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haunt3dh3art · 1 year ago

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Heyoo! If requests are open then can i ask for jealous yandere ghost with an s/o. Man would shred the person like chedder cheese😭😭

im so sorry for getting to this so late! it got buried lol but omg i don’t even want to think about what ghost would do🤭🤭 anyways here you are!! female pronouns used throughout

˚ . ✦ . ˳ · ˖ ✶ ⋆ . ✧̣̇☽༺♰༻☾✧̣̇ . ⋆ ✶ ˖ · ˳ . ✦ . ˚

| Carved | Jealous!Yandere Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Synopsis: Ghost hears multiple rumours of you and an unknown recruit being seen on base together. He decides to act.

t/w's: death threats, graphic descriptions of violence, canon-typical behaviour, Ghost isn't really in the right headspace throughout the fic, obsessive and possessive behaviour throughout, FEMALE pronouns used, male lover, very brief reference to menstrual cycle, stalking, lil mention of sex, Ghost flat out refuses to call your lover by his name, calls him "it" most of the time lol

˚ . ✦ . ˳ · ˖ ✶ ⋆ . ✧̣̇☽༺♰༻☾✧̣̇ . ⋆ ✶ ˖ · ˳ . ✦ . ˚

Soap made a thoughtless joke at mess a few weeks ago about you and your new "boy toy" that made Ghost freeze at the table.

"She's a good lass, but working out her "play" muscles, wouldn't ya say, Gaz?" The Scotsman laughed, playfully nudging his friend's shoulder.

Gaz snickered while Soap had to clutch his belly. Price gave a disapproving look to the lads.

"Give it up, boys, leave her alone."

Soap looked at the Captain with an innocent look on his face. "Oh, c'mon! I was messing wi'ya!"

Price shook his head.

Meanwhile, next to him, Ghost went rigid. He had been keeping an eye on you for a while. How could he miss something as important as this?

Ghost's blood relentlessly pumped to his head, making him feel like it was going to implode. The world had started to turn upside down.

The soldier cursed himself for being so ignorant. He had your schedule committed to memory, your address back home, phone number, your family members and even was starting to learn the timings of your menstrual cycle, but he hadn't noticed a potential lover. It's the most significant things he had a fucking blind spot for.

Holding his plate, Ghost rose from the dinner bench.

"Where ya goin', Ghost? Ya barely touched your scran!" Soap called out after him.

Ghost waved him off, scraped his food into the bin and put his plate on a cleaning rack. He left the mess hall with a dark cloud swarming around him.

---

Ghost wasn't seen for hours.

He had infiltrated your room and stolen your laptop without you realising. He already knew your password and logged in.

Pictures upon pictures of you and this intruder were plastered all over the device and a photo of you two together was the wallpaper. Ghost felt sick to his stomach and could feel his throat start to burn. He stormed through every photo in your gallery, read all of your messages and even saw some.. photos that made his cock stir.

You made a different kind of heat rise to his belly every time he saw you, but actually seeing some of your bare body instead of imagining it made his hands shake a little. To feel his body against yours, his hands around your perfect tits, just the slightest graze of his teeth against your neck..

Soon. Not soon enough, though.

---

The next time he saw you, you were in the on-site gym, running on a treadmill with your new.. thing.

Ghost hadn't learnt it's name, knowing it wasn't going to be around for much longer.

He decided to lift weights for his session and stayed in the gym until you both left. When you walked past the silently raging solider, you smiled and waved.

Ghost felt himself become Simon for a brief moment, letting his heart feel like an inferno in his chest as you acknowledged him. He knew such a small amount of attention from you was pathetic to react so intensely too, but he couldn't stop himself.

When you finally both left, Ghost flipped like a switch and turned back to the cold-hearted bastard he was used to being.

He let you get ahead for a bit and then left the gym with a towel over his shoulder. He'd brewed up a plan while lifting that was guaranteed to get the creature out of the picture and move you closer to his arms.

As soon as nightfall came, Ghost shed every innate trace of his human nature and embraced the waging inferno inside him.

---

Ghost went to dinner the next day as usual.

The boys exchanged banter and swapped stories as they always did. Ghost ate everything off his plate to avoid suspicion and cleaned up after himself. Then, he walked over to where your partner was sat.

You weren't there by some grace of the gods and Ghost said a silent prayer.

The soldier was well aware how threatening he looked sometimes, but he lived up to his name. Ghost blended into the crowd effortlessly, and cleared his throat when he got to the table.

Your partner turned around and flinched, making Ghost supress a snide chuckle. The man had to raise his eyes to meet Ghost's and scoffed.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk. Outside," Ghost gestured with his head, keeping his voice low.

The man laughed, rising from his seat. His friends started to laugh and made sounds like they were teenagers. "Fine, let's go."

Ghost led the unsuspecting soldier out of the canteen and down the hallway to a hidden cargo bay. He knew no one would be here and once the soldier had walked into the room, Ghost locked the door.

He slowly turned around, cracking his knuckles.

"Look," The guy said as he raised his hands. "I'm sure we can work this out, whatever it is."

Ghost took a step forward and it took a step back.

"Say a fucking prayer while I'm giving you the chance."

Ghost didn't give him a chance to say anything more; he didn't want to hear another sound but screaming and the flat packing sound of flesh hitting flesh.

The first punch Ghost threw made a sickening crack against the other soldier's jaw. One tooth was already on the floor, and Ghost planned for many more to fall out.

Ghost had the soldier on the floor within seconds, relentlessly smashing his fist into your lover's face, not stopping as he began to choke on blood.

Even through all of the animalistic violence, Ghost could saw flashes of your gentle, soft face in front of his eyes. You smiled sweetly in the haze.

The images only made him punch harder.

For you. You..

"For Y/N.. Y/N.."

He muttered your name under his breath constantly like a madman, like you were his lifeline, his call to arms. At his beck and call. You only needed to say the word and he would gladly do this over and over and over again for you, to anyone, for any reason.

The soldier gripped his arms onto Ghost's with a vice grip, leaving raw, bruising fingerprint marks behind. It would be the last trace of your lover and it would never be seen.

Ghost didn't stop punching even when his opponent was dead. He lay limp on the floor, but darker shades of red kept on creeping around the edges of Ghost's vision, spurring him on.

---

Ghost returned to the canteen hall with a fresh set of clothes on, but a distant look in his eye. As he sat down at his table, he saw you looking for your lover.

Eventually, you gave up and sat down.

He went on to visit you later that night.

---

Ghost knocked your door lightly, a foreign touch when compared to earlier.

You opened the door in a long t-shirt, obviously about to go to bed. "Ghost.." You started, but yawned. "Sorry, what's up?"

Ghost shed his skin, slowly becoming Simon once again.

"I know you're worried about your.. partner, but I promise you that it will work out. If you need me.."

Nodding, you leant against your doorframe. "I'm sure he'll turn up somewhere. Thank you for looking out for me, though."

You smiled and Simon felt his heart beat faster. "If you don't want to sleep on your own tonight, I'll sleep on the floor."

A stupid, stupid fucking offer. Who says that?

"I'd like that, actually. But I've got a chair you can sleep on, would be better than the floor for your back, I think."

Simon felt like he was floating as he walked into your room. It's not like it was his first time, but it was his first time with permission.

He shut the door silently behind him and watched as you fished a second pillow and blanket out of your wardrobe. "I brought these from home," You said proudly. "The chair I stole from the library, that's why it's got cushions. Soap helped me with the heist in the middle of the night."

Simon chuckled, taking the pillow from you. You started laughing too and he watched creases appear in the edges of your eyes. It was nice to see you forget about..

He shook his head and moved closer to you, touching your arm with his free hand.

"Y/N.."

You looked into his eyes, hypnotised. "Mm?"

Simon held on to your arm a little tighter and pulled you towards him. He threw the pillow onto your bed and leaned down by your ear.

"You have no idea about the things I would do for you, have done for you, even."

His voice went impossibly low and sent a shiver down your spine. The hairs on your arms stood up on end.

"You don't have a fucking clue of the things I have done to get this close to you."

Simon raised his mask with one hand and kissed the shell of your ear.

He spoke with deliberate precision and slowly, to burn his words onto your pretty head. He hoped you would never forget them.

"I am.. captured by you. The way you walk," He softly bit your ear and kissed over the mark it would leave. "The way you talk, the way you look, at me, especially."

He chuckled lowly, the sound reverberating through your soul.

"I am yours, and you are mine."

˚ . ✦ . ˳ · ˖ ✶ ⋆ . ✧̣̇☽༺♰༻☾✧̣̇ . ⋆ ✶ ˖ · ˳ . ✦ . ˚

#cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #yandere simon riley x reader #cod ghost #cod modern warfare #cod mw ghost #cod x reader #cod x you #yandere ghost #yandere #cod

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beetlemp3 · 1 year ago

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The Theodosia House 🪶 🕸 🔮 ✿Gallery ID: beetlemp3 ✿Museum ✿ 40x20 ✿ No CC

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ One of the few surviving victorian houses saved by the San Sequioa Historical society during the 1960s! Said to be haunted by the souls who perished one night during one of Theodosias famous seances gone wrong. A perfect activity for a San Sequioa Rainy day. Night tours every weekend!

