big-poppa23

[big-poppa23]

Tether Me

synapse: y/n does what she can to make hyun-ju feel loved and beautiful

pairing: cho hyun-ju x reader

contains: slight smut, fluff, post-games (my wife hyun-ju is in thailand), pre-transitioned hyun-ju

a/n: this could be considered of my something like her series or just a cute one shot

. . .

Y/N giggled, kicking off her sandals as she walked backward into their bedroom, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling under the soft golden light of the lamps. The gauzy curtains swayed with the ocean breeze from the open balcony doors, and the faint hum of cicadas mixed with the distant sound of waves.

Hyun-ju followed close behind, grinning like she couldn’t believe her luck, her bomber jacket long abandoned in the living room and her steps slightly uneven from the wine they’d shared on their beachfront dinner date. Her hand reached for Y/N’s, pulling her gently into a spin like they were still dancing barefoot in the sand.

“You’re drunk,” Y/N teased, laughing as she caught herself against the edge of the bed.

“And you’re beautiful,” Hyun-ju whispered, breathless and honest.

That made Y/N go quiet for a second, heart stuttering in the soft way it always did when Hyun-ju looked at her like that—like she was made of constellations and miracles instead of trauma and scars.

Hyun-ju’s hands found her waist, pulling her close, lips brushing her temple before trailing to her cheek. “I could live a thousand lives,” she murmured, “and I’d still fall in love with you every single time.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “You’re so sappy when you’re tipsy.”

“I mean it,” she said, lips now at the corner of her mouth. “Every word.”

Y/N leaned forward and kissed her. Deep. Slow. Familiar.

They had only been in Thailand for a month and a half, but they had carved a life in that short time—rebuilding themselves piece by piece. They’d found hospitals that treated Hyun-ju with dignity. They made their house a home, with messy kitchen shelves and laundry half-folded on the couch. They argued over what pillows to buy. They kissed when no one was watching. They healed.

For most couples, this would’ve been too fast.

But for them?

It was perfect.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered against her lips again, her voice quiet and full of meaning.

Hyun-ju smiled, her forehead resting against hers. “Forever.”

And then she kissed her again, as the waves outside whispered that they had made it. Just like they did every night.

Y/N lay back against the bed, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she pulled Hyun-ju down with her, their mouths meeting again in a kiss that was tender and slow at first—but quickly deepened.

Hyun-ju shifted above her, one hand slipping around Y/N’s waist, fingers splayed across her back like she couldn’t get close enough. The kiss turned hungry, unspoken need spilling between them.

Y/N’s hand tangled gently in Hyun-ju’s hair, the other sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips brushing warm skin, mapping the curve of her lower back.

But then, just as the moment swelled with heat, Hyun-ju gently caught her wrist, pulling her hand away. She broke the kiss, breathing a little unevenly.

“Wait,” she whispered, voice apologetic. “I just remembered… I have to be up early tomorrow. Appointment with the doctor about the next surgery.”

Y/N blinked, the shift leaving her slightly breathless. She swallowed her disappointment, managing a small, understanding nod. “Right… yeah. Of course.”

Hyun-ju leaned in and kissed her once more—softly this time, a promise in the way her lips lingered—before she sat up and crossed the room to change into her sleepwear.

Y/N stayed on the bed, her heart still beating just a little too fast, watching her with quiet affection, even as the ache of pause settled in her chest.

. . .

It had been a week since that night, and life with Hyun-ju felt nearly perfect. They were in love—undeniably, deeply—but something still lingered in the back of Y/N’s mind.

She kept thinking about that moment in the bathroom during the Games. The way Hyun-ju had kissed down her neck, the way her hand had hesitated just under her waistband. It had haunted her thoughts ever since—especially on their last date night, when things had nearly gone further… but didn’t.

That same thought returned one quiet night as Y/N stood in their shared bathroom. She was brushing her teeth, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear, while Hyun-ju stood beside her, lazily running a brush through her hair. She wore an oversized button-up and soft cotton shorts, her sleeves rolled halfway up her arms.

Y/N rinsed her mouth, glanced sideways at her. “Hey… do you remember that night in the bathroom? Back in the Games?”

Hyun-ju paused, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. I remember.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking again, her voice softer. “I’ve been thinking about it… a lot, actually. And lately, it kind of feels like… maybe you’re not interested in picking up where we left off.”

Hyun-ju slowly set her brush down on the counter, turning to face her fully. “It’s not that I’m not interested. God, it’s not that,” she said with a gentle exhale. “It’s just… I’m still not done. With the surgeries. I guess I thought if we waited, then—maybe—I wouldn’t have to worry about you seeing me… differently.”

Y/N stepped closer, her voice steady but warm. “Hyun-ju, that wasn’t even a thought in my head. I don’t care about your body—I love you. I love the person inside it. Not just the shape of it, not what parts you have or don’t.”

Her eyes dropped slightly, glancing over Hyun-ju’s figure—at the dip of her waist, the softness of her legs beneath those shorts, then to the subtle rise between her thighs. Her gaze lingered, not with judgment, but with an aching mix of tenderness, curiosity, and desire.

“I want you,” Y/N said softly. “Whether you’re still transitioning… or not. You’re already everything I want.”

Hyun-ju swallowed hard, her expression cracking open with emotion.

“Really?” she whispered.

Y/N reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles against her cheek. “Really.”

Hyun-ju’s breath hitched, Y/N’s words wrapping around her like something holy. She nodded—faintly at first, like she was still letting herself believe it—and then leaned in. Their lips met in a slow, warm kiss. Familiar, tender, and achingly real.

It wasn’t like before—rushed or born of desperation. This kiss was different. Steady. Full of reverence. The kind that said I see you. I choose you.

Y/N cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her skin, while her other hand settled gently at Hyun-ju’s waist, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. Hyun-ju let out a quiet sigh, her arms wrapping around Y/N’s back and pulling her close, their bodies molding together.

For once, her racing heart wasn’t from fear—it was want. Need. Trust.

Hyun-ju broke the kiss just long enough to take Y/N’s hand and lead her out of the bathroom. Wordless. Certain. She sat on the edge of the bed and let Y/N move with her, straddling her lap, fitting against her like they belonged that way.

Their lips met again—hungrier now, but still slow. Still intentional. Y/N kissed her like she was proving something: that she was patient. That she wanted her. All of her.

Her fingers moved to Hyun-ju’s shirt, undoing the first button, then the second… before pausing. She looked down at her. “Do you want this? Right now? If you’re unsure, I’ll stop.”

Hyun-ju’s hands slid to Y/N’s hips, gently squeezing. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you. Just like this. Exactly who we are right now.”

Y/N smiled, her heart blooming. She kissed her again, then slowly resumed unbuttoning the shirt, revealing skin bit by bit. She leaned down, her lips brushing over Hyun-ju’s collarbone in soft, lingering kisses. Then a gentle bite—just enough to tease, enough to make her breath hitch again.

Her hands roamed slowly across newly bared skin, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are so… incredibly beautiful.”

And this time, there was no stopping.

Y/N’s lips moved slowly along Hyun-ju’s neck, each kiss deliberate, each pause filled with breathy warmth and care. She wanted Hyun-ju to feel every second of it—how deeply she was cherished, how none of this was rushed. Just love, steady and patient.

She kissed lower, tracing along the soft curve of her collarbone and then to the exposed skin just above her chest. Hyun-ju let out a quiet sigh, her head tilting back, fingers curling into Y/N’s hips for grounding. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from how overwhelming it felt to be wanted like this.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Y/N whispered against her skin, her voice featherlight. She slowly slid Hyun-ju’s shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall down her arms and away. “I want all of you. Every scar. Every inch you’re still learning to love—I already do.”

A shaky exhale left Hyun-ju’s lips, her eyes fluttering closed. She leaned back into the moment, into the hands that held her without hesitation. “I love you,” she whispered, voice trembling not from doubt—but because it was the most certain thing in the world.

Y/N smiled, her breath warm against Hyun-ju’s skin. “I love you,” she murmured in return, before kissing lower—her mouth trailing across her chest until her lips wrapped softly around her breast.

Hyun-ju gasped, the sound escaping before she could stop it. Her back arched slightly, her thighs tensing as arousal stirred within her—undeniable, real. The bulge beneath her shorts grew, pressing up as her body responded to every kiss, every gentle stroke.

But there was no shame in it. Not here. Not with Y/N, who didn’t flinch, who didn’t hesitate, who looked at her with nothing but hunger and reverence.

Y/N lifted her head for just a moment, gazing down at Hyun-ju’s face. Her lips were parted, her chest rising with each breath, and her eyes—half-lidded, dark with need—held something deeper than desire.

Trust. Safety. Love.

Y/N cupped her cheek, her thumb brushing gently along the curve of her jaw, grounding them both.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” she whispered, her voice soft, serious. “If you want me to slow down… or stop. Just say it.”

Hyun-ju nodded slowly, her throat tight as she swallowed, voice low and breathless. “You don’t need to be careful with me, Y/N. I want this. I want you.”

That was all Y/N needed.

She leaned down again, kissing her—not with urgency, but with hunger that simmered and bloomed slowly. Her hands roamed, fingertips skimming the familiar curve of Hyun-ju’s waist, the dip of her stomach, the places she had only touched in dreams. She explored her like a prayer, like a promise.

Hyun-ju’s hands slid beneath Y/N’s shirt, gripping the hem before pulling it up and over her head. Their lips broke only briefly as the shirt was discarded, joining Hyun-ju’s on the floor. The kiss that followed was deeper—tongues brushing, breath mingling—as skin pressed to skin.

Hyun-ju’s hips shifted beneath her, the growing arousal beneath her shorts now unmistakable between them. But Y/N didn’t pull back. She leaned into it, letting her body settle against hers, her thighs bracketing Hyun-ju’s sides as she began to slowly rock her hips—gentle, fluid, and deliberate.

A quiet moan escaped her lips at the contact, the friction sending heat rippling through her. Her mouth brushed Hyun-ju’s jaw, her voice a trembling whisper. “You feel amazing…”

Hyun-ju gasped softly in response, her hands trembling slightly as they slid down to Y/N’s hips—then lower. She hooked her fingers around the waistband of Y/N’s underwear, pausing only for a moment.

Y/N’s eyes met hers.

No fear.

Only want.

Only love.

Hyun-ju slowly tugged them down, baring her, and Y/N didn’t shy away. She kissed her again—tender and full of heat—as she pressed closer, ready to show her just how much she meant to her.

. . .

The morning light filtered in through the gauzy white curtains of their bedroom, painting the room in warm, golden hues. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them, the distant sound of waves brushing against the shore barely audible through the open window.

Y/N stirred first.

Hyun-ju’s arm was still draped around her waist, her breath soft and even against the crook of her neck. She was still asleep, peaceful and warm, her face tucked close, as if she didn’t want to be far from her even in dreams.

Y/N smiled to herself.

Last night was still fresh in her body, in her bones, in the way her skin hummed wherever Hyun-ju had touched her. But more than that, it was the trust between them. The whispered confessions. The way they held each other like something sacred.

Y/N turned slightly, brushing a kiss to Hyun-ju’s temple, letting her lips linger.

“You’re still here,” Hyun-ju mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Where else would I be?” Y/N whispered, brushing a hand through her hair.

Hyun-ju smiled against her shoulder, eyes fluttering open. “Last night was…”

“Perfect,” Y/N finished for her, their eyes meeting.

There was a stillness in that moment. Full of emotion neither of them needed to put into words.

“I love you,” Hyun-ju said softly, like it was a truth she could finally breathe without fear.

Y/N leaned in and kissed her—slow, lazy, and full of warmth. “I love you more.”

Hyun-ju chuckled. “Don’t start that battle. You’ll lose.”

Y/N laughed, untangling herself from the sheets. “Wanna bet?”

She pulled on one of Hyun-ju’s oversized T-shirts, the hem brushing her thighs, and padded out of the bedroom, barefoot and glowing. Their little kitchen was sun-drenched, cozy, and smelled faintly of the lemongrass candle they had burned the night before.

She tied her hair up, humming softly as she moved through the space—setting out eggs, vegetables, and rice. It was instinctive, the way she moved, like she’d always belonged in this kitchen, like Hyun-ju’s love had given her roots in a world that had once felt so uncertain.

As the rice cooker whirred and the eggs sizzled in the pan, she glanced toward the bedroom, her heart full.

She was cooking for the woman she loved.

For the woman who had fought beside her, bled beside her, lived.

And who loved her back.

It wasn’t just peace. It was home.

[big-poppa23]

In The Pines

synapse: in a place built to strip humanity away, a hardened man and a broken girl find something neither expected—each other. as the games push them to the brink, what begins as survival becomes something deeper because sometimes, the smallest hand can pull you back from the edge.

pairing: hwang in-ho x teen!reader (obviously platonic/father and daughter type bond)

contains: violence, attempted assault, death, blood, pre-front man in-ho, father figure in-ho, during 2015 games

a/n: obviously this is not romantic. this is a father daughter type bond based around joel and ellie from tlou. i really want to write more for this man cuz he’s fine af but my daddy issues scream for him as a dad to cure some of his trauma

. . .

The dormitory was filled with silence and trembling breaths. No one dared speak above a whisper, like their voices alone might trigger another massacre.

In-ho sat on the lower bunk, his back against the cold wall. His shirt clung to him with sweat, and the metallic scent of blood still coated the inside of his nose. He hadn’t blinked since the game ended.

Four hundred and fifty-six had become two hundred and one.

And yet, somehow, the kid made it.

He’d noticed her—not because she stood out, but because she shouldn’t have been there. A girl, barely old enough to ride the subway alone, with scrapes on her knees and a look in her eyes that said she’d been surviving long before today.

She hadn’t cried.

Not even when the bodies dropped.

Footsteps approached. He glanced up just in time to see her plop herself down across from him on the floor, cross-legged like she was at a sleepover.

“You got a smoke?”

In-ho blinked. “What?”

“A cigarette. You look like you’re dying for one. Figured you might have a spare.”

He stared at her. Her voice was hoarse from screaming during the game, but she held herself like she wasn’t afraid of him. Or anything.

“You’re a child.”

“No shit. Thanks for the observation, Sherlock. And you’re grumpy. This gonna be our thing?”

He didn’t answer. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Y/N didn’t move. She just kept sitting there, arms draped over her knees.

“You didn’t watch me,” she said after a moment.

His eyes opened again.

She was picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “During the game. Everyone was watching the people getting shot. But you were watching who was gonna trip. Who was using bodies as cover. You were looking for weaknesses.”

In-ho didn’t speak, but something in his jaw twitched.

“I was behind you,” she added. “You didn’t notice me, but I noticed you. You were calm. Not normal calm. Cop calm.”

That made him shift, just a little. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? I think I do.” Her gaze was steady now. “You’re not here just for the money. You’re looking for something. Or someone.”

In-ho finally sat up straighter, leaning forward. “Listen, kid—”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“My name. Since we’re roommates now, figured you should know. Y/N.”

He stared at her.

Then, to her surprise, he said, “In-ho.”

She smiled. “Hi, In-ho.”

He shook his head and leaned back again, muttering, “Goddamn kid.”

But he didn’t tell her to go away.

And that, as far as Y/N was concerned, was a win.

In-ho hadn’t said another word, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the rows of bunks like she was casing the place.

“I counted sixteen guys with twitchy eyes and shaking legs,” she murmured. “Bet they crack by lights out. You think they’ll let us sleep?”

“No.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Should’ve known. Most places that claim to be ‘safe’ usually aren’t. Group homes, shelters… dormitories with masked gunmen. Same shit.”

In-ho glanced at her again.

She was too calm.

“Where are your parents?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked over at him, surprised. “You tell me.” When he didn’t respond, she shrugged. “Dad ran off before I could spell his name. Mom’s… probably in a ditch somewhere. Or married to a guy who doesn’t like kids.”

She said it with a smirk, like it was a joke. But it wasn’t.

“I’m not looking for a sob story,” she added quickly. “I’m just here to win. Get out. Get a dog. Maybe a PlayStation.”

He let out a breath through his nose—something close to a scoff. “That simple, huh?”

Y/N looked at him seriously now. “It has to be.” She leaned forward again, whispering like they were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “You’ve got the eyes of someone who thinks too much,” she said. “You keep doing that, you’re gonna break before the sixth game. You need something to keep you going. Like me and the PlayStation.”

In-ho raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gonna keep you alive?”

“I think people underestimate girls who still want childish things.” She smirked again. “Besides. I’m scrappy.”

She stood up with a grunt and dusted off the seat of her pants.

“Anyway. You seem like a guy who wants to be left alone, so I’ll stop bothering you. Just thought I’d say hi since, you know… shared trauma and all.”

She turned like she was really going to walk away.

And she did.

But halfway to her bunk, some older guy bumped into her hard on purpose. “Watch it, brat.”

Y/N stiffened. She looked like she wanted to mouth off, but silently flipped him off and just kept walking.

In-ho watched the man keep walking too.

Something shifted inside him. Not violently. Not dramatically. Just a slow ignition of something primal and terrifying.

He’d seen girls like her on crime scenes. He’d zipped their bags. Filed their reports. Called names from cracked ID cards no one came to claim.

But not her.

Not this one.

If anyone here so much as touched a strand of her hair again…

He’d burn this whole fucking place down.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe because she reminded him of the boy he used to be. Or the brother he lost. Or maybe because, for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, someone had looked him in the eye and seen him.

She had named him. Spared him the shame of being just “132.”

Hi, In-ho.

She had no idea what she’d just done.

And now he would kill for her.

. . .

The lights snapped off without warning.

A second later, the screaming began.

Metal clanged against metal. Shoes thundered across the concrete. Shadows darted through what little light remained—chaos made flesh.

In-ho was already on his feet, eyes straining in the dark, fists clenched. He’d expected this.

What he didn’t expect was the small voice shouting his name.

“In-ho!”

He spun.

Through the chaos, he saw her. Y/N. Stumbling backward between two bunks, cornered by three grown men who looked less like players and more like predators who’d been waiting for this moment.

“She’s just a kid,” one of them said.

“That’s the point,” another sneered, brandishing a shattered glass bottle.

In-ho didn’t think. He moved.

He lunged into the fray like a reaper, grabbing the nearest man by the collar and slamming him against a post. Someone else threw a punch—he ducked, drove an elbow into the attacker’s ribs, then kicked the third man’s legs out from under him.

The sound of violence surrounded them. People were dying in the dark. But he didn’t care. Not about them.

Only her.

Y/N was frozen in place, eyes wide, back against the steel bars of the bunk. “I—I’m okay,” she whispered, even though she clearly wasn’t.

Then a fourth figure emerged from the shadows, quickly pinning her to the floor.

He hadn’t been part of the first group. No. This one had been watching.

Tall. Greasy. Smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man crooned. “You don’t gotta be scared. I’ll take care of you…”

In-ho was too far. He saw it happen in slow motion—he couldn’t get there in time.

But Y/N moved.

Fast. Sharp. Terrified.

A glint of silver flashed in her hand.

The fork.

He hadn’t even noticed she pocketed it after dinner.

The man grabbed her wrist, but she twisted—stabbed—right into his neck.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He collapsed with her on top of him, and she didn’t stop.

She kept stabbing.

Over and over, shaking, growling through her teeth like a wounded animal cornered in a cage.

In-ho finally reached her.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him.

Just the blood. Just the monster beneath her who almost—

He grabbed her wrists and gently, but firmly, pulled her off.

She resisted at first, like she didn’t know who he was. But when he whispered her name again—

“Y/N. It’s me. It’s me.”

—she finally let go of the fork.

Her hands were soaked. Her whole body trembled as she stared at him with wide, wild eyes.

“He—” she choked, her voice cracking. “He tried to—”

She didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

In-ho wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight against his chest. She didn’t resist. She crumpled into him like a collapsing building.

“I got you,” he whispered, over and over, as chaos roared around them. “I got you. I got you. I got you.”

He looked down at the blood on her hands. The way her small fingers curled into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.

