allmyocsarebritish

[allmyocsarebritish]

i wish there was a word deeper than love because that's the only thing that'd be able to describe how i feel about namgyu squid game

[allmyocsarebritish]

i stand on the fact that every eddie munson fan is now a thanos fan

[allmyocsarebritish]

twenty-four seven

namgyu x f!barista!reader

synopsis: working at a coffee shop on an overnight shift never attracted the normal crowd. well, you weren't normal either.

warnings: yearning! fluff! one mention of drugs.

a neon sign, 'sunset brew cafe' glows above with orange and purple neon lights as you push open the heavy glass door to your job.

the familiar chime of the bell above signals the start of another overnight shift. the air inside is tinged with the rich, earthy scent of freshly ground coffee beans. its nice, and the faint sweetness of pastries baking in the back of course.

it’s 9:50 pm, ten minutes before your shift officially begins, but you’re already getting into the rhythm for the overnight.

sipping on your needed three shots of espresso with oat milk and lavender splashed in, your café hums with a quiet energy. the dim amber lights cast soft shadows across the worn wooden floors and matched wooden tables.

outside, the city glows with streetlights and the distant noise of nightlife clubs that are blocks away.

in here, it’s calm that thrives when most of the city sleeps or parties.

you love the overnight shift.

it’s not for everyone since most of your coworkers dread the late hours. some of your coworkers who come into work at the time when you get off wonder how you can do it.

the upside-down schedule that has you sleeping through daylight and waking as the sun dips below the horizon. for you, it’s perfect. there’s something about the stillness of the night, the way the world feels softer, quieter, that suits you.

you don’t mind the solitude of sleeping while others are at work, or the way your internal clock has shifted so dinner feels like breakfast and midnight is your noon.

the overnight shift at sunset brew is a sanctuary that get paid to be in.

the café itself is a cozy space, open 24/7 to cater to the city’s nocturnal creatures. its walls are lined with mismatched art like vintage 1960s posters, local paintings, and a chalkboard menu that hasn’t been updated in weeks but still gets the job done. the counter is a long stretch of polished wood, scratched and scuffed from years of use, with three gleaming espresso machines at one end and a glass case of pastries at the other, the ovens behind.

your schedule is steady: monday, tuesday, thursday, and friday, 10 pm to 7 am. nine hours of pouring drinks, wiping counters, and making small talk with the night owls who pass through.

the overnight crowd is a predictable mix.

nurses and doctors, their scrubs wrinkled from long shifts, come in for quick espresso shots or iced lattes to keep them going. police officers, bleary-eyed from patrolling the city’s darker corners, order black coffee and maybe a donut if they’re feeling indulgent.

then there are the partygoers, spilling in from the club district a few blocks away, their laughter loud and their outfits glittering under the café’s soft lights.

they’re usually tipsy, sometimes messy, but they tip well and keep the night interesting.

then there’s namgyu.

he’s a regular, one of the few constants on your overnight shifts.

you see him four times a week, like clockwork, usually just before midnight. he slips through the door quietly , his long hair falling in soft waves around his face, and orders the same thing every time.

a 15ounce iced cold brew with one packet of raw sugar.

you remember the first time he ordered it, months ago now.

you’d suggested liquid sugar, explaining how raw sugar tends to sink to the bottom of iced drinks, undissolved and gritty.

namgyu, calm, had just shrugged and said, “raw sugar’s fine.”

the guy's voice was smooth, like he wasn’t in a hurry to explain himself.

you’d nodded, a little flustered by his nonchalance, and made the drink exactly as he asked.

since then, it’s been the same routine.

he comes in, orders his cold brew, sometimes adds a pastry...a pumpkin loaf slice if he just needs to force himself to eat, or a lemon pesto sandwich when he’s feeling hungry and leaves with a quiet nod.

namgyu doesn’t linger, doesn’t chat like some of the other regulars who lean on the counter and tell you about their shifts or their nights out.

there’s something about him that draws your eye every time he’s in the café.

maybe it’s the way he moves, or how he wears black all of the time, or the sharp angles of his face that somehow manage to look soft, like a painting you can’t stop staring at.

namgyu's features are pretty. high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes that seem to look soft.

you’ve always thought he looks like an expensive cat, sleek and graceful.

namgyu's hair is another thing you’ve noticed.

when you first saw him, it was just past his ears, dark and slightly tousled.

over the months, it’s grown longer, now brushing his shoulders, and it suits him so well you can’t imagine him without it.

you’ve caught yourself watching him as he waits for his order, standing by the window or scrolling on his phone at one of the tables.

you’re careful not to stare too long, or so you thought.

your glances felt subtle, quick darts of your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking.

last night, when you called out sickroom work because of a fever, something happened.

you’re in the back break room now, tying the strings of your black apron around your waist, the familiar routine grounding you as you prepare for another shift.

the room is small, cluttered with a fridge stuffed with oat milk and nonfat creamer, a rickety table, and a couple of chairs that have seen better days. the fluorescent light overhead buzzes faintly, but you’ve learned to tune it out.

you’re just finishing the knot when dev, your coworker and self-proclaimed gossip queen, saunters in.

he’s tall, lanky, with a mop of curly hair and a grin that screams messy. you two bonded early on over your shared love of dissecting pop star drama and rating the attractiveness of the café’s male customers, a game that’s kept you both entertained during slow shifts.

“soooo, guess what happened last night?” dev says, his voice pitching up in that teasing, singsong way he uses when he’s got something juicy.

he leans against the fridge, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

you roll your eyes, already expecting some workplace drama.

“jennifer and eun-ju got into a fight on the floor again?” you scoff, picturing the two baristas who can’t stand each other but have a history that’s way too complicated for coworkers.

those two and their arguments are legendary, usually fueled by petty grudges and what you’re pretty sure are unresolved hookups.

“nooo,” dev draws out, his grin widening.

“do you know namgyu? the regular that comes in?”

your heart does a little flip, though you try to keep your face neutral.

“i do,” you say, keeping your tone casual even as your curiosity spikes, “what happened?”

dev’s eyes gleam with mischief, “don’t be scared, but i think he likes you.”

your eyebrows shoot up, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

“shut the fuck up.”

“no, i’m not kidding,” dev insists, practically bouncing with excitement, “he came in last night and was, like, looking around the café, all confused. i took his order, and made his drink aka an iced cold brew, one raw sugar... you know the drill... and when i handed it to him, he asked where you were. i told him you were sick, and he just nodded and left but, like, he was looking for you.”

you laugh again, but it’s nervous this time, your cheeks warming despite yourself.

“you’re overanalyzing it,” you say, trying to brush it off, but your smile betrays you.

it’s wide, uncontrollable, and dev clocks it immediately.

“oh my god, you’re cheesing!” he squeals, clapping his hands together, “no, i’m telling you, your crush has a crush on you and...get this... he works at club pentagon, you know, that spot where thanos hangs out?”

you pause, processing this new piece of information.

club pentagon is one of the biggest clubs in the club district, a sleek, purple neon-lit venue where the city’s nightlife elite like rappers, influencers, and the occasional celebrity... go to party or get high.

you’ve never been, but you’ve heard stories from coworkers who’ve ventured there on their nights off.

“thanos, the rapper?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, “namgyu knows him?”

“yep,” dev says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.

“i’ve been there with matt and ji-ho, and i’ve seen them talking. they’re, like, acquaintances or something.”

you smirk, seizing the chance to turn the tables.

“so you’ve been hanging out with ji-ho again, huh?”

dev’s face flushes, and he waves a hand dismissively.

“don’t change the topic. you know namgyu is coming in tonight to get a booster before his shift, and you’re going to talk to him.”

“no, i will not,” you say, shaking your head as you finish tying your black apron, “i’m such a puss, dev.”

