it’ll snow while we’re home.”

His voice was hopeful, and you could see the small spark of excitement in his eyes. Yunho loved snow—it wasn’t just the beauty of it, but the way it brought a sense of stillness and magic to the world. The kind of magic that reminded you both of simpler times, of building snowmen as kids and staying out too long until your fingers were numb.

The next morning, Yunho’s wish came true.

Snow. Fresh, untouched snow covered everything. The rooftops, the streets, the trees—it all glistened under the early morning light, as if the entire world had been dipped in magic overnight. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he hoped for when you both had been standing at the train station, wondering if Christmas would even feel like Christmas without snow. Now, it was here. His wish had come true.

But more than that, he wanted to share this moment with you.

You blinked up at the sky, a few lazy snowflakes still drifting down, landing on your lashes and melting against your skin. Yunho stood beside you, watching the way your eyes lit up, the way you took in the moment like it was something precious. 

The two of you stood there for a while, wordlessly watching the snowfall together. It was the kind of stillness that felt sacred, the kind that only came with the first snow of the season. 

As Yunho glanced at you, his breath caught. You weren’t doing anything special—just standing there, bundled up in your oversized hoodie, your hair slightly messy from sleep, your cheeks flushed from the cold. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all him. You were just you, in the most effortless way, and somehow, that had always been enough.

There was a simplicity to the moment that felt different, more profound than he expected. Last summer, when you’d spent long, sunny days together, he’d thought he understood what he felt for you. He cared about you more than anyone, maybe more than he should’ve let on. It was a love that had grown quietly, steadily, and was beginning to envelop him. 

It was too easy to love you. Too effortless, too natural, as if his heart had always been meant for you. And that’s what made it so dangerous.

He knew that sometimes, love—no matter how powerful—wasn’t enough. The thought of risking what you had—this simple, effortless connection that meant everything to him—for something as unpredictable as love felt like falling into the ocean.

And Yunho wasn’t ready to make the jump. 

He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples as if that could somehow ease the pounding in his skull. His head felt like it was being split open, a dull, relentless ache that refused to let up. The events of the previous night were a blur—fragments of conversation, too many drinks, and the sinking realization that he’d gone well past his limit.

He’s supposed to head back to Seoul today, back to his life and the steady rhythm of work that usually kept his life in order. But there was no way he could face that right now, not with the amount of alcohol that had been consumed. 

The events of last night came back to him in disjointed, hazy flashes. He remembered the way your fingers brushed against the plush toy, followed by the sudden paling of your face right before you collapsed to the floor. 

Yunho’s heart had nearly stopped at that moment, the world around him crashing into stillness. The usual hum of the emporium faded into nothing, the vibrant colors of the shelves and strange objects blurring into meaningless shapes. 

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, and he was running, sprinting toward you as if the very air had been torn from his lungs. The world shrank, narrowing to the sight of you lifeless in his arms.

"Y/N, stay with me," he whispered, panic thick in his voice as he cradled your unconscious body. It was the same terror he’d felt the day you disappeared, the same helpless, gut-wrenching fear that had kept him awake at night, haunted by the thought that he’d never see you again.

Yunho held you like his entire world depended on it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, desperate and unrelenting. He pressed his forehead against yours, as he cradled your head against his chest, the warmth of your skin barely noticeable as panic surged inside him.

“I’m sorry, just please, please don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice barely holding together. His fingers tightened their grip on you, trembling with the fear that if he let go, even for a second, you’d slip away for good.

He couldn’t lose you, not when he had just found you again.

Then came Wooyoung’s revelation. You had chosen to disappear from his life. It wasn’t an accident, or some cruel twist of fate. You had asked the shop to erase your memories—all of them. He could still hear Wooyoung’s voice, bitter and sharp, recounting the details, but the exact reason why Wooyoung had been so angry at him was lost in the fog of the night.

He remembered the sting—the way the door slammed behind him, the coldness of the night hitting his face as he stood there, dazed, confused and frustrated. You were alive, bound to this strange realm by forces he didn’t fully understand. But worse than that, you had willingly cut him out of your life.