#ts4 #ts4lot #freerealestate #so many packs...ehe ehe #🏴‍☠️#nocc #FINALLY THO a san sequioa build #ahoooooooo

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xfortunearcana-archive · 1 year ago

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NEW MUSES!

Yu Narukami

Nanako Dojima

#☽ SLEUTH FROM THE CITY ; (Yu Narukami) ☆#☽ GALLERY ; (Yu Narukami) ☆#☽ IDEAS ; (Yu Narukami) ☆#☽ INTERROGATION ; (Yu Narukami) ☆#☽ THE HEART OF THE HOUSE ; (Nanako Dojima) ☆#☽ GALLERY ; (Nanako Dojima) ☆#☽ IDEAS ; (Nanako Dojima) ☆#☽ INTERROGATION ; (Nanako Dojima) ☆

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woneuntonzz · 10 months ago

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๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 𝐓𝐞𝐤 𝐈𝐭

band leader!wonbin x song writer!reader

warning/s: cussing

genre: songfic

word count: 6.7k words!!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you just can't call a spade a spade. ⭑♪⊹ ࣪ ˖ —the debt unpaid; inspired by Cafuné's Tek It. ✩🎧ᝰ.ᐟ

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The bundles of pillows of gas, outlined with the color of the sky, had been your favorite subject in photography. It fascinated you how everything else seemed to remain in their respective placements —the sun, the stars, and the moon— everything, but the clouds.

Though you could never say that you favored it more than the moon.

It somehow made you feel puerile, how something so trivial as moon photographs saturating your gallery made you feel sick to the stomach. You swore that you felt icky having mostly those photographs filling your precious display.

But why then? —why are your eyes so drawn to its shine?

Maybe it is for the sole reason of the void that it fills, even more so when there are none of its little friends —the stars— to accompany it. You hated that, though you admit that the moon is humbler than the spiteful sun. At least the moon allows for you to admire it from afar and closer whilst the sun denies you from it as if it's too glorious for the eyes of man.

You didn't love the moon, but you were true to its beauty and it's granted privilege for it. People loved the moon and you just questioned it. Overlooking its scientific significance, you just thought it put the clouds to shame. A moment would come where the clouds would conceal the moon, but despite its efforts, the moon will always outshine them, even more so with its light outlining the clouds and not the color of the sky that surrounds it. The moon is selfishly beautiful —well to be fair, if you hadn't grown, you would've never realized that the clouds were never meant to be focal.

The art of photo journaling has been your passion for as long as you can remember. From a very young memory, you were a self-proclaimed photographer who held back a sour face whenever you were asked to snap pictures for your aunts who needed a picture next to every foreign sight and object they saw.

You wished you could just take the photos with your own eyes for even with the newest DSLR —at that time— you would never be able to capture the feeling of which the true vision draws from.

Even then you were satisfied with your work, having experienced competing in national journalism competitions from middle school till your senior year in highschool, performing exceptionally well in some seasons and satisfactory in some, overall you were content with what you have and have not achieved.

You never aimed for your name to be displayed all over your school's walls or for it to be countlessly mentioned by any of your teacher's before actually doing their job. You just wanted to bring your visions to life.

These visions would soon take a full swing to a different direction at the very last day of vacation before starting college.

The sky had just turned pink. You felt so lucky, so intrigued with the seamless transition that had just occurred, seamless but conspicuous.

With your camera in hand, you captured the pink clouds and the birds that flew along with them, the scenery of the park was just pure pleasure for your eyes.

You shifted from place to place to take picture after picture of all you found worth your camera's SD card.

You were taking a picture of the clouds that formed a subtle shape of two hearts. It wasn't your first encounter with such enigmatic forms, but this one would stick out like a sore thumb in your gallery.

Because right below it was an unsuspecting boy —well, he appeared unsuspecting at the very least. You took a picture where he looked up at the heart-shaped clouds, only the back of his head would be visible. The next picture was of him looking right into the lenses.

Startled, you'd move the camera away from your face and avert your attention from the boy.

The once muted ambience of your surroundings would suddenly make sounds that seemed louder than they're supposed to be.

You wanted to look back, to look at him again.

His smile, his eyes, it all aligned with the hue of the sky and the sweet, sweet pattern in the clouds. This was the sublime portraiture that led you to where you are now.

You weren't a stranger to Wonbin's appeal. He had quite a line of girls and boys who were smitten over him —and for that, you didn't even think of staring at him for too long, fearing that you might find yourself daydreaming, hoping. You thought you had zero chances with him, because it's him.

He's undeniably handsome, unreal even. He got decent marks and left a good impression on his teachers when it came to oral performance. He was in a school band that mostly performed worship songs during their youth, but would eventually resort to the more popular chart songs, censoring any words when necessary.

Many were fond of him and just as much were jealous.

“Good-looking, talented, and smart? there must be a jerk in him.” —you've heard from one of the many low-lives in your class that sat at the back.

Maybe it was true. It was quite an impossibility for him to just be that good.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“What do you think of me?”

“Perfect.” you spoke, nearly spewing it as a question.

“I'm not.” you laughed at him for wearing such a bashful smile as he replied. “I really am not.”

After that day at the park where you had accidentally snapped a picture of him in the most beautiful scene you have ever captured, you were captured by his allure.

The way his hair danced with the wind and the leaves of the maple trees, the sight was all too heavenly. You were overwhelmed with the feelings that rushed through your veins, you felt like you needed to let it all out, one way or another.

When you got home, you sat on your bed with your laptop sitting on top of your thighs. You stared at the loading status of your exporting photos that you captured earlier that day and a few days prior.

Seeing his photo was all it took for you to start jotting down words, expressing how spellbound you are towards his presence.

You hummed the melody you heard earlier at the park as he looked at you. It was like the breeze was singing for the two of you, and the sounds of the leaves that fell together in a beat that followed your heart's.

You were certain it was only you who's melting over such a small matter.

Regardless, you wrote something, a poem. But you like to refer to it as your first song, and it follows the tune of the air that whispered to you.

“I like you, Wonbin.”

It was scary. To remain standing there for what felt like a day, you thought you'd go home with red eyes and bottled tears.

His hand slowly reaching up to hold yours gave you the thrills.

“I like you too, Y/n.”

It was unbelievable, even for your friends. It's Park Wonbin, the Park Wonbin that could never spare people a minute of his time for insignificant matters, being too absorbed with music and the idea of creating a masterpiece of his own. He liked you?

“You… like me?” you pointed your shaky finger on yourself.

He gently rubbed at the skin on your hands. “No doubts, beautiful.”

You would subconsciously scoff at people who called you pretty because people would often use it to ask for favors. You wondered, was this him asking for a favor? a favor to use you? to only want you when he needed you?

You wrote about these thoughts later that night, and that would be your second song you called 'Blissful but Bittersweet'.

These feelings would be subsided on your very first date. He took you to the studio where he and his band practiced and recorded studio versions of their covers that they'd upload anywhere they could.

You two were the only ones in the studio at that time.

For a while, you were both hesitating on looking into each other's eyes, or starting a conversation. When his eyes caught the lights of the studio and glimmered like fairy light, you couldn't look away. You had the tendency to stare and hold at the things that seemed too good to be true.

Just being there with him was all too good to be true.

He stared back at you, his eyes explored your features, breaking you out of your trance. And there he asked you what you thought of him.

The way he responded to your answer made you think that he knew, he knew the effect he had on everyone else. But you hoped that he saw you differently, different from everyone else that blushed and gushed over him.

“I think your photographs are as beautiful as you.” he spoke as he set up the amplifier for his guitar. “It's your trademark I think.”

You were flushed, but even more confused. “What do you mean?”

“I would know when a photo was taken by you.” His voice was like a bass line to a soul song.

It was true. He'd been noticing you for a while. He was amazed with how great your works in photojournalism were, he admired your passion for photography, turning even the most tragic elements into such beautiful imagery.

Those things however, weren't the only basis for his fascination.

He saw how diligent you were, how you seemed so happy and content with your school life. If it seemed as if he paid no care for the people who whispered for days and days with no end because his eyes would be darted towards god-knows-what, his ears were open for them.

The things he's heard being said about you were endless and repetitive praise, and some backhanded 'worries' they had for you.

“I don't think Y/n actually has a life outside of the competitions”

“I know right, it's kind of sad. Must be boring, and her friends are no different. Might as well just be government officials.”

“She should let loose a little, maybe then someone would show interest in her.” — and quiet laughter.

He couldn't suppress a scoff, and later a rumor would spark that Park Wonbin had a crush on campus journalist Y/n.

You never knew about it since you were out of the country for nationals, and when he told you, you had raised eyebrows.

It was only now that he could admire the elegance of your features. Your eyes and their unique shape, the soft curve of your cheeks and its tint, and your velvet lips.