That was the moment he knew.

He would never let anyone touch her again.

Not while he was still breathing.

Not even if it meant dying himself.

. . .

The dormitory reeked of sweat, blood, and the sterile tang of iron.

Guards had come hours ago, dragging away the bodies like they were trash instead of people. No one spoke. No one mourned. Death was routine now.

In-ho sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, knuckles split open from punching one of the men last night—he hadn’t even noticed when it happened.

But it wasn’t his wounds he was thinking about.

It was her.

She hadn’t said a word since.

Y/N had curled up beside him after the chaos ended, small and trembling in the crook of his arm, but she hadn’t cried. Not one tear.

Now, in the pale morning light, she was returning from the bathroom—silent, shoulders stiff, face unreadable.

In her hands: a soggy paper towel.

She knelt in front of him without a word.

Carefully—like she wasn’t 14 and covered in the memory of blood—she reached for his hand and dabbed at the torn skin on his knuckles.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t make a sarcastic remark or complain about the smell. No playful jabs. No “tough guy” jokes.

Just silence.

In-ho watched her, heart sinking like lead in his chest.

She cleaned his hands like it was a chore. Routine. Mechanical.

Her eyes weren’t wide anymore. They were smaller somehow. Hardened. Distant.

And when she finally finished, she sat back on her heels and said nothing.

“Y/N,” he murmured.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his—but it wasn’t her. Not all the way. Something behind them was gone.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice low. Flat. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he replied gently. “I was going to tell you… that wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” she said too fast. “It was him. He tried to hurt me. I stopped him. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

She was trying to convince herself.

“Still,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “I didn’t know it’d feel like that. Killing someone.”

She rubbed her palm against her pants like the blood was still there.

“I thought I’d feel… strong. Or safe.” Her lip trembled, just once. “But I don’t. I just feel less.”

In-ho’s breath caught.

He reached out, slow and careful, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away.

“You’re not less,” he said quietly. “You’re still you.”

But even as he said it, he saw the lie in her eyes.

She wasn’t the same girl who sat cross-legged in front of him cracking jokes two nights ago. That girl had left the second she drove a fork into someone’s neck to save herself.

This one was still here, but she was different.

Harder. Quieter. Changed.

And he hated this place for it.

He hated the guards, the games, the piggy bank that glowed with blood money. He hated the man she had to kill. He hated that he hadn’t seen him sooner. He hated that he hadn’t protected her from everything.

But most of all, he hated how quickly she was adapting.

How quickly she was becoming like the rest of them.

He looked at her small, blood-scabbed hands.

He swore to himself once again, right then—

No matter what, he’d keep her alive.

But more than that… he’d keep what was left of her human.

Y/N sat back, her hands now empty, gaze unfocused as she stared down at the blood-stained paper towel on the floor.

In-ho’s hand hovered above it for a moment before he set it aside. Quiet settled between them like fog, and for once, she didn’t try to fill it with words.

She just waited.

Like she knew there was something he hadn’t said yet.

“You asked me why I’m here,” he said at last, his voice low and rough.

She looked up.

He wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“My wife,” he began, jaw tightening. “She got sick. Acute liver cirrhosis. When we were going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant.”

Y/N blinked, sitting up straighter.

“The doctor gave her a choice,” he continued. “Terminate…and she might live. Or go through with it, and…she probably wouldn’t.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “What’d she choose?”

“You see, my wife is stubborn. She didn’t even hesitate.” He let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh in another life. “Said she didn’t care if it killed her. She wanted to meet our child, even just once.”

His fingers twisted together in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I tried to be strong, tried to raise the money, find a donor, anything. But the transplant…the meds…even just keeping her comfortable…” He swallowed. “I was desperate.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “So you borrowed money.”

He nodded. “From someone I shouldn’t have. Then one of my oldest vendors offered to help. I thought I could pay it back. Thought I’d fix it before anyone noticed.”

“But they did,” she guessed.

“They thought I took a bribe.” His voice was bitter now. “Didn’t matter that my record was spotless. Or that my wife was dying. My superior didn’t even look me in the eye when he fired me. Just said I ‘should’ve known better.’”

He finally glanced at her.

And what he saw wasn’t judgment.

It was understanding.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him like he was a failure.

She just asked, “Is she…?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “When I joined this place, she was still holding on. I just… I thought maybe if I won, I could give her a second chance.”

His voice cracked for the first time.

“I didn’t want this life for my kid,” he whispered. “I didn’t want them to be raised without a mother. Or worse… not be born at all.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She stared at him, wide-eyed—not in pity, but something deeper. Like she’d just found the last good part of this place and it happened to be him.

Without saying anything, she reached for his hand.

And this time, he let her hold it.

“You know,” she murmured, “if your baby’s anything like you… he or she’s gonna be okay.”

He looked at her then—really looked—and saw not just a kid, but someone trying to believe there’s still something worth saving.

He gave her a small nod.

But inside, something else burned.

A vow.

If he couldn’t save his wife… if he never saw his child…

He’d save her.

This girl who cleaned his wounds and carried his secrets and still had blood under her nails. This girl who should’ve been at a school desk, not stabbing a man to death to stay alive.

He couldn’t undo what she’d done.

But maybe he could keep her from doing worse.

Maybe, in the end, saving her could be enough.

. . .

The lights never truly turned off anymore—not after that night. It had only been a day since then, more people died and there was only eight of them left.

They only dimmed to a sickly hum, casting long shadows across the room filled with rusted bunks and broken people.

In-ho sat on the floor, back against the metal frame of the lower bunk. His knuckles were still raw, his eyes heavy, but he didn’t let himself sleep.

Not while she was here.

Y/N had crawled into his bunk without saying a word. She hadn’t asked for permission. She hadn’t needed to. She just curled up, back to the wall, and passed out the second her head hit the thin mattress.

It had taken her three whole minutes to start twitching in her sleep.

Nightmares, probably.

She hadn’t talked about that night again. The man. The fork. The blood on her hands.

She hadn’t needed to.

He saw it in the way her shoulders stayed tensed even while she slept. In the way her fingers still curled like she was holding a weapon.

Quietly, gently, In-ho stood.

He pulled the thin blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it behind her back to keep her warm. She didn’t stir.

Then he lowered himself back to the floor, knees pulled up, eyes scanning the room. Watching. Waiting.

If anyone even looked at her wrong again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

He’d kill them before they got close.

He was supposed to be a police officer. A protector of the law. But right now, the law didn’t mean shit.

Not in here.

Here, he was just a shield with a heartbeat.

Time dragged. He rubbed his tired eyes, almost drifting off, until—

She mumbled something.

He turned.

Her brow furrowed in sleep, her lips parting.

“…Appa…”

His breath caught.

He froze, as if the floor might crumble beneath him.

She shifted, curling into the blanket, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

“Appa…” she whispered again, softer this time. Like a memory she was chasing in a dream.

In-ho swallowed hard.

His throat burned.

He hadn’t heard that word in months. Not from his wife. Never from his unborn child. Not even from his own mind—he’d buried it, shut it away to survive this place.

But here it was again.

From her.

She didn’t even know she’d said it.

And he wouldn’t tell her.

But he reached up—slowly, with trembling fingers—and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

His voice barely escaped him, a whisper only the dark would hear.

“I’ve got you, baby girl.”

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t close his eyes.

He kept watch. For her. For the child he never got to hold. For the piece of himself he thought was long dead.

Now tucked under a threadbare blanket, breathing soft and even, calling him appa in her dreams.

And maybe… maybe that was enough to keep him going.

. . .

The dormitory was silent again.

Too silent.

In-ho stood in the middle of it—alone except for the sleeping bodies around him, blood beginning to pool beneath their bunks. The air smelled of iron and death. Again.

He was still holding the knife.

His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as he looked down at the last man he’d killed—still curled under his blanket, eyes open now, but empty. He had barely stirred. Same with the rest.

It had been easy.

Too easy.

Four lives taken in under five minutes. Silent. Efficient. Controlled.

It wasn’t like the other times. This wasn’t defense. This wasn’t panic or fear.

This was strategy.

This was survival.

This was what Oh Il-nam wanted—what the masked old man offered. A chance. A deal. An out.

There couldn’t be a final game with only two players left. Not according to the rules. So if In-ho eliminated the rest before sunrise, it would end.

They would win.

She would win.

And right now, that was the only thing that mattered.

He turned slowly, knife still trembling in his hand, and walked to the last occupied bunk.

Hers.

Y/N was curled on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, the other loosely holding the edge of her blanket. Her lashes fluttered every now and then—dreams, maybe. Nightmares. He hoped not.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t hear the wet sounds of his blade in the dark.

Didn’t smell the blood.

Didn’t see him become something else entirely.

He dropped to one knee beside her bunk, lowering the knife to the floor.

And for a long moment, he just looked at her.

She was older now. Not in years, but in her eyes. In the way she held herself. In the way she moved. She hadn’t called him appa since that first week—but he still heard it when she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that felt safe.

He wondered what she’d say when she found out.

If she ever did.

Would she understand? Would she hate him?

Would it matter?

He reached for the blanket and gently pulled it higher, covering her shoulders. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh—but didn’t wake.

His hand hovered over her hair, then dropped.

And then he sat beside her bunk on the floor, back to the steel frame, knees drawn up.

The knife stayed by his foot.

He didn’t cry.

Didn’t tremble.

Just stared ahead at the far wall, coated in shadow, until morning would come. Until the loudspeakers would crackle to life and declare them winners. Declare them alive.

And maybe when she asked what happened to the others, he would lie.

Or maybe she’d just know.

But for now… for these last few hours…

He sat in silence, a blood-streaked guardian in the dark, keeping watch over the only person left worth saving.

Even if it meant damning himself to do it.

Soon, the overhead lights flickered to life with a low, electrical hum.

In-ho didn’t move.

He hadn’t slept. His back ached from the concrete, his hand still curled near the knife, dried blood crusted beneath his fingernails. His eyes were open, locked on the far wall, but he wasn’t really seeing it.

He was waiting.

For the moment she’d look at him and see what he’d become.

A sharp crackle from the speakers broke the silence, followed by the cold, sterile voice of the announcer:

“Players 045, 177, 229, and 412 have been eliminated. The game is over.”

The words echoed off the dormitory walls like a funeral bell.

Y/N stirred beneath the blanket, groggy, confused. “What…?

She sat up, blinking into the harsh light—and then she saw them.

The beds.

Empty.

Or stained.

Bodies gone, but not the aftermath.

Her breath caught as she looked around. Then—

Her eyes landed on him.

In-ho didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

He waited for the inevitable shift in her face. The betrayal. The fear. The look that would gut him more than any blade ever could.

But it never came.

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. At his blood-splattered suit. His still body. The knife by his foot.

And then—she crawled down from the bunk.

Slowly. Quietly.

She sat beside him on the floor.

Their knees touched.

She reached for his hand.

He hesitated—but only for a breath—before letting her take it.

Her fingers curled around his.

Then, softly, her voice broke through the suffocating quiet. “That wasn’t your fault.”

His throat clenched. His jaw locked to keep the tremor from escaping.

But she wasn’t done.

“You’re not less,” she whispered. “You’re still you.”

The words echoed in his mind like a mercy he didn’t deserve.

The same words he had once spoken to her, when her hands were shaking and covered in blood. When she had looked at him like she didn’t recognize herself.

And now she was giving them back.

To him.

Not with pity. Not with fear.

But with something closer to faith.

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand, slow and grounding.

“I know why you did it,” she said, still looking ahead, not pressuring him to speak. “And I’m glad you did.”

He closed his eyes.

A tear slipped out before he could stop it.

But he didn’t pull away.

She didn’t let go.

And in that moment, In-ho wasn’t just the man who killed four people in cold blood. He wasn’t the monster the Games had tried to shape him into.

He was her protector.

Her family.

And the last flicker of humanity still burning in his chest stayed alive—because she let it.

Because she saw him.

And still chose to hold his hand.

[big-poppa23]

No More Goodbyes

synapse: as normal life quietly begins to bloom after the chaos, y/n finds herself opening not just her home—but her heart.

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: fluff, post-games (could be considered a part of echoes of silence series or just a random oneshot)

a/n: needed to write for him cuz I miss him

. . .

She turned her head to look at him properly, her lips curving into a faint smile. His hair was a mess, pushed up awkwardly on one side from her pillow, and his eyelashes fluttered faintly each time he exhaled.

He looked younger like this. Softer. No shadows of the Games in his face. No blood, no fear, no trembling hands. Just Dae-ho—hers.

Her fingers gently traced the length of his forearm where old bruises had faded, the kind only she knew existed. And with the same tenderness, she leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder before settling against his chest, careful not to wake him.

But he stirred anyway.

A quiet, barely-there hum left his throat as his grip around her waist instinctively tightened. His eyes blinked open groggily, squinting at the morning light.

“Mmm… what time is it?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, Korean slurring slightly around the edges.

She grabbed her phone again, held it up for him to see.

“Too early,” he groaned, nuzzling into her neck with a sigh, his words muffled. “Then come back to bed. Five more minutes. Or twenty.”

She laughed silently, brushing the hair out of his face before signing with a sleepy smile: ‘You drooled on my pillow again.’

He squinted at her, mock-offended. “I did not.”

She held up the evidence—a faint damp patch just below his cheek.

He groaned, burying his face into her shoulder. “That’s not mine. Must’ve been you.”

‘Liar.’

He chuckled softly and turned his face to kiss her collarbone. “Fine. Guilty. But if I’m drooling, it’s only because I was dreaming about you.”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her away. ‘Smooth,’ she signed.

“I try,” he murmured, already half-asleep again.

And as the sun rose a little higher and the city beyond their window began to stir, she stayed exactly where she was—wrapped in him. In the quiet. In the ordinary peace they never thought they’d earn.

Because here, in the hush of morning warmth, with no guards, no games, no fear—just the soft rhythm of his heart against hers—this was the life they’d fought for. And it was worth every scar.

She reached out and gave his cheek a soft double tap with two fingers.

Dae-ho let out a small, disgruntled noise, his brows creasing before his eyes opened just enough to squint up at her, thick with sleep.

She signed gently, ‘I need to get up. Work soon.’

He groaned, voice still gravelly. “Nooo. Don’t leave me.”

She waited patiently, letting him blink the sleep from his eyes until he could focus again, then signed again with a smile tugging at her lips. ‘I have to. I’ll be late.’

Instead of letting her go, he sighed theatrically and shifted his weight, sliding his head down to rest against her stomach. One arm draped lazily around her waist, locking her in place.

“I’m taking you hostage,” he mumbled. “You’re not allowed to leave the bed. New rule.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move, her fingers drifting into his hair as she gently combed through it. A small, amused huff escaped her lips. For just a second, she debated giving in—letting the shower wait, letting time slow down just a little longer.

The quiet moments like these always made the rest of the world feel distant. Safe.

But then she signed again, firm but playful: ‘Dae-ho, that game money’s not gonna last forever. I need to build savings.’

He groaned dramatically and flopped onto his back with a defeated grunt, his arm now draped over his face. “You’re mean,” he grumbled, voice muffled.

She laughed softly, standing and grabbing the clothes she’d worn the night before, tossing them into the laundry basket. When she turned back, he was peeking at her through one eye.

‘You need clothes anyway. Might as well swing by your sister’s place after I leave,’ she signed.

“I don’t have to,” he replied, gesturing lazily toward the corner of the room. “I brought some.”

Her eyes followed his point to the small duffel bag tucked against the wall. She raised an eyebrow. ‘So you planned the sleepover?’

He gave a sleepy grin. “I basically live here now. Why pretend otherwise?” he signed back as he spoke with lazy hands, before flopping back again.

‘Fair enough,’ she signed with a small grin, grabbing her towel. Just before walking into the bathroom, she paused and looked back at him. ‘But seriously. Put on some pants. If my family shows up and sees you in the nude, they’ll never recover.’

Dae-ho chuckled and let his head sink back into the pillow. “Okay, okay. Pants. Got it.”

She pointed at him teasingly. ‘I want you fully dressed by the time I get out.’

He lifted a hand with mock solemnity. “Yes, ma’am.” As she closed the bathroom door, he reached for the blanket and sighed, mumbling, “Still holding you hostage later though.”

. . .

Steam clung to the bathroom mirror as Y/N stepped out of the shower, towel-drying her hair with practiced ease. She wrapped the towel around her torso and padded across the apartment, the morning light brushing against her skin like warm fingers through the half-drawn blinds. Her closet door creaked open, and with sleep still clinging to her limbs, she pulled on a clean pair of dark joggers and a fitted black T-shirt—comfortable enough to move in, but still neat for her shift at the bakery. Her work uniform—a crisp white button-up with her pastry shop’s logo—would be waiting in her locker when she got there.

She brushed through her damp hair, and applied a quick layer of moisturizer before stepping barefoot into the hallway.

The scent hit her before she even reached the kitchen—savory and familiar, with a hint of something slightly sweet. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation as she rounded the corner.

There he was.

Dae-ho stood at the stove, mostly dressed—gray sweats low on his hips, his black T-shirt slightly wrinkled from where he’d pulled it on in a hurry. His hair was still tousled, sticking up in wild directions from sleep. But he looked at home. Like he belonged there.

He was humming something faint under his breath as he plated some steamed white rice, a fried egg and veggies. A second pan sizzled with something else. Spam, maybe. Stir-fried definitely. Her favorite. She caught the scent of sesame oil in the air.

‘Smells good,’ she signed, stepping closer and peeking over his shoulder.

He glanced at her with a grin. “I had to thank my hostage somehow.”

She chuckled quietly, moving to the counter and picking up the jar of instant coffee. She pulled a bowl from the cabinet and started whipping the sugar, hot water, and coffee together with a whisk.

He slid the plates onto the table and leaned on the counter to watch her.

“You really like that whipped stuff, huh?” he asked.

She gave a one-shoulder shrug, whisking faster and signing with one hand. ‘It makes me feel fancy. Let me have this.’

Dae-ho smiled, eyes lingering on her as she leaned over the counter, her hands steady in their rhythm.

Then—casually, without looking at him—she signed, ‘So…you ever think about just moving in? Like officially?’

There was a beat of silence behind her.

She paused her whisking and glanced up to catch him frozen, holding a spoon halfway to his mouth.

“I… I basically live here already,” he said slowly, setting the spoon down. “But you mean, like… drawers and toothbrushes and rent money?”

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. ‘And you doing the laundry. Occasionally.’

He walked toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Is this your way of saying you like waking up to me?”

She tilted her head toward his. ‘I like not having to say goodbye every night.’

Dae-ho’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, and then he kissed her temple. “Then yeah,” he murmured, signing his words as he spoke. “I’ll move in. Officially. I’m yours anyway.”

She smiled, satisfied, as she poured the dalgona foam over the cold milk in her glass. Their breakfast waited on the table. So did the rest of their day.

But in this moment, it was just them—warm light, soft laughter, and the kind of love that felt like home.

Y/N quietly ate her breakfast, watching Dae-ho like he was something out of a painting—casual, handsome, effortlessly hers. Sometimes it felt surreal. She had found him in the middle of hell, and now here they were: sipping coffee in her kitchen like they had always belonged.

He didn’t notice her admiring gaze until she lightly tapped his arm. He looked up mid-bite, cheeks puffed out adorably with food.

She smiled and signed, ‘What are you planning to do now?’

He blinked, confused.

‘I mean, do you think you’ll get a job? I know we both walked away with ₩1.724 billion but…’

He swallowed before answering. “I have more money now than I’ve ever had in my life. Why would I want to work?” He leaned back lazily. “More importantly—why are you still working?”

‘Because I like it. Baking calms me. And it gets me out of the house.’

Dae-ho made a show of checking the time, then looked at her with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, as of five minutes ago, you don’t live alone anymore. You could stay home with me. I could keep you busy.”

She giggled, shaking her head. ‘I know you could. But I don’t want to get lazy just because I’m comfortable now. Working reminds me of where I came from. I need that.’

He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, looking at her like she was the most precious thing on earth. “I love the way you think. But how am I supposed to live without you here? I’ll go insane.”