After that, things blurred even more. He’d ended up at a bar, the numbness setting in as he ordered drink after drink, trying to drown the sea of emotions that threatened to consume him. Somewhere along the way, Yeosang had joined him, and Yunho found himself pouring his heart out—his frustrations, his guilt, his failures. He had ranted about the weight of trying to be the good guy while everything around him crumbled.

Now, in the harsh light of day, the weight of it all hit him with a different kind of intensity. His heart felt heavy, and he had no idea where to go from here.

Yunho sat up, staring at his phone as if it might give him the answers he was too afraid to ask for. His thumb hovered over Haewon’s name on the screen, trembling slightly. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say—he didn’t have a plan, only a sinking feeling in his chest that told him he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. 

The line rang once, then twice. By the third ring, his heart had started racing, the weight of everything he had to confront pressing down on him like a vice. When it went to voicemail, Yunho’s stomach dropped.

“Hey, it’s Haewon! Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon!”

The artificial cheer in her voice made his skin crawl, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could almost picture her—smiling, carefree, the version of her that had loved him wholeheartedly. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. That wasn’t who they were.

"Hey..." he finally whispered, “give me a call when you get a chance.” Yunho waited for a beat, as if hoping she might pick up at the last second, but the line remained silent, empty.

“Yunho? Aren’t you getting ready to head back?” His mom’s voice was gentle, but it startled him from his thoughts. She appeared in the doorway, concern etched in the lines of her face. 

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know if I’m going back,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with uncertainty. 

His mom walked in, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, her presence warm and calming. She had always been able to read him better than anyone, even when he was trying his best to hide. Mrs. Jeong didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the silence hang between them, giving him the space to breathe.

“Tell me more.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything he’d been holding in. It was strange—he felt like a teenager again, venting to his mom about his problems, but this time it felt more suffocating. The future he had thought he wanted, the life he had worked so hard to build, no longer felt like his.

“I’m hungover. I’m miserable. I don’t want to marry Haewon. I’m not happy with my job or where I am in my life. Mingi is my only friend, Yeosang kind of hates me, and Y/N…” He let out a watery chuckle, the sound laced with bitterness. “She’s gone.”

There it was, the truth laid bare—the reality that had been gnawing at him for months, too terrifying to confront. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything he had been trying to ignore.

Mrs. Jeong’s gaze softened as she listened, her heart heavy with a mother’s instinct to protect, but knowing she couldn’t fix this for him. She reached out, placing a hand over his. 

“You’ve been carrying this for a while, haven’t you?” Her voice was soft, laced with a sadness that only came from witnessing the quiet battles of someone you love.

Yunho looked down to their joined hands, his throat tightening. The words he had held back for so long hovered on the edge of his lips, threatening to escape. 

“I thought I could handle it. But—" He paused, his fingers gripping hers a little tighter, his chest heaving as he fought to keep the floodgates closed. 

"I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired, Mom. Of the job, the engagement, everything. It’s like I’m suffocating, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.” he replied, quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. The fear that had been chaining him to a future he didn’t want.

His mother exhaled softly, her brow furrowing as she absorbed his words. After a moment, she squeezed his hand and spoke gently, her voice calm but firm.

“You’ve always been so considerate. Always thinking of others. But have you thought about what you want? Truly want, not just what you think you should want?”

It wasn’t something Yunho had ever allowed himself to consider fully, and even now, the thought seemed almost too outlandish, too selfish. But the way his mother looked at him, with such understanding, made it feel less frightening, less impossible to confront.

“You’re allowed to want something different, Yunho. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to choose yourself.”

Her words struck something within him, unraveling the tightly wound rope of expectations he had tangled himself in for so long. He hesitated, his heart pounding as he dared to voice the question that had haunted him for months.

“So you wouldn’t be upset if I called off the wedding?” His voice was small, almost as if he were afraid the very mention of it might cause everything to collapse around him.

His mother shook her head, her expression soft and reassuring. “Of course not, Yunho. Haewon is lovely, but…” She paused, choosing her words carefully, as she looked at him. “I always felt like she wasn’t the one for you.”

Yunho blinked, surprised by the admission. His mother had never said anything like that before, and in all their talks about the wedding, she had always been supportive, never giving any sign that she might have doubts of her own. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asked, almost incredulous. 