He had never seen you under a different light before, what he was seeing now went beyond what he could imagine.

You would write again after that date, and this time you had an actual melody to follow, it was of his guitar's. He played a 'scrap piece' —as he would call it— and asked you if it sounded alright.

He felt all warm and fuzzy inside when you enthusiastically answered. “I loved it!”

Your full voice made his heart bounce in and out of his chest. He thought, if only, if only he could incorporate your sugared voice into his music.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Are these yours?” you rushed over to Wonbin to recover your personal journal.

When you'd get it from him, it was turned to a page where you had written about your shared first kiss.

“Uh, yeah.” you gulped when you heard his chuckle.

“You're a wonderful writer too?” you looked up, expecting to see him standing and towering over your very existence.

But he was just as flushed as you were. “They're songs.”

The luminosity of his eyes lit up the room.

“Can you sing them for me?”

He listened to the melodies you have grasped out of pure memory, memories you've had with him.

It wouldn't take a while for him to figure out the meaning of the songs, and somehow, he was surprised to hear,

“They're all about you.”

The feelings that Wonbin had put you through —without his perception— were feelings you have never felt before in your life. Having control over these foreign feelings, somehow, meant taking on new mediums of expression for you.

You would continue to write songs about your moments with him, all the little and more.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were both in your sophomore year in the same music and arts university. Your courses had apparent distinctions, but you two would share the same few classes together.

“I feel like I should be taking Composition instead of Media Arts.” you mumbled at the top of his head.

The lecture hall was empty, you two took your time before leaving like everybody else.

He had himself in between your arms and wrapped yours around him, like how dubiety wrapped around your brain and made it ache for that cause.

“If you feel like it's the right thing, you definitely should, right? if Composition would help you to a point in your life where you're sound and happy, go for it.” he says, looking up at you with glistening eyes.

Wonbin was always the one to be in your arms and would often bury his face in the crook of your neck, taking in the whole of your warmth. You felt like his sanctuary, and likewise, he was yours.

Taking you to the studio became a routine for him, as a means of spending time with you. He would practice while you watched as his fingers moved rhythmically in a pace faster than your heartbeat.

And it was with you that he'd first share his own solos and ask for your honest opinions. You were in awe every time. You had nothing but compliments to throw at him whenever he asked,

“Was it good?”

“It's incredible, Bin.”

While he practiced, you wrote.

It was a whole other experience to have him play for you as you observed and take in all of him, taking note of his delicate handling of his guitar, the sweat that would gradually build up and stick to his hair, and how he'd close his eyes, fully immersed in the music.

Music resonates well with the two of you, it's like your own language, the one you shared and cherished by heart, the foundation of your relationship.

“Let me see.” he'd say as he rests his chin atop of your head from behind you.

You'd raise your journal to his sight, and you could feel his smile as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You make me feel so loved.” he whispers as he places a soft kiss on your jaw before once again burying his face in your neck.

You'd always run your fingers through his hair, telling him that he makes you feel the same way, always.

You loved Wonbin for everything he was —a musician, your best friend, your boyfriend.

And for a long time, he'd been the Park Wonbin who owned a band, and owned your heart.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Going forward, you would change courses from Media Arts to Composition. You were back to square one.

This is where your heart had led you to, where he had given you his full support and encouragement.

Your schedules would crash because of the drastic shift, but still, you found ways to meet as much as you could. There were times where seeing each other wouldn't be possible, so you'd resort to calls instead. You two would talk to each other until you could hear his soft snores.

And when he'd wake up in the morning, he would apologize to you for falling asleep on you and you would always make sure to tell him that it's okay.

He would later take you to the studio again, but this time, there were others; his bandmates.

It was your first time hanging around them, but you thought they were nice. The teasing was something you were never going to get used to, but Wonbin was relieved to have you by his side.

He kept you close to him as he practiced, he took more breaks than retakes. He kept making mistakes at different points of their practice and would call for a break everytime —and each time, he went and sat next to you, laying his head on your shoulder as you delved your fingers in his hair.

“Hey, Bin, you should really focus on your practice. This is for the finals —and I know you're tired, but your bandmates are tired too.” you whispered ever so softly into his ear.

It soothed him, and so he took a deep breath. “I will, starting this very minute.” He sits up and looks at you. He cups your face with his hands and leaves a kiss on your lips and on your forehead. “I just missed you so, so much.”

He goes back to practice, and he listens to you. He fixed himself up and focused. By the end of it they were able to finish practicing three songs.

He took you home to your dorm room, and asked if he could stay. Of course you could not reject him. You two would be all up on each other, all night.

Unfortunately for him, the next day won't be as pleasant as expected.

“Our bassist left.” He got up from your bed and stood near the edge, looking and scrolling on his phone. “That motherfucker.”

Your eyes widened. It wasn't that you've never heard him curse, it's his tone. It was frightening. You knew it wasn't for you —and hoped it would never be— but it made you think of the worse, what could be, and what would be.

“Where are we gonna find a fucking bassist? the competition is in three days.” he threw his head back as he ran his hand through his hair, clasping onto its ends out of disappointment and frustration. “That fucking asshole.” he muttured under his breath.

He turned to look at you, and he wished he shouldn't have.

You had the face of an angel, and that angel, now, appears to be bewildered, petrified even.

He sighed, bringing his eyes to the side. He stood there for a couple more seconds before he got his stuff, getting ready to leave.

“I'll go. I'm sorry Y/n, but I won't be around until I find a bassist that's competent.” he bluntly says before leaving, not shutting the door behind him —for he was afraid that if he did, he'd do it too hard and make you feel bad for it.

You would go on for days without contact. You tried messaging him, but he left you on read. He would reply 16 hours later with: sorry y/n, we're really struggling here.

You stared at his message for hours. You didn't want to respond, so as to not further disturb him. After a few more hours, you'd receive a call from him.

“Bin?” you softly called for him as soon as you picked up.

“We found a bassist. We're practicing real hard since we really need to get it together. We're finished now, but we'll be back in the studio in a few hours. The bassist —she's great.” you nodded to yourself as you listened to him.

You didn't want to be that type of girlfriend, but you badly wanted to ask who this 'she' is. “Oh, who is she?”

“A freshman —so, how have you been?” Wonbin seemed to be speaking a little faster than normal.

You started to wonder whether he even truly wanted to talk to you in the first place. It took you a while to reply to him, you were once again stuck with such overwhelming feelings, having the need to jot them all down.

“Y/n?”

“Bin—”

“You must be tired. Let's talk tomorrow, yeah? I'll call you when I wake up. Rest, beautiful.”

Your eyes paced around everywhere. “I'm sorry Bin.”

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, it's me who should be sorry.” he remained quiet for a while and you could slightly hear his breathing.

“Goodnight Bin. Please sleep well.” the hand that held his phone trembled slightly at the dim symphony of your voice.

“Goodnight Y/n.” he weakly replied before letting you go and ending the call.

On your bed, you lie on your back, eyes wandering the ceiling as if there were more to the tiny cracks and the dormant light bulb. Unable to bring yourself to a slumber, you got up and went to your desk.

You laid out your journal, opening to a fresh page. You let the tip of your pen hover over it for a few minutes, before you let it all go.

We started off in such a nice place,

We were talking the same language.

A teardrop would make its way onto the paper, causing the ink of your pen to smudge.

You weren't meant to finish this song just yet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was finally the day of the competition you've long awaited. You hurried to the front seats, excited to see him perform, to hear his fervent voice, excited to just be able to see him again.

When there were others performing onstage, you tried peeping at the back, or somewhere behind the stage where you'd spot him. You were never able to, not until they were up next.

He saw you and waved. You waved back, hesitant as their new bassist appeared beside him.

They looked… perfect.

You zoned out. Your head would start blocking off the music, and all you could hear was your weak heart. You felt conflicted, the first time it palpated like this, it was for good reason, but now, it seems to be the opposite.

When it was their turn to perform, you watched as they exchanged looks. Their charisma shook your core, and suddenly, you hated yourself for not knowing how to play bass.

You watched, and Wonbin would lay his eyes on you as he sang —but it within a span of a few seconds he fixed his gaze on the bassist, as they once again gave each other looks that made you sink into your seat.

After their performance, you would find yourself clapping, standing up like everyone else, the only difference being that you were crying. Wonbin saw, but he couldn't tell if they were tears of joy or something else.

They would be announced champions by the end of the day, and you couldn't be more proud. Wonbin would find you in the crowd, smiling as he slightly waved the trophy in his hand. You smiled back, just happy with what he's achieved. But you couldn't help but notice that something in the air was changing.

Later that night, Wonbin took you with him to their celebratory dinner. He held your hand tight, caressing your skin with his thumb as you both entered the restaurant.

His bandmates were already seated nicely and the only seats left were ones next to their drummer, and the other, next to the bassist. When they saw you, their bassist would move next to the drummer, and Wonbin would sit across from her, with you next to him.

You were happy that they were all happy, and while eating, you would get over your thoughts from earlier.