“come onnn,” he protests, following you as you grab the broom and head out to the bar floor, “it’s clear he’s attracted to you.”

“i’ll think about it,” you mutter, more to shut him up than anything else.

you start sweeping the floor, the rhythmic motion calming your nerves even as your mind races.

namgyu, asking about you?

it’s probably nothing, just polite curiosity.

the thought of him noticing your absence, maybe even missing you, sends a thrill through you that you can’t quite shake.

when you step onto the floor,a small sound of music from the cafe speaker plays. tyler the creator's 'boredom' plays.

you settle in and sweep behind the counter, the bristles of the broom scraping softly against the floor.

the espresso machine grinds the coffee that dev is making for a mobile order.

you glance at the analog clock on the wall...10:02 pm.

your shift has officially begun.

the first hour passes in a blur of small tasks with restocking cups, refilling the sugar caddy, wiping down the counter.

a couple of nurses come in, their voices tired but friendly as they order their usuals.

you make their drinks with practiced ease, chatting about their shifts at the university hospital down the street. right before the nurses leave, a group of partygoers stumbles in, their laughter loud and their eyes glassy from a night of dancing.

they order a round of iced mochas and tip you generously, leaving a trail of glitter on the counter that you’ll have to clean up later.

whatever.

all the while, you’re hyper-aware of the door, your eyes flicking toward it every time the bell chimes.

you’re waiting for him, even if you won’t admit it to yourself.

namgyu usually comes in around 11:30, maybe 11:45 if he’s running late.

you wonder what he does at club pentagon.

is he a bartender? a bouncer?

maybe a DJ, spinning tracks for the crowd while thanos raps on stage.

you try to picture him in that world, surrounded by flashing lights and pulsing music, but it’s hard to reconcile with the quiet, reserved guy who orders his cold brew and leaves without a fuss.

at 11:20, the bell chimes, and your heart skips a beat.

you glance up, expecting to see him, but it’s just a cop, his uniform crisp as he orders a black coffee and a blueberry scone.

you force a smile, hiding your disappointment, and get to work.

get it together, y/n.

the minutes tick by, and you start to wonder if maybe he’s not coming tonight.

maybe he’s off, or maybe he’s at the club, caught up in whatever it is he does there.

at 23:37, the door swings open, and there he is.

namgyu steps into the café, still quiet but casual.

he’s wearing a black hoodie tonight, the hood up, and his long hair spills out from under it, framing his face.

the man's eyes scan the room briefly before landing on you, and for a split second, you swear you see a flicker of something...relief, maybe? before his expression settles back into its usual calm neutrality.

he approaches the counter, hands in his pockets, and you feel your pulse quicken.

“hey,” you say, your voice a little too bright.

you cringe internally, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“the usual?”

he nods, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

“yeah. iced cold brew, one raw sugar.”

you turn to start his order, your hands moving on autopilot as you scoop ice into a cup and pour the cold brew from the pitcher. you rip open a packet of raw sugar, the grains glittering as they fall into the dark liquid.

you give it a quick stir, knowing full well it won’t dissolve completely, but it’s what he wants.

namgyu leans lightly against the counter, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie, watching you when you turned to grab the pitcher of cold brew from the fridge behind the register.

your movements are practiced, but there’s a quiet grace in the way you navigate the small space, the hem of your apron swaying slightly around your hips as you reach up.

a glow from the café’s amber lights catches the curve of your cheeks, and he notices the way a loose strand of your hair sways, brushing against your cheek.

namgyu's fingers twitch, like a fleeting impulse to reach out and tuck it behind your ear, to see if your eyes would flicker to his with that half-shy, half-playful look you sometimes give when you think he’s not paying attention.

you’re focused, unaware of his gaze, pouring the cold brew over ice with a steady hand, the liquid dark and shimmering in the plastic cup.

namgyu’s eyes linger on the small details.

the way your lips press together in concentration, the faint smudge of coffee grounds on your wrist, the effortless way you move like this late-night world belongs to you.

he’s always noticed it, the way you seem to glow in the nighttime. this is what he likes to see.

the cold brew isn't the booster before his shifts as a club promotor, its you.

he shifts his weight, the faintest smile threatening to pull at his lips, but he stays silent and straight faced, letting the moment stretch, his thoughts caught on the idea of saying something more than his usual order.

you come back and slide the cup across the counter, the ice clinking softly.

“anything else tonight?” you ask, hoping your tone sounds casual.

he hesitates, his eyes flicking to the pastry case.

“uh, yeah. can i get a pumpkin loaf slice?”

“good choice,” you say, grabbing a pair of tongs to retrieve the slice. you plate it neatly on a small white plate and slide it over to him, “that’s 10 thousand won.”

he hands you the money, a bigger bill, but you make change.

your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you hand him the coins. namgyu's skin is warm, and you pull your hand back quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you gave the tiniest smile.

“thank you,” he says, his voice soft.

he takes his drink and pastry and moves to a table by the window, his usual spot.

you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counter, trying to focus on the task and not on the way you like his black hoodie on him or the way his hair catches the light.

dev appears at your side, nudging you with his elbow.

“talk to him,” he whispers, his voice low.

“shut up,” you hiss, swatting him away.

your eyes drift back to namgyu, who’s sitting quietly, sipping his drink and scrolling on his phone.

you wonder what he’s looking at.

maybe texts from thanos, or a playlist for the club.

maybe he’s just doomscrolling like everyone else, like you do before work shifts.

you want to ask, want to say something...anything...to break the silence between you. however, the words stick in your throat and you turn back to the counter, grabbing a rag to wipe down the espresso machine.

you serve a few more customers...a doctor grabbing a cup of four shots of espresso, a group of club kids giggling over their iced chais. you noticed how one of the kids, a guy, dapped up namgyu and asked if he was 'going to be around tonight'.

namgyu is pulling your attention, and you notice his pastry half-eaten.

you wonder what it would be like to sit across from him, to ask him about his night, his job, his life.

you wonder if he’d even answer, or if he’d just give you that calm, unreadable look and change the subject.

you’re restocking the sugar caddy when dev sidles up again, his grin infuriatingly smug.

“you’re staring,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“i’m not,” you lie, shoving a handful of sugar packets into the caddy with more force than necessary.

“you so are,” he says, leaning closer, “just go talk to him. say, like, ‘hey, heard you were looking for me last night.’ see what he does.”

“i’m not doing that,” you say, but the idea plants itself in your mind, taking root.

what if you did say something? what if you took the risk, stepped out of your comfort zone?

you glance at namgyu again, and this time, he looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.

your heart stutters, and you look away, busying yourself with the sugar packets.

nine minutes later the bell above the door chimes as namgyu slips out of the cafe, his iced cold brew in one hand.

you watch him go, your heart sinking a little as the opportunity to say something or anything slips through your fingers again. you wipe the counter for the third time in ten minutes, the rag moving in slow, useless circles.

dev’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the café, exasperated.

“ugh, you’re such a pussy!” he says, tossing his sharpie in a cup as he leans against the espresso machine.

“i told you that!” you shoot back, your voice light but laced with frustration.

inside, regret coils in your stomach like a tight spring.

you wanted to talk to namgyu, to ask him about his night or maybe even mention that you heard he was looking for you last night. unfortunately your throat clamped shut, the words trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips.

now he’s gone, melting into the neon-lit night outside.

you sigh, turning to restock the pastry case, trying to push the feeling away.

it lingers, heavy.

the hours between 2 and 6 am are quiet.

you and dev pass the time with half-hearted banter, debating whether a latest pop star scandal is worth caring about or ranking the best pastries in the case (you’re team mozzarella and chicken sandwich and he’s ride-or-die for the vanilla scone).

however namgyu’s quiet presence, his sharp features and soft hair, keeps flickering in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat.

you wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s spinning tracks at club pentagon or leaning against the bar.

by 6 am, the café is a ghost town.

the only sounds are the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of cups as you stack them for the morning crew.

your morning-coworkers for the day shift start trickling in, their energy a big contrast to your end-of-shift fatigue.

jennifer and eun-ju bicker over who gets to run the espresso machine first, their voices sharp but familiar, and you can’t help but smile.

you’re supposed to stay until 7, but the café’s under control, and the pull of your bed is stronger than the need to linger.

you untie your apron, the black fabric creased from a night of work, and shove it into your cow-print tote bag, already stuffed with your water bottle, a half-read book, and a crumpled pack of gum.