“Because you’re finally listening to yourself. This is your life, not mine, not anyone else’s. It wasn’t my place to tell you how to live, Yunho. I wanted to believe that you knew what was best for you.”

“And if I quit my job?” he asked, testing the waters, anxiety sparking in his voice. 

“Gunho would be thrilled,” she laughed. “You know, he was absolutely livid when you took the finance job over the Tigers. I’ve never seen him so upset with you! He ranted for weeks about how you were wasting your talents behind a desk instead of being out there building the ultimate dream team.”

His mother’s laughter faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “We’ve all had our hopes for you, Yunho. But those were our hopes, not yours. Life’s not a straight line. It’s full of twists and turns. You don’t have to stay on a path that doesn’t feel right anymore.”

There was something comforting about the idea, the notion of stepping away from the path he had chosen, back to something that felt more like home—more like himself. Sitting with his mother, he began to wonder: What if it wasn’t reckless? What if choosing the life he truly wanted wasn’t some wild, selfish fantasy? What if it was okay to dream again?

His mind wandered to you, to the quiet snowfall and how the snowflakes caught on your lashes. He thought of that summer, driving to the beach, the wind in your hair and the sun beaming down on you, like the world itself couldn’t touch you as long as you were together.

He thought of meeting you for the first time at six years old, running across the street and greeting you as if he’d known him your entire life. It was as if he’d found his other half that day, the person who made him feel complete even in his innocence.

But then, more painfully, he thought of meeting you for the first time again. Only this time, you hadn’t known him at all. 

With you, there was no need to fill the silence. Everything felt easy, natural, like you were meant to exist beside each other. You were his best friend, the one person who made him feel like himself. And suddenly, Yunho knew. 

It was you. 

The version of himself that existed when he was with you—that was who he truly was. It was a terrifying realization, but at the same time, it was the most certain thing he’d felt in a long time. You had always been the one constant in his life, the one person who made everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t.

And he didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose you.

He wanted a future with you.

Yunho swallowed, his pulse quickening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was clear. 

“I think…” he began, his voice steady, resolute, “I know where I want to go from here.”

Pushing open the door, the familiar chime rang through the shop. It was empty, save for you, and Yunho’s breath caught when he saw you standing behind the counter, bathed in the glow of fading daylight. 

He glanced over at you, watching the way you moved, how you seemed so different and yet so familiar. The person standing in front of him was still you, the same person he’d known since childhood. The memories from childhood rushed back again—the snow, the summer sun, the first time you played baseball together. It all made sense now, in ways it never had before.

“Yunho,” you greeted, your voice carrying a warmth as you lifted your hand with a graceful flick. The scroll hovering beside you shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into the air, disappearing as if it had never existed. 

“How are you feeling?” Yunho asked quietly. There was something boyish, almost shy, in the way he looked at you, like he was a kid again, standing in front of his crush, hoping for something, anything, that would tell him he was making the right choice.

“Better. Thank you for being here the other night. It seems like you were a big help to Wooyoung.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he murmured, his voice soft as his gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as if he were seeing you for the first time all over again. There was a quiet admiration that he couldn’t quite hide, no matter how hard he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"I uh…" he hesitated, his eyes flickered away for a moment, as if searching for courage in the silence between you, “I’m leaving for Seoul. Just to take care of some things. I wanted to see you before I left.”

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your eyes, the corners of your lips lifting in that familiar way that made his heart stutter. A playful yet gentle hum escaped your lips. 

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Your question hung in the air, teasing him, pulling at the tangled mess of feelings he'd tried to bury for so long. He looked at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he struggled to find the right response. 

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he felt completely exposed. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you first.”

The air around you seemed to still, the gravity of his admission settling like dust in the corners of the emporium. The idea of leaving felt wrong to him, and yet it was inevitable, something he had to do. 

Your eyes softened with understanding, feeling more like home than any place he could go. Something in your gaze recognized him, sensing the invisible thread that tied you together. 

“No matter where you are,” you said quietly, your voice carrying the same calm assurance that had always soothed him, “the Emporium will always be within reach. As will I.”