‘You won’t have time to miss me,’ she signed, grinning. ‘You’ll be busy. Go to your sister’s, grab the rest of your stuff, and move it in. Make it official.’

He groaned theatrically, slumping in his chair. “Ugh. Actual labor? I could pay someone to do it for me now, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

He sighed. “Fine, fine. I’ll be humble. I’ll move my own crap.” A pause. “I guess I can manage a couple of hours without you.”

She snapped her fingers suddenly, remembering. ‘More than a couple. I told Jun-hee I’d check in on her and the baby today.’

He gaped. “We’ve lived together for six minutes and you’re already abandoning me?”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek before signing sweetly, ‘But after that, I’m all yours. Just you and me. Tonight…and every night after.’

Dae-ho softened instantly. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, eyes warm. “Just don’t take too long. I miss you when you’re not even gone yet.”

And the way he looked at her then—like she was home—made her believe that everything good that came after the Games might actually last.

. . .

After a long, exhausting shift and visiting her friend, Y/N finally stepped through the door, the scent of something homey still lingering faintly in the air. Her muscles ached, and the weight of the day pressed against her shoulders—until she saw him.

Dae-ho immediately sat up from the couch the moment her figure appeared, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. His face lit up.

She smiled, her exhaustion softening into something gentler as she stepped behind the couch and leaned down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. Her chin rested lightly against his shoulder as her hands moved in front of him.

‘How was your day?’ she signed against his chest.

He turned his head slightly toward her, meeting her eyes as he signed and spoke softly, “Finally unpacked. Every last box. I’m officially moved in.”

Her smile grew. ‘Good.’

She kissed his cheek gently, then pulled something from her pocket and held it out in her palm—her apartment key.

His gaze dropped to it, then flicked up to her face, stunned for just a moment. His hand hovered before taking it, the key cool and light in his fingers, but the meaning behind it heavier than anything he’d held all day.

“You sure?” he asked, voice quiet.

She nodded. ‘You live here now. You should have a key.’

Dae-ho smiled, not the playful one he usually wore, but something quieter. Something deeply grateful. He turned to face her fully, pulling her down onto the couch beside him.

“I’m home,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

‘You are,’ she signed, curling into him.

And for the first time in a long time, they both felt it—peace.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss the top of her head again before signing with a dramatic flourish, “If you’re hungry, I made dinner.”

She grinned, eyes lighting up as she playfully signed back, ‘A stay-at-home boyfriend that cooks? I am in heaven.’

He smirked, standing up and offering her his hand like a gentleman. “Only the best for my hardworking girlfriend.”

She slipped her hand into his and stood, letting him guide her toward the kitchen.

‘This better be good,’ she signed with a teasing smile. ‘Or I’m filing a complaint with management.’

“Too late,” he said with a laugh, looking back over his shoulder. “Management’s in love with you.”

She suddenly stopped, her steps halting as she stared at him wide-eyed, having clearly caught what he’d just said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she signed slowly, her expression a mix of amusement and shock. ‘Management is what?’

His eyes went wide, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He slapped a palm over his mouth before frantically signing, choosing the safer route of silence. ‘I said… management isn’t taking complaints.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I think you read my lips wrong,’ he tried, his expression innocent.

She tilted her head, unimpressed. ‘I don’t read lips wrong.’

‘Bit cocky of you,’ he signed with a crooked grin. ‘You just might’ve this time.’

She stepped in closer, biting back her smile. ‘No… I think a certain management said he’s in love with me.’

He exhaled sharply, caught, and ran a hand through his hair before meeting her eyes with a crooked, sheepish smile.

‘Maybe he is. And maybe he’s a little terrified now.’

She leaned in, gently tugging on his shirt collar. ‘Tell him he doesn’t need to be.’

And she kissed him—sweet and slow, like a promise sealed with warmth.

She pulled back with a grin before signing, ‘I love you. Even when we only knew each other for a few days during the games, I knew I loved you and I would’ve done anything for you.’

[big-poppa23]

I actually live for your fics atp i was hoping we’d get more daeho soon?

Yes, definitely! I’m working on some deaf!reader chapters for him as well as other things.

Could never forget my first love and overhated babe

[big-poppa23]

The Wrong Kind of Right Part Two

synapse: an unexpected evening with his daughter’s teacher leaves gi-hun feeling something he hasn’t in years—at ease.

pairing: seong gi-hun x reader

contains: fluff, teacher!reader, age gap (reader is 25, he’s 47), pre-games gi-hun

. . .

Gi-hun paced back and forth outside a convenience store, phone in hand, thumb hovering over her contact. He got it from the bar that night. He’d stared at her name at least ten times since noon. He could’ve texted.

But he didn’t.

He wanted to hear her voice again. Wanted to know if last night meant something, or if it was just a shared moment in a half-lit bar that would vanish come daylight.

With a breath, he hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… it’s me. Gi-hun.”

There was a pause.

Then she laughed—not mockingly. Just amused. “Oh my god. You called me?”

He froze. “Shit—should I have texted? I just—sorry, I wasn’t trying to be weird or—”

“No, no,” she cut in quickly, still chuckling. “It’s just… really showing your age, Mr. Seong.”

His face went warm, and he leaned against the wall, half-groaning. “Great. Next you’ll say I’m gonna start texting with my index fingers and asking about Facebook updates.”

“Well, are you on Facebook?” she teased.

He sighed dramatically. “I was, but my mom kept tagging me in chain posts about garlic curing cancer.”

She burst out laughing again, the sound light and unguarded. “God, you’re such a dad.”

“I’m trying not to be offended.”

“Don’t be,” she said, her voice softening. “It’s actually kind of sweet.”

A brief pause followed.

He smiled, even if she couldn’t see it. “I just wanted to check in. You were okay, right? After last night?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “A little hungover during math class, but nothing fifth graders haven’t seen before.”

He snorted. “Glad you survived.”

“I’m glad you called.”

The words landed heavier than she maybe intended. And Gi-hun felt it. All of it.

The warmth. The interest. The choice.

He stood up straighter.

“Well… I was thinking,” he said slowly, “if you’re free this weekend, maybe we could grab something. Food. Drinks. Coffee. I won’t even order anything old and depressing.”

Y/N smiled on her end. He could hear it.

“You asking me out, Mr. Seong?”

He scratched his cheek, sheepish. “I was trying to make it sound casual and cool.”

“Well, in that case…” she teased, “how could I possibly say no?”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes,” she answered with a chuckle, “I’ll go out with you.”

Gi-hun shifted the phone to his other ear as he sat at a bus stop bench, one leg bouncing restlessly like a schoolboy before a crush.

“Great. So I was thinking,” he began quickly, words spilling in his usual nervous rush, “there’s this kalguksu place near my apartment—it’s cheap, but like, really good. They give you free kimchi refills. Or there’s that tteokbokki stall across the street from the train station—wait, that one might be closed on weekends. Or there’s a pojangmacha under the bridge—super casual, just stools and soju and—”

“Gi-hun.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

Y/N’s voice on the other end was calm. Warm. “Breathe.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Sorry. I just—wanted to pick somewhere nice. But like… you know. Reasonable. Not flashy. Not too cheap-looking either. Just… nice-cheap.”

She chuckled. “You’re overthinking.”

“I do that,” he admitted. “Especially when I’m… trying not to mess something up.”

There was a pause on her end, then:

“Why don’t you come over to my place instead?”

Gi-hun froze.

“You cook?” he asked, surprised.

“I make a mean kimchi jjigae,” she said. “And I have real rice. Not the sad convenience store kind.”

He laughed again, this time more relaxed. “That does sound fancy.”

“We can eat, talk, maybe watch something if we feel like it. No pressure. No crowds. And no worrying about how many bills are in your wallet.”

His chest ached a little at that—not from pride, but from how gently she’d said it. No judgment. No pity. Just…honesty.

“You sure?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

He smiled down at the pavement, heart thudding like he was sixteen. “Then yeah. I’d love that.”

“Saturday?”

“Saturday.”

“And Gi-hun?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring your appetite.”

. . .

Her place was small, warm, and lived-in, with soft lighting, a faint citrusy-clean scent, and a tiny potted plant on every available surface. Gi-hun stood awkwardly near the door at first, clutching a bottle of cider he picked up from the store—because wine felt too formal, and beer too sad.

“You can sit, you know,” Y/N teased, glancing at him from the kitchen as she stirred something bubbling on the stove. “I don’t bite.”

He stepped further in, careful not to bump anything. “You say that, but last time I saw you, you drank tequila like you were training for the Olympics.”

She grinned over her shoulder. “Don’t tempt me.”

The rice cooker let out a soft click. The smell of kimchi jjigae drifted through the small space, and Gi-hun, sitting now on the floor cushion near the low table, let out an exaggerated sigh. “You sure you’re not secretly a chef? Because this smells like heaven.”

Y/N carried over the pot, cheeks a little flushed from the heat. “It’s just comfort food. Don’t expect anything Michelin.”

He helped her set the table, fumbling a bit with the chopsticks until she gently corrected his grip with a laugh. “How did you survive this long?”

“Shame,” he said with a straight face. “Pure shame.”

They ate. They laughed. And Gi-hun kept surprising her—every time he made her laugh so hard she had to cover her mouth, every time he paused mid-sentence to ask her a question instead of talking about himself. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t even sit too close. But the way he looked at her, the way he really saw her—it made her stomach feel lighter than any drink had.

After dinner, they moved to the couch with mugs of barley tea. She tucked her legs up beneath her, cozy in an oversized sweater, and Gi-hun—leaning back, one arm resting across the back of the couch—looked more at ease than she’d ever seen him.

“I’ve gotta say,” he said, sipping his tea, “this is probably the most peaceful Saturday night I’ve had in… God, years.”

“I’m honored,” she teased. “Do I beat out the pojangmacha and triangle kimbap?”

He smirked. “Barely. You’ve got stiff competition.”

She nudged his leg.

Then, after a beat of silence, she asked, “So… how weird is this for you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, the part where I’m in a pretty woman’s apartment eating actual food? Or the part where I didn’t screw it up yet?”

She rolled her eyes, amused. “The part where I’m younger than you. Like… a lot younger.”

Gi-hun leaned forward slightly, his grin crooked. “Yeah, well… I’d be worried if you were still learning long division.”

She laughed.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I know I’ve got a few more gray hairs and… maybe a few more regrets. But you don’t treat me like I’m some washed-up ajusshi with a lotto problem.”

“You’re not,” she said, quietly but firmly.

He looked at her, really looked at her. “Yeah… but most people don’t bother to find that out.”

The air shifted. Warm. Still. Her eyes didn’t leave his.

“You’re not just some kid to me either,” he added, softer now. “You’re… scary smart. You care about people. And you laugh at my terrible jokes, so either you’re kind or you’ve got bad taste.”

She smiled, slowly. “Maybe both.”

And there, in that small moment on her couch, the age difference faded into something that didn’t feel so big anymore. Just two people—flawed, tired, hopeful—meeting in the middle of their very different lives.

They sat side by side on the couch, the glow of the television painting them in soft, flickering blue. Some old black-and-white film played in the background, the kind where everyone talked fast and fell in love even faster. Neither of them were really watching anymore.

Y/N leaned back into the cushions, relaxed, one leg tucked beneath her. Gi-hun sat close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then, but never lingered. He’d been careful all night—respectful, light-hearted, and yet completely present.

He glanced sideways at her between scenes, watching how her eyes crinkled when she smiled at something small. And in that moment, the thought struck him: I could get used to this.

A silence settled again, and she spoke quietly.

“You’re not what I expected, Gi-hun.”

He turned his head toward her. “You keep saying that. Should I be worried?”

“No,” she said, eyes still on the screen. “It’s a compliment. I just didn’t expect to feel this… comfortable. With you.”

He smiled to himself.

Then glanced at the clock on the wall.

11:53 PM.

His shoulders shifted. “Shit… I should probably get going.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked to him. “You sure? I can walk you, if you want.”

Gi-hun shook his head, standing slowly, brushing invisible lint off his pants. “Nah. I’d hate for your neighbors to think I was some high school boyfriend getting walked out by his girlfriend’s mom.”

She snorted, tossing a pillow at him.

He caught it with one hand and gave her a boyish grin.

She followed him to the door, arms loosely crossed, the comfort of the evening hanging between them like a heavy curtain no one wanted to pull back.

He turned to her, hand on the doorknob now, hesitating.

His eyes searched hers. Something was bubbling up behind them—an unspoken question, a pull he wasn’t sure he had the right to answer.

He leaned forward just a little. Close enough to kiss her.

But he stopped.

Right there. A breath away.

She watched him falter. Saw the fear and doubt flicker across his face—and made her choice.

Gently, she reached up and kissed him.

Soft. Certain. No theatrics. No hesitation.

Just warmth.

When she pulled back, their foreheads nearly touched, and her voice came out low and certain:

“I was hoping you’d try.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, eyes still closed. “You make it hard to be a gentleman, you know.”

“Then stop trying.”

He kissed her again, this time slower.

And outside, the city moved on.

But inside her apartment, time held still.

They stood there, her hand still resting lightly on his chest, his fingers brushing her cheek like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Gi-hun smiled—crooked and quiet—and let out a breathy laugh. “Okay,” he murmured, “now it’s really getting hard to leave.”

Y/N leaned her head slightly against the doorframe, eyes warm. “Then don’t.”

He tilted his head. “Careful. I’ll take you seriously.”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Would that be so bad?”

“No,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s what scares me.”

For a moment, they just stood there in that hush—two people neither rushing nor resisting what was happening between them. But eventually, Gi-hun sighed, glancing at the time again on her microwave clock.

“I should go,” he said softly. “Before it turns into tomorrow.”

Y/N’s smile dipped, but she nodded.

He stepped back an inch.

Then paused.

And leaned in one last time.

This kiss was different. No hesitation. No nerves. Just something slow, full, and meaningful—like he was saying thank you, like he was memorizing her.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting briefly against hers.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

“Of course you will,” she whispered.

He smiled, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

Then—one last glance over his shoulder.

And she was still there, framed in the doorway like a scene from a movie.

He gave her a small wave, then turned and walked down the stairs, his heart full and heavy all at once.

And as she shut the door behind him, both of them already missed the other.

. . .

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft thud.

Gi-hun let out a breath as he leaned back against it, his tiny apartment dark and silent except for the hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of the hallway light outside.

His place was cluttered. Small. Kind of cold.

But for once, he didn’t feel the weight of it.

He kicked off his shoes, loosened his collar, and smiled to himself as he tossed his keys on the table. His cheek still tingled from her kiss, and his lips—still warm. He hadn’t felt this kind of nervous energy since his twenties. He kind of liked it. And kind of didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

He was about to sit when his phone buzzed on the counter.

Y/N

Calling…

He froze—then answered quickly, like he’d been waiting for it all night.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Miss me already?”

“Obviously,” she teased on the other end. “But mostly I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

He smiled, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I’m alive. Didn’t even trip once. Proud of me?”

“Impressed, actually. That sidewalk’s a menace.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “You didn’t have to call. I mean, people your age usually just send a cryptic emoji and vanish.”

“Oh, trust me, I debated it but figured I’d spare you.”

He laughed, tired but happy. “Well… thanks. It’s nice. Hearing your voice again.”

There was a small pause on her end—just long enough to mean something.

“I had a good time tonight,” she said. “Really.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a little too eagerly.

“Yeah. You make it easy to forget the rest of the week exists.”

He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks warm. “You know, I was gonna ask… if you’re not sick of me by then, how would you feel about next Saturday?”

A beat.

“Another date?” she asked.

“Yeah. My place this time. I’ll clean. I’ll even cook if you like instant ramyeon and shame.”

Y/N laughed. “I like both of those things.”

“So you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

Gi-hun leaned his head back, grinning at the ceiling like a teenager. “Okay then. Saturday. I’ll bring the good paper bowls.”

“You better.”

There was a soft silence again. Comfortable.

Neither of them seemed ready to hang up.

“Get some sleep,” she finally said, voice soft.

“You too,” he replied.

“Goodnight, Gi-hun.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He ended the call, let the phone drop beside him on the bed, and sat in the quiet again—smiling like he hadn’t in years.

Next Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

[big-poppa23]

OKAY FIRST OF ALL—deep breathes—THANK YOU SM FOR DOING MY REQUEST!!!! *slides into your DMs with tears in my eyes* HELLOOOO. 'Cross My Heart' WAS SO GOOD???? I just finished and wow wow wow, u exceeded all my expectations 🥹 i’m emotionally compromised now in the best way possible 😭❤️‍🩹 the way you wrote Nam-gyu so accurately and emotionally had me in a CHOKEHOLD. i'm saur obsessed. u nailed everything—the angst, fluff, tension, drama, n chemistry was chef’s kiss 💋 thank you sm for taking the time to make it so perfect, i'm gonna reread it 10 times now lol 💘 tysm for blessing us w/ this gem!! OKAY REAL TALK THO—what if you wrote an alt ending where he survives and she doesn't? like Nam-gyu winning but she still loses? 🥺👉👈 i would cry (in the best way) if you ever felt like exploring that. The ANGST. THE PAIN. i would simply ascend. (Only if you’re up for it, obvi!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼) no rush, just… think about it. stares into your soul with hope. Either way, ILYSM and ur fic lives in my mind rent-free now 💔 🫶🏼

Cross My Heart Part Two

synapse: nam-gyu saved y/n’s life multiple times—now in return she saves his

pairing: nam-gyu x reader

contains: blood, angst, death, implications of smut (for a flashback)

a/n: sorry if this is extremely short—I didn’t know how to continue this. Also just me or am I the only one who doesn’t hate Nam-gyu or Min-su cuz it seems like 90% of the fandom hates one or the other but me? I DO hate Myung-gi (Not Yim Siwan ofc) because he killed my wife Hyun-ju but omg he has such pretty privilege because even the creator Hwang Dong-hyuk confirmed he would’ve dropped his own child “he tries to look the other way, prioritizing his own interests, immediate financial gain, and greed. He seeks his own interests even at the expense of the baby.” But half of the fandom: 🧑‍🦯

. . .

Min-su didn’t say another word.

He simply turned.

Nam-gyu’s breath caught as he watched him walk toward the edge of the platform. For a second, he thought he might toss it over — into the pit — and that would be the end of it. But instead, with an effortless flick of his wrist, Min-su threw the cross forward.

It landed in the center of the bridge with a dull, almost mocking thud — right between the first two rope swings, the twisted metal glinting under the harsh lights.

Min-su turned back, pointing. “If you want it, go get it.”

Nam-gyu’s jaw clenched. He took a step forward and grabbed Min-su by the front of his jacket like he meant to snap — to shove him, hurt him, maybe worse.

But Min-su didn’t flinch.

He just slapped Nam-gyu’s hands off him. “What’s the matter?” he hissed, eyes narrow. “You scared? You fucking loser.”

The insult didn’t land.

Nam-gyu just stood there, staring at him — eyes red-rimmed and tired — before turning to look at the necklace again. Then at Y/N.

She was still by the wall, pale and swaying slightly, bloodstained bandage tight around her hand, her ankle swollen beneath her pant leg.

He exhaled a quiet breath.

And then turned and walked back to her. “I’ll be back,” he said softly.

She looked at him, voice low and fraying. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just gonna grab it,” he said, nodding toward the bridge. “Jump back with it. Take one… then I’m gonna carry you. I’m gonna carry you across that bridge.”

Her eyes widened. “Nam-gyu, please…”

He gave a small, shaky grin. “I’ll feel invincible. Like… like Superman or something. We cross that bridge, and we’re one step away from getting out.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh — bitter, hopeless. “Nam-gyu… no offense, but that plan is fucking stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “But I need to do this. For both of us.”

And then — before she could stop him — he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Real.

His lips lingered just long enough to say everything he never had — and maybe never would again. He’d never kissed her before. Not even during all the bathroom hookups and shadowy stolen moments. Kissing was too vulnerable, too intimate. It meant feeling something.