“i’m out,” you call to dev and the others, waving as you head for the door.

dev winks, teasing "see you at 10pm(22:00)!!" he cheers as you push through the glass door into the early morning chill.

outside, the sky is a deep indigo with the first hints of dawn smudging the horizon.

its warm outside thankfully, and the black shirt you wear clings to your skin. there is a train station is just down the street, your usual one that’ll carry you home to your apartment, where you’ll crash until mid-afternoon.

as you start walking, your thoughts drift back to namgyu, to dev’s teasing, to the club district he’s part of.

club pentagon is in the opposite direction of your usual station, closer to another stop that’s still on your line.

you hesitate, your sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

maybe you’ll just walk by, not go in, just… feel the energy of the place he’s tied to.

it’s not like you’re stalking him.

you’re just curious.

seven minutes later, you’re in the heart of the club district, and the vibe is a contrast to the quiet street where sunset brew sits.

neon signs pulse in every direction, their pinks and blues and greens casting a surreal glow over the crowded sidewalks. music spills from open club doors, a thumping bass that vibrates in your chest.

food vendors line the street, their carts steaming with the savory smell of korean corn dogs and tteokbokki, vendors barking at passersby to try their wares.

people are drunk and high, some dance for tiktok, others laugh with friends.

your tote bag bumps against your hip as you weave through the crowd, your blue jeans hugging your curves, your black nonslip shoes silent against the pavement.

you keep your pace casual, your eyes scanning, until you spot the sleek black facade of club pentagon, its purple neon logo flickering like a beacon.

you don’t stop, don’t stare, just keep walking like it’s no big deal.

when you see namgyu, standing just outside the club’s entrance, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, your heart races.

he’s with another guy, someone you don’t recognize, who’s lighting the cigarette for him.

namgyu’s long hair is loose, catching the neon glow, and his sharp features look softer in the hazy light.

he inhales, the tip of the cigarette flaring red, and then his eyes flick up, catching you mid-stride.

you almost freeze but you force yourself to keep moving, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t see him.

you can feel his gaze, though, tracking you....the way your black shirt hugs your frame, the curve of your jeans, the cow-print tote swinging at your side.

you’re almost at the escalator down to the train station when namgyu's friend speaks, luckily you didn't hear anything at this distance.

“she’s hot,” the guy says.

namgyu’s response is sharp, almost protective.

“don’t perceive her,” he says, hitting the guys chest once and quick.

gyeong-su, confused from the strange action from namgyu, speaks.

“you know her?”

namgyu doesn’t answer, as he watches you keep walking.

you step onto the escalator, your hand gripping the railing as you descend into the station, the neon glow of the club district fading behind you.

fourteen hours later you push through the glass door of your job at 9:48 pm, the familiar chime of the bell greeting you as you step into the warm air.

you’re wearing a black shirt again, tucked into dark-wash jeans that hug your frame a little closer than last night’s pair, the deep indigo fabric looking nice on your skin.

your cow-print tote bag swings at your side, stuffed with your apron and the usual odds and ends. the café is quiet, save for the soft hum of the espresso machine and the faint indie playlist drifting from the speakers.

you head to the back, where dev is sprawled in a chair, scrolling on his phone, his curly hair falling into his eyes.

“how’s your day been?” you ask, tossing your bag onto the rickety table and pulling out your apron.

dev looks up while grinning, “slept four hours, then got dragged to my niece’s birthday party. there was cake and glitter everywhere, i’m still recovering.”

you laugh, teasing, “aw, uncle dev.”

he rolls his eyes, "auntie dev, actually."

you laugh as dev leans forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “what’s ‘awww’ is how you’re gonna talk to namgyu tonight.”

you groan, tying your apron with a little more force than necessary, the strings pulling tight against your waist.

“i want to, okay?” you say, your voice quieter now, laced with the ache of longing you’ve been carrying since last night.

dev’s grin softens, and he sets his phone down.

“i’m telling you, he was looking at you last night. like, kept glancing over while you were grabbing his drink. it was so obvious he wanted to say something.” your heart skips, and you pause, hands still on the apron strings.

“really?” you ask, hating how hopeful you sound.

dev nods, emphatic, “yes, really!”

your shift starts slow, the usual trickle of nurses and clubgoers keeping you busy enough to distract from the nervous flutter in your chest. you wipe counters, restock sugar packets, and trade banter with dev, but your mind is on namgyu.

you keep replaying last night with his eyes catching yours outside club pentagon.

you wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s at the club, surrounded by neon and music, or if he’s thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him.

the clock ticks past midnight, and you start to worry he won’t show.

he’s usually here by 11:45, but it’s 12:11 now, and the bell hasn’t chimed.

your heart sinks, the yearning twisting tighter.

at 12:12 the door swings open, and there he is.

namgyu steps into the café, and your breath catches.

he’s wearing a white button-up with thin black stripes, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with loose black jeans that make him look effortlessly cool.

most guys can’t even dress, but namgyu can. the guy's long hair is tucked behind one ear, and his eyes find yours almost immediately, sending a jolt through you.

you force a smile, stepping up to the register.

“hey, the usual?” you ask, your voice steadier than you feel.

he sighs, a small, hesitant sound, and you can see something shifting in his expression, like he’s steeling himself.

“what do you usually drink?” he asks, his voice low, catching you off guard.

you blink, surprised, then recover.

“well… i just get three shots of espresso with oat milk and lavender,” you say, wondering if he’s actually curious or just making conversation.

namgyu's eyes flicker with interest, and he leans forward slightly, hands in his pockets.

“can i try that?” he asks.

your smile widens, a warmth blooming in your chest.

“sure!” you say, turning to the espresso machine, your heart racing with possibility.

as you pull the espresso shots, the machine hissing and steaming, you feel his gaze on you. you glance over the espresso machine and sure enough, he’s watching, his eyes tracing the way your hands move, the way your dark jeans hug your hips, the way your black shirt shifts as you reach for the oat milk.

there’s a quiet intensity in his stare, not predatory but yearning, like he’s trying to memorize the way you exist in this moment.

you flush, but you don’t look away this time, letting the moment stretch between you.

“how do you do it?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the hum of the machine, “work these overnight shifts, i mean.”

you laugh softly, steaming the oat milk with a practiced swirl.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you say, glancing at him.

“i don’t know, i just… like the night. it’s quieter, feels like the world’s more real or something.” he nods, moving his hands together in nervousness.

“yeah, the world’s better at night.” you say.

you continue, “oh yeah-- i saw you last night, by the way,” you say, your heart pounding as you take the leap, “on my way home.”

namgyu’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t flinch.

“i saw you too,” he says, his voice soft but steady, like he’s been waiting to admit it.

you pause, stirring the lavender syrup into his drink, and take a breath.

“you go to club pentagon a lot?” you ask, even though dev already spilled that he works there.

you want to hear it from namgyu.

he nods, leaning against the counter, his striped shirt catching the light.

“i’m a promoter there,” he says, and you can hear a hint of pride in his voice, “I-- um-- I just keep the place fun, get the right people in.”

“oh, okay,” you say, your mind piecing together the image of him charming crowds, and rubbing shoulders with people like that rapper thanos.

you finish his drink, the espresso rich, and slide it across the counter.