Your smile would slowly dissipate into the unmindful air feeling Wonbin's grasp becoming looser and looser as time flew by.

You looked over to him, and you saw the sweetest and most seraphic smile you've ever seen him wear. It was just a shame that it was not because of you.

You grew insecure in your seat, the space you occupied shrinked by the second as you watched how differently their eyes reacted to one another —how different it was compared to how he looked at you.

“Bin, I need to go home.” you touched his shoulder to get his attention.

He quickly turned his head to look at you. “Oh, I'll take you home—”

“No.” You spoke a little louder than intended. “Sorry, no need. I'll get going now, I have things to finish.”

You stood up, expecting him to grab your hand to stop you as you walked away towards the exit. But he didn't.

Were you asking for too much now? or are you just not enough anymore?

You took slow and miniscule steps, waiting for a taxi to pass by. Once it did, you got in, feeling so dejected that your voice cracked when you gave the taxi driver the address to your dorms.

Maybe you were overthinking things. Maybe you're just not used to him being as smiley and as lively as he was around other girls that weren't you. It had been like that since the beginning of your relationship, and yet you felt as if you had no right to doubt him.

By the end of the day, you'd be back at your desk, tear-filled, feebly writing down,

You can't stand the thought,

Of a real beating heart you'd be holding...

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Y/n! we got a record deal!”

The thrill, the excitement, it all rushed through Wonbin, in his blood. He had called you early in the morning after receiving a call from a recording label.

“That's great, Bin.” Wonbin's smile would die out with the tone of your voice.

“Hey, are you okay?” he suddenly thought about the previous night with you, two nights ago.

“Yeah. I've just been really busy. Congrats Bin!” he bit his bottom lip, staring into nothing feeling your frailty.

“I'm coming to visit you.” he says nonchalantly.

“You don't have to Bin, I'm really b—”

“I can help—”

“Wonbin.” —silence.

You never called him 'Wonbin' throughout the entirety of your relationship, even when the two of you would argue. It left a stinging pain in his heart. “Y/n.”

“I'm sorry Bin. I know you have your own stuff going on so would you please jus—”

“Was this about the other night?” despite your efforts to respond, not a single word came out of you. “Look, I don't even know why you left, why don't you communicate things with me anymore?”

Fear. You feared this tone of his that you never thought he'd take out on you. You feared the eyes you could not see, glaring at your phantom in his studio. You feared his heart, his heart that would no longer yearn for you even if you called for him. You feared losing him.

“Y/n, speak to me. Please.” urgency was apparent in his voice, but you could also hear his disappointment.

“How? Tell me how, Wonbin.” you would break as his name fell off your lips, your tears falling down to your blanket that reeks of his scent. “I don't fucking know how, okay?”

From this moment on, you were able to see just how flawed your relationship truly is. Behind all the affections, you two were just too different. Sometimes, different can be good —there's a thing they call 'opposites attract'— but sometimes, people don't need different.

It was not that the two of you stray far from each other's passions, heck, it was your passion that brought the two of you together. But rather, it was your values that contrasted with each other.

He thought you were just as infatuated as he was, all the while you were thinking that you were all he needed.

Yes, he was the most comfortable with you, but his happiness was not you. He felt relieved by your touch, your voice —but he would never admit that that is all it was for him, a sense of relief and nothing more.

He was thankful for everything you've given him, all the comfort, the nagging for him to take care of himself, the photos you've taken of him and hung on your little cork board, and the songs. He was genuinely touched and couldn't believe that you could get any more incredible than you already were.

Unfortunately, you thought more of him, memorizing every bit of him, his physique and his very psyche.

You two would resolve your argument, temporarily.

He would begin to visit you again regularly, and take you to their studio, a new one, one that would be in a bigger building. And just like that building, everything was different.

Your whole life, you've learned to fight change, to adapt with ease, but this was one you did not want to adapt into. It was one you wanted to escape.

You missed the way his fingers would play with the shorter strands if your hair that rested at the sides of your head as he rests himself on you. You missed the warmth in his voice, and now it was all fading into nothing. That fire in your hearts that you lit up for each other, it was slowly dying out.

It was painful to be aware when you were still so in love, when you still saw the same Wonbin that one fateful day at the park.

You knew that he knew. During his visits to your dorm room, he'd often doze off, and would lazily leave sloppy kisses to your lips, that would slowly become light pecks on your cheek, and soon nothing.

When he took you to his studio, he would be practicing, and she'd be there too. You would be in your own little corner, writing your songs.

“Hi Y/n, what are you up to in there?” she would ask, peeking at your journal.

“Oh, I'm writing songs.” she was a nice person, but she was also the reason for the falling out of your relationship, it was crystal-clear.

“You should seriously consider showing some to the producers around here. I feel like they'd love your work.” as nice as she sounded, you felt sick in the stomach, just like how those stupid moon photographs made you feel.

She and Wonbin, they were both like the moon, just letting others take in all of their physiognomy, all of their beauty. They remain unmoved, as if they're the pillar to everybody's constancy.

They fit each other. —you thought to yourself as you kept writing.

I never could rely on you,

And a few times your face came into view,

Into view.

I'm not into you,

Into you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's been a good while since you've cut ties with him. You found it amusing how surprised he was with how you responded to his notion.

“I don't think we should continue being together, Y/n.” he blinked a few times, not having the heart to look into your eyes like he used to anymore.

“Yeah, I know.” you were so blunt with everything that he couldn't believe that it was really you who was speaking to him. “I'll bring you the stuff you left at my dorm. I'll just leave it here.”

You were in their studio, where he had asked you to meet him.

“I could just get it myself—”

“I'll spare you the trouble Wonbin.” you were so cold, it sent shivers down his spine. You were no longer the intelligent and timid girl he knew. “It's great to know you've been feeling the same way all along, if not, I would've felt bad for ever doubting you.”

A single tear would escape his eye, and he'd wipe it away before you could see it.

“Thank you for…” you fished for his gaze, and you would catch it like never before. “...everything.”

You went out of their studio and started making your way out of the building with your journal in hand.

The journal. It was full of him. From polaroids and sketches, to the lyrics that brought you to where you are.

You were glad he finally came to his senses, that he was the one to break it up. If he never did, it would've taken you ages to blurt it out, or maybe you never would've done it.

As your feet followed the same path you took going in, you could feel the hot tears flowing continuously. The last you would see as you stepped out of the building was her. Worry was written all over her face as she called for you once, twice. You looked back at her for an agonizing and very few seconds before completely turning your back from her.

That day was excruciating for you. You could only imagine, he already had her to comfort him, and you? you were still in the same spot, pouring all of your feelings out into a song.

After a few lengthy months of practicing with your guitar, you were able to make a full song.

You recorded it within the confines of your dorm room. You were again satisfied with your work. It was a simple, homey video. Your voice was as soft as the clouds, and your presence was like that of the sun, bright, shining against the woe of your heart.

You posted the video to YouTube, even providing them with the lyrics you've put your whole heart into in the description box.

At first, you didn't really think you'd get as much as fifty views, three likes and maybe one petty dislike. Either way, you didn't really care. It was the least of your worries at the time.

You were planning to move back to Media Arts, in spite of him. You moved courses because of him, and now you are moving back another step for it.

Though, your plans would be halted when you were approached by a deceptive man —what made him deceptive? you may ask, well, you would've never thought that this man worked for the same recording label that your ex was in.

“What do you want?” you spat.

“Okay, miss. I'm Jung-Sung-Chan. I've been in the xxxx label for two years now. So, I saw your song—”

“And what about it?” your voice was stern, and it seemed as though it was atypical for him as it did not match your appearance at all.

“So, there's this band, don't know if you've heard of them—”

“Is it 'Everiizing'?” he was flabbergasted with how you just kept cutting him off when he was supposedly the one to be intimidating you.

“Uh, yeah.”

He would go on to explain how the band had been struggling to come up their next hit single and they needed it by the end of the month. You told him off by saying that you'd think about it, and think about it, you did.

It was quite funny, Wonbin would be the one singing since he was the vocal of the band, and he would be singing a song that you wrote and composed about him and the fallout of your relationship.

But you also thought, maybe this was a start for your own career. Maybe after this, you'd be a well known song writer, credited in every hit song in the charts.

You would call Sungchan back and tell him you've made up your mind.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

So I started to think 'bout the plans I made,

The debt unpaid.

And you just can't call a spade a spade.

Wonbin read through the lyrics of their supposed upcoming single. He couldn't help but feel… familiar. The style of writing, the choice of words, he feels like he'd seen it all before, and he'd felt it all once upon a time.

“The writer is Y/s/n Y/n.” Wonbin's breath hitched, very subtly that he was the only one that heard. “I saw her on YouTube —that's where we discovered that song. She agreed to sell it to us.”

“The song is on YouTube?” Wonbin asked as he grabbed his phone from the table in front of him.

“Yeah, that's what I said.”

He searched for your name, and there it was. He hurriedly tapped on your video, and watched, and listened.