But now, it was all he had left.

When he pulled away, her eyes were glassy, wide.

That didn’t feel like an “I’ll be right back.”

It felt like a goodbye.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don’t do this…”

Nam-gyu looked at her one more time, like he was memorizing her.

Then he turned toward the bridge.

And started walking toward the edge — toward the rope — toward the cross lying still in the middle of death.

Nam-gyu ran a shaky hand through his hair, sweat slicking his fingers, his eyes locked on the massive rope slowly spinning ahead of him. It rose overhead in a wide arc like a swinging guillotine.

Now.

He jumped.

Shoes hit wood with a hollow thud as he landed on all fours. He crouched, panting, watching the rope come down again. Too fast. He threw himself forward, just in time, and landed hard on his knees.

Crawl. Jump. Crawl. Jump.

The pattern became his heartbeat.

On the platform behind him, Y/N flinched every time the rope swept across the bridge. Her chest was tight, her hands trembling as she braced against the wall, eyes never leaving him. Every close call scraped a fresh layer of panic across her ribs.

He was getting closer.

And then — he reached it.

The cross.

It glinted up at him from the wooden plank like some cruel little prize. He grabbed it, fingers fumbling over the tiny clasp as the rope came swinging in again. He jumped without looking, barely clearing it, the edge of his shoe grazing the rope by millimeters.

Then he opened it.

And everything stopped.

Empty.

The inside of the cross gleamed silver — smooth, hollow. Not a single pill.

His chest stopped rising. His breath caught. It felt like the world narrowed to that tiny realization.

Min-su had emptied it.

He looked up, dazed, and turned his head.

Y/N’s eyes were already on him — wide and wet with tears, her lips moving soundlessly at first.

Then her voice broke through the air:

“Jump!”

He didn’t hear her the first time.

“Jump, Nam-gyu!” she screamed again, louder.

He blinked.

And moved.

With a sharp yell, he vaulted over the rope, landing hard but still upright. The cross clenched in his fist like a useless charm. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Y/N’s voice kept coming.

“Jump! Now!”

“GO!”

“You’ve got it—just GO!”

It became his rhythm. Her voice. Her faith.

He reached a wide gap — a missing plank stretched too far. If he mistimed it, it was over. He paused, breathing hard, bouncing lightly on his feet as he waited for the rope to pass. Then — he leapt, just barely clearing the gap.

The landing was rough. He stumbled, the cross slipping from his hand and clattering on the wood. It rolled once, then slipped over the edge, falling silently into the black pit below.

He didn’t look.

Didn’t have time.

He pushed himself forward and kept going.

Until finally —

His feet hit solid ground. The far platform. Safety.

Nam-gyu collapsed to his knees, arms shaking. He was alive.

Back on the other side, Y/N let out a heavy breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her knees threatened to buckle. She pushed her damp hair back, her fingers smudged with blood and sweat.

Her eyes flicked to Min-su.

He stood off to the side, unreadable. She understood why he did it. Revenge. Power. Maybe even fear. But the sight of him sending Nam-gyu into that hell on purpose still twisted in her stomach.

Nam-gyu looked back at her across the bridge. His voice carried, hoarse but proud. “Don’t worry, baby! I’m coming back for you!”

She managed a nod, swallowing the knot in her throat. Slowly, painfully, she stood, one hand braced against the wall.

But before he could return, more players jumped onto the bridge — desperate, scrambling. Their bodies blocked his path. Too many at once.

He couldn’t come back yet.

And now Y/N had to wonder: Would he still be able to… when the moment came?

Player after player crossed.

Some with desperate precision. Some with fear in their eyes. Some who never made it to the other side at all.

The sound of bodies hitting the planks or the absence of them entirely became a metronome of dread. One moment filled with hope. The next, silence.

Y/N stood back against the wall, her hand pressed flat against the cool surface for balance, sweat trickling down her spine as the numbers dwindled. Fewer players remained on her side now. Fewer chances. Fewer voices.

Then she saw her.

Player 222.

The woman who’d once been pregnant. Who’d somehow carried a child through hell.

The baby, Y/N remembered, had been carried across earlier by 456, swaddled tightly, already safe on the far side.

But the mother wasn’t.

Y/N watched as 222 stepped closer to the bridge, limping. Hesitant. Her movements shaky but determined. She bounced lightly on her good foot, tried a small jump—

And nearly fell sideways.

Her ankle twisted under her weight. She gritted her teeth, but the pain was plain in her face. That ankle… Y/N knew that kind of pain.

It was just like hers.

Broken. Damaged. Not built for jumping games.

But the woman didn’t stop. She tried again, eyes on her child across the bridge.

Y/N’s throat burned.

She pushed off the wall.

Willed herself upright.

She hobbled forward, slowly — one step, then another, until she stood beside the wall, facing the bridge, mirroring 222.

And she tried.

Just one jump.

Pain lanced up her leg like a bolt of lightning, hot and sharp. Her knee buckled, and she nearly collapsed back into the wall. A soft gasp slipped from her lips as her injured foot screamed beneath her. Her vision blurred.

But still…she stayed standing.

The pain radiated up her body, her bandaged hand throbbing in time with her heartbeat, but her gaze didn’t leave 222.

Because in that moment, they weren’t competitors.

They were fighters. Women who should’ve been dead ten times over.

And yet they stood.

Barely.

But they stood.

As the last player landed on the far platform, Nam-gyu didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him out of the way with a snarl. “Fucking move!”

He turned to the bridge, eyes locked on the far side where she still stood —alone.

He stepped toward it.

But then his eyes flicked to the glowing red timer on the wall.

1 minute, 30 seconds.

That was all the time he had to make it there and back. To save her. To not die.

Y/N saw him.

Saw the panic in his eyes.

Saw his foot inch toward the first plank.

“No!” she screamed. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

He froze, startled. Eyes wide, breath catching in his chest as he looked up at her.

“Don’t come back here for me,” she called out, her voice cracking. “You won’t have enough time!”

He shook his head furiously. “I said I was gonna come back, and I am!”

“No!” she screamed again, louder this time. Desperate. “You made it. I didn’t. There’s no point. No point in risking your life for me!”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“Because if you come back… and we both die when that timer runs out—” Her voice trembled. She took a limping step closer to the bridge, to him. “Then everything we’ve done to get here… everything we survived… it will mean nothing.” Her eyes locked with his. “You got me this far. Alive. You saved me when I couldn’t save myself. Let me help this time.”

Nam-gyu’s whole body tensed. His fists clenched at his sides, eyes flicking between her and the timer. 0:57.

She limped right to the edge now, right where the first plank began, pain written in every movement. “Save yourself…and let me go.”

His jaw trembled. Tears welled in his eyes, burning. “I—” he breathed, choking on it. “I only made it this far because you were there.” His voice broke. “I can’t do this without you.”

Her voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You did, Nam-gyu. You crossed the bridge without the pills. You didn’t need them. And you don’t need me.”

He stepped forward again—

“Nam-gyu.” Her voice stopped him like a blade. “You didn’t need me before the Games. I know that scared kid. I saw him in you. And I know you can finish this.”

His lip quivered. His hands trembled.

0:40

His eyes drank her in. The blood on her jacket. The bruises. Her ankle. The way she was standing just a little straighter for him.

Y/N gave him one last look—soft, loving, final.

Y/N glanced beside the bridge, her vision blurred at the edges from tears and exhaustion. On the opposite side, near the far wall, she saw Player 222 standing in mirrored stillness.

She was locked in the same impossible moment.

Y/N watched her call something out to 456, her arms shaking, her head low. The baby was already safe, cradled in 456’s arms — a bundle wrapped in a jacket on the far side of safety.

It hit Y/N then.

They were both about to make the same choice.

Y/N turned and limped over to the woman. She didn’t know her name. They had never spoken. Never exchanged anything more than glances across the dorm. But she stood beside her now, side by side, like they’d been allies all along.

She reached out and gently took the woman’s hand.

222 looked at her.

Their eyes locked.

And in that shared look, no words were needed.

Just pain. Just understanding. Just peace.

Twenty seconds left.

Y/N gave her hand a soft squeeze.

No tears. Not anymore. Just calm.

The platform felt steady beneath their feet. For once, the shaking came from within.

They inched forward together, closer to the edge.

0:11

Nam-gyu, still frozen at the far side of the bridge, watched. He didn’t even have the breath to scream anymore. His lips parted. His chest rose once.

Y/N didn’t look at him again.

She and 222 stepped forward.

And with no hesitation—

They both stepped off the edge.

There were no cries. No panic.

Just the sound of wind rushing past.

And then—

A soft, barely audible thud.

No one moved.

And then came the voice.

“Player 222, eliminated. Player 123, eliminated.”

Nam-gyu didn’t move at first.

He didn’t breathe.

He just stood there, at the edge of the bridge, staring at the spot where she’d been only seconds before.

Where her eyes had locked with his for the last time.

Where her voice, strong even when broken, had told him to go. To live.

And now she was gone.

His knees gave out slowly, silently, as if the weight of what had just happened was physically pulling him into the ground. He sank to a crouch, then to his hands, gripping the cold planks of the bridge beneath him. His breath hitched once, then again, but no sound came out. His throat locked shut, too tight to cry, too choked to scream.

He crawled forward until his chest was pressed against the last beam of the bridge, and he looked over the edge.

Far below, where the shadows swallowed everything, he saw her.

Y/N.

Her body crumpled on the concrete floor, her arm splayed awkwardly across her chest, her face turned just slightly to the side like she was only sleeping. Like if he called to her one more time, she’d stir and open her eyes.

But she didn’t.

Her blood pooled slowly beneath her, dark and quiet.

Nam-gyu’s fingers curled into the edge of the bridge until his knuckles cracked.

His lips parted again, but no sound came out.

Just a low, shuddering exhale.

Tears finally welled in his eyes, and one slipped free, trailing down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t move.

She was gone.

The only person who saw him—all of him—and stayed.

The one who had saved him without needing anything in return.

And she died without a scream. Without a whimper. Just stepped off the edge like she’d already made peace with the fall.

Nam-gyu buried his face in his arms, pressing it against the cold metal.

And for the first time since entering the Games—

He cried.

Not angry tears.

Not frustration.

But grief.

The kind that hollowed you out from the inside.

The kind that made survival feel like a punishment.

She was gone.

And he had to keep living without her.

The quiet didn’t last.

Soft footsteps approached from behind— hesitant, uneven.

Nam-gyu didn’t look up, not right away. But he heard them.

And then a shadow stretched beside him.

Min-su.

He stepped carefully to the edge, his breath shaky as he looked down. His eyes scanned the shadows below until they landed on her.

Y/N.

Her body still. Her face pale and lifeless.

He didn’t speak, but his lips trembled. Regret poured off him in waves, visible in the way his shoulders collapsed, the way his knees nearly buckled beneath him. His eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them away like he didn’t deserve to cry for her.

Because deep down, he knew.

This was his fault.

He was the reason she couldn’t jump.

He was the reason she was left behind.

He was the reason she died.

Nam-gyu’s breathing shifted — something darker now.

His head slowly lifted, bloodshot eyes burning through the blur.

He looked up at Min-su.

And then he moved.

Without a word, he lunged.

The scream that left him wasn’t made of pain anymore — it was something animal. He tackled Min-su with full force, both of them crashing onto the cold platform with a violent thud.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Nam-gyu roared, his voice cracked and hoarse. “You did this to her!”

Min-su barely had time to react before Nam-gyu was straddling him.

“I told her I’d save her!” he screamed. “She was supposed to live!”

But before he could throw the first punch—

The guards shoved him back with force, one pressing the barrel of a gun to his chest.

He stopped moving.

Breathing hard.

Chest heaving.

Min-su stood off to the side, not fighting it. Just standing. Hollow.

Nam-gyu’s eyes burned holes through him. “You should’ve jumped,” he hissed. “You should’ve gone over that edge instead of her, you fucking rat. She cared about you and she’s dead.”

No one said anything after that.

Not the guards. Not Min-su. Not even the voice overhead.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Only one game remained.

And they were walking into it with blood on their hands.

. . .

Nam-gyu didn’t remember walking out of the game.

He didn’t remember the weight of the guards’ hands on his shoulders, or the shuffle of broken bodies beside him as they were herded back down those cursed pastel staircases. He didn’t register the swirling walls of blue, yellow, pink — the childlike maze they’d all crawled through like rats for someone’s entertainment.

Everything was noise.

Muffled.

Gone.

He didn’t fully realize where he was until he stepped into the dormitory again — colder now, emptier than ever. Even the piggy bank above seemed quieter, heavier with her absence.

He didn’t look at anyone.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t exist in the same way anymore.

He just walked.

One foot in front of the other, until he found a bed. It wasn’t their bed. There was no such thing anymore. But he sat down anyway, slowly lowering himself like he was made of glass.

Then he lay down.

Faced the wall.

Turned his back to the world.

And imagined that the small space beside him wasn’t empty.

That she was there.

Warm. Breathing. Her fingers gently threading through his hair like she had the night he shivered through withdrawal. Whispering that he was okay. That he was safe. That tomorrow, they’d get through it together.

But there was no warmth.

Just cold cotton and the weight of what he’d lost.

Maybe this was his punishment.

He let the thoughts come now — all of them.

The first day. The moment he leaned over to Thanos and said they didn’t need women in their group.

The moment he looked her up and down and thought she was hot and nothing more.

The first time they snuck away to the bathroom and he yanked her by the hair, refused to kiss her because it felt too intimate. Too close. Too real.

The time he called her just a good fuck — as if that was all she was.

If he’d known—

If he’d known that her voice would become the thing he needed to hear just to move…

If he’d known that one day, she’d be the reason he jumped over death…

If he’d known that he would come back to a bed without her, to a night without her hand in his—

Maybe he would’ve kissed her sooner.

Maybe he would’ve been gentle.

Maybe he would’ve tried to be the kind of man she deserved.

But he hadn’t been.

And now all he had was a memory.

Nam-gyu pulled the thin blanket up over his shoulder and shut his eyes.

And for the first time in the Games…

He didn’t want to wake up.

He tried to think about anything else.

The final game.

The money.

Living.

But all Nam-gyu could see was her.

Her voice, her breath, the way she used to look at him like she wasn’t sure whether to slap him or laugh in his face. And of all the memories clawing through his brain like broken glass, it was that night that came back the strongest.

The first night in the bathroom.

He was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, his foot tapping lightly against the cracked tile floor. The buzz from the pill Thanos had slipped him still thrummed through his system, warm and electric, making his skin feel too tight. He’d been impatient, twitchy, bored — and he’d looked across the dormitory and seen her.

Y/N. Attractive and just as bored.

So he’d told her, casually, like it meant nothing: “Bathroom. If you’re down.”

Didn’t care if she rolled her eyes. Didn’t care if she came.

But he waited.

Took a piss. Washed his hands. Leaned against the sink again.

Waited longer.

Then the door creaked open.

And she walked in.

He grinned, cocky. “Thought you weren’t gonna come.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I had nothing better to do.”

He pushed off the sink slowly, circling closer. “You sure it wasn’t because you actually want me?”

She scoffed. “Please. If I could pick anyone to sleep with, I’d pick Thanos. This is just for fun. I’m barely interested in doing this with someone who’d probably last three seconds.”

He didn’t say a word right away.

He just stopped in front of her. Close.

Close enough to feel the heat of her.

His fingers reached for her zipper, slow and deliberate, pulling it down inch by inch. Her tracksuit parted, revealing the curve of her chest, the outline of her hips under the thin, stretched fabric of her shirt.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t flinch.

Just watched.

“You sure about that?” he murmured.

His hand slid up her stomach — slow, teasing — until it reached her chest. His palm cupped one breast gently, thumb brushing the fabric as he leaned in, breath warm against her cheek.

“I’ll last so much longer than you think,” he whispered. “And when I’m done, you’ll come back for more.”

Her lashes fluttered.

Then closed as she inhaled softly, the breath catching ever so slightly. “Prove me wrong,” she said.

And he did.

He pushed her gently back toward the stalls, their bodies tangled before the door even closed.

No kissing.

No tenderness.

Just lust.

Just fire.

Nam-gyu curled tighter into himself, still facing the wall, teeth clenched.

He thought he had control back then. Thought he’d kept it casual. Cold. Distant.

But the truth was—

That night had never left him.

It was where everything started to unravel. Where he’d felt something shift, something dangerous. And he’d ignored it. Pushed it down. Treated her like she didn’t matter so he wouldn’t have to admit that she already did.

He wished he could go back.

And kiss her that night.

Not because it would’ve changed everything…

But because she deserved to be kissed like she mattered.

Like she was everything.

Because she had been.

And now she was gone.

Nam-gyu didn’t move when the metal doors hissed open.

He didn’t flinch when the guards walked in — their boots echoing across the dormitory floor like distant thunder.

He only looked up when he saw the piggy bank light up above them, casting a cold glow over the entire room.

Click.

The familiar sound of the cash chute unlocking.

And then it began.

A thick waterfall of bills came pouring down into the glass chamber above them, spinning and fluttering like it was something to celebrate. Money that had once looked like salvation.

Now it looked like blood.

One of the guards stepped forward, voice cold and clinical beneath the mask.

“Sixteen players eliminated during the fifth game. We now have nine players remaining. The prize money accumulated to this point is 44.6 billion won, and each person’s share is 4.86 billion won.”

An argument broke out among the greedy players. The baby was now a player in place of 222’s number.

Nam-gyu didn’t move. He didn’t care anymore.

His eyes stayed fixed on the piggy bank above.

₩100,000,000.

That was what one life was worth.

That’s all it cost to kill someone.

That’s all she was worth to them.

She, who had risked her life to calm him through his worst nights. Who had stood on a broken ankle and told him to live. Who gave up everything she had left so he could go on.

And in the end…

₩100,000,000.

He stared at the last of the bills as they spiraled down through the glass. 

They used to remind him of escape.

Now, they just reminded him of her body on the floor. Her blood soaking the concrete. Her voice telling him go.

Nam-gyu swallowed hard, jaw locking.

They turned her into a number.

A bet.

A prize.

And he’d let them.

The weight of 4.86 billion won hung in the air like a curse.

Because no amount of money could bring her back.

“It’s not your fault,” a soft voice said.

Nam-gyu’s breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side — to the empty space on the narrow cot beside him.

Except it wasn’t empty.

She was there.

Y/N.

Lying on her side like she’d been there all along, her head resting on her arm, hair fanned across the pillow. Her face was calm, eyes soft, like none of it had happened — like her body hadn’t shattered on the concrete below, like she hadn’t told him goodbye with a voice full of love and pain and goodbye all at once.

He stared at her.

His lips parted.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t trust himself to. Didn’t trust this to be real.

She smiled faintly, eyes on his. “I made my choice to save you,” she said gently. “And I don’t regret it. Because I know…”

She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his hand — not quite touching, just close enough to make him feel the ache of the distance.

“…I know you’ll survive this.”

He blinked. “I—” His voice cracked. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “You crossed the bridge without the pills. You saved yourself. You can keep going.”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered. “Not without you.”

“I know.” She shifted closer — almost touching. “But if I had stayed, if you had come back for me… we’d both be dead now.”

He looked down, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“I didn’t want to lose you either.” Her voice was thick now, sad but full of something warmer. “But I wasn’t supposed to be the one who made it out. You were. That’s why I let go.”

She leaned forward, her forehead barely brushing his although he couldn’t feel her. Couldn’t feel her warmth.

“Don’t waste what I gave you, Nam-gyu.”

His eyes closed, and when he opened them—

She was gone.

The bed beside him was empty again.

Just a cold sheet. A blank space.

But for the first time since she fell…

He didn’t feel alone.

[big-poppa23]

The Wrong Kind of Right

synapse: before everything fell apart, he met her—a young teacher with a bruised heart and a reason to look twice. he wasn’t what she expected. she was everything he never thought he’d deserve.

pairing: seong gi-hun x reader

contains: age gap, teacher!reader (before the games)

a/n: cutie gi-hun before the games hurt him. had to write for him since there’s still nothing for him

PART TWO

. . .