“here you go. if you don’t like it, i’ll make your usual for free.”

he takes the cup, his fingers brushing yours for a second, and sips it, then sips again.

you watch his face, the way his brows lift slightly, like he’s tasting something new.

“it’s different,” he says, pausing, “but i like it.”

namgyu's eyes meet yours, and there’s a warmth there that makes your pulse race.

“wanna try a new sandwich too?” you ask, feeling bold.

he glances up at the chalkboard menu behind you, his eyes scanning the options.

“is the chicken and mozzarella one good?” he asks.

you beam, nodding, “my favorite.”

namgyu nods, “then i’ll get that.”

you ring it up, sliding it into the oven microwave to warm, and notice the total comes to just five thousand won.

you’d applied a discount, a small gesture you hope he notices.

he does.

“oh, come on you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice gentle, but you wave it off.

“it’s fine,” you say, your cheeks warm as you hand him his change.

you plate the sandwich, the bread golden and the cheese melty, and slide it over to him. he lingers at the counter, his drink in one hand, the plate in the other, and you can tell he’s hesitating, like there’s something else he wants to say.

you tilt your head, your heart in your throat.

“you alright?” you ask. he nods, but his eyes flicker with something nervous, something vulnerable.

“what time do you get off work?” he asks, the words coming out in a rush. you blink, surprised, then answer, “6:30.”

he shifts his weight, his fingers tightening around the cup.

“the club closes at 6. you, uh, wanna grab breakfast with me after?”

in his head, namgyu’s spiraling.

he doesn’t do breakfast.

most mornings, he’s too smoked out from the night, the hype of the club, and whatever drugs he’s taken to keep up with it dulling his appetite.

for you, he’s already promising himself he’ll stay sober tonight, hold it together to show up clear-headed, to give you the version of him you deserve.

the thought of sitting across from you in some diner, watching you laugh over pancakes or coffee, makes his chest ache with a longing he’s not used to feeling.

he wants this, wants you, more than he’s wanted anything in a long time.

you smile, your heart soaring, and nod.

“i’d love that,” you say, your voice soft but sure.

namgyu’s face lights up,and he gives you a thumbs-up, a little awkward but so endearing it makes your stomach flip.

“great, i’ll see you then,” he says, turning to leave.

the bell chimes as he steps out, and you’re still smiling when you hear dev’s voice from the back, high-pitched and giddy.

“i was doing dishes and heard all of that, ahhhh!” he squeals, rushing out to wrap you in a hug, jumping like you’ve just won the lottery.

you laugh, shoving him playfully, but your mind’s already on breakfast, on namgyu, on the hours ahead.

all you can think about is 6:30, and you’re silently begging the clock to move faster.

PART TWO LINKED HERE

masterlist

author's note: to say that I loved writing this one would be an understatement

[allmyocsarebritish]

I miss her

[allmyocsarebritish]

Squid game real ending

дочи

[allmyocsarebritish]

affection

synopsis — you get into an argument with namgyu

note — i'm still not okay since season 3. making this fan fiction to cope, because in my mind it is still december2024-february2025 and we are all singing bang bang bang, playing mingle on roblox, and still making hopeful theories. guys, promise me we will never let this fandom die, because i am not ready to let go, ive been a fan since 2021 and got attached. ty! p.s, this is short and i had no idea what i was doing with it. i could write a pt 2 to this if people like it. . . probably fluff because i hate angst. requests are open as always! ♡

tags — mentions of drugs, alcohol, cheating, hurt/comfort, angst, casual argument things, kind of abusive namgyu, kind of bipolar namgyu? dependent reader, dont worry fluff coming soon methinks, im unsure if pronouns were used but fem!reader just incase

The relationship between you two was far from ideal. Most nights ended in arguments, half-hearted makeout sessions, or silence. No words exchanged like "goodnight" or "i love you", just anger and fatigue hanging heavy in the air.

Maybe that was just how things were. Nam-gyu worked long shifts at the club and you had worked at the store nearby, both having to deal with impatient customers/patrons and needy managers. By the time either of you would get home, you were both too tired and too irritable, ready to take it out on each other.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. The excuse you clung to. The thing you constantly told yourself to make things feel even a little better.

But one night, it all felt like too much.

All you wanted, all you needed, was to rest in his arms. To feel his fingers in your hair. To hear something soft, something kind. Just one moment of warmth, one sign that maybe this wasn’t all for nothing. Something every normal, healthy couple got without having to beg for it.

You weren’t asking for much. Just affection.

So when he came through the apartment door, throwing his coat and his shoes lazily against the corner of the entrance, you clung onto him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. (even though it consisted of sweat and cheap weed.)

It felt good, the feeling of feeling his warm body pressed against yours.

However, suddenly, you felt a force against your chest. Your eyes widened when he shoved you off him, stumbling backward.

As you looked at him, you noticed how his eyes were blown wide and unfocused. His skin was slick with sweat. He didn’t need to say a word, you could already tell he was completely wasted.

“Nam-gyu, what the fuck... I—” You had barely gotten yours words out before he cut you off, dragging his hands up to his temples like you were the one being too much.

"Just... just shut up, okay?” he slurred, brushing past you hard enough that his shoulder slammed into yours. You spun around, facing him, staring at him like he’d just killed your firstborn.

“What is wrong with you dude??" You snapped, stepping back. You had already been reading the warning signs in the way his body tensed, and the way his fists twitched by his sides like they were searching for something to hurt.

"You always fuckin' ruin my nights..." Nam-gyu started, making his way to the kitchen, where he leaned over the counter to support his body.

You held back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You couldn't show your weakness, not now. You had to do it alone at least, because then he wouldn't see how every part of you was on the lashing out.

"What, you about to cry? Give me a break.." He sneered. "I didn't even do 'nything, you're just a drama queen.."

Your breath hitched. God, not now, please, save it.

"Okay, Nam-gyu." You said in a hushed tone, turning away from him. He smirked in response, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with the dingy little lighter you had given him back when you first met.

He took a slow drag, the smoke curling around him like a ghost, then climbed up onto the counter gracefully whirling around. The silence that followed wasn’t safe, it was taunting.

You sighed, pulling out your phone, already knowing exactly where you were headed. This had to be done. You didn’t really imagine that Nam-gyu would cheat on you. You trusted him, maybe too much, and you had faith in him, or at least, you believed you did. But the second you opened Instagram and tapped on his story, your face drained of what little color it had left.

Your eyes were met with the sight of him pressed up against a girl, grinning hard with a flushed face with his hands sliding up to her chest. She was leaning on him, her lips against his cheek. The kiss didn't seem gentle. It seemed sloppy, harsh, desperate. You held back the urge to throw up.

You didn't even have time to go off to your shared bedroom before you broke down, your body collapsing against the doorframe. The tears came down your face warm and salty, whimpers escaping your lips as you tried to stay silent.

You didn't want him to notice, but you knew he would anyways. Why else would you drop to your knees like that?

"What happened now?" Nam-gyu murmured. He came around swiftly from the counter, now approaching you.

"Stay away." You replied quickly, coming to your feet, clenching your phone tightly in between your fingers. Even when he was drunk, he wasn't stupid.

"Y/n, let’s be real, she was just some girl. Don’t be a bitch,” Nam-gyu explained, throwing his hands up in lazy gestures. Was that supposed to be comforting? It seemed like he didn't care.

"'Don't be a bitch'?!? Nam-gyu, are you serious?!" You bit back, turning to face him, wiping all the tears from your face. "You are practically cheating!"

He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. For a second, what appeared to be guilt flashed across his face. However it disappeared almost instantly, defeated by that same irritated, puzzled expression he had previously. With an exasperated sigh he crouched down to your level, his hand dragging up and down your back. You shuddered. You hated how good his hands felt on you.