The words were simple, yet they held a promise—a promise that went beyond physical space or memory. The Emporium was never bound by the ordinary rules of the world, and neither, it seemed, were you. Your small, understanding smile made Yunho feel that, despite the uncertainty, everything would be okay.

“Besides,” you continued, a playful glint flickering in your eyes, “I can always ask Wooyoung to lend a helping hand. He knows the way.”

“That cat does nothing but bully me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, recalling how Wooyoung had made him a target of mischief.

Your laugh filled the space between you, a sound that seemed to chase away the heaviness for just a moment. Though Yunho tried to maintain his frown, the corners of his lips betrayed him, lifting into a reluctant smile. 

Even though you didn’t remember him, it didn’t matter. There was something deeper between you, something unshakeable. And that, in its own way, gave him the strength he needed to leave.

You stepped forward, that invisible thread that had always seemed to exist between you tugged at your heart, drawing you toward him. It was a connection that transcended words, possibly even space and time. Yunho’s eyes lingered on you, their quiet intensity making your heart skip a beat.

“The next time I come into the shop,” he began, his voice low, “I’ll be ready to make my wish.”

You searched his face, trying to read the depths of what he meant, but all you found was that same gentle fervor staring back at you. 

“You’ve thought about it?”

“I have,” he admitted. “With everything that’s happening, I think I finally know what I want.”

The weight of his words settled between you like a promise. Whatever his wish was, it wasn’t something to be rushed—it belonged to the future, a time when he was ready to claim it. And somehow, you understood that.

“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered, though you knew Yunho heard it.

As he turned to leave, a sudden thought gripped you, pulling you back from the brink of your goodbye. “Yunho… before you leave…”

He froze at the sound of his name on your lips, his heart fluttering. Every breath, every glance, vibrated with something unspoken, something powerful.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft, tentative. “To me?”

<< iii | v >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

[my-name-is-namename]

Oh my gosh! Why didn’t I find this sooner 🫠

Had to change my panties cause this is so… wonderful 😌

CIY- CH 21

Chapter Twenty-one

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader

📍Summary: "Equal"

📍WC: 3.2k

📍AU: detective/mafia

📍Genre: action, dark themes, poly romance

📍Warning(s): 18+ rating, suggestive, slight mxm, mentions of minor character death and gang violence

📍Nets: @pirateeznet | @mirohs-aurora-society

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 , @yourfatherlucifer , @skteezcursed and edited(usually) by the amazing: @daemour

📍 AN: I felt like posting it a bit early (aka need some serotonin for my writing again)

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You had demanded Wooyoung take you home, staying quiet on the ride and ignoring both him, and the others on the screen. Er well, pretended to.

It was quite difficult to keep a straight face as Wooyoung and Hongjoong had a conversation about how you tasted. Seonghwa had left the room in frustration when Hongjoong wouldn’t stop, Yeosang going with him hesitantly to eat it seemed. You hadn’t bothered putting your underwear back on, mostly because Wooyoung had cleaned you up with them and then kept them in his hand as he did drive you home.

You had wanted to talk about what just happened, but the fury and shame had been just a bit much. A fresh sting on the burn you felt over Mingi and San.

Yet at the same time, Hongjoong had trusted you with this undercover mission. And you knew enough about him, about the tightness of this unit, to know that you would not be put in such a meaningful situation without trust in your capabilities.

Clearly you could do nothing with one of them without the others being involved or knowing about it. Almost as if they had an intent to share you. How you felt about that would remain to be seen- once you did calm down.

That didn’t happen until you were back in your apartment, in your shower, leaning against the wall and thinking about the day.

Again, you were in some deep shit.

Something was going on between the Pink Boa’s and their head group the Golden Circle and Wooyoung just slapped you right in the middle. The fact it’s his mother that runs the Boa’s, and that if she goes down the unit will take such a huge hit you could kiss your job, maybe life, goodbye.

Without respect for you.

Your chest warmed at the thought, corners of your lips pulled up into a grin before you were aware of it. He was putting faith in you. Though the alternative was that he put you in a situation where if you did fuck up, you would be removed by someone else’s hands.

That thought wiped the grin right off your face.

Was this another test? Either you could handle the work, the underbelly, or else you would be taken out?