The classroom was mostly quiet now, bathed in the soft amber of a late afternoon sun. Chalk dust floated lazily in the light, catching in the stillness like snowflakes that forgot how to fall. Y/N was bent beside Ga-yeong’s desk, zipping up the little girl’s pink backpack while chatting with her in a gentle, encouraging tone. Ga-yeong smiled, shy and reserved, but it was the kind of smile that only bloomed when she felt safe.

“Your dad’s just a little late, but that’s okay,” Y/N murmured, brushing a hand over the child’s hair. “You did so well on your reading quiz today. I’m proud of you.”

The classroom door creaked open.

“Ah, shit—”

A breathless voice, followed by hurried footsteps and the rustling of a too-thin jacket.

Y/N straightened and turned.

Seong Gi-hun stood there, wide-eyed, flushed from running, one shoelace untied and a plastic convenience store bag crinkling in his hand. His face was apologetic and nervous and—somehow—still charming, in a chaotic, slightly disheveled way.

“Sorry—I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “Traffic was… Well, actually, I missed the bus, and then I—never mind, I’m here.”

Y/N blinked once, then smiled. Not a customer service smile. A real one. The kind people give when they’re not sure what to make of you yet, but they’re curious.

“You must be Ga-yeong’s father.”

“That obvious, huh?” he huffed, trying to catch his breath as he walked over. “I’m Gi-hun. Seong Gi-hun.”

“I’m Y/N,” she replied, offering her hand. “Y/N L/N. I’m her homeroom teacher.”

He shook her hand, trying not to notice how soft hers was—or how young she looked up close. Twenty-something, maybe. Probably straight out of university. And she was his daughter’s teacher? Jesus.

“She’s doing really well,” Y/N added, glancing at Ga-yeong with a fond look that didn’t feel rehearsed. “She’s quiet, but when she opens up… you’ve raised a very thoughtful girl.”

That hit him in the chest harder than he expected.

“I, uh… Thank you. I try. Her mom does most of the… you know. Good parenting.” He laughed, awkward and self-deprecating, and rubbed the back of his neck.

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “Well, showing up matters too.”

He looked at her then—really looked. And for a second, something unspoken passed between them. She saw it all: the tiredness behind his eyes, the worn soles on his shoes, the flicker of guilt he tried to smother with jokes. But also the love. So much love, it clung to him like second skin.

Ga-yeong stood up, slinging on her backpack. “Appa, I told her you like cake.”

Gi-hun blinked. “Wha—? You told her that?”

“She said birthdays were important.”

Y/N grinned. “She told me yours was coming up.”

“Oh, well… I mean, it’s not a big deal. I’m just turning…” He trailed off, eyes flicking back to Y/N. “Older.”

Her eyes sparkled. “That’s a great age.”

And just like that, Seong Gi-hun—father, failure, gambler, soft-hearted mess—felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Gi-hun gave an awkward chuckle, stuffing the crinkled plastic bag deeper into his jacket pocket like it might hide the fact he brought his daughter instant triangle kimbap and a melted Choco Pie for dinner.

“Well,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I should probably… get this one home. Before she starts charging me overtime.”

Ga-yeong giggled, grabbing her father’s hand without hesitation.

Y/N smiled at the two of them, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Seong. Let me know if you ever want to schedule a conference. Or… you know. Just talk.”

He paused, caught off guard by how sincerely she said it. No pressure in her tone, just quiet kindness.

“Right,” he nodded, fumbling slightly. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll do that.”

They turned to leave, Ga-yeong humming something under her breath, swinging their arms.

But as they stepped into the hall, Gi-hun glanced back.

Y/N was still standing in the doorway of the classroom, arms folded, leaning slightly against the frame. She was watching him—not expectantly, not flirtatiously, just… curiously. Like she hadn’t quite figured him out yet, but wanted to.

He gave a small wave. She returned it with a smile.

He turned again, guiding Ga-yeong toward the school doors.

Then, ten steps later, he looked back again.

She was still there.

God, why was he looking back again?

Because no one had looked at him like that in years—not with pity, not with suspicion—but like he might actually still be something good.

He smiled to himself, barely noticeable, and turned back for the last time.

But her image stayed with him all the way home.

. . .

Y/N glanced at the clock on the wall—7:48 p.m. The night had been a blur of faces and voices: polite mothers in pressed coats, fathers checking their watches between compliments and critiques, and a few tired grandparents doing their best. All of them gone now, except for one last name on her list.

Seong Gi-hun.

The classroom door creaked open, and there he was—wearing the same worn jacket, hair a little neater this time, and in his hands… two paper cups.

“Hope I’m not too late,” he said, stepping in, a bit out of breath again. “They let me in even though I didn’t bring an appointment card. I told them I was the charming one.”

Y/N blinked, then smiled, clearly amused. “They must’ve been desperate.”

He grinned, holding one of the cups out to her. “Americano. I figured you’ve been trapped in here for hours talking to parents who think their kid invented math.”

She took the cup, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you. You’d be shocked how rare this is.”

“Coffee?” he asked, pulling out the chair across from her.

“Someone thinking I might need it.”

They shared a brief smile as he sat down, both hands wrapped around his own drink like it might keep him grounded.

“So…” she began, reaching for Ga-yeong’s folder. “How’s she been doing at home?”

He scratched his chin. “She’s quiet. Smarter than me. Which isn’t saying much. But she’s been… smiling more. Said you gave her extra time on her art project. She really liked that.”

“I wasn’t about to rush her if she was drawing a whole fox family with watercolors,” Y/N said softly. “She told me it was based on a story you made up.”

Gi-hun looked down, a little sheepish. “Yeah. I used to tell her bedtime stories when I couldn’t afford books. Made them up on the spot. She remembers those?”

“She remembers everything, Mr. Seong. Especially the good parts.”

That made him quiet.

A silence settled, not awkward, but thoughtful—something softer.

Most parents had filed out quickly after checking boxes and nodding politely. But Gi-hun stayed, leaning on his elbows like he actually wanted to be here. Like he was trying.

“You know…” he said after a beat, “I didn’t let her mom come tonight. Told her I’d do it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “Because… I wanted to see how she was doing. I wanted to hear it from you.” But deep down, he also wanted to see her.

His words caught her off guard.

“You’re the only person in her life that sees her for most of the day,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I thought maybe… you’d know if she was okay. Really okay.”

She studied him for a moment—his tired face, his honest eyes. There was no ego in the question. Just a man clumsily trying to be part of his daughter’s life.

“She is,” Y/N said gently. “She’s thoughtful. Kind. She worries about you, too.”

He nodded, looking down at his coffee like it held answers.

Outside, the janitor’s mop squeaked faintly across the hallway tile.

“You’re the last one here,” Y/N said eventually, glancing at the door. “Everyone else left half an hour ago.”

Gi-hun glanced around as if noticing the emptiness for the first time. “Guess I was hoping I’d be memorable.”

“You are,” she said without missing a beat.

That made him look up—and for a moment, they just watched each other. A teacher and a father. Two tired people meeting at the edges of their lives.

He stood slowly, stuffing the now-empty cup into his coat pocket. “Thank you. For the coffee trade. For… everything.”

Y/N smiled again, smaller this time. “Anytime.”

And as he walked toward the door, hand on the handle, he hesitated—just for a second.

Then he turned to look back.

So did she.

Neither said anything.

But both of them left that room thinking about the other for the rest of the night.

. . .

It wasn’t a fancy place. Just some hole-in-the-wall near the subway with sticky floors, neon beer signs, and ballads playing too loud from a decade no one wanted to remember. The kind of place Gi-hun ended up when he didn’t want to go home but had nowhere else to be.

He sat at the bar, nursing a half-empty glass of soju he’d sipped for the last forty-five minutes. No refills. He couldn’t afford one. His wallet had exactly ₩3,000 left and two expired lottery tickets.

The door creaked open behind him, but he didn’t look.

Not until he heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking—heels that didn’t belong in a place like this.

Then:

“I’ll have a tequila shot and a gin tonic. Actually—make it a double. Please.”

That voice.

His head turned before he could stop it.

She was standing at the bar in her work clothes—buttoned blouse still neatly tucked into a pencil skirt, cardigan folded over her arm. Her hair was a little undone, lipstick faded, but she was unmistakably her.

Y/N.

And she hadn’t seen him yet.

The bartender moved to fix her drink, and as she pulled her card out of her purse, she finally glanced sideways—and froze.

Her eyes widened, the recognition dawning in stages.

“Mr. Seong?”

Gi-hun smiled sheepishly. “Teacher Y/N.”

She blinked, then gave a dry little laugh. “Okay, I really wasn’t expecting to run into a parent tonight.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just here for the free peanuts.”

She slid into the stool beside him, placing her double gin and tequila shot between them. “You always hang out in depressing little bars with no music and no coasters?”

“Only on payday.”

“Is it payday?”

“No.”

She snorted—then knocked back the tequila shot in one practiced tilt. He tried not to stare, but something about seeing her here—this version of her—felt like watching the moon show its dark side. Still her, just… lonelier. A little messier. More human.

“You okay?” he asked, cautious.

She exhaled slowly. “I got dumped yesterday.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.” She stirred her drink with the straw. “He said I wasn’t ‘emotionally available enough.’ Which is a really poetic way of saying he didn’t like when I set boundaries.”

Gi-hun winced. “Sounds like a jerk.”

“He was,” she said, taking a long sip. “But he was hot. I’ll give him that.”

That made Gi-hun chuckle—deep and surprised, like he wasn’t supposed to laugh, but couldn’t help it. “You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

Y/N shrugged. “I was. Yesterday. Today I decided to put on my nicest work blouse and after work, pretend I was emotionally available enough for a damn gin and tonic.”

He looked at the drink. “…Did you just buy that for yourself?”

She looked at him sideways. “You want one?”

Gi-hun hesitated, then gave a modest smile. “If you’re offering. But I’m warning you, I’m a lightweight and a terrible drunk.”

Y/N waved the bartender over and ordered a second one.

Gi-hun didn’t say thank you out loud, but inside, something softened. He hadn’t been treated to a drink in years. And he sure as hell didn’t expect it to come from the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t a complete failure lately.

They clinked glasses gently.

“To getting dumped,” she said, raising hers.

“To free drinks,” he replied.

They drank.

And in a bar that stank of old beer and quiet regrets, they talked until the gin turned warm and the distance between teacher and father melted into something neither of them could quite name yet.

The bar had thinned out. The jukebox now played something softer—a sad trot song crooning about lost time and rainy afternoons. Gi-hun had a light flush in his cheeks, his second gin tonic in hand, and Y/N was leaning against the bar with her chin propped on her palm, her lips faintly curved in amusement.

“So,” he said, watching the ice swirl in his glass. “Why teaching? You’re young, smart—you could’ve done anything.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just sipped her drink, eyes fixed ahead.

Then, softly, “Because I needed one when I was her age.”

Gi-hun turned his head toward her.

Y/N exhaled through her nose. “My dad left when I was eight. My mom worked three jobs. No one really looked out for me. Except one teacher. Fifth grade. Mrs. Han. She gave me snacks when I forgot lunch. Let me stay in the classroom when the other kids were awful. She never made it feel like charity. Just…human.”

She reached up with one hand and undid the clip holding her messy bun together. Her hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders, and she shook it out with a sigh, massaging the back of her neck.

Gi-hun blinked.

Something about it—that moment—knocked the breath out of him. Not in a lustful, leering kind of way. But in the quiet realization that she was beautiful. Not polished-beautiful. Not like a magazine. But raw. Soft. Real.

“I guess I wanted to be someone’s Mrs. Han,” she finished, glancing sideways at him with a tired, half-sober smile. “Maybe Ga-yeong’s.”

“You are,” Gi-hun said, a little too quickly. His voice scratched, honest.

Y/N met his eyes, and for a moment, neither looked away.

She tilted her head. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he said, smiling.

“No, I mean it.” She looked down at her glass. “Most dads either check out or try to overcompensate. You… you show up. Even when you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

He chuckled. “That obvious, huh?”

“Only to someone who’s faking it too.”

They clinked glasses again—this time gentler. Quieter. Something passed between them, unspoken but thick in the air.

Neither of them said it aloud.

But the space between parent and teacher had completely disappeared.

And now…there was only him and her.

. . .

The night air was cool, not cold, but just enough to make her tuck her cardigan a little tighter around herself as they stepped out of the bar. The streets were quieter now, the neon lights buzzing above shuttered restaurants and late buses rolling by like ghosts.

Gi-hun walked a step behind her at first, hands in his pockets, until she stumbled slightly on a crack in the pavement.

“Whoa—careful.” He reached out on instinct, a steadying hand brushing her arm.

“I’m fine,” Y/N laughed softly, cheeks flushed. “Just buzzed. Gin gives me wobbly legs.”

“Yeah? Tequila gives me bad decisions.”

She glanced at him with a smirk, clearly biting back something teasing. “You saying this was a bad decision?”

He hesitated.

Then: “No. Not even close.”

Her smile faltered for half a second—just long enough to let something deeper slip through. Something unsure. Something hopeful.

They kept walking.

Their shoulders brushed once. Neither pulled away.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward now—it had changed. Warm. Tense. A quiet question hanging in the air with every step.

She stole a sideways glance at him. “You always this gentlemanly, or is this a special occasion?”

Gi-hun shrugged with a faint grin. “Only when I like the person.”

Y/N’s gaze lingered on him longer this time. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know enough.”

A pause.

“And what’s that?” she asked, voice softer now.

He glanced over at her, the streetlight catching the loose strands of her hair, the pink still in her cheeks, the little smile she tried to hide.

“That you care about people more than you let on. That you’re good with kids, but probably hard on yourself. That… you have a thing for gin and heartbreak, apparently.”

She laughed again, genuine this time, the sound lighter than it had been all night.

They stopped at a quiet crosswalk, the blinking red man holding them in place. Y/N turned to him slightly, toeing the edge of the curb, her hands in her pockets.

“You’re kind of dangerous, you know that?”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “Me? I’m the guy who’s broke, unemployed, and barely knows what he’s doing with his life.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes twinkled. “You say stuff like that and still make it sound charming.”

The light changed.

They crossed slowly, the night wrapping around them like a secret.

When they reached her building, she stopped at the gate. “Well… this is me.”

He nodded, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “Right.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. Just… suspended.

She looked at him for a long second.

“You’re not what I expected either, Gi-hun.”

He smiled faintly. “Good unexpected or bad?”

“…Still deciding.”

And then she leaned up, just slightly, and kissed his cheek—quick, soft, but deliberate.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, turning toward the gate.

He watched her go.

And he didn’t move for a long time.

She was gone.

Just like that, behind the gate, behind the hum of her building’s lights, behind the sound of her footsteps climbing stairs he wouldn’t follow.

Gi-hun stood there for a long time, fingers brushing the place on his cheek where she kissed him. He wasn’t smiling—not yet. His lips were parted, breath slow, like he wasn’t quite sure if it had really happened.

And then, finally, he turned.

The walk home was quiet, but his head was anything but.

He should’ve felt lighter. Happier. And in a way, he did—there was something electric under his skin, something that hadn’t sparked in years. But alongside that? A pit. Not in his stomach—in his chest.

Because she deserved someone better.

Someone who could afford dinner that wasn’t triangle kimbap. Someone with clean shoes and working credit cards and a damn plan. Not a man like him—held together with shame and debt and broken promises.

But she kissed you, a voice in his head whispered. She saw you. And she stayed.

He kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, hands deep in his coat pockets, the wind brushing past like a reminder he was still outside. Still in the same city where everything kept going wrong, but tonight—just tonight—something felt right.

She smelled like gin and white jasmine. He hadn’t realized that until she leaned close. And her laugh… it had shaken something loose in him. Something long buried beneath years of screwing up and surviving it.

Gi-hun passed a convenience store window and caught his reflection. Messy hair, bags under his eyes, a man older than he felt.

He didn’t look like someone a woman like Y/N would want.

But she’d kissed him.

He pulled his hand from his pocket, looked at his palm like it might hold the answer.

Nothing.

No money. No luck. No future.

And still…his heart beat a little faster.

Because maybe—for the first time in a long, long while—he wanted to be worth something to someone.

Not because they needed him.

But because they chose him.

[big-poppa23]

I don't know if you take request but I'm willing to take a shot😅😅 Hello can I please request for my Girl Hyun-Ju?? I really Love her so much😍😍 and it kills me after seeing her died in the series😭😭.... So for my request can you please do something for her x fem reader?? Like the reader saves her from Player 333 and instead of Hyun-Ju being killed the reader herself killed Player 333 brutally (The reader moves liked a damn assassin).. And after that game and they're all safe Hyun-Ju Immediately fell in Love with the reader and like tries to get closer to her😍😍.... Thank you so much!! I really love your writings!!!

Hi-I wrote a series just like that. Them slowly falling in love the day they met to the last and the reader who was once a quiet, broken, sad confused girl turns into awakened badass lesbian.

It’s linked right here if you want to read it:

[big-poppa23]

heyyy!! can we pls have an angsty nam-gyu x fem reader who doesn't make it to the end of the games with him (dies in jump rope). basically, min-su took revenge for se-mi by severely hurting reader before the 5th game but he couldn't kill her to death since nam-gyu arrived on time. feel free to add suggestive scenes or fluff where you see fit or not, but overall, i just want it tragic yet sweet. thank u in advance & luv ur hyun-ju series 🥰😭

Cross My Heart

synapse: three games left. nam-gyu is acting like he doesn’t care…but he does

pairing: nam-gyu x reader

contains: strong language, mentions of sex, death, graphic injuries described

a/n: yes i can. i promise i wasn’t ignoring your ask, i just wanted to write it out first. btw i really liked writing it. i put a lot of effort into it so I hope you like it.

. . .

Y/N had blacked out the last ten minutes like a bad dream. She couldn’t even remember stepping up to the gumball machine or turning the crank that sealed her fate. It was only the sound of a guard’s voice, sharp and mechanical through the modulator, that jolted her back to the present. Her fingers were already curled around the small box they’d handed her. The color was painted across the side in thick blue ink.

She was on the blue team. The hunted.

When she lifted the lid, a single silver key lay inside, strung through a chain meant to be worn around the neck. No weapons, no backup. Just a key — and the rapidly fading hope that she’d find a door to safety before someone like him found her first.

She slipped the chain over her head with numb fingers and sat down on a nearby bench. Her stomach churned.

She didn’t need to look up to feel him approaching.

Red vest. Knife in hand. That cocky strut in his step like he owned the world and everyone in it.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nam-gyu greeted, kneeling in front of her like this was some twisted proposal. “What’s the matter? You nervous about possibly dying?”

Y/N didn’t answer at first. Her jaw clenched as she looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench.

“I would trade with you,” he continued, resting his chin on his hand like she was just being dramatic. “But you’re mad at me. I still don’t get why.”

Her gaze snapped to him, fire in her eyes. “You seriously don’t know why?”

“Se-mi?” he scoffed. “You didn’t even talk to her.”

“You don’t think Min-su did?” she shot back. “You killed her because she voted X? Because she wanted to go home? Or was it just because she bruised your precious ego?”

Nam-gyu snorted, unbothered. “She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Thought she was some kind of hero. I couldn’t stand the way she looked at me like she was better.”

“And what if I talk back to you like that? You gonna kill me next?”

He smirked, tongue running along his teeth. “No. I like fucking you too much.”

Her glare didn’t waver, but he kept going. “Besides, I don’t have a reason to. Thanos is dead. Gyeong-su too. Se-mi’s gone. You and me? We’re what’s left. We’re the ones that made it. That’s gotta count for something.”

“What about Min-su?”

He scoffed. “Kid’s dead weight. He’s not like us.”

Nam-gyu set down his knife for a moment and reached for her hand, voice dipping low and coaxing. “Come on, just swap to red. We’ll get high, have a little fun, and slit a few throats together. After that…” His smile curled like smoke. “We find a room. Just you and me.”