"It wasn't cheating Y/N, I was just trying to make her happy. My job is to get money to the club. You know that, right? Make her buy more drinks... she didn't mean anything to me. You need to stop overthinking this shit."

You swallowed. It sounded reasonable. Yes, he was right, this was his job. Were you being controlling? Now you felt like the bad one. You thought again. No, you wouldn't let him make you think you were the one in the wrong when you were so obviously in the right.

You remained silent, crouched against the doorframe and slowly sinking to your knees. Another tear dripped down your cheek. Nam-gyu tilted his head patronizingly. Pouting, he brought his thumb to the corner of your eye and wiped away the rest of the tears.

"Don't cry." He said gently, pressing against you so you could feel his warm body against your side.

Was this manipulation? If so, why did this manipulation feel so good? You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. You felt yourself giving in every second that passed by, eventually letting yourself fall into his arms.

"There we go, just relax." He nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around your shaking body. This action made you begin to think even more that the outburst you had about Nam-gyu's story was overdramatic, like he said it was.

You heard him sniffling above you. Not because he was upset, but because whatever he drank from earlier was getting to him. You let yourself pretend for just a second that it was because he felt guilty, because he felt everything you felt alongside you.

"Nam-gyu, don't do that shit again." You said in between heavy breaths.

He scoffed, his thumb rubbing circles against your back. He didn't reassure you, he didn't tell you any sweet words or pretty lies, not even "I won't do it again," or "trust me," instead, he just let out a scoff, it was all he could do.

Suddenly, after sitting with you in silence few oddly comforting minutes, he stood up. The tears stopped streaming down your face as you blinked, confused. You looked up at him, unsure why he had suddenly stopped touching you, why the warmth of his hand was gone like it hadn’t just been there a second ago.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked nervously, fidgeting with your fingers like a frightened child. You said it in a way that made it sound like you were the one who had something to apologize for, like you were the one in the wrong for having an outburst like that. You reasoned with yourself saying it was safer to act sorry. If you stayed bitter, he’d only get more irritated and unfaithful.

Nam-gyu grinned. He wouldn't respond. Why would he anyways? It's not like it would make a difference if he did or if he didn't because either way you would listen and accept it. Thats who you were. Forgiving.

As he walked to your bedroom, he motioned for you to follow after him with a lazy flick of his hand. You did. Once you had entered the room Nam-gyu flopped down on the bed, tired, out of it, done.

You sat down next to him, a gentle sigh escaping your lips. Slowly you allowed yourself to sink back until you were lying beside him.

“Maybe do you wanna go out tomorrow and get dinner or something?” you asked quietly, reaching for a strand of his long black hair and twirling it between your fingers.

"Yeah, I need a break." He responded, turning onto his side and resting his head on the soft pillow. He seemed tired. You wouldn't bother him.

You nodded to his response, draping your arm over his waist and pulling him a bit closer to you. For once, you were the big spoon and you didn't find it annoying.

You suspiciously watched over his shoulder as he pulled out his phone and went to his instagram, the glow of the phone illuminating the space in between the two of you. A lump in your throat began to form.

However, it went away quickly as you watched him go to the girl from his story's instagram page and block her.

He genuinely considered your words, and knowing that made you happier than it should've.

You didn't say anything to him about it, you just smiled to yourself, pulling away from him and shifting onto your back. He didn't say anything either. You both just went to sleep peacefully that night, how it should've been.

And though you slept beside him so content that night, you couldn’t help but dread the thought of taking care of him during his hangover the next morning.

[allmyocsarebritish]

He never noticed it

[allmyocsarebritish]

our worst moments don't make us monsters.

[allmyocsarebritish]

More Tumblr x AO3 art. Anyone else remember when the archive was in the hospital for like 3 days? Yeahahahah that was scary

...also AO3 would get stabbed and then say 'im sorry for the mess' dksflakdfj;as

[allmyocsarebritish]

knives out — namgyu x reader

summary! nam-gyu notices your nerves before hide and seek, and he offers to help you out. you don’t expect to actually enjoy what follows.

warnings! canon violence, weapons + blood, death, drugs. namgyu is lowkey manipulative and reader is very much compliant in the killing of other players

author’s note! hii okay so this is definitely darker than anything I’ve written before, it’s nothing crazy but just putting it out there! on the other hand, if ur reading this as a namgyu stan ur most likely a sick and twisted individual (affectionate) like me so.. warnings r probably irrelevant <3

fem!reader, 4.3k words

You stare down at the knife in your palm. The blade glints in the light, and your hand shakes minutely. You feel sick to your stomach at the prospect of using the weapon. You’ve never actually killed anyone. You don’t know if you can do it. Before the games, you’d never even seen anyone die. 

You glance around the room. There’s not much time left before the game starts. From where you’re sitting against the wall, you can watch as several players switch vests with each other for a better chance at surviving. You’ve already considered switching to blue — however, the idea of running from someone with a knife scares you more than holding the knife yourself. 

As you scan the room, your eyes land on Nam-gyu. He holds the knife casually, strutting around the room and studying the players wearing blue vests with greedy eyes, as if he’s picking out his targets. The knife looks comfortable in his hand, like it belongs there. 

You’ve been on Nam-gyu’s team for the majority of the games, and you’ve grown to trust him, at least more than you trust any of the other players here. He’s your friend, and sure, he’s a bit of an oddball, but you like him.

Still, the sight of him holding the knife so confidently creeps you out a bit. 

Before you can look away, Nam-gyu spots you staring. He raises his eyebrows at you, and you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his mouth. He saunters over to you, twirling the knife in his hand as he approaches. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nam-gyu says. He studies you with those dark, curious eyes of his, then squats so he can be at eye level with you. His mannerisms remind you of Thanos, who Nam-gyu’s taken to impersonating since he died. “You feeling okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, lying through your teeth. You don’t want him to think you’re weak. You’re worried he won’t see you as valuable anymore if he knows how scared you are. 

Nam-gyu eyes the knife in your hand. He takes his time dragging his eyes back up to your face. His heavy gaze makes it feel like he’s x-raying you. 

“You sure you know what to do with that?” He asks, pointing his knife at yours. 

You squeeze the handle of the knife to stop your hand from trembling, holding the blade flat to your chest, defensive. 

“Yes,” you bite back. 

Namgyu raises his eyebrows and leans back a bit. “Really? You’re not scared to use it, are you?” 

You are, actually. You’re terrified. You’re strong, but you’re not really a fighter. You’re not even sure if you’ll be able to pin someone down long enough to use the knife on them. The thought of what will happen to you if you fail to kill someone fills you with a sickening sense of dread. 

At your silence, Namgyu softens a little, leaning forward. As he moves, you spot Thanos’s chain glinting around his neck. 

“Are you scared?” He murmurs in a low voice. His tone is odd — it’s somehow dangerous and soft at the same time. It stirs a feeling in your gut that you can’t explain. 

You want to lie and tell him to leave you alone, but you hesitate. You know Nam-gyu cares about you in his own strange way. During lights out last night, a fight broke out. Nam-gyu had protected you from any harm. He hadn’t had to do much — you were on the attacker's side, and nobody on the other team paid you much mind — but the fact that he’d done anything at all meant something to you. 

In a place like this, and with most of the rest of your team dead, he could’ve easily gotten away with leaving you for the sharks. 

You find yourself nodding, though admitting your fear is the last thing you want to do. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve never killed anyone, Nam-gyu.” 

Nam-gyu frowns thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well, I have,” he says, pointing the tip of his blade at his chest. “I killed Se-mi. You saw, didn’t you?” 

You nod stiffly. Last night during the fight, he confronted Se-mi. You hadn’t seen much, but you’d heard her screams. You secretly hate that he did it — not that you were very friendly with Se-mi, but it was so unnecessary. You don’t dare voice your opinion. 