You never changed in his eyes. You were still as mesmerizing as you were when he could still have you in his embrace, or when you'd massage his hair.

“So what do you think?” he ignored Sungchan and kept his eyes and ears on his phone, following every note and every strum.

“Wonbin?” —for a minute, he thought it was you who called for his name, but then he looked up.

“Paige.” he responds to their bassist.

“I listened to Y/n's song. It's really a masterpiece, I say we try recording it now.” Paige, with pure excitement, would cling onto Wonbin, and he would look at her the way you would want him to look at you.

Sungchan knew, because you had told him everything. It was weird to tell a stranger about these things, but if he was buying your song, he should at least know the story behind it, right?

That day, Wonbin would record his vocals for the song, and Sungchan would be there to monitor. Wonbin seemed so emotional. He must've realized what the lyrics truly meant, and it punched him right in his guts.

This is all she's been feeling huh —he uttered in his mind as he fought back his sorrow.

Sungchan had spared you the details of everything that went down in the recording, and soon they would release their own version of the song, and it would be theirs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“...we have 'Everiizing', to perform their new hit single, 'Tek It'!”

You were once again, at the same seat you'd always be when he performed, but this time, you were happy. It was your creation being recognized and loved by many. Its story will remain in your memories forever, but it will never cause resentment.

You couldn't help but smile and just enjoy the music. They were the same —if not better than before. Wonbin and Paige were truly a different story. They seem to be doing great. You had no idea if they actually got together, but you didn't care.

There was a lingering feeling for sure, but it would fall weak knowing that you have a line of opportunities ahead of you, and so did Wonbin and his band.

After their performance he would go on to acknowledge your presence, giving you credit for writing and composing such a beautiful song, though of course, he would never say you were his ex and you wrote it about him.

You two would meet again backstage, for the first time in almost a year.

“Y/n.” you smiled, not for the same reason as you would with him, it was because he failed to have the same effect on you as he did before, and it brought your mind to peace.

“Wonbin.” he would smile back, but it was quite not like himself.

He was a lot more tentative. “I'm guessing you've been well.”

You nod at him and say, “I could say the same about you.”

“So, will you continue to work under xxxx?” he asked hesitantly.

“You know I would never do that even if things ended a little better.” he would drop his smile as he listened to you speak. “I'm moving to Sungchan's label. He's starting one of his own. Might consider being an artist myself, but for now I'll finish my studies.”

Wonbin was once again fascinated with your strong will, it was something he thought he could learn from you, but as soon as forever was promised, it would disintegrate right before your eyes.

The promises of making songs together, singing them together, performing them with your souls intertwined. They were nothing but long gone.

Wonbin is the moon, and you're the sun. The two are never meant to meet, or to even be close to each other. Being opposites was never a problem, it was because you two had different understandings of what it meant for you to flourish and shine, what your purpose is in this world and how you would salvage it —it is the sad tale of the serene but incredibly fallible moon, and the ravishing sun, that's just as tainted.

And there would be no more eclipses to follow.

I never thought we'd see it through.

So long nice to know you, I'll be moving on.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

happy hearts day <333

#riize #riize au #riize fanfic #briize #riize x reader #wonbin #riize wonbin #park wonbin #Spotify #songfic

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raz-writes-the-thing · 11 months ago

Text

Gallery Shenanigans (Broadchurch One-Shot)

Alec Hardy x Masc!Reader 18+ / requests are open

Summary: Alec gives you a handjob in the art gallery bathrooms

Fic type: fluffy smut

BROADCHURCH: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @quickslvxrr @madspads @catlynharper @merrilark @jaziona92 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d known you were gay, or at the very least bi with a strong male lean for many, many years. Since you were very young. You may not have had the words for it at that age, but you had an inkling. And as you got older, the better you understood.

But despite having known for so long- you hadn’t been out all that long. That intergenerational fear of rejection had kept you quiet about it for so long. But you were free now, and fucking hell did it feel good.

You’d met Alec not too long after coming out. He’d been out too at that point. He was just very private about his life in general, so not many people knew. He didn’t hide it though.

You’d hit it off and suffered plenty of jokes from your family about how you fell for the first queer man you met in Broadchurch. Not that that was true, of course, but they meant well. You’d had plenty of unrequited crushes in the past that didn’t quite work out.

You’d been dating for a couple of weeks now, and while Alec was incredibly shy and quiet, he’d also been letting you know with subtle hints and touches that he was ready to go further. You were nervous, of course, this being your first time sexually with anyone and Alec being just a touch older than yourself, but you were excited too.

Which is how you found yourself in the art gallery bathroom stall with your slacks undone and Alec’s hand wrapped around your very hard cock.

“Och, darlin’,” Alec said, leaning in close to press a kiss to your jawline. “Look at’cha. So hard f’er me.”

You nodded, hips rolling into his hand. His thumb rubbed over the head of your cock and you had to chew on your finger to keep from letting out a loud whimper. Alec grinned, pressing himself in closer to you to drink in your moans with his lips.

“So fuckin’ good f’er me- good boy-”

The praise had your eyes rolling back in their sockets, and your hand helplessly gripped at his shirt under his jacket. You were desperate to feel his skin on yours, his cock on yours. You wanted him. Desperately.

“Please,” you groaned, dropping your head back against the stall to allow him access to your neck which he eagerly latched onto with kisses and nips.

Alec chuckled against your throat and worked his hand faster along your length, taking good care to squeeze against your most sensitive spots. You buried your face in Alec’s shoulder and panted into his jacket.

“Tha’ feel good, darlin’? Yeah, I know- such a good boy f’er me,” he cooed, rubbing his thumb over your tip repeatedly. Fuck, you weren't going to last long like this. You whined out a breathy ‘fuck’ and Alec chuckled.

“Pretty boy gonna cum f’er me, eh? Yeah, pretty thing. Come on. Cum f’er me, darlin’. Tha’s it.”

You came into his hand, biting down on his neck to keep yourself from crying out loudly and alerting the gallery security to the not-so-legal happenings in the bathroom.

Your chest heaved as your orgasm ripped through you. You managed to pull away to look at the mess covering his hand. You flushed, noting how Alec was grinning with pride.

“Tha’ was fun,” Alec said, cleaning his hand off and flushing the mess away. You nodded, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

Your lips moved together languidly, your tongue requesting entrance which he willingly gave.

You were panting when you pulled away, and it was Alec’s turn to be flushed pink.

“F’er someone who’s never had a boyfriend, you’re awful good at that,” he said, swallowing thickly.

You just nipped at his lower lip and winked.

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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months ago

Text

Fractured Loyalties ~ JHS

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 6.7K

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: established relationships, old friends to friends to enemies, angst, not a happy ending, MALE READER, platonic, betrayal, hurt, TW: mentions of death, fighting and blood

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Hoseok x Male!Reader

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅⤜MASTERLIST

The gallery was alive with soft murmurs and clinking glasses, the ambient hum of admiration drifting through the air as art lovers gazed at the pieces that lined the walls. People chattered among one another about the meanings of certain pieces they were staring at, coming up with ideas for the background of a painter as if they had any idea.

The whole thing annoyed you if you were being honest. You'd gotten out of this life a long time ago, you hated the people that were into art. Most of them were chauvinistic assholes who claimed to be art geniuses but barely knew which paintbrush was used on a painting but you? You knew everything.

Every brush that caused every stroke. Every tool created every single divert in a sculpture. You were known as the recreator in the underworld but that was long behind you now.

You stood near the back, your eyes tracing the delicate brushstrokes of a painting you were pretending to admire. It was easier to blend into the crowd that way, easier to disappear into the background like you had perfected years ago.

The quiet life suited you now – or so you told yourself. The hustle of the city, the sharp scent of paint and varnish, all of it had lost its allure now, you didn't care for it anymore. It had been nearly four years since you'd turned your back on your old life, cutting ties with the only people who had once made you feel more alive than ever. But you couldn’t afford to feel alive anymore. It was safer to be numb. Safer to pretend to be happy in this sick world than to risk being caught for the thrill of it all.

At least that was the plan until the past came crashing back into your life.

"Y/N.” That voice—smooth as honey, but with an edge like glass. You froze the name that had become a distant echo now feeling like a bullet lodged between your ribs. Slowly, you turned. You already knew who the voice belonged to but you weren't sure you were ready to face him yet but there he was.

Jung Hoseok, standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek, tailored coat, his face lit by the soft glow of the gallery lights. He looked the same yet different—older, sharper, with a calmness that seemed more dangerous than comforting now.

You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, the excitement of your lives together coming crashing back to you all at once. The heists you'd pull off, the money you'd get, everything more exciting than the next. Thanks to Hoseok you were one of the richest men in the world, not that anyone would know if it they were to look at you.

They'd see a man who did well for himself and never bragged about what he had. You did your best to pretend the sight of Hoseok didn’t stir up a thousand old memories, moments of laughter and adrenaline, late nights spent hunched over counterfeits that had to be perfect.

You forced a smile, tight and uneasy as he came closer to you, a giant grin taking over his features.