Y/N jerked her hand back like his skin burned. “I’m good,” she said, standing up. “I’m not in the mood to fuck.”

He gave a small shrug, picking his knife back up like it was no big deal. “Fair. But remember, you’re blue now. And I’m red. So if I find you first…”

“Then you’ll have a fight,” she interrupted, voice cold. “I’m not going down easy. If you want my key, you’ll have to take it off my corpse.”

Nam-gyu laughed under his breath as she walked past him, the tension snapping like a taut wire. He watched her go, his eyes trailing the sway of her shoulders, the way she didn’t look back.

His fingers found the small metal cross that hung from his neck, last of the pills nestled inside. He didn’t take one. Not yet.

He’d lied. He wasn’t planning to kill her.

And deep down, he wasn’t sure if what he felt for her was hate or something worse — something dangerous.

He stood there for a moment longer, then turned and melted into the crowd of hunters.

. . .

Blue team had gone in first. Thirty minutes to hide. Thirty minutes to run or claw their way to an exit. It felt like a fever dream with no end.

The arena was massive, surreal. The ceiling stretched high above them like the sky in a child’s picture book — painted in gentle shades of twilight blue, speckled with uneven golden stars and fat yellow crescent moons. They shimmered under flickering lights that gave the illusion of something magical. But magic didn’t live here. Only madness.

The walls were concrete beneath layers of grotesque mural work — rolling hills, stubby trees, and flower fields in chalky colors that clashed with the coppery scent of blood already hanging in the air. A child’s fantasy smeared over a killing floor. The cheerfulness was disorienting, like walking into a dream where you already knew you’d die.

And Y/N was alone.

Ten minutes in, she had already seen what happened to those who weren’t fast enough.

She’d passed two blue players — both slumped lifeless, red soaking through their tracksuits. She forced herself not to look at their faces as she pulled the keys from their necks, adding them to her own. Circle. Triangle. Square. Three shaped keys. One step closer to freedom. If freedom even existed beyond this place.

Her body was running on instinct. Adrenaline. She didn’t know how long she’d been sprinting, ducking behind doors, unlocking them, hiding, and moving again.

It wasn’t just Nam-gyu she feared — though his shadow lingered in the back of her mind like a blade to her throat.

It was everyone in red. Every knife-wielding body out for blood. Out for her.

And everything was going okay.

Until it wasn’t.

She turned a corner too sharply, the slap of footfalls echoing behind her. Too close. Too fast. She didn’t think — she just moved, slipping into the nearest door, pulling it closed and crouching in the dark.

Through the small crack of the door, she saw the blur of a blue player sprinting down the corridor, a red player chasing him down like a wolf. Her heart raced, eyes locked on the scene.

She didn’t hear the door behind her burst open.

By the time she turned, it was too late — Player 096 lunged at her, the blade of his knife catching the light just as it slashed past her face.

She ducked, barely avoiding it, his forearm slamming into her shoulder as he shoved her to the ground. Pain shot through her ribs, but she kicked out wildly, her foot connecting with the back of his knee and sending him crashing down beside her.

He was fast. Too fast.

His weight pressed her down as he grabbed her wrists, trying to pin them, his knife hovering over her. She screamed, twisting, grabbing his wrist with both hands, pushing, pushing to keep it away from her chest.

He growled, then used his free hand to grab a fistful of her hair and slam the back of her head into the floor.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her fingers went slack for a moment, pain blooming through her skull.

She gasped, dazed — but alive. For now.

096 grinned. A sick, gleeful grin as he pressed the knife teasingly to her throat, letting the blade kiss her skin.

He raised it high with both hands to finish her off.

And that was his mistake.

Y/N moved on instinct. With a scream, she drove her knee up and kicked him square in the chest. He stumbled back, landing hard. She rolled, scrambling toward the door. Tried to yank it open — but his body blocked the exit.

“Shit!” she hissed.

He lunged again, slashing. She ducked. The blade drove into the door where her neck had been.

She didn’t wait.

She bolted through the other door he’d entered from, tearing down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time. Her legs burned. Her chest felt tight. But she didn’t stop.

096 was already behind her again, the thud of his boots pounding the concrete.

She spun into another open room and slammed the door shut behind her just as he turned the corner.

Crack.

The door smacked him hard across the face and shoulder. He collapsed, groaning, dazed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She stomped on his wrist, pinning it to the floor. He tried to buck her off, but she pried the knife from his grip, her breath ragged, her hands slick with sweat and someone else’s blood.

“Please—!” he gasped, eyes wide. “Please, I’m sorry—don’t—”

Her jaw locked. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

Then she stabbed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She didn’t stop until he stopped moving.

Blood splattered her face, warm and sticky across her cheeks and throat. Her chest heaved, but she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

She stood over his lifeless body, her hands still gripping the knife.

Then the mechanical voice blared through the speakers, monotone and cold:

“Player 096, eliminated.”

Y/N gripped the blood-slicked knife with trembling fingers, her heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out. She was ready to move — to keep running, hiding, surviving — but then she froze.

There was someone in the hallway. Watching her.

Min-su.

He stood half-shrouded in shadow, wearing a red vest now, a knife dangling from his hand. But it wasn’t just that. His eyes…

Glazed. Vacant. Haunted.

Her breath caught.

“Min-su,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice calm. “What are you doing?”

He blinked slowly, stepping closer. “Y/N…” he said, almost dreamlike. “I can’t find Se-mi. You have to help me find her.”

Her stomach twisted. The way he moved, the slackness in his expression — she knew that look. The drugs. He had them in his system. How? It didn’t matter. Someone must’ve slipped him something. Or…maybe he took it himself.

“Min-su, stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t stop. His steps were slow but steady, and the closer he got, the more his pupils dilated. She saw the shift in his gaze — how her face twisted in his perception, how her voice no longer reached him.

“I need you to stop him,” he mumbled. “Nam-gyu wants to hurt her. You have to stop him.”

“Min-su, listen to me,” she pleaded, backing up. “It’s me. It’s Y/N.”

But it was already too late.

All he saw now was Nam-gyu. The mocking voice. The insults. The sneers. His mind replayed it all — distorted, warped by the chemicals surging through his veins — until Y/N’s face blurred into his.

He yelled and lunged.

She yelped and dodged, running.

“Min-su!” she called, panicked, glancing over her shoulder. “We were friends! Don’t do this!”

But he didn’t hear her.

She sprinted blindly around a corner and collided with another body, crashing to the floor. A fellow blue player — who took one look at the chaos and bolted in the other direction.

She tried to get up, but Min-su was already there, looming above her with the knife glinting in his hand.

“Min-su…” she gasped, scrambling back. “Please—I’ve only ever tried to help you.”

But he wasn’t hearing her. His lips were trembling, eyes wild and unfocused.

She kicked up hard, catching him in the stomach. He stumbled back, enough for her to scramble to an open door and try to slam it shut.

But he reached it first.

The door slammed hard into her ankle — the sound and sensation made her stomach flip. She screamed, crumpling to the ground. Pain lit up her leg like fire.

Then he was on her again, dragging her onto her back. She raised her arm in defense just as the knife came down.

The blade plunged clean through her palm.

She screamed — a raw, animal noise torn from her throat — as blood burst between her fingers and the steel. She thrashed, pushing against him, sobbing from the pain.

Then—

Two pairs of footsteps.

Nam-gyu’s bloodshot eyes widened. “What the fuck—?!”

Myung-gi slowed, then stopped. It wasn’t who he was searching for. Not Jun-hee. His gaze flicked to Y/N, bloodied and writhing in pain, and then back to the wall.

Nam-gyu didn’t stop.

“Min-su, you little fucker!” he roared, charging forward and yanking him off of her. The knife tore free from her hand with the motion, and she shrieked again, curling protectively around the wound.

Min-su stumbled back and slammed his head into the metal doorknob. He crumpled, stunned.

Nam-gyu dropped to his knees beside her. “Shit…fuck… I was joking, okay? When I said if I found you first…”

“My ankle,” she sobbed. “My hand…”

He looked — her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle, her hand mangled and slick with blood. He clenched his jaw, looking up at Myung-gi.

“MG Coin!” he barked. “Get over here!”

Myung-gi hesitated. “She’s a blue player. We’re supposed to—”

“You want me to help you find your bitch, right?” Nam-gyu snapped, already looping her arm over his shoulder. “Then help mine.”

Myung-gi flinched at the words but nodded, jogging forward.

Together, they lifted her off the floor. She cried out again, the pain radiating through every nerve as her broken ankle dangled uselessly. Her blood smeared across both of them as they half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall.

Nam-gyu kept muttering under his breath — curses, apologies, threats — but he didn’t let go of her. Not even for a second.

Behind them, Min-su stirred again, groaning. But the trio was already disappearing down the corridor, swallowed by shadows and flickering lights.

Nam-gyu kicked a door open, the sharp slam echoing off the concrete walls as he and Myung-gi hauled Y/N inside. The room was small and windowless, lit only by a flickering overhead bulb that cast eerie shadows across the space. Neon-colored crayon drawings of suns and stick figures littered the dark walls, glowing faintly in the dim light like forgotten memories of happier times. The air was stale, thick with the scent of sweat and metal.

They lowered her carefully — or as carefully as Nam-gyu could manage — onto the floor. She winced and bit back another scream as her ankle brushed the ground, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. Her hand throbbed like it had a heartbeat of its own, blood still leaking from the jagged puncture where the blade had gone straight through.

“What do we do now?” Myung-gi asked, looking over at Nam-gyu with uncertainty.

Nam-gyu exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. “She’s gonna have to hide in here until the game’s over.”

“That’s your plan?”

He rounded on him. “Look at her fucking ankle, MG. Does it look like she’s about to sprint her way out of here?”

Myung-gi glanced down at Y/N. Her chest was rising and falling in short, labored breaths. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the edge of her sleeve to the wound in her hand, trying to slow the bleeding. She didn’t speak — maybe couldn’t. The pain had hollowed her out.

“So what?” Myung-gi said, his voice sharp with disbelief. “We just sit in here and hide with her? There’s more blue team to hunt. More players—”

“No shit,” Nam-gyu snapped, straightening to his full height. He looked at Y/N, then back at him. “She stays. We go.”

“You trust no one’ll find her?”

Nam-gyu’s mouth twitched. “They won’t. She’ll be fine…if she keeps quiet.”

Y/N managed a weak nod, her face pale and slick with sweat.

Nam-gyu stepped toward the door, gripping his knife with more force than necessary. His other hand lingered over the cross necklace at his chest, thumb brushing the cool metal like a nervous tic.

He was halfway out when Myung-gi spoke.

“You said earlier in the hall…” Myung-gi’s voice was quiet but cutting, making Nam-gyu stop in place. “That she was nothing. Just an easy lay.”

Nam-gyu paused, hand on the doorframe.

“So why are you doing this?”

There was a silence — not hesitation, but something heavier. Nam-gyu looked back over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “Same reason you’re looking for your bitch, MG Coin,” he said coolly, a shrug rolling off his shoulders like it meant nothing. “Because I care.” He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned back and pushed open the door. “I’m going back out there,” he added. “Go with me. Don’t. Doesn’t matter.”

Myung-gi looked between him and Y/N, conflicted. Then, with a quiet sigh, he bent down to retrieve his knife. He nodded, wordlessly.

Y/N watched them go, the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor.

And then she was alone.

The fluorescent light above her buzzed softly. The childlike drawings stared down at her with wide, colorless eyes. She let her head fall back against the wall, her hand cradled to her chest, her ankle screaming with every shift of her weight.

She tried to breathe — slow, deep. But all she could think was:

How long could she really stay hidden?

And if Nam-gyu didn’t come back… would she even want to survive?

Y/N sat in the corner of the dim room, breathing through clenched teeth. Sweat and tears streaked her face, and her heart pounded in her ears like war drums. But she had no choice — if she wanted to live, she had to act now.

Control the bleeding first.

Gritting her teeth, she shrugged out of her jacket — difficult with one functional hand and searing pain in the other. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of her blue tracksuit vest until she peeled the jacket off, leaving only her sweat-damp shirt beneath. The moment cold air hit the bloodied fabric of her sleeve, the pain sharpened. Her hand — pierced clean through — throbbed in sync with her pulse.

She laid the jacket on her lap and used her teeth to tear a long strip from the cuff. It took time. Every motion sent a lightning bolt of pain up her arm, but she endured. She had to.

Once she had the strip, she inspected the wound: the entry was through the palm, the exit near the base of her knuckles. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. Her fingers were stiff and already beginning to swell.

She took another breath. Then folded the strip into a thick pad and pressed it directly against the wound.

A scream tore through her throat through gritted teeth, involuntary and raw. Her vision blurred for a second.

Keep pressure. Hold it steady.

She used her knee to brace the injured hand while she wrapped another piece of fabric — this time torn from the inner lining of the jacket — tightly around the pad and her hand, securing it with a rough knot over her wrist. She knew it wasn’t perfect. The knife had missed major arteries — thank God — but she wouldn’t be using that hand for anything soon. And infection would come next if she wasn’t careful.

She leaned back against the wall, catching her breath.

Then came the ankle.

She’d been avoiding looking at it, hoping the pain might pass. It didn’t. The joint was swollen, visibly out of alignment. Likely a dislocation, she thought. Not a clean break — that pain would’ve been sharper, more immobilizing. This she could still fix.

But it was going to hurt.

She pulled her leg closer, sweat dripping down her temple. Her fingers dug into the soft groove just above her heel. The joint was misaligned — obvious even through her sock. She pushed the fabric down and bit into the collar of her jacket sleeve to muffle her cries.

One breath in.

And then with a brutal motion, she pulled her foot forward and twisted.

A sickening crack of bone and cartilage echoed through the tiny room. She screamed into the cloth, muffled and guttural, falling sideways onto the floor.

Then stillness.

The joint slid back into place. The searing pain gave way to a dull, nauseating throb. Her foot still couldn’t bear weight, but it no longer hung at the wrong angle.

She lay there for a moment, shivering, bloodied, and half-conscious. But the bleeding had slowed. Her ankle was set. And she was alive.

That would have to be enough for now.

. . . 

When the final ding of the timer echoed through the arena, signaling the end of the hunt, Nam-gyu didn’t waste a second. He ran.

His shoes pounded against the concrete as he retraced his path through the maze of cartoon-painted corridors until he found her — slumped against the wall in that forgotten room, blood drying on her hand, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still alert.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, crouching to sling her arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Together, they hobbled back to the dormitory, Y/N barely able to put weight on her leg. Every step was agony, but she clenched her jaw and bore it. The worst part was already over.

Probably.

As they stepped through the metal doors of the dormitory, the buzz of conversation faltered. Heads turned. A few whispered. Nam-gyu didn’t care. His grip tightened protectively around her waist as they moved toward their side of the room.

“How you feeling?” he asked, his voice almost gentle now.

“Like I got stabbed through the fucking hand,” she mumbled. “And like my ankle’s broken in three places.”

“Charming,” he muttered, helping her sit down on the edge of a lower bunk. 

She groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as the mattress creaked beneath her.

Nam-gyu straightened — and almost immediately reached for the small cross necklace that hung from his neck.

Except it wasn’t there.

His fingers groped at bare skin. His eyes narrowed. He yanked off his jacket, shook it out, checked both front and back of his tracksuit. Then dove into his pockets.

Nothing.

Panic flashed across his face.

“Baby,” he said sharply, turning to her. “Have you seen my necklace?”

She blinked slowly. “No.”

“You sure? You don’t have it?”

“You want to frisk me, Nam-gyu?” she replied, deadpan. “You probably dropped it back in the arena.”

His gaze flicked over her, then over to the rest of the returning players. She followed his eyes — and froze when she saw Min-su. He stood near the back, head down, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot like a boy waiting to be scolded. She didn’t know if he remembered what he’d done. Maybe the drugs had wiped it clean. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met.

And Y/N knew. She knew he had it — that Nam-gyu’s precious necklace full of pills had somehow ended up in his hands. But she said nothing. Despite the pain, despite the trauma, she wouldn’t throw Min-su to the wolves. If Nam-gyu knew the truth…

She looked away.

Nam-gyu didn’t. He kept pacing. Then his hands were on her — patting her down, not rough, but frantic. Her sides, her pockets, her thighs. She hissed in pain as his fingers roamed upward again, not stopping even when he reached her chest.

His hands cupped her breasts, feeling around the sides as if his necklace might be hidden inside her bra.

She shoved one of his hands back with her good hand. “It’s not there. I told you, I don’t have it.”

He let out a strangled scream and clutched his face with both hands, pacing in a circle before storming toward the nearest guard.

“I left something in the arena,” he said breathlessly. “I need to go get it. Just give me two minutes, okay?”

The guard stepped in front of him, silent and unmoving.

“I need it,” he said again, trying to push past — only to be shoved back with a hard arm. “Please, please, come on! I can’t do anything without it!”

The guard didn’t respond. Another stepped in, lifting his rifle.

Nam-gyu lunged — and got slammed to the ground for it. The barrel of a rifle hovered inches from his face, the red triangle mask above it unflinching.

Y/N shifted forward on the bed, trying to stand. “No—!”

But then a sound cut through the tension like a blade.

A baby’s cry.

Everyone turned.

Two women stepped into the dormitory — Player 222, limping heavily, her face pale with exhaustion, and Player 149 behind her, cradling something in her arms. A newborn, wrapped tightly in 222’s jacket. The crying grew louder, high-pitched and frantic.

Gasps echoed throughout the room.

Even Nam-gyu froze, his chest heaving, as he looked at the infant.

Y/N’s eyes widened. 

The guards turned, momentarily distracted by the impossible.

The Games had rules. Harsh, bloody rules.

But now… there was a baby in the dormitory.

And nobody knew what the hell to do next.

The baby’s cries echoed like a siren through the dormitory. For a moment, it swallowed everything — the tension, the fear, the blood in the air. All the players stood frozen in some mix of awe and horror, staring at something they’d all forgotten existed: life.

But the silence didn’t last.

Nam-gyu stormed back toward her, the fury barely restrained in his tight fists and twitching jaw. He didn’t look at the baby. Didn’t care. Not right now. His hands ran through his hair as he muttered curses under his breath, pacing in a crooked line until he finally dropped beside her bed like something in him snapped loose.

“I can’t do this,” he rasped, gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white. “I can’t fucking do this without it. I’m gonna lose it. I am losing it.”

Y/N watched him carefully, chest still rising and falling with effort. She could see the tremors in his hands now — subtle at first, but building. His eyes were red, but not from the drugs this time. From whatever came after.

Withdrawal.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, gently. “You’ve gone a few hours without it before, right? You just need to breathe—”

“Don’t tell me to breathe,” he snapped, turning toward her, his eyes wild. “You don’t get it, Y/N. My chest is fucking tight. My head’s pounding. My skin itches. Everything hurts and it’s only been—” he looked up at the large monitor as if time mattered, then gave up and slammed his fist down on the bunk. “I need it!”

She flinched at the noise, hand tightening over the makeshift wrap around her palm.

“Nam-gyu,” she said calmly, keeping her tone even, “look at me.”

He didn’t.

So she reached out — shakily, painfully — and rested her bloodied hand on his knee. He finally looked.

His face cracked then. Just slightly. Like something behind his usual smirk and snarl had started to rot away.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “You made it through the game. You saved me. You’re here. But if you lose control now, if you make a scene, they’ll kill you. And I’m not gonna survive in here without you.”

His eyes burned into hers. She could see how fast his mind was moving, how everything was crashing in at once — rage, fear, need. He leaned forward suddenly, forehead pressing against her shoulder as his whole body trembled.

“I should’ve killed that little shit,” he growled into her collarbone. “Min-su. I should’ve fucking killed him. After what he did to you—”

Her hand came up slowly, settling on the back of his head.

“I don’t want him dead,” she said. “Not by your hand. That won’t help me. It won’t help you.”

“He almost killed you. He slammed a door on your ankle. Stabbed your fucking hand, Y/N. Do you understand how close I was to losing you?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But I’m still here.”