Nam-gyu nods, satisfied. “I know what I’m doing, Y/N,” he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you want me to help you?” 

You frown. “Help me?” 

Nam-gyu nods, “In the game,” he says. “We can team up. That way we can work together, cover more ground. What do you think?” 

You study Nam-gyu. He’s clearly not very stable, and the chain around his neck is just more evidence of the fact. You don’t know if he’s taken any of the pills yet, but you know he has been. 

Though you know he cares about you, or at least cares enough to not kill you like he did Se-mi, you’re still not quite sure you can fully trust him. 

But, what choice do you have? You’ll be useless on your own. You’ll die if you don’t kill anyone before the timer runs out. Nam-gyu’s strong, and he’s right — as awful as it is, he knows what he’s doing. 

Nam-gyu sits and watches you. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re scared of him, or if he makes you nervous for another reason entirely. 

You find yourself nodding. “Alright,” you say. “Let’s do it.” 

At least you know there’s no chance of him hurting you — the guards have made it clear that the red team is forbidden from harming each other. 

Namgyu’s lips stretch into a grin, and he points his knife at you, bouncing it in his palm. 

“I knew you were a good girl,” he says, waving his knife at you approvingly. He straightens up, and sticks his hand out to you. “C’mon. The game’s starting soon.” 

You take Nam-gyu’s hand and he pulls you to your feet, grinning all over his face. Around the room, players are making their last minute decisions. You consider, just for a second, switching to blue. But then you meet Nam-gyu’s dark eyes. And you realise, even if you did switch to blue, you’re not entirely sure that Nam-gyu wouldn’t come looking for you. 

You’re better off sticking with red. 

–

A child’s voice sings over the speaks. 

“Hide, hide, it’s time to play, don’t let your clothes give you away.” 

Nam-gyu feels as if he’s buzzing with energy. Oddly, he feels excited. He’s not sure if it’s the lasting effects of Thanos’s pills, or just the fact that he’s seen so much horror that nothing can phase him anymore, but he doesn’t feel a lick of fear. 

On the contrary, you look terrified. You’re staring up at the timer as it counts down. It seems slower than ever to Nam-gyu, who just wants to get in there and get it over with. 

He nudges you with his shoulder. “Hey. Are you alright?” 

You turn to look at him. He’ll give it to you — you do quite a good job at pretending you’re not as scared as you feel. But Nam-gyu’s an expert in fear. He knows all the tells. He’s seen them in himself. 

He watches your hand gripping the knife so hard your knuckles have gone pale. Yeah, he thinks. She’s terrified. 

“I’m fine,” you say in a steady voice, sticking your chin out a bit. 

Nam-gyu grins. You’re hot when you get like this. All defensive, like you think he can’t tell what you’re really thinking. You should know better. 

“I was just asking,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, Nam-gyu.” 

Nam-gyu grins. He likes the way you say his name, how it rolls off your tongue like that when you’re annoyed, dripping with mirth. You both turn back to watch the clock again. Only one minute left now. 

“Hide, hide, it’s time to play, don’t let your hair give you away.” 

Nam-gyu’s heart thumps in anticipation. He watches you watch the timer, and, if he looks closely enough, he can see the confidence in your pretty eyes fade away with every passing second. 

He’s not sure why you pretend — he doesn’t care that you’re scared. If you think it’ll make him like you less, you're dead wrong. If anything, he likes you better when you’re vulnerable. It gives him an excuse to protect you, just like he did last night. 

With thirty seconds left on the clock, and your confidence clearly starting to wane, Nam-gyu leans in close. 

He bends a bit so his mouth is near your ear. 

“You don’t have to be scared, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

To his pleasure, Nam-gyu notices goosebumps erupt on the skin below your ear, and you visibly shiver at his proximity. He leans in closer, pressing his hand to the small of your back, pressing his fingertips to the dip in your waist. 

“I’ll look after you,” he whispers, letting his lips brush the very tip of your ear. He can practically feel the heat radiating off your body. 

Nam-gyu pulls away, gone as quickly as he’d come. You twist to look at him as he does, meeting his eyes. 

“You mean that?” You ask quietly. 

Nam-gyu scoffs. “Of course!” He exclaims, making you jump at his sudden outburst. He points at you with his knife. “What kind of man would I be if I let a pretty girl like you die on my watch?” 

A high pitched beep blares from the speakers, alerting you both that the timer has reached zero. The singing stops abruptly, and a familiar voice sounds over the speakers. 

“Red team, please enter the arena.” 

Nam-gyu’s heart skips a beat. He grips his knife tighter. The red players start to move forward, entering the arena through the keyhole-shaped opening in the wall. 

“Are you ready?” He asks you. 

You nod, though Nam-gyu‘s eyes flicker to your hand — your fingers are trembling minutely. Nam-gyu huffs, and takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. You glance down at your joint hands, wary. 

“Stop worrying,” Nam-gyu says impatiently, giving your hand a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine. Let’s go.” 

And with that, Nam-gyu strides forward, following the man in front of him through the keyhole and tugging you with him, your hand laced with his. 

—

You follow Nam-gyu and the rest of the red team through the doors and into a room with a blue roof. Bright yellow stars adorn the blue background, and the whole room is bathed in cool blue light. 

Several hallways split off from the main area, separated by grey brick walls. The tops of the walls are painted blue, too. You notice some hallways contain stone staircases going up or down, and you wonder just how many different hallways there will be in this place. 

Nam-gyu’s still holding your hand, your shoulder brushing his as you move further into the room. The guards who’d let you in leave, pulling the doors closed behind them. 

A child’s voice rings out over the speakers, “Ready or not, here I come!” 

The timer on the far wall, set to thirty minutes, beeps once, and then instantly starts to countdown. 

A panicked sort of murmur ripples through the group, and the red players start to separate off into the different hallways. Your heart thrums in your chest and you glance at Nam-gyu. He seems unfazed, not even a hint of fear in his eyes. 

“We should get going,” you say. 

You steal your hand away and detach yourself from him to peer down one of the hallways closest to you. It doesn’t go for very long before it splits off again, and you imagine it just keeps going like that forever.

You turn back to Nam-gyu. He’s fiddling with the chain around his neck, tugging it out from under his shirt. He pulls out the silver cross and cradles it in his palm. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him as he opens up the cross. 

Nam-gyu takes out one of the pills and pops it into his mouth. 

“It’s, uh… just a little something to boost my confidence and strength,” he says, shrugging as he chews on the pill. “Do you want one?” 

He holds the cross out to you. There’s only three or four pills left — you’re not sure what he’s planning to do once they’re all gone. 

You shake your head. “No.” 

Nam-gyu raises his eyebrows, “Are you sure? It’ll help your nerves, sweetheart.” 

For a moment, you’re tempted. Could the pills really calm your nerves? You could sure use a nerve killer right now. But then you remember how Thanos had acted every time he’d taken one of the pills. He was confident, sure, but his confidence could’ve got him killed several times.

You’d rather keep your nerves if it means being clear headed. 

“No,” you say again. “I’m okay.” 

Nam-gyu shrugs, then flips the cross shut and tucks it back into his shirt. 

“Your choice, pretty. You can beg me for one later, if you want,” he says, winking at you before gesturing down a random hallway with his knife, “Come on, follow me. Let's go kill half of humanity!”

—

Your feet thunder against the dirt floor as you run, following closely behind Nam-gyu. His movements are erratic, and he’s fast — you’re not sure if that’s an effect of the pills or not, though his gleeful, manic laughter definitely is. 

It bounces off the walls as he chases a player from the blue team. You follow hot on Nam-gyu’s heels, desperate not to lose him in this maze of an arena. It’s taken you a good five minutes to even find a blue player, what with all the twists and turns you’ve encountered. Once you found him, he took off running, and it’s taking all the energy you’ve got to keep up with Nam-gyu as he chases him. 