Instead of fear coursing through you, you stepped out of the shower with a grin. You could handle this. You would handle this. There was no way you were going to back down. There was too much to lose, too much at stake and not just for you.

The sex aside, your previous unit aside, this was a job- this was more than a job - and you were determined to do it right.

Daily Wooyoung picked you up and took you Downtown. Daily he took you back. You worked night shifts as a bartender and waitress at the club, revamping your wardrobe with some clothes that were suitable. Wooyoung never stayed around while you worked, but Yeosang would ask you about certain things on the car ride back.

Certain customers. But he would also mention some irrelevant things. Asking about a drink you made, or complimenting your outfit for the day. They were few and far between in the week that passed but definitely had an effect. 

It was also cute how he never looked you in the eye. Cuter how he would force the screen off whenever Wooyoung would start to tease him for complimenting you. Now that he wasn’t hating on you, it was hard to ignore how soft he seemed.

He was smart, attentive to every detail and observant to the point that it was impressive. Even with the multiple screens in front of him, which was a guess, he was able to pick up on details you hadn’t been able to while inside the building itself.

Of course the night Wooyoung had eaten you out wasn’t forgotten entirely. Yes it wasn’t brought up again, Hongjoong and Seonghwa were nowhere to be seen and other than Yeosang avoiding eye contact there was no other sign that he had watched. It was Wooyoung who would constantly remind you, every time he dropped you off at your apartment he would follow you up, begging to come inside and get a taste again.

”I’m going to wither away without another taste soon. Come on Goddess. Please? I know you loved it. Please use me.” He would beg up until you shut the door in his face. He’d leave with a whine, but you were always left hot and bothered. You had loved his mouth on you, how desperate he had been to taste your cum and to hear your moans.

Every time he begged you were more and more likely to give in. Until Mingi got involved.

Wooyoung was begging as usual, and this time you were debating on giving in, letting him pin you to the door and nose against your neck while he whined. “Please. Just another taste. You could use my cock this time if you want? You want to don’t you?” He pressed closer, hands fiddling with your skirt that was the shortest yet and that might have been the reason Wooyoung was even more desperate than usual today.

Your fingers played with his black and white strands of his hair, exposing your neck and letting him press kisses there. He really did whittle down your defenses, play into your desires, and there was just something about him that made him hard to resist.

The sight of Mingi a few feet away, gawking with a pained look in his eyes, was enough to have you pushing away though. Wooyoung whined, holding on tight, just to have Yunho rip him off you. “What the fu- oh, Yunho.” Wooyoung’s curse quickly turned into a grin as he took note of the two of them. A grin that faded with confusion as Yunho was staring him down with a hardness you hadn’t expected on his features.

Mingi wasn’t taking his eyes off you however. He looked… worse for wear with a busted lip and scrapped up cheek, his hair cut and dyed differently to give him a more ruffian look. But nothing was a bigger shock in his appearance than his wide boba eyes becoming glassy with unshed tears and vibrant pain.

It pissed you off that he had the audacity to act hurt over this. Standing up straight you immediately shifted your demeanor to a defensive stance. “What? Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

Mingi winced at your harsh tone and for a moment you regretted it. The moment was dashed away when Yunho turned on you quickly and boxed you in, hands braced on the door by your head. “Are you satisfied? Do you plan to hop on his dick and then get pissed when he tells us about it?”

You jutted out your chin, glaring up at him. “Considering three of you already watched it, I doubt I’d get pissed.”

“What?” Mingi gawked, turning to Wooyoung for an answer. You expected the latter to have a shit eating grin on his face.

He happily filled in the blanks as well. “Ate her out in my car. Forgot to turn the camera off. Yeosang, Captain and Vice saw it all. Got off to it too.”

Yunho scoffed above you, hand moving to your neck and thumb pressing up into the soft spot under your jaw. “So why the fuck did you get pissy?”

“Because of Chan!” You pushed him back immediately, anger searing through you. How dare they get defensive! “Because you passed around something so vulnerable about me but wouldn’t let me in. Why do you all get to know of my pathetic rejection and release from my last unit? But you keep me in the dark about everything concerning you and the unit? Pass me around like some fucking toy to use and yes, I like the physical contact but god dammit!” You pushed at him again, stumbling Yunho back into Wooyoung. “I want to be your equal. And you haven’t treated me like that. Neither of you. For fuck’s sake Wooyoung is the only one who has. Who has been honest. I know more about him than either of you and I spent more time around you!”