He pulled back, looking at her — breathing heavy, eyes glassy.

“You’re the only thing keeping me from ripping someone’s throat out right now,” he said, voice rough. “You know that?”

“Then let me keep you steady,” she said.

His hand found hers — the uninjured one — gripping it tightly.

She leaned her forehead against his.

And for a moment, just one, the rest of the dormitory faded.

Min-su.

The guards.

The baby.

The games.

None of it mattered more than this.

Than the fragile line they walked between violence and something dangerously close to love.

. . .

The lights overhead flickered to life in a slow pulse, casting a sterile glow across the dormitory. The heavy footsteps of guards marched in a steady rhythm, lining up like shadows across the walls. Most of what was said was zoned out but she could read the board: Twenty-six players remain. Current prize total: 43.1 billion won. Each remaining player’s share: 1.724 billion won.

Nam-gyu was curled beside her on the narrow bed, drenched in sweat. His face was pale, lips cracked, body trembling like a fraying wire pulled too tight. His head rested low on her stomach, his fingers tangled lightly in the hem of her shirt — not possessive like many times before, just…grounding. Desperate.

Like being close to her could mimic the drug that was no longer in his system.

“Breathe,” she whispered softly, stroking a hand through his damp hair. “Just breathe through it. You’re almost through the worst.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either. His breathing came in shallow, ragged waves.

Then the guard called his number.

“Player 124.“

Nam-gyu flinched. He let out a quiet, choked breath before slowly rising. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and turned to her, the wildness in his eyes dulled now — not gone, just buried under the fog of pain.

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

He draped her arm around his shoulder again, careful of her injured hand. Together they hobbled forward, every step slow and heavy. He stopped in front of the voting booth, steadying her with one arm before he let go. She nodded, signaling she could stand on her own.

For the first time since entering the games, Nam-gyu looked up.

He stared at the glowing board, the two buttons in front of him. A red X. A blue O.

For so long, the choice had been easy. Win. Kill. Survive. But now — with the drugs gone and her blood still staining his clothes — everything felt quieter.

He pressed the red X.

The vote to leave.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for the edge of his jacket and peeled off the old blue O patch he’d worn since the very first game.

And picked up a fresh red X.

Not the hunter.

Not the hunted.

Just… a player.

He stepped aside, and Y/N limped forward.

She didn’t need to look at the buttons for long. Her eyes lingered on Nam-gyu, on the way his shoulders sagged now, like the weight of survival had finally settled into his bones.

Then she pressed X.

They had played long enough.

They had bled long enough.

And now… they both wanted out.

The final vote lit up across the screen, each red and blue light clicking into place like the teeth of a lock snapping shut.

16 for O. 9 for X.

No one cheered. No one moved.

It was a quiet kind of devastation — the kind that sat in the pit of your stomach and stayed. The kind that made your hands feel heavy, like they belonged to someone else. The kind that told you: you’d die here.

Greed had won. 

Again.

Nam-gyu stared at the ground, unmoving, jaw clenched so tightly it made his temples twitch. His hand flexed at his side like he was searching for something that wasn’t there — the necklace, the pills, a reason to keep pretending he was in control.

Y/N didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The silence between them said enough.

He finally turned to her, offering his arm again.

She took it without hesitation.

Together, they made their way back to the bunk, one slow step at a time. His hand stayed firm around her waist, and her arm gripped his shoulder for balance. Their bodies leaned into one another like two broken structures barely holding each other up.

As they reached their corner, Nam-gyu helped her sit back on the lower bunk. He crouched in front of her, head bowed, hands on his knees.

His voice was quiet. “I really thought we’d be out…this….it might’ve been different.”

Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, coaxing his face up to meet hers. “So did I.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then away. “We’ll have to survive one more.”

She nodded, though it hurt. “One at a time.”

Nam-gyu settled beside her, his back against the cold wall. The tremors in his hands had started to come back, but he didn’t mention it. He didn’t need to. She laced her fingers — the ones that still worked — through his, anchoring him.

And for the moment, that was enough.

Not hope. Not yet.

But something close enough to hold onto.

. . . 

Y/N couldn’t remember sleeping.

Not really.

Her body begged for rest — ached for it, screamed in every nerve and muscle for just one uninterrupted hour. But her mind wouldn’t let her.

Instead, she sat upright in the bunk all night, back pressed against the cold metal wall, Nam-gyu curled beside her, drenched in sweat and trembling from the inside out. Withdrawal gripped him like a sickness, stealing away all the sharpness and swagger he usually wore like armor. He groaned softly in his sleep, his face twitching, muscles jerking every so often as if his body was fighting phantoms she couldn’t see.

And still, she stayed up for him.

If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be watching over Nam-gyu, of all people—him—through the night like he was something fragile, she would’ve laughed in their face.

But this wasn’t the man who used to grin at her with blood on his hands and pills on his breath. This wasn’t the same cocky, chaotic, sex-obsessed drug addict who prowled the dorm like a wolf in a red vest.

This was just Nam-gyu now. Weak. Hurting. Human.

And even as the withdrawals tore through him, he’d still helped her — saved her when Min-su nearly killed her. Became her crutch when her ankle couldn’t hold her weight. He didn’t abandon her. Not once.

So she stayed.

Every so often, she’d wake him up gently, enough to press a water bottle to his cracked lips and whisper, ‘Drink.’ He’d groan, blink blearily, obey, and then fall back into the pit again.

Time blurred after that.

She didn’t remember when the lights flicked on or when the guards came in to count heads. She didn’t remember when the piggy bank buzzed to life again or when someone screamed in the far corner over something they saw.

It was only when they passed the second row of bunks — her injured leg dragging beside her — that she saw it.

Player 149.

The old woman who had come in with her son. She barely knew her, had only shared a few glances in passing. But the image seared itself into Y/N’s mind with perfect clarity.

The woman hung silently from a twisted bedsheet, eyes closed. Her face was pale and peaceful in a way that made it worse.

She hadn’t made it to the next game.

Her son died in the fourth one. And without him, she’d quietly folded herself into the sheets and let go.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until she blinked and felt the damp warmth on her cheeks. She didn’t sob. Didn’t break down. Just stood there, held up by Nam-gyu, eyes red and throat tight as the guards came in and gently cut the sheet.

They didn’t speak. Just placed her in the black coffin. A pink bow on top. Like it meant something.

Y/N watched until the box disappeared from the dorm.

And then her body moved forward again, barely feeling the steps under her feet.

It wasn’t until they reached the last flight of stairs that she heard him — Nam-gyu’s voice, quiet and rough beside her.

“Almost there, baby,” he said, his arm firm around her waist. “Last step.”

She nodded, barely able to return the pressure of her grip on him.

Her head was swimming, her hand still throbbed beneath the jacket wrap, her ankle ached with every inch forward. But with his help, she climbed the last stair.

They walked through the tall green doors into the next room.

The next game.

And whatever horror waited for them inside.

The arena for the fifth game was eerily quiet.

It resembled a child’s toy set built on the edge of a nightmare.

High above a cavernous drop, a narrow bridge stretched between two round platforms, suspended in the void like a fragile thread. The bridge itself was a rickety construction of wooden planks and rusted steel beams, just wide enough for one person at a time. Beneath it, there was nothing but a black pit that seemed to go on forever, the kind of darkness that made your stomach drop just looking at it.

At one end of the bridge stood a towering doll — a girl in a faded red dress, frozen in mid-motion. Her molded plastic hands gripped a thick rope that stretched across the full length of the bridge. Opposite her, at the far end, another oversized doll stood still — a boy dressed in a green-striped shirt and tan shorts, unmoving, blank-eyed.

The rope hung suspended between them, motionless for now — like a loaded weapon that hadn’t fired yet.

Everything was still.

Unnervingly still.

And then, from the ceiling speakers, that cold, detached voice rang out: “Welcome to the fifth game. The game you will be playing is Jump Rope. You must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within 20 minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourselves. Now, let the game begin.”

And just like that, the countdown began.

A loud mechanical beep echoed across the chamber as a twenty-minute timer illuminated on the far left wall, numbers glowing red and merciless.

At the same time, the jump rope began to move.

At first, it was slow — a gentle sway, harmless. But then it dipped lower, gathering speed as it arced across the bridge. Whoosh. It sliced through the air, skimming just above the wooden planks with frightening precision before lifting again, then crashing down a second time.

Y/N stared at the bridge, eyes trailing the rope’s path.

Then she looked down at her ankle.

Swollen. Purple. Barely able to bear her weight. Jumping was laughable. She could barely stand.

This was it.

Her arm slipped from around Nam-gyu’s shoulder as she leaned back against the cold painted wall, one hand pressed over her chest, trying to slow the galloping pace of her heart.

Nam-gyu watched her from the corner of his eye, chest rising and falling too quickly. Then he looked toward the edge of the bridge — the abyss below. That endless drop, hungry and black.

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t carry her. Not now. Not like this. If he had the pills—the energy, the edge— maybe. But now?

He was terrified.

Terrified of dying.

More terrified of watching her die first.

He slowly sank to the floor beside her, legs folding beneath him as if gravity had become too much.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Min-su.

He stopped in front of Nam-gyu, gaze unreadable. “Are you feeling okay?”

Nam-gyu didn’t even look up. He reached out and shoved his arm away with a weak snap of the wrist. “Piss off. Piss off, you fucking loser,” he muttered, his voice dry and barely above a whisper.

Min-su didn’t react. Not to the insult. Not to the trembling.

Instead, he reached into the front of his jacket… and pulled out the small, metallic cross.

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened instantly, breath catching in his throat.

The necklace dangled between Min-su’s fingers like bait. “Is it because of this?” Min-su asked, voice calm. Almost detached.

Nam-gyu scrambled, reaching for it — but Min-su yanked it back. He kept trying.

Min-su stood taller, lifting the chain above the edge of the pit behind him. The cross swung dangerously over the void.

“Fuck off!” Min-su barked. “Piss me off, and I’ll throw it.”

Nam-gyu screamed in frustration before covering his face and then slowly…he shifted to his knees. “Look, Min-su,” he breathed. “Min-su…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.” He clasped his hands together, knuckles white. “I can’t do this without it. Please.”

Min-su’s jaw flexed. His grip on the cross tightened as Nam-gyu continued to plead.

Y/N watched from the wall, her heart breaking and her throat tightening all at once.

This was Nam-gyu.

Begging.

Not raging. Not laughing. Not manipulating.

Begging.

Not for himself.

But for both of them.

Min-su didn’t answer right away.

He just turned. Calmly. Quietly.

He walked to the edge of the platform where the bridge began, his steps echoing softly in the deathly stillness. Nam-gyu shot up from the floor with a jolt, staggering after him, desperation in every breath.

But it was too late.

Min-su tossed the necklace.

The small silver cross flew through the air and landed almost exact in the center of the bridge with a soft metallic clink.

Min-su turned to face him, expression hollow. “If you want it…” he pointed. “Go get it.”

Something in Nam-gyu’s chest snapped.

He grabbed the front of his own jacket like he was about to lunge, fury flooding his face — but Min-su shoved him back hard with both hands. “What’s the fucking matter, huh?” he barked, stepping forward. “You scared? You fucking loser.”

Nam-gyu just stood there, breathing hard.

He looked at the cross, lying so far away — yet so close.

He looked back at Y/N, who hadn’t moved from the wall. Her body was still, but her eyes were wide with dread.

His rage dimmed. His shoulders fell.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he turned and walked back toward her, crouching down in front of her.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly.

Y/N shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just gonna grab it,” he said like it was simple. “Turn around. Jump back with it. Take one. Then I’ll carry you across that bridge.”

“Nam-gyu, please—”

“I’ll feel invincible. Like… like Superman or some shit.” His eyes were distant now, glimmering with both fear and resolve. “We cross that bridge, and we’re one step from getting out.”

She blinked at him, fighting the scream rising in her throat. “Nam-gyu, no offense, but that plan is fucking stupid. Don’t risk yourself. Don’t—”

“I need to,” he said softly, cutting her off. “For both of us.”

And then — before she could stop him — he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Real.

His lips lingered just long enough to say everything he never had — and maybe never would again. He’d never kissed her before. Not even during all the bathroom hookups and dorm shadowy stolen moments. Kissing was too vulnerable, too intimate. It meant feeling something.

But now, it was all he had left.

When he pulled away, her eyes were glassy, wide.

It didn’t feel like I’ll be right back.

It felt like goodbye.

“Please don’t do this…” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “Please…”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer.

He just looked at her one last time.

And then he turned… and stepped toward the bridge.

Nam-gyu ran a shaky hand through his hair, jaw clenched tight, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. He stood at the edge of the platform, eyes fixed on the bridge — on the silent, mocking glint of the cross lying dead-center and tried to time it.

The rope lifted overhead, its path smooth and cruel.

He took a breath and jumped.

His feet hit the wooden slats with a thud, but the impact forced him into a crouch, hands splayed on the floor, breath caught.

The rope came again.

He jumped. Just in time.

Landed on his hands and the the tips of his toes. Crawled. Moved forward, fast but careful.

Another pass. Another leap.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean.

But it worked.

From the platform, Y/N stood frozen, her eyes locked on him, body trembling with every beat of the rope. Every time it sliced downward, she flinched, her hand going to her chest, her mouth silently forming his name.

She couldn’t breathe.

He was getting closer.

One jump.

Two.

And then—he reached it.

The cross.

Nam-gyu snatched it off the bridge in a fumbling grip, his fingers slipping as he tried to flip it open with one hand and prepare to jump again. The rope came closer, the wind from its swing whispering against his back.

He managed to open it mid-motion, the tiny hinges squeaking—

And froze.

It was empty.

His heart plummeted.

No pills.

No relief.

No escape.

He wasn’t going to save himself. 

And he wasn’t going to save her. 

He stood there, blinking, barely hearing anything, barely seeing until he looked up over his shoulder, eyes seeking her.

Y/N was already watching him.

Their eyes met.

Hers filled with fear. Then with tears.

Her lips moved — a scream:

“Jump!”

But he didn’t hear it.

Not really.

Because time slowed down, and suddenly the rope was there again.

This time, he didn’t jump.

The rope slammed against his ankles with brutal force, ripping his feet out from under him. His body hit the planks hard. He rolled — once, before crashing against the edge of the bridge—

And then he was gone.

Y/N let out a strangled gasp and slapped both hands over her ears just in time to muffle the sound of his scream as it echoed down into the void—

And ended.

"Player 124, eliminated."

Just like that.

Nam-gyu was gone.

And Y/N… was alone again.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until her hands came up to cover her face and came away wet.

The sobs came softly at first — a trembling inhale, a cracked exhale — until the grief took over. Her shoulders shook as she curled in on herself near the wall, muffling her cries in her palms.

She was crying over Nam-gyu.

The same asshole who came on too strong the very first day they met. Who flirted shamelessly and loudly, then had the audacity to say a woman didn’t belong in their group. The same guy who persuaded her into sleeping with him by the second day. Who made her his second go-to escape (next to the drugs), his little secret in bathroom stalls and shadowed corners. And who, through all of it, never kissed her — because kissing, he once said, was ‘too intimate. Beyond what I want from you.’

The same guy who told her to her face he only liked her for the sex.

Who had stared at her before the fourth game and basically said, “If I find you first, I’ll kill you.”

She wanted to focus on that. She tried to.

She tried to cling to all the ways he hurt her, used her, reduced her to nothing more than a warm body and a distraction. If she could hold onto that version of him — cruel, selfish, impossible — maybe losing him wouldn’t feel like being carved open from the inside.

But her mind betrayed her.

Because it remembered other things, too.

It remembered him — the Nam-gyu who didn’t hesitate to pull her into a room during the last round in the third game. Who threw himself at Min-su in a blind rage when she was nearly stabbed to death. Who carried her when she couldn’t walk and stayed beside her through her worst night, even as he shook with withdrawal and trembled from the lack of his pills. He had no strength left — and he gave what little remained to her.

And today, he’d died trying to get something that would help both of them survive. He’d kissed her for the first time, real and unfiltered, then leapt into hell for a pill that wasn’t there.

Nam-gyu didn’t die a hero.

He died violent, and young, and desperate — just like people always said he would. Like Thanos. Like Gyeong-su. Like all the other doomed men she’d once stood beside.

No one on the outside would mourn a dead ex-club promoter and junkie.

But she would.

Because despite everything he was—violent, impulsive, cruel—he tried to be something better in the end. Even if just for her.

He died gallant.

Or at least…trying to be.

Y/N wept for him, silently and endlessly. Not because she loved him, not exactly. Their relationship had never been anything close to stable. She didn’t know what to call it. But she had cared for him.

And now he was gone.

Just another number. Another name that would vanish into the folds of the Game.

But to her, he wasn’t just another player.

He was Nam-gyu.

And she couldn’t stop crying.

Min-su stood a few feet away, silent.

Then he took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N…” he said quietly.

She slowly lifted her head, her cheeks wet, eyes rimmed with red, lips trembling as her breath hitched between sobs. She didn’t bother wiping the tears this time. She just looked at him — broken, hollowed, raw.

Min-su shifted awkwardly, his gaze flicking to her ankle — the ankle he’d crushed — and then back to her face. His voice cracked as he spoke again.

“We should try and cross the bridge… together. I can help you.”

She blinked at him like he’d slapped her. “You want to help me,” she said, voice hoarse, “after you tried to kill me in the last game?”

His face faltered. “I’m sorry about that, okay? I was high, I didn’t know—”

“I have done nothing but try to be kind to you,” she snapped, her words shaking now. “I was the one trying to get Nam-gyu off your back. I stood up for you. I tried to keep you safe.” More tears streamed down her face. Quiet this time. Steady. “And you still tried to kill me,” she whispered.

Min-su opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She shook her head, bitterly. “I knew you had his pills. I knew what would happen if Nam-gyu found out. He would’ve gutted you.” Her voice cracked again. “I didn’t say a word.”

Min-su sniffled, guilt breaking through his eyes. “Y/N… I’m trying to fix this. Please.”

“You can’t fix it,” she whispered. “You should’ve just killed me in the last game. Maybe Nam-gyu wouldn’t have died trying to carry both of us.” She looked up fully then, voice like glass. Cutting. “Gyeong-su died because Thanos picked you to live. Thanos died because you couldn’t take responsibility for your choices. You started that fight — you ran, and he paid for it.”

Min-su’s face crumbled, but she didn’t stop.

“Se-mi died because you hid. Because you didn’t defend her. She probably screamed for help and you hid.” Her voice broke again. “Nam-gyu is dead because you were trying to avenge a dead girl you turned your back on, just hours before, like she meant nothing to you.”

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, breath trembling.

“You got me killed, too. You broke my ankle. Left me to die.” She pointed to it — bruised, swollen, taped with a strip of her own jacket. “All of them. Gyeong-su. Thanos. Se-mi. Nam-gyu. Me. You killed us all,” she said softly, looking away, her voice no longer angry — just hollow.

Min-su exhaled shakily, eyes glistening. She saw him fight the urge to cry, his chest heaving slightly like he couldn’t breathe.

Then he reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the final pill.

No words.

He popped it into his mouth, swallowed dry, and walked toward the front of the group.

He didn’t look back at her.

He simply got in line — behind a trembling player — and waited for his turn to jump.

Y/N sat slumped against the cold wall, her injured leg stretched in front of her, arms limp at her sides.

One by one, the remaining players jumped.

Some screamed. Some didn’t. Some made it across with barely a second to spare. Others plummeted — swallowed by the pit in an instant, their stories ending midair.

And she just watched.

Her tears had dried. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t blink much anymore. Her breath came shallow, like her lungs had given up on trying to fill all the way. Her body was heavy. Her heart heavier.

The clock ticked mercilessly on the far wall.

Then — movement.

Player 222.

The young woman who once clutched her pregnant belly, now limping forward with a ghost-like calm.

Y/N’s gaze locked on her, confusion slowly setting in… until she noticed the way the girl walked. The same stiffness. The same quiet pain in every step.

Her ankle was broken too.

They were the same.