You and Nam-gyu round a corner to find the path splits into two. The blue player you’d been chasing is nowhere to be seen. 

“I’ll take this one,” you say, pointing down the hallway closest to you.

Nam-gyu hesitates. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving. “Are you sure?” 

You nod. “Yeah. I’ll scream if I find him.” 

You take off down the hallway before Nam-gyu can protest. It curves around a corner, then another, and then you spot the blue player at the end of the hallway, disappearing through a green door. 

“Found him!” You shout over your shoulder, sprinting hard so as not to lose track of the man you’re pursuing. 

You don’t have time to check if Nam-gyu’s heard you. You reach the door and throw it open. To your surprise, the man stands with his back against the colourful wall, trembling. You glance around — there’s no way out. You’ve cornered him. 

The man puts up two trembling hands. “Please,” he begs. “Don’t kill me.” 

You set your jaw. You don’t dare tell him you’re about as scared as he is. If you can pretend for long enough, Nam-gyu will find you, and you’ll let him finish the job. 

You hold out your knife and step over the threshold. “Don’t make this difficult,” you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. 

The man eyes the knife in your hand, the blade glowing in the pale light. You know what he’s thinking, because you’re thinking the exact same thing. He’s bigger than you, and he could overpower you, even with your advantage. He could take the knife from you and use it himself. 

He could kill you. 

As soon as the thought hits you, you grit your teeth and lunge at him. No time like the present, you think bitterly, and swing your knife at him in a wide arc. 

Unfortunately, he must’ve seen it coming, because he brings his hand up and slams it hard into your forearm. You cry out, your grip going loose on your knife. It clatters across the floor, landing in the corner of the small room. 

Your heartbeat turns frantic. The man pushes past you and lunges for your weapon. You lunge for the knife as well, but you’re too slow — he gets there first. He whirls on you, knife in hand, and pounces, knocking you onto your back. 

The man pins you down with his knees on either side of your hips. He uses both hands to grip the knife and brings it down towards your throat. 

Frantic, your hands shoot out to grab both his forearms, using all your strength to push back, stopping him from sinking the knife into your throat. 

“Nam-gyu!” You scream out, directing your voice out the open door, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. “Nam-gyu!”

Your opponent grunts with effort as he pushes the knife lower. You hold him off as best you can, but soon, you feel the steel tip of the knife ghosting against the hollow of your throat. 

Sweat drips down your brow. Your throat feels suddenly constricted, and you wonder if this man’s face is going to be the last thing you see before you die. 

Just when you think you can’t hold on any longer, a figure appears and rams their fist into your opponent's side. The man cries out, releasing both you and your knife as he falls to the side, clutching his ribs. 

You sit up, gasping, to find Nam-gyu standing over the man, knife in hand, its blade stained red with your opponent’s blood. The man on the floor groans, clutching his wound. 

“Nam-gyu,” you say, pressing your hand to your throat. It still feels constricted, but your fingers come away free of blood. You could cry with relief.

You watch as Nam-gyu kicks the man in the side, right in the spot where he’s just stabbed him. He groans, rolling onto his front. 

Nam-gyu glances at you.

“Hey,” he says casually, nodding at you. There’s a dangerous look on his eyes that you can’t quite read. He looks mad, almost crazed. Though his eyes soften as he asks, “Are you hurt?” 

You shake your head. “No,” you say, timid. 

“Good.” 

Nam-gyu drops his gaze to the groaning man on the floor, and his eyes turn cold again. He chuckles cruelly at the man’s pain, then kicks him so he’s lying on his back. 

The man tries to make a run for it, scrambling up onto his hands in a panic, but Nam-gyu is too quick for him. He pins him down just like you were a moment ago, knees on either side of the blue man’s torso. He uses his hands to hold the man’s forearms down. 

“Thought you could get away with killing her, huh?” Nam-gyu growls. The man struggles, whimpering now, but Nam-gyu’s grip stays firm. “Not on my watch. You try that again and I’ll kill you. Oh, wait a minute. I was already going to!” 

Nam-gyu bursts into high pitched laughter, throwing his head back gleefully. 

The man struggles, his face contorted in fury and fear alike. “You—”

Quick as a flash, Nam-gyu shoots his hand out and covers the man’s mouth, bringing his knee up to pin the man’s forearm down. 

“Shhh,” Nam-gyu tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly.  

The man just whimpers in response, unable to move or even speak. You can see the realization in his eyes. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Nam-gyu meets your eyes over his shoulder 

“Come on,” he says, and it’s alarming how much softer his voice gets when he addresses you. The stark contrast should disturb you, but it only makes your stomach flutter a bit. Nam-gyu gestures with his head for you to join him. “Come help me finish the job.”

You retrieve your knife off the floor and stumble forward, standing hesitantly at the man’s side. Nam-gyu nods for you to kneel. 

“Kneel down, sweetheart,” he says. “We can do it together, it’ll be easier.” 

You obey, dropping to your knees, feeling a bit like you’re stuck in a trance. 

“Hold his arm for me?” Nam-gyu asks. 

You do as he indicates, pinning down the man’s arm with your knees so Nam-gyu can free up his knife hand. He flicks his hair back out of his face with his free hand, then meets your eyes. 

“You ready?” 

You swallow. You don’t dare to look at the man you’re about to kill. If you meet his eyes, you’re afraid you’ll chicken out. 

You nod. “Okay.” 

Nam-gyu grins at you. Keeping a firm hold on his captive’s mouth, Nam-gyu brings his knife to hover over the man’s chest, the tip brushing his blue vest. You follow, directing your own knife at his chest in the same way. 

“On three,” Nam-gyu says firmly. “Ready?” 

Despite yourself, you glance at the man. His eyes are panicked, his forehead shining with sweat. He seems to plead with you with his eyes. Your heart stutters, but you just ignore it and grit your teeth. You don’t have a choice. 

“Ready,” you nod. 

Nam-gyu tightens his grip on his knife. “One. Two. Three.” 

You hold your breath, slam your eyes shut, and drive the knife down with both hands, pushing as hard as you can. Warm blood splatters all over your face, and the man struggles desperately in your and Nam-gyu’s joint grip. 

“Push harder,” Nam-gyu commands, and you obey, driving the knife deeper, your heart a riot in your chest. 

After a few moments, the man stops struggling. His body goes limp. You peel your eyes open, heart slamming against your ribcage. 

The man is dead. A patch of red blood colours his vest purple, the colour creeping out slowly as you watch. Nam-gyu rips his knife free of the dead man’s chest. You do the same, feeling somehow horrified and exhilarated simultaneously. 

Your blade is coated in blood. There are flecks of it splattered all over your hand and both your sleeves, and when you look at Nam-gyu, it’s speckled all over his face. 

He grins at you, all Cheshire-cat like.

“Good job, pretty,” he says. “You did so well.” 

You swallow hard. Your veins pump with an energy that you can’t quite explain. Your heart thuds with adrenaline, and oddly, you don’t feel scared anymore. The sight of Nam-gyu, who’s just helped you commit murder, should disturb you. But something about the way he looks covered in blood, his hair messy and his chest heaving, makes you feel exhilarated. 

“Thanks,” you manage through heavy breaths. You push your hair out of your face, your skin sticky with sweat and blood. “Do you think we passed?” 

Nam-gyu frowns. “I don’t know.” He glances down at the dead body, two matching knife wounds mutilating its chest, and he shrugs. “We did only kill half a guy each.” 

“You think we have to kill someone else to pass?” You ask, though you already know the answer. And it doesn’t horrify you nearly as much as it should. 

Nam-gyu nods. “Seems like it.” 