“Hoseok,” You replied, the word leaving your lips like a half-formed apology as you smiled a little, doing your best to appear happy to see him. You should have known coming back to the city you would have the risks of running into him but you hadn't exactly thought it through that well.

Hoseok’s smile was disarming as ever, but you noticed something beneath it—something calculated. You'd seen that look a thousand times before with Hoseok so you knew he'd planned all of this and it made you wonder how long he'd known about your whereabouts. Hoseok wasn’t here by chance. No, Hoseok had always been too precise for that.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Hoseok said, his voice smooth but guarded. He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. People didn't even pay attention to the two of you, they walked by as if nothing was happening because, to them, nothing was.

It was two old friends meeting after a long time but to you? This was bad news.

Hoseok only wanted one thing out of you. Money. It was always about the money or the next heist with him.

“It’s been a while.” he finished as he clinked your glass with his own, tipping it back and smirking at you.

“Yeah,” You muttered a little, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before letting out a small breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding.

“A long while.” Silence hung between you both for a moment, thick with the weight of your shared past. You could practically feel your pulse quicken, memories stirring that you'd worked so hard to bury. You wanted to ask why Hoseok was here, but part of you already knew. Hoseok never did anything without a purpose.

“You disappeared on us,” Hoseok said, his tone light, though his eyes flickered with something darker. You could already tell he was pissed off but it wasn't as though you'd cheated him and the boys out of their money. You did what they asked. You told them it was your last job.

"I told you I was done-"

“One day you’re in the game, and the next, you’re gone. No word, no explanation.” You swallowed hard at his tone, it was obvious he wasn't in the mood for your explanations or bullshit.

“I had my reasons.” You put down your glass and turn your body to face him, shoving your hands into your pockets as you waited for him to skip around the bullshit and tell you what he wanted from you.

“I’m sure you did,” Hoseok replied, his gaze steady. His eyes slowly looked you up and down, lingering on your suit before shaking his head at you,

“But here you are. Back in the world, you swore you’d leave behind. The world you claim to hate,”

“I’m not—” You began, but Hoseok cut you off with a knowing look.

“You may not be in the game anymore,” Hoseok said softly, leaning in closer as he whispered in your ear,

“but the game isn’t done with you.” The words left your stomach dropping and you frowned at him.

“What do you want, Hoseok? I don't owe money, I'm clear, I'm out. I've been out for four years,” You reminded him, not that he needed reminding of the time you'd abandoned him and left him alone. Hoseok studied you for a moment as if weighing his next words carefully.

“I need your help.” The mood in his eyes shifted as he looked at you worriedly. It was the first time you'd ever seen the man look worried before but you shook your head immediately. There was no way you were getting involved in whatever shit he got himself into.

“No. I’m done with that life. You know that.”

“You might be done with it,” Hoseok said, his voice lowering, as he took you by the elbow and led you away. If you lingered by a painting too much it was too obvious, you'd taught him that.

“But it’s not done with you. And it’s not just me, Y/N. The others—Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi—we need you. It’s bigger than just another job. This could be the last one.” You scoffed at him. You couldn't even count all of the times you'd heard him say that. This life was an addiction to Hoseok, no matter how many times he told you it was the last one, that he didn't need to go back, he always did.

“I’ve heard that before.” You stared at him and he shook his head at you.

“This time, it’s different.” Hoseok’s eyes hardened and you stared at him, you almost believed him this time.

“There’s a man. A dangerous man. He’s been in the shadows for years, controlling the underground art market, smuggling pieces, and making people disappear when they get in his way. He’s untouchable, but he has one weakness: he can’t resist a rare piece of art. A very specific one.”

“And that’s where I come in," You mumbled already knowing what he was going to ask you to do. You were the "recreator" after all. There wasn't anything you couldn't do.

Hoseok nodded and let out a small sigh. He'd tried to work this plan out without you but there was no way of pulling it off.

"Without you, we don't stand a chance...It's one job. One. You'll be paid-"

"I don't want the money." You cut him off coldly. The idea of diving back into that world, working on a forgery, was enough to make your stomach twist. But it wasn’t just the art that made him hesitate—it was Hoseok. After everything, after the years of silence, why now? Why him?

"What-"

"I do this. You leave me alone. Forever. No popping up, no Christmas cards, nothing." Hoseok stared at you for a second, you could see the gears working in his head as he worked out the idea in his head. Sighing he nodded and the two of you shook hands.

"Tell me everything." You whispered as the two of you began to walk around the gallery.

“There’s an upcoming exhibition featuring a priceless sculpture. We need to make a replica—a perfect replica—to lure him out of hiding. You’re the best at what you do, Yn. We can’t pull this off without you.” You clenched your jaw, you still had everything you were going to need to pull it together.

“Why me, Hoseok? Why now?” That was the only thing you couldn't wrap your head around. There were many people on the market, sure they weren't as good as you but they could just have easily helped him.

“Because you’re the best,” he said simply and shrugged his shoulders a little.

“And because I trust you.” Trusted you? According to him, you'd walked out on him and yet he trusted you? Scoffing a little you looked at him,

“You trust me? After all this time?”

“More than anyone else, you know you've always been my right hand,” Hoseok replied without missing a beat, you hated the way your heart skipped a beat for that one sentence.

“I know we’ve been out of touch, but that doesn’t change anything for me. We’ve been through too much to let time get in the way of that.” You clenched your jaw, conflicted. It was always like this with Hoseok—he had a way of making you feel like you belonged, like the two of you were still in this together, even when everything around you was falling apart.

“So, tell me more about this plan,” You said finally, setting his glass down on the counter and then glancing at him.

“If I’m going to be a part of this, I need to know everything.” Hoseok’s smile widened slightly, as if he’d known that would be your answer all along, which it was. He would have only kept asking and asking until you'd given in to him.

“Alright,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him to a back room.

You spent the next few days going over every detail of the plan that you could. Sketches and blueprints were bought out, and you'd moved into Hoseok's apartment and slept on his sofa just so you could be close to him while you planned every single detail out. Straightening out the details so nothing could or would go wrong.

Hoseok had already laid the groundwork with the rest of the crew—Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, and the others knew everything and were in regular contact with you all as you added new things to the plans.

The exhibition would take place in two weeks at a high-end gallery known for showcasing rare sculptures, like extremely rare to the point where they weren't to be photographed. The centrepiece of the event was a sculpture created by a famous artist, one that the crime boss they were targeting was known to covet.

The piece was so rare it was only ever written about in one newspaper and the reporter ended up being killed in an "accident" which Yoongi had informed you was done by the crime boss they were after.

Your job was simple, at least on the surface: create a replica of the sculpture so perfect that it could be swapped with the original without anyone noticing. The crime boss would be drawn to the exhibition, believing he had a chance to obtain the real sculpture, and in the chaos that followed, they would catch him in the act, exposing him to the authorities. Simple in theory.

But there was more to it than that and it was going to be a lot harder to get in and out than it was to create the piece. The crime boss had eyes everywhere—inside the gallery, within the security team, even in the art world itself. One slip-up, one miscalculation, and the entire plan could fall apart. You had to get the forgery right, down to the last detail, or they’d be walking into a death trap. But no pressure, right?

As you studied the stolen blueprints and sketches, a familiar sense of excitement started to creep back into your veins. This was what you were good at. This was where you thrived where you felt most alive.

"You jumped back in faster than I thought," Jimin said with a smirk, sitting beside you as you worked carefully on the clay in front of you. You slowly glanced over at him,

"You had bets on me?" You smirk at him already knowing that a gambling man like Jimin would have bet his life savings on it.

"I lost, no thanks to you." He nudged your arm softly and Hoseok cleared his throat at you both.

"No distracting the artist!" He yelled in a thick French accent before you went back to work and fell into conversation with Jimin. It really did feel like no time had passed and it was just like before.

The days leading up to the exhibition passed in a blur of late nights, meticulous planning, and stolen moments of tension. You found yourself falling back into the old rhythm, your hands moving with precision as you sculpted and moulded the replica into perfection. Every detail had to be exact—the texture, the weight, the way the light hit the surface of the piece. There was no room for error.

Despite your best efforts to keep your focus solely on the work, you couldn’t help but feel the growing tension between you and Hoseok. Old habits, old memories—everything the two of you had once shared hovered just beneath the surface, threatening to break through at any moment.

Late one night, as you worked side by side in the studio, you finally broke the silence first and sighed a little.

“Hoseok,” you began quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, you didn't even know where to start with this but it was something weighing heavily on you.

“Why did you really come to me? You could’ve found someone else. There are other forgers out there.” Hoseok paused, his hands stilling over the plans he’d been reviewing. For a long moment, he didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him as he debated airing everything out.

"Hobi-" The nickname left your tongue with ease and finally, he looked up, meeting your eyes with a rare vulnerability.

“Because I never stopped trusting you. I never stopped… caring about you.” The words lingered in the air as you tried to process what he could have meant by it, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid over the years.