Tears pricked your eyes as you stared them down, trying to keep up the intimidation and anger but the way your voice had cracked hadn’t been lost. Your own words rang inside your head and it was true.

Even after a week, learning more about the Boa’s and this world that was quietly weaving through the city you grew up in, the most important thing you wanted from this unit was to be their equal. And if that came to sex, to more than just co-workers, you still wanted to be their equal. Especially if sex was involved you wanted to still be a part of the unit, a part of their team.

Was it so wrong to want a place to belong?

Angrily you wiped the unshed tears as they were too shocked to move. “You’re all so God Damn confusing. Doing shit like this. Getting upset I let Wooyoung touch me, contemplate letting him fuck me, but stopped with you? Won’t let you. You made it so damn clear you wanted me gone at first.”

“Princess-”

“He… he’d take me on patrols sometimes. Or have me come up to the precinct when there was a child in his care. Mingi was… one of the regular ones.” The more he spoke the less you wanted to run, full on here to listen now that he was finally opening up to you. Realizing this, he dropped your arms and lifted your other leg so you were straddling his waist. “My father opened up our home to him. He became my best friend, always over, even skipped school to hide in my room. Dad got him to go to school regularly, to do well, and he did.”

“Don’t Princess me!” You cut off Mingi. “Can you really fucking blame me for this? You had the fucking audacity to get upset over this? I seriously can not with you right now.” Huffing, you turned towards your door. “For the last time, I’ll talk to you when I’m ready to.” With the last bit of anger you walked into your apartment ready to shut the door.

But Yunho was stepping in behind you, locking the door behind him and quickly closing the distance between you. When you reached out to push him away he grabbed your wrists, backed you against the wall and pinned you there. “G-get off me! Fucking jackass!”

Squirming in his hold you ended up bringing your knee up into his crotch roughly, just for him to groan and hold both your wrists with one hand and grab your leg with the other. Slotting his thigh between yours, he slid you further up the wall and pinned you there with his body weight.

He kissed you, shutting up the string of curses leaving your lips and instead resulting in you biting his. He pulled away, muttering your name in a soft plea to calm down. It was the nickname that had you stilling. “Butterfly please- I’m sorry.”

“S-sorry for what.” You stammered out, attempting to make eye contact as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Everything. All of it. For putting up my walls. For all of us. We haven’t been fair to you.” He pulled away just enough to stare you down, a softness there you weren’t used to seeing on his features. “You… remind me of my dad a little. In particular, in the way you’re righteous to your own morals. The justice system is second to you right? What comes first is protecting the people and giving them the justice they deserve.”

You nodded slowly, unsure where he was going with this since he brought up his father of all people. You could remember the long list of articles about his father. A good samaritan, a cop who volunteered at schools and children centers and worked with his wife, who was a nurse at children's hospitals, often. He had an amazing track record, and you had a feeling Yunho would be a bit similar. 

Well, the fact he had you pinned up against the wall after forcing himself into your apartment aside that is.

Resting your forearms on his shoulders you took in the sight of him. The vulnerability he was finally letting slip free despite the promiscuous position you two were in. “Found out Mingi was one of those kids often dragged into gang business. The one that died you got all riled up about… that could have been Mingi you know? I think about that a lot. I get angry about that a lot. And you.” He reached up, cupping your cheek and letting his thumb run over the corner of your lips. “You reacted just as he would have. He wouldn’t stop until he got justice. He worked so hard to make the streets safe for kids and you saw how it is now.”

You softened in his hold, remembering clearly how his father had died. Gang violence. What seemed like petty gang violence and was reported as such, you had noticed a pattern. “The Silver Dogs took a hit out on him… didn’t they?” That’s how they resolved the conflict. That’s one of the things you had learned in your time undercover and your research.

Yunho chuckled wryly, bringing his lips to yours, ghosting soft touches but not giving you what your body apparently craved. “You are something, butterfly, having figured that out already. I can see why they’re dead set on you. You fit, more than you realize. More than we like, really.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said with a bit of a pout.