He gets up with a grunt, stepping over the body, then holds his hand out to you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet. You find you don’t mind much the idea of taking out another player, especially with Nam-gyu’s help. You’re sure you’ll be able to find another of the blue team quickly, and with the two of you combined, it should be easy to take them out. Then you can finally get out of here, you and Nam-gyu both. 

You brush yourself off and use your vest to wipe your knife clean. 

“You sure he didn’t hurt you?” Nam-gyu asks darkly, watching you closely. 

You shake your head. “He didn’t get the chance, you came just on time. Thank you for saving me.” 

Nam-gyu just looks at you for a moment. Then he reaches out, taking your jaw in his hand. He thumbs the corner of your mouth, dragging the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. His touch makes you shiver. 

“You’ve got blood all over your face,” he says in way of explanation, pulling his hand away to show you his thumb smeared with blood.

Oddly, you miss his touch as soon as it’s gone. “So do you,” you say. 

Nam-gyu shrugs, then brings the pad of his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean. 

“Makes you look hot,” he muses, giving you a quick once over. 

His gaze and his words make your skin buzz with desire, worse when he moves forward, stepping into your space. His proximity has your heart catching in your throat. He looms over you, freckles of blood painting his pale skin, his dark hair falling into his face, and his eyes boring into yours with so much intensity you’re surprised you don’t buckle at the knees. 

“Don’t go running off like that again, alright?” He murmurs in a low voice. He brings a hand to cup your face again, pushing the tips of his fingers to the space below your ear. “Stay close to me from now on.” 

You nod, feeling dazed. He’s so close he could kiss you, and by the look on his face, you’re half convinced he will. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across the apple of your cheek, and you wonder if he knows the extent of the effect he has on you. He must. You can see it in his smirk. 

“You ready to go kill someone else?” He asks. 

You nod. You’re not scared anymore. The fear has dispersed, leaving only a fluttering of nerves in your chest. Though, they’ve got nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with Nam-gyu. 

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed ᡣ𐭩

[allmyocsarebritish]

"Oh you had a plague? Come back to us when you had a World War, brand new unconventional weapons, and a new international order."

[allmyocsarebritish]

[allmyocsarebritish]

Useless ray of sunshine 🥀

[allmyocsarebritish]

where all my thanos gooners at. My thanooners. My thanos wankers.

these aren’t even all of mine LMAO

[allmyocsarebritish]

i love whatever’s wrong with him

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LMFAO

[allmyocsarebritish]

Something Else

Content: Fluff. SFW. Nam-gyu x gn!reader. Your second date with Nam-gyu goes wrong, and yet when you're together everything is completely right. Canon-divergent, no games. Lots of cursing but it's all affectionate. STILL on my soft Nam-gyu bullshit.

For Nam-gyu, second dates were a rare thing. Not because he didn’t want them, but because his date had usually gotten what they wanted by the first. Free drinks, free drugs, access to the VIP lounge, introductions to performers. But you hadn’t asked for any of that.

He accepted the second date with you, cautious and braced. And then told himself it probably wouldn’t happen. 

But it did. And he was not ready.

You were dressed up— fucking gorgeous, actually— waiting for him to get ready with the promise that you were going to take him out to dinner. Standing there looking like an angel in the midst of his shithole apartment while he scrambled around in a threadbare t-shirt and yesterday’s boxers.

He was certain there wouldn’t be a third date, not after seeing him like this. In fact he was surprised you hadn’t dipped while he brushed the fuzz off his teeth. He probably would have.

But no, you were still there in the living room, waiting patiently for him while he looked around, fingers tangled in his hair, searching high and low for literally anything clean that he could wear. 

“Shit, I’m— I don’t think I have anything, y’know… nice.”

“That’s alright. Just go casual.”

He pursed his lips and stood with his hands on his hips. “Ah, shit.”

“Nothing casual either?”

He rubbed his hand across his mouth and huffed through his nose. He’d screwed it up, and there was nothing to do but attempt to cling onto his last remaining shred of dignity. “You can just go home. I’ll call you a taxi or whatever.” 

You hid it decently well, but he couldn’t help but notice the crestfallen expression on your face. 

Should’ve seen that coming. Shouldn’t have given a shit. Did though. “I’ll put you on the guest list, don’t worry. Just text me your full name and anyone else you want to bring—”

“Guest list?”

“Yeah, for the Pentagon.”

You frowned, “That skeevy nightclub? Why would I—” And you must have seen the shock written across his  face as you hurriedly backpedaled. “Oh! Oh fuck that’s where you work, isn’t it?”

“Heh! Yeah.”

Was he relieved? Maybe. Convinced? Not quite. “You’re not trying to get into the VIP lounge? You don’t wanna meet Thanos or someone?”

“No?”

“Oh… so… you want drugs or someth–”

“No, Nam-gyu. I don’t want drugs.”

Okay, no, there had to be something. You were fucking with him. “Then what are you here for?”

“Dinner?” you said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Nah. No way.

He wasn’t sure when he’d begun pacing, but he had, pulling his hair and slicking it back over his skull. You and him? You with your pretty face and nice clothes and so many good points he could spend a week listing them all. Him in his underwear, probably reeking of spilled drinks and stale smoke. 

“I could go and get us something to eat and bring it here?” you suggested

“Uh,” he frowned, giving it more thought than he probably needed to. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You were probably going to dip, he thought. He gave you money for the food anyway. 

Except you didn’t dip. You came back, two bags full of food. Comforting jjajangmyeon, spicy beef bulgogi, fresh kimbap, golden fried chicken… you’d brought a damn feast, and you handed him the exact amount of “change” he’d sent you out with. 

“You paid on the last date,” you said, rummaging through one of the bags for napkins while he tried to put the money back in your hand. “And you can pay for the next one, deal?”

Next one… next one, “oh shit, for real?” He felt the tug of what must have been an absolute shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Alright, smooth talker.”

Maybe it wasn’t love yet but he was headed that way. Dangerously fast.

After dinner you sat with him on the couch, the TV blaring in the background as you joked about him laying his head in your lap. 

“Go on,” you said, gesturing to your thighs. “I don’t mind.”

He laughed about it and grumbled that you were crazy, but his heart was racing, his cheeks rosy apples as he inched closer and called your bluff. Except you weren’t bluffing at all. 

“There… isn’t that better?” you asked, running your fingers though his hair, tucking the front part behind his ears and smiling down at him like he was someone.

He could have burst into tears. 

But he didn’t. He shivered and felt his breath catch in his chest, but he pushed down that deep and sudden swell of feeling as much as he could. 

The second date. The second fucking date and he was melting with his head on your lap, letting you run your fingers through his hair. 

All his life he’d tried so hard to ensure people perceived him as anything but this vulnerable. His entire persona was a delicately crafted facade; the type of man who wouldn't hesitate to lash out, a necessary part of any group he was in, grasping at coattails while basking in the glow of those blessed with a radiance he had never quite managed to conjure for himself. Always the sidekick, the hype man, the fucking groupie. Never the one in the limelight. 

But you, the way you were looking at him…  you made him feel like maybe he was capable of being something more. Wonderful, perhaps.

It was too much. 

He found himself laughing, placing his hand over your face and pushing you away. “Ah, motherfucker, stop it.”

“Motherfucker?!” 

“Yeah, that’s you.”

Thank fuck you were you, laughing along with him and lightly smacking his forehead in retaliation. That only made him laugh harder, until he was heaving for breath, knees tucked to his chest, his neck twisted so he could hide his face and giggle against your stomach.

It was all so much; the feeling, the acceptance, the forgiveness, tolerance, all of it. All for him. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

And then your fingers were threading through his damn hair again, your laughter fading to the type of adoring smile he never thought he'd ever see aimed his way. “You're something else, Nam-gyu.”

Yeah. With you, maybe, he had the chance to be.