You hadn’t expected that, not even close. The two of you had always been platonic with one another.

“I—” You started to respond, but Hoseok cut you off.

“And because,” Hoseok continued, his voice firm now, as he cleared his throat a little,

“I need to know that I’m not alone in this. That I have someone I can count on when things go south and that person has always been you...”

You nodded slowly, the weight of Hoseok’s words settling in your chest. It wasn’t just about the job. It never had been for either of you.

For a moment, it felt like old times. The two of you against the world, working toward a common goal, trusting each other with your lives. But the shadows of doubt still lingered in your head as you continued to work on the task at hand. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more Hoseok wasn’t telling you, something darker, something that could change everything.

The night of the exhibition arrived with an air of anticipation so thick it felt suffocating. The gallery buzzed with excitement as well-dressed patrons sipped champagne and admired the carefully curated works of art that lined the walls. Every piece was a masterpiece in its own right, but there was no doubt what the centrepiece of the night was—the sculpture.

The original was a breathtaking piece of art, a rare sculpture that had been lost for decades before resurfacing in the private collection of an elusive billionaire. Its unveiling had drawn art enthusiasts, collectors, and critics from all over the world, and it was this very lure that would draw the crime boss out of hiding.

For you, however, it wasn’t the original that held your attention. It was the replica. The fake stood in the backroom of the gallery, awaiting its role in your carefully orchestrated plan. Your hands had sculpted every inch of it, replicating the weight, texture, and imperfections of the original with surgical precision. It was perfect, indistinguishable from the real one.

This was the part you hated the most about working jobs. It was always the calm before the storm was almost worse than the action itself. You stood in the back of the gallery, your heart pounding in his chest as he glanced around at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Somewhere in the crowd, the crime boss was watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

You weren't sure who to be more afraid of—the crime boss or the fact that Hoseok seemed just as calm and composed as ever, as though everything was under control. But you knew better, you could see the tension in Hoseok’s eyes, the slight tightness in his jaw that only appeared when things were about to go sideways.

And then, as if on cue, Hoseok appeared by your side, his expression unreadable as he nodded at you.

“It’s time,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“You ready?” You could have sworn you heard his voice shake a little but you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing nerves. This was it. Everything that you had planned, everything the eight of you had worked for, would be decided in the next few minutes. One mistake, one wrong move, and it would all come crashing down.

“Let’s get this over with,” You muttered, remembering he had promised you he would leave you alone once all of this was over. He would go back to his life and you would go back to yours.

Hoseok gave a small nod before leading you toward the back of the gallery, away from the prying eyes of the guests. The transition needed to be seamless, and the timing had to be perfect. As the crowd’s attention shifted to the curator giving a speech about the significance of the sculpture, you and Hoseok slipped into the backroom where the original sculpture was being guarded.

Jin, dressed as one of the security team, gave them a subtle nod as you both approached. Everything was going according to plan—so far. Jimin's eyes flashed at you as he smiled softly,

“Here we go,” You whispered under your breath as you and Hoseok approached the sculpture. Your heart racing as you both exchanged a look before nodding.

The exchange happened in the blink of an eye. You and Hoseok moved with precision, lifting the original sculpture from its display and replacing it with the replica. The transition was flawless—no one watching would have noticed the difference, not even the most discerning eye, the cameras were covered by Yoongi and Namjoon who had replayed the last few minutes for the guards on duty, to them it was a glitch quickly fixed and nothing to worry about.

"Done." Hoseok smiled and you felt a brief moment of relief wash over you as you realised all of this would soon be over and you'd be free again. For a second, it seemed like they might actually pull this off. But that feeling was short-lived.

Just as they finished the switch, the door to the backroom creaked open, and your blood ran cold. Three men entered, their sharp eyes scanning the room with unsettling precision, you knew their faces from the times you'd poured over the information files that Hoseok had. They were enforcers, the crime boss’s personal muscle and you felt your stomach tighten.

“Shit,” You whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears. Hoseok’s face remained impassive, but You could feel the tension radiating from him.

“Stay calm,” Hoseok said under his breath, his voice low and controlled and he reached out for your hand. But you couldn’t stay calm, it was the first time you'd ever been caught, and there was no staying calm in this. Not when the enforcers were closing in on you, not when you could feel the weight of their gaze like a noose tightening around your damn neck.

One of the men stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you as if he could sense that you were the weaker one of the group.

“What’s going on back here?” You felt a sharp pang of fear, but before you could even respond, Hoseok stepped forward, his posture relaxed, as if he wasn’t standing inches from danger.

“Just handling some last-minute details,” Hoseok said smoothly, his voice betraying no hint of the tension that crackled in the air.

“Is there a problem?” He quickly added as he looked at the men. The enforcer’s eyes narrowed as he glanced between you and Hoseok, it was clear he wasn't exactly sure what to believe and you didn't blame him.

“That depends. You wouldn’t happen to be moving around something you shouldn’t be, would you?” He questioned and your throat tightened, but Hoseok remained calm, always calm in the face of danger he didn't care.

“Of course not. We’re professionals. Everything’s under control.” For a moment, the enforcer seemed to consider Hoseok’s words, his gaze lingering on you before shifting back to the replica sculpture. You could feel the weight of the man’s suspicion bearing down on you, and you prayed that the replica was as perfect as it seemed. If the enforcer noticed anything was off, then you were all dead, you started counting the seconds in your head as you waited for them to say something. Anything to clear your head.

Finally, the man nodded and gestured for his colleagues to follow him out of the room. But before they left, he cast one final glance at you, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips that made you want to vomit.

“Be careful,” he warned, his tone laced with malice.

“The boss doesn’t take kindly to deception.” The door shut and you hunched over, looking for the nearest bucket you could throw up last night's dinner into.

“That was too close.” You grumbled at Hseok who didn't even seem to care that you were close to throwing up. He simply nodded, his expression grim.

“We’re not out of the woods yet. The boss is here somewhere, and he’s going to make his move soon. We need to be ready.” He straightened himself out and you nodded, trying to push the fear aside and focus on what had to be done. But something about Hoseok’s tone unsettled you. There was a coldness there that hadn’t been present before—a detachment that made you wonder just how far Hoseok was willing to go to pull this off.

As the exhibition neared its peak, you once again found yourself in the shadows, keeping a low profile as the crowd shifted and moved. The boys were playing along too, pretending to be art enthusiasts and waiting for this whole thing to be over. But as you walked you couldn't help but glance a look over your shoulder, or watch certain people in hopes you'd figure out which was the boss they were after.

Somewhere in the mass of guests, the crime boss lurked, and it was only a matter of time before he made his move. Hoseok had disappeared into the crowd the second you'd come out of the back room, blending in effortlessly. You'd done your best to try to spot him, but there were too many people, too much chaos. You were on your own now and you needed to be prepared for anything.

And then, it happened. A commotion near the sculpture caught everyone’s attention. The crime boss had made his move, attempting to steal the replica, thinking it was the original.

Everything seemed to fall into place—until it didn’t.

In the midst of the chaos, you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder, yanking you backwards into a dark corner of the gallery, you tried to scream but a hand covered your mouth. Before you could react, you were face-to-face with the crime boss himself—a man with cold, calculating eyes and a smirk that made your blood run cold.

There was a deep scar running from the top of his eye to the bottom of his cheek, Agust D. He was known in the underworld, but you knew him as Yoongi's twin brother, the one that had been thrown to the wolves once his parents realised how fucked up he was.

“You thought you could fool me?” Agust hissed, his grip tightening on your shoulder as you whimpered a little.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Is the replicator back in business with my darling brother? You should have never gone back to him,” He smirked at you but your heart pounded inside of your chest as you tried to wrench yourself free but his grip was like an iron.

“Agust, I—” You began, but before you could finish, Hoseok appeared from the shadows, stepping forward with his hands raised.

“Wait,” Hoseok said, his voice calm and controlled. Your heart returned to normal as you realised he was going to be the one to get you out of this mess. You smiled at him and nodded,

“There’s been a misunderstanding.” Relief flooding through you as you let out a small breath. Hoseok was here. He would make all of this better. He would fix this.

But Hoseok’s eyes were cold—colder than you had ever seen them before in your whole friendship. He turned to Agust, his expression unreadable.

“This wasn’t my plan,” Hoseok said, his voice steady.

“It was Y/N’s. He’s the one who created the forgery. I had nothing to do with it.” Your stomach dropped as you realised he was throwing you to the wolves.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. August's smirk widened as he looked between Hoseok and you.

“Is that so?” Hoseok nodded.

“He acted alone. He’s the one you want. We'll hand over the real sculpture later tonight.” Your whole world shattered in that moment as you realised that this had been his plan all along. Betraying you like you had him when you walked away from the game. Hoseok had sold you out. The one person in this world you thought that you could trust, the person who had pulled you back into this world, had betrayed you.

Agust's grip tightened on your shoulder, his smirk turning into a sinister grin as he pulled you closer to him.

“Well, that makes things easier,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.