He chuckled with a bit more warmth, lips trailing over your jaw to your neck, just under your ear. “You’ll see. Just… promise me you won’t regret it? You’re going to get deeper, and deeper, into our shit. Into this world. Into our unit. And into our hearts. You really want that? Because if not, you're not only going to get hurt… you’ll hurt us. Hurt Mingi, and Wooyoung and San. You care about them right?”

You nodded as you tilted your head back, giving him access. It was astonishing how you melted in his embrace considering you had been angry moments ago, but you supposed that was because he was being vulnerable with you. It felt like he was giving you a piece of him with this information, like he was giving you a piece to the unit. “I do care… I want to be a part of it.”

He sighed heavily, setting your legs down and pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “We want you here too, I promise. Jongho excluded. He’ll warm up soon enough.”

With a huff, you tugged at his hair to pull him away and have him look at you. “Does that just mean for sex, or as an actual partner in this unit?”

His eyes widened slightly but he laughed the next second. “Butterfly… Wooyoung told you we all fuck each other right? It sort of goes hand in hand.”

The image of Hongjoong licking cum off his fingers, accompanied by Wooyoung kissing San, floated through your mind. He did say that but… “All of you? Even sour puss Jongho?”

He shrugged, hands running over your sides. “Well, that’s a little different. He’s sworn off women for one, and two… he really only fucks Yeosang and Wooyoung. The latter in frustration. But this is a partnership, both in the field and in the bedroom. Does that bother you?”

You found yourself grinning up at him. “Surprisingly… no. But that does make you all the oddest detectives I have ever met or heard of. Wooyoung especially since he made the cut through other means.”

“He told you about that?”

“Mhmm. Met his mom too. Oh, should I not be saying that?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine here. With us. It’s proof that we are opening up to you though. Already meeting the parents.” He wore a cheeky grin on his lips as he stepped away, receiving a light slap to his arm from you. “There you are. My butterfly is back.”

Heat rushed up your neck and settled in your stomach. “Will you leave now?”

He gasped over dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “We just had a touching moment and now you want me gone?”

“Mhmm. I’m exhausted and I don't plan on jumping on anyone’s cock tonight. Besides, I’m sure Mingi is waiting for you.” You pushed him gently for the door, glad he was at least moving now.

He stepped out a moment later, Mingi still out in the hall but so was Wooyoung, both wearing solemn expressions. Wooyoung hung up the phone the second he saw you, both of them lighting up at the sight of you.

Yunho smiled over at Mingi and quickly pulled him into an embrace, now pressing their lips together. You laughed, shifting to rest your hand on your hip. “Point proven Yunho.”

Unfortunately they took that as a challenge. Even going so far as to moan your name. It irritated you, caused you to toss and turn and wish that you had taken up Wooyoung’s offer now if only to spite them.

“Are you still upset?” Wooyoung asked from your other side, reaching out for your arm and latching on.

Tearing your eyes from the two giants now making on- seemingly having forgotten you- you turned towards him. “I’m good Wooyoung, why don’t you head home?”

He pouted, glancing over at the two towers as Yunho mumbled things for just Mingi’s ears. “Mm… alright. Just, one more question.”

“Yeah?”

“San wants you to call him. He won’t stop pestering me for details. And uh-” He quickly kissed your cheek. “Call me if you need anything, Goddess, not just to get off.” He was almost shy as he offered it up, which you found endearing.

Taking his hand in yours, you pressed a soft kiss to the mole under his eye. “I will. Go rest. And you-” You turned towards Yunho and Mingi then, “please don’t be too loud.”

You were ready to do so the next day, hearing a knock on your apartment door. You were already reaching out to grab his shirt to pull him in and take him up on his usual offer when you realized that it wasn’t Wooyoung.

Seonghwa stared down at your hand on his mesh shirt, brows knitted together. He didn’t say anything until you quickly retracted your hand and stepped back, rambling apologies. “May I come in?” Quickly you stepped back to let him in, taking in the mesh shirt over a tank top, as well as jeans with an attached half skirt and boots, even his hair and makeup was done differently.

As soon as you shut the door, before you even got a chance to speak he said “We need to talk.”

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