“Guess we know who to punish now.” Your mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. You couldn’t believe it. Part of you still thought this was some kind of joke, that Hoseok and the guys were going to jump out and save you right at the last second but it never happened. Your eyes locked with Hoseok and there was no regret, no remorse, no guilt. Just a cold calculation.

Everything had changed. The bond the two of you had once shared, the trust you had, all gone.

Hours later, you found yourself in a rundown safehouse on the outskirts of the city, locked in a small room with only the dim glow of a single lightbulb to keep you company. Agust told you he'd deal with you once he got the original away from Hoseok and the rest of them but you didn't hold out much hope for that.

Part of you knew Agust would leave you here tied up and left to die like this, it was the kind of sick bastard he was after all. Just as you were beginning to lose hope for someone coming back, the door creaked open, and one of the enforcers entered. He undid the ropes around your arms before grabbing you by the wrist and hauling you to your feet, dragging you out of the room and down a narrow hallway.

"Where are we going?" You hiss at him as he drags you but he keeps himself silent, his eyes forward as he stormed you.

When you finally reached the destination, you were shoved into another room, this one much larger and filled with expensive-looking furniture. And there, sitting in a leather chair with a glass of whiskey in hand, was Hoseok.

Your blood boiled at the sight of him. Every muscle in your body tensed, your fists clenched at your sides. He wanted nothing more than to launch yourself at Hoseok, to make him pay for what he had done. But you forced yourself to stay held back—barely. Hoseok looked up as you entered, his expression cool and unreadable.

“So, they brought you here,” Hoseok said casually as if this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Your jaw tightened as you narrowed your eyes at him, how could he speak so cooly to you?

“You betrayed me.” You spit at him and Hoseok sighed, setting his glass down on the table beside him.

“I did what I had to do, Y/N. You of all people should understand that.”

"Don’t act like this was some kind of necessity,” You snapped, your voice cracking a little. You hadn't realised how close you were to crying until now.

“You didn’t have to throw me under the bus. You could’ve found another way.” Hoseok stood up slowly, his eyes darkening as he took a step closer to You.

“There was no other way. I had to choose between you and myself. And I chose myself. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there,” He patted your shoulder but you moved away from him. Your heart ached at the cold in his voice. This man had once been someone you called a friend but you didn't even recognize him anymore.

“Is that really what you’ve become?” You asked quietly, your voice filled with bitterness as you stared him up and down,

“A coward who only looks out for himself? You used to laugh at people like that.” Hoseok’s expression hardened before he shook his head at you, he wasn't going to let you get under his skin.

“I’m a survivor, Y/N. That’s all that matters.” he laughed a little and you glared at him, looking around the room for something you could use against him.

“You’re a traitor. And you’ll get what’s coming to you.” Hoseok smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you closely. The two of you had gone toe-to-toe before but only friendly. you wouldn't stand a chance and you both knew it.

“You really think you can take me down? After everything?” your eyes flashed with an anger Hoseok had never seen from you before but you smirked,

“Watch me." Before Hoseok could react, you'd already lunged at him with all the pent-up rage and betrayal coursing through your veins. Your body moved on instinct, fueled by months of simmering resentment. Hoseok barely had time to raise his arms before you slammed into him, knocking you both into a nearby table.

The glass shattered as you crashed into it, sending whiskey splashing across the floor. Hoseok’s face twisted into a grimace of pain, but he recovered quickly, shoving you off with surprising strength. You stumbled back, but your fury wouldn’t let you retreat. You swung for him again, your anger getting the better of you.

“You think you can just sell me out and walk away? After everything we’ve been through?” You spat, at him, your voice shaking with how much your anger was boiling up Hoseok ducked, narrowly avoiding a punch aimed at his jaw. His own hands came up, grabbing you by the collar and shoving you hard against the wall.

“You’re not thinking straight, Y/N!” Hoseok hissed, his face inches from yours.

“This isn’t how it works—this isn’t about friendship anymore.” Your vision blurred with rage, the betrayal burning through you like acid.

“You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to play with people’s lives and then walk away clean. I was OUT!” For a moment, Hoseok’s face softened, a flicker of something like regret flashing in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He released you, stepping back with a cold, detached expression.

“You knew the risks and you joined anyway,” Hoseok said quietly, as if trying to justify his actions to himself as much as to you.

"I was out! I was out! YOU dragged me back in!" You scream, shoving him harshly in the chest and into the wall behind him, your fists hitting against his chest but he barely reacted to it.

“I trusted you, I was doing you a fucking favour!” Your fist was about to collide with his jaw when he grabbed your wrist,

"That was your mistake.” The room fell silent for a beat, the tension between you thick and suffocating. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could give you the upper hand here and beat Hoseok with. And then you spotted it—a briefcase, half-hidden behind one of the chairs. Your heart raced as a plan began to form in your mind. You knew what was inside. Hoseok’s contingency plan. It had to be the real sculpture, or at least something just as valuable—something Hoseok was keeping close in case things went south.

You lunged for the briefcase, but Hoseok was faster. Tackling you to the ground with ease, both of you crashing onto the cold concrete floor as you let out a grunt at the force.

"Sit fucking still!" He grunted, his knee pressed into your chest, pinning you down to the floor as he smirked at you.

“This isn’t going to end well for you, Y/N,” Hoseok growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“You need to stop before you get hurt.” You gritted your teeth together, refusing to back down.

“I don’t care,” You snarled. “I’m not letting you get away with this.” With a surge of adrenaline, You twisted your body, throwing Hoseok off balance just long enough to wrench yourself free and you scrambled toward the case, your fingers brushing against the handle but the door to the room burst open.

Agust walked in, calm as ever as he took the briefcase away from you and chucked it to one of his enforcers behind him.

“Well, well,” Agust drawled, his voice smooth and dangerous, he looked at the two of you, sweating and panting heavily.

“Looks like I interrupted something.” Hoseok straightened, his posture shifting from defensive to calculating in an instant.

“It’s under control,” he said quickly, trying to regain his composure.

“Hoseok’s been lying to you,” Y/N said suddenly, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. This was either going to blow up in your face or you were going to get out of this,

“He never planned to hand over the real sculpture to you. He’s been keeping it for himself this whole time.” August's eyes narrowed, his attention fully focused on you now.

“Is that so?” Hoseok shot you a sharp glare warning you to keep your mouth shut, but you weren't going to back down now. If he was going to betray you then you were going to do the same thing back to him.

“I can prove it,” You continued, your gaze locked on Agust before you nodded at the case in his guard's hands.

“Check the briefcase. The real sculpture is inside.” For a moment, the room was silent. Agust's expression remained unreadable as he glanced at Hoseok, then at the briefcase. Slowly, he nodded to one of his enforcers, who opened it,

The enforcer opened the briefcase and pulled out a carefully wrapped object. The room seemed to hold its breath as the man unwrapped it, revealing the gleaming surface of the original sculpture—the very piece that had brought them all to this moment.

Agust's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in the sight of the sculpture, it was an incredible piece and you'd done incredibly well with your replica.

“Well, well,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Looks like Y/N was telling the truth.” He smirks over at you as you nod your head. Your loyalty was going to lay somewhere else if it meant getting you out of there alive.

Hoseok’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides ready to go for you but it was too late. Agust stepped forward, his smile widening as he looked at Hoseok with a cold, predatory gaze.

“You thought you could play me?” he said, his voice soft but laced with danger.

“You thought you could double-cross me and get away with it?” Agust laughed loudly as he looked at him but Hoseok remained silent, his eyes locked on the sculpture as if trying to will it away. But there was no escaping the reality of the situation.

“You’ll regret that.” Agust finished.

In an instant, the enforcers descended on Hoseok, grabbing him and forcing him to his knees, everyone knew you didn't fuck with Agust. He was unfeeling for people who disrespected him. Hoseok struggled, but he was outnumbered, and you could only watch as your former friend was dragged to the ground, powerless to stop what was coming next.

You felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and sorrow as you watched Hoseok’s downfall. The man who had betrayed you was finally getting what he deserved—and yet it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt hollow, like the remnants of something broken beyond repair.

August took your arm in his, leading you out of the room so you wouldn't have to watch the rest of what was about to unfold. The door closed behind you as he chuckled.

“You did well,” he said with a genuine smile. He'd known of you for a long time, everyone in the art world had.

“Seems like you’re not as useless as I thought.” You met his gaze the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You'd survived—barely—but the cost had been steep, a gunshot rang out in the room behind you but you didn't even flinch.

“Now,” August continued, his tone lighter but still dangerous as he walked with you,

“I think it’s time we put this whole mess behind us. You’re going to help me sell this sculpture, Yn. And if you try anything stupid…” He let the threat hang in the air, his smile never quite reaching his eyes and you knew exactly what he was hinting at.

You nodded, knowing you had no choice. You were trapped in a game you didn’t want to play, but for now, you would have to go along with it—if only to survive another day. You stared back at the door where Hoseok had been and then back to Agust, there was one way out of this life and Hoseok had just found it for himself.

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