Two injured women. Two wrecked bodies. No way forward. No real chance.

On the far end of the bridge, 456 reached out toward her, panic etched in his face as he nearly attempted to cross the bridge again. But 222 only stopped him and spoke through the tears, voice raised as she begged him to take care of her baby. To make it worth something. To make her mean something.

And then she stepped forward.

No hesitation.

One broken step.

And she was gone.

Y/N flinched as she vanished. Just like that.

She looked at the timer.

Eleven seconds.

This was it.

No fanfare. No final words. No big, bloody send-off.

Just time.

Running out.

She placed one hand on the wall behind her and forced herself upright. Her leg screamed in protest. Her balance wavered. She took one breath, then hobbled toward the edge of the platform — to the very spot where Nam-gyu had stood, where Min-su had mocked him.

She could still feel him there, the echo of that moment scorched into the floor.

She stood there.

Unmoving.

Her eyes flicked up to the nearest guard, whose rifle was already raised, aimed at her head like a countdown of its own.

She looked between the gun and the pit below.

Which one would hurt less?

The platform across the gap was already emptying, players led away.

She turned her head slightly—just in time to see the broken girl fall.

And then… the beep.

“The game is over.”

The announcement rang hollow.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t open her eyes.

Then—

She felt it.

The cold barrel pressed gently to her forehead.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t flinch. 

She just…waited.

One breath.

Two.

A final whisper of Nam-gyu’s name in her head.

Then—

BANG.

Darkness.

"Player 123, eliminated."

[big-poppa23]

Dae-ho defender until the day I die

“We need more male characters showing fear and being scared with realistic human reactions”

You couldn’t even handle him

[big-poppa23]

Something Like Her Part Seven

synapse: fate was on their side. they lived and now, they were gonna get that happy ending in thailand like they talked about

pairing: cho hyun-ju x female reader

contains: implied abusive ex-boyfriend, bit of transphobia, bit of homophobia

a/n: so i’m very tempted to watch the glory as my second k-drama ever specifically because of that beautiful man so yeah im writing him in this (cuz why not and reader has a ‘type’ lol-just park sung-hoon aka also my type) i could be very wrong with the way im writing his character so sorry, its based on what ive read about him. One more thing: im gonna be writing one shots for my queen after this but I consider this an ending

. . .

It had been days since the Games ended.

Days since the final vote passed in a landslide.

Days since they were blindfolded, loaded into vans, and dumped back into the real world—this time with ₩1.724 billion in their bank accounts. Blood money. Dirty. Heavy. But enough to buy silence… or a second chance.

Her parents didn’t even want to look at her when she came home. They screamed. Called her things they hadn’t said since she was a teenager. “Filth.” “Sinner.” “Ruined.” And when they saw Hyun-ju standing behind her—quiet, still, unflinching—they turned uglier.

So she kissed Hyun-ju in front of them.

Not gentle. Not shy. Deliberate.

And she didn’t look back.

Now, she stepped out of a taxi into the muted gray of Incheon Airport’s morning fog. Her arm was still in a sling, healing slower than she liked.

She tugged her suitcase behind her, boarding pass clutched in her good hand, eyes scanning the crowd.

And then—

Pain jolted through her shoulder as she collided with a hard chest, sending her sprawling onto the cold tile floor.

“Fuck—shit,” she muttered, breath catching as she scrambled for her ticket.

A familiar voice cut through the din.

“Y/N?”

She froze.

Her stomach dropped before her eyes even found him.

Jeon Jae-joon.

Polished to a fault. Designer shoes that never scuffed. Tailored coat draped over his arm like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. That same effortless cologne. That same condescending smirk. Her parents loved him. Wanted her to marry him.

God, she hated how fast he could twist her back into that old version of herself.

“Didn’t think I’d see you crawling around like a stray dog,” he said coolly, looking her over like she was dirt in Dior. He offered a hand—more mockery than help. She didn’t take it.

“Still too proud?” he mused. “Some things don’t change.”

She stood on her own, jaw tight.

“I thought you’d disappeared for good. What happened—run out of places to sleep? That what the sling’s for? You finally tried to fuck the wrong man?” he remarked.

She said nothing.

But of course, silence never stopped Jae-joon. He took a step closer, his eyes sharp as glass. “I never said we were over, you know.”

She didn’t move.

His fingers wrapped around her arm. Possessive. Familiar. “You loved me once.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You disappear without a word and think I’d just forget you?” he muttered, his grip tightening. “You owe me answers.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

His expression hardened. He leaned in close, his voice low enough to burn. “Always had a mouth on you. Always needed someone to remind you who you belonged to. Maybe I should remind you right here—”

“Let go of her.”

The voice was soft. But it cut through him like a blade.

Jae-joon turned, slow and smug—until he saw her.

Hyun-ju stood just feet away. Calm. Steady. Dressed in black jeans and a bomber jacket, eyes sharp beneath her fringe.

He blinked. Then scoffed. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m her girlfriend.”

His lips parted in surprise before he barked out a harsh laugh. “Girlfriend?” He glanced back at Y/N. “This is what you ran to? Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead serious,” Y/N said, her voice flat.

“You’re a dyke now?” He looked Hyun-ju up and down, sneering. “She doesn’t even look like a woman.”

Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. “You don’t look like a man. Just a boy used to people flinching when he snaps.”

“Watch your mouth, bitch—”

She stepped closer. “Walk. Away.”

“Or what?”

Her voice dropped. Low. Lethal. “You don’t want to find out what I’ve done to men who touched her without permission.”

For the first time, he hesitated.

Hyun-ju didn’t break eye contact.

Finally, Jae-joon scoffed, brushing imaginary lint off his suit as he looked at Y/N. “Whatever. You’re not worth it. Never were.”

“Neither were you,” Y/N said.

“Charity case,” he remarked as he walked away, muttering something else under his breath—but he didn’t look back.

Only when he was gone did Y/N let out the breath she’d been holding. Her hand trembled, the adrenaline crashing down all at once. Hyun-ju reached for it and held it. “You okay?” she asked.

Y/N gave a small nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Hyun-ju said gently. “Not even a reaction.”

“I’m not scared of him anymore,” she whispered. “I just… realized there are better people in the world.”

Hyun-ju smiled faintly. “You better be talking about me.”

“Who else would I be talking about?” she said, lips twitching into a smile.

Her gaze dropped to Hyun-ju’s leg—still favoring it. The stab wound. Hidden under clean stitches and compression bandages, but obvious in the way she limped.

“You sure you’re good to walk?”

“We’re about to sit on a plane for five hours,” Hyun-ju said dryly. “I’ll survive.”

“That’s what we do best.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

They just held hands.

And walked into the terminal together.

. . .

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting streaks of orange and pink across the sky. The air was warm and still, heavy with the scent of salt and blooming frangipani. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean whispered against the sand.

Y/N stood barefoot on the patio, her arms resting on the railing of their new home overlooking the coast. Loose linen pants clung gently to her hips, her shoulder still stiff in its sling but healing. The breeze lifted strands of her hair, carrying them across her face, and she didn’t bother to tuck them back. She just breathed.

Thailand was different. Slower. Quieter.

For once, she wasn’t looking over her shoulder.

Behind her, soft footsteps padded across the wood. A moment later, warm lips pressed to her bare shoulder—gentle, reverent. Hyun-ju’s arms slid around her waist from behind, and a glass of iced tea appeared in her hand.

“Still out here?” Hyun-ju asked softly, resting her chin on Y/N’s good shoulder.

“Mm,” she hummed, gently taking the glass of iced tea from her. “Didn’t want to go back in yet.”

Hyun-ju didn’t answer, just kissed her again—this time behind the ear—and stayed pressed to her back like she belonged there. Y/N leaned into her, letting the warmth soak into her skin.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” Y/N whispered after a while. “This. Us. All of it.”

“It is,” Hyun-ju said softly. “We made it real.”

Y/N finally turned slightly, just enough to see her. “Do you ever think about it? The Games?”

Hyun-ju hesitated. “…Sometimes. In pieces. Mostly in dreams.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “But then I wake up and you’re here. And it gets a little easier.” Y/N looked down at the drink in her hand, then turned her face toward her. “We probably should’ve died in there.”

“But we didn’t.”

Y/N exhaled. “Do you think they’ll come looking for us? I know we voted to leave but…”

Hyun-ju’s arms tightened just slightly around her. “Let them.”

That made Y/N smile. “You’re always the calm one. Even back in the dorms.”

“I wasn’t calm,” she said. “I was terrified. Of losing you.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat, heavy and full of unsaid things.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her gaze dropping, vulnerable and soft. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to have this. You. A home. A real home.”

“You do now. And I have you.”

Another beat passed.

Then, in a voice just above a whisper, Hyun-ju said it:

“I love you.”

Y/N froze. Slowly turned in her arms. Her eyes searched Hyun-ju’s—no hint of fear there, just quiet certainty.

She reached up, brushing a hand against her cheek. “Say it again,” she whispered.

Hyun-ju smiled. “I love you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, breathed it in like air. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed was soft. Lingering. No urgency. No desperation. Just warmth. Just peace. The kind of kiss you give when you know—truly know—that the worst is behind you.

And the future, for once, is theirs.

[big-poppa23]

Something Like Her Part Six

synapse: the fourth game. a chance to live. a chance to die. and both hyun-ju and y/n are willing to kill

pairing: cho hyun-ju x female reader

contains: spoilers for season three, blood, death, childbirth

a/n: this chapter is for all the 333 haters who dislike him after this season after what he did—you’re welcome. also y/n’s fights are written based on my favorite movies lol so if yk I fuck with you. i also wrote this while i was really baked so sorry if some things don’t make sense I just to write for wifey who looks so hot in that gif btw. And this isn’t the last chapter. Also if what happened to Hyun-ju…happened…tbh this reader would make sure she doesn’t die just so she could kill 333 herself

PART SEVEN

. . .

That night, Y/N tried to sleep—but her shoulder throbbed with every breath, every twitch of muscle. The ache was deep, pulsing in waves that made true rest impossible. She drifted in and out, until finally, she gave up entirely. Her eyes remained open, unfocused, fixed on the ceiling of the dormitory that felt more like a mausoleum with every passing hour.

When the guards entered, boots echoing on concrete, she barely flinched. She didn’t need to. She was already awake.

Her eyes shifted sideways, landing on Hyun-ju, still asleep beside her on the lower bunk. Her breathing was soft and steady, her hand resting loosely on the blanket between them. There was something in that stillness that made Y/N’s throat tighten—because with how few players remained now, death felt closer. Closer than it ever had before.

She looked away, eyes catching on Gi-hun across the room, still cuffed to his bedframe, awake in the dim light. Hollow-eyed. Haunted. She remembered his words from that first night, when the games had just begun—when everything had still felt like it might be survivable.

He was the only winner from his round. Everyone else had died.

Everyone.

And if that was true—if winning meant stepping over every single person you cared about to do it—then what the hell were they doing?

She turned back toward Hyun-ju.

Her fingers itched with the need to touch her, to trace the lines of her face, to memorize the slope of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. To hold on, even if just with her eyes. Hyun-ju called her body “unfinished,” not done—but Y/N had never seen anything more beautiful. And if this was her last day alive… she needed to remember her. Exactly as she was.

She closed her eyes, letting herself drift—not into sleep, but into memory. Last night’s memory.

Hyun-ju’s mouth on her jaw. The soft, reverent kiss against her neck. The warmth of her touch, how gently her hands had explored her like she was something to be cherished, not just wanted. Her voice, low and steady.

Y/N swallowed hard. She could still feel her.

God, they could’ve gone further. Would’ve, if that fucking guard hadn’t interrupted them—

A sudden flood of light burned through the darkness, and the dormitory filled with the distorted swell of classical music over the speakers. The signal.

Everyone up.

Y/N’s eyes flew open. Her pulse ticked higher. It was time.

And if she didn’t survive whatever came next, at least she’d spent her last night thinking of the only person who ever made her feel human. Seen. Loved.

Hyun-ju stirred slowly, her lashes fluttering open as the music faded into the background hum of tension. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, shoulders tense with the familiar ache of restless sleep. As she sat up, her gaze immediately found Y/N—already awake, already…ready.

“Why are you up?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep, tinged with concern. “You didn’t sleep much…”

Y/N just smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Hyun-ju’s cheek. Her lips lingered there, warm and quiet, like a silent goodbye in disguise. “I’m okay,” she whispered near her skin.

Then she straightened and turned, stretching her arms overhead, ignoring the dull pull of her healing shoulder. She rotated her neck slowly, breathing in deep, forcing herself to feel strong—even if she didn’t.

The air was different today. Heavier. Final.

Hyun-ju watched her with furrowed brows, her gut twisting. Something about Y/N felt… different. Too calm. Like someone who had already made peace with something she hadn’t shared.

And Hyun-ju hated how much that terrified her.

“Y/N…” she called, but her voice was drowned out by the heavy clank of metal doors sliding open.

It was time.

Y/N didn’t register most of what the guards barked out. Her ears rang faintly, as if the very walls were pressing in on her. Her body moved only because others were moving, her legs following the herd. But when they reached the staircase, she stopped.

Her breath caught.

High above the main hall, bathed in sterile light, hung the bodies of their fallen—dangling from thick wires like grotesque ornaments. Wrists bound. Heads limp. A human chandelier.

Everyone who had taken part in the failed rebellion. Strung up like warnings.

A voice echoed from overhead, cold and mechanical: “You are witnessing the fate of those who refused the democratic process of voting and instead attempted to stop the game using violent means.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her stomach lurched. She forced herself to look away, eyes burning as she turned toward Hyun-ju. Her breath caught again—not from the horror, but from the realization: That could’ve been us.

If they hadn’t gone looking for Dae-ho… If they’d still been there when the guards stormed in… they would’ve been up there, swaying gently like puppets cut from hope.

She looked ahead and found Dae-ho frozen, his eyes locked on the spectacle above. His lips parted, but no sound came. His chest rose and fell too fast—panic taking over. He looked seconds away from throwing up or breaking down.

She stepped closer to him, her voice a whisper just for him. “It’s not your fault. We all would’ve been up there if you came back with the magazines. You saved us without meaning to.”

His eyes flicked to hers, wide and glassy. He couldn’t speak. But the look on his face said everything: Gratitude. Guilt. Relief. Shame. All tangled.

But she didn’t linger. She turned, stepping forward again. Because if she looked at those bodies too long, she might fall apart.

And Dae-ho watched her go, the only person who didn’t look at him like he was weak—or a failure.

He swallowed hard, wiped at his eyes, and followed as did the rest.

The hallway led them into a vast room unlike any before—cold and clinical in design, yet unsettling in color. The walls were a smooth, industrial gray, while the floor gleamed bright yellow under harsh overhead lights. In the center of the space stood a towering gum ball machine, its globe filled with only two colors: red and blue. Each orb seemed to shimmer like polished glass, ominous in its simplicity.

The line moved quickly. No one spoke.

Y/N stood silently, watching as each person ahead of her turned the machine’s handle, retrieved their fate, and peeled off to their respective side of the room—red to the left, blue to the right. It felt like fate disguised as chance.

Her turn came. She stepped forward.

Her hand grasped the cold silver handle, heart thudding in her chest. She turned it.

The sound of the thunk made her flinch. She reached down, fingers closing around the small smooth sphere.

Blue.

She stared at it for a second too long before curling it into her palm, the plastic biting against her fingers. With a breath, she walked across the yellow floor to the right side of the room, her eyes darting toward the line again—waiting, hoping.

And then she saw her.

Hyun-ju stepped forward with the same calm control as always, but Y/N could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flicked briefly toward her before turning the handle.

Hyun-ju reached down, pulled out the ball, and looked at it.

Blue.

Their eyes met instantly.

Y/N’s breath caught as the tight coil of fear in her chest finally loosened. Hyun-ju started walking toward her and Y/N took a small step forward, the sea of red and blue balls momentarily forgotten.

Relief—warm, steady, and overwhelming—washed through her.

When Hyun-ju reached her, she held up her ball slightly. “Guess we’re lucky.”

“Or fate has a soft spot for us,” Y/N murmured, smiling faintly.

“Let’s not test it too much,” Hyun-ju replied, her voice low as she stood beside her.

Y/N leaned in just enough for their arms to brush. “Still glad I get to keep you close.”

Y/N’s fingers reached out, brushing Hyun-ju’s pinky. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to.

Hyun-ju linked their fingers.

No matter what the game was, they would face it side by side.

The room was split straight down the middle like a battlefield drawn in neon—red vests lined one side, blue on the other. It was almost poetic in its cruelty. War dressed up like a children’s game.

The air was thick with nerves. Tension buzzed like static between players, the silence only broken by the echoing voice of the masked guard who stepped forward.

Hide and Seek.

Thirty minutes. The blue team must find the exit… or stay hidden until time ran out. The red team was to hunt. Eliminate as many blue players as possible. If they failed to do so, they would be eliminated themselves.

Red couldn’t kill red. But…

There was one exception: before the game began, opposing players could swap roles—if both sides agreed.

Y/N looked down at the blue box in her hands.

A key. Cold. Metallic. Useless for defense—but maybe just enough to unlock salvation if she played it right.

Across the divide, the red team held knives. Blades gleaming beneath the lights like promises of death.

She swallowed hard, fingers curling around the key.

Then—Hyun-ju’s voice, low and urgent beside her. “You should try to swap. Someone will want a key. You’d be safer.”

Y/N turned to her sharply, shaking her head. “No. I’m not going to.”

“Y/N, listen to me—”

“No,” she cut in, firmer this time. “I don’t care if all I’ve got is this stupid key. I’m not leaving your side.”

Hyun-ju exhaled hard, frustration showing for the first time. “The blue team is marked for slaughter. I need you to live.”

“I’m living right now,” Y/N whispered, stepping closer to her. “Right here, beside you.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw clenched.

Y/N reached out, brushing her hand against hers. “But… if something happens—if I slow you down—”

“Don’t,” Hyun-ju said immediately, shaking her head.

“You need to promise me—if it means surviving, if it means escaping, and I’m in the way, you need to leave me—”

“I said no.” Her voice firm, eyes locking onto hers. “I’m not making that promise because I’d never keep it.”

Silence fell between them. The noise around them—negotiations, tension, decisions—faded beneath the weight of their gaze.

Then Hyun-ju spoke, voice barely above a whisper, “We survive together. Or not at all.”

Y/N nodded once, eyes glassy but resolute. “Then we hide. We fight. We live.”

Just then, the announcement came—robotic and soulless.

“The game will begin momentarily. Blue Team, please get ready to enter the arena. Let me repeat…”

Y/N tightened her fingers around the key before slipping its thin chain over her head. The cold metal settled against her chest. She exhaled, quiet but steady. “Let’s do this.”

But before she could take a step, Hyun-ju’s hand caught hers. “Wait.”

Y/N turned just as Hyun-ju reached up, cupping her face with both hands and pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to her lips. It lingered—more than just a goodbye, more than habit. A promise.

When she pulled away, her voice was low, almost fragile. “Just in case.”

Y/N pecked her lips in return. “I’ll see you after.”

They moved into the line together, shoulder to shoulder, following the others through a pair of towering green doors that swung open with an ominous groan.

Inside, the room defied logic.

The ceiling stretched high above them, painted in a dreamlike canopy of soft twilight blue. Stars and crescent moons danced in uneven, childlike patterns—yellow shapes that shimmered under dim, flickering light. It might’ve once seemed magical, even comforting. But in here, it was a twisted lullaby. The calm before the slaughter.

The concrete walls had been disguised with crude murals of rolling hills, stubby trees, and fields beneath cartoonish skies—like someone tried to color over a nightmare. The cheerfulness felt grotesque, the innocence weaponized.

The doors slammed shut behind them, and the mechanical voice returned.

“The taggers will enter in two minutes.”

The words hit like a gunshot. Movement exploded. Players scattered in all directions, breath shallow and eyes wide, like prey already sensing the predators.

But Hyun-ju didn’t move. She scanned the maze calmly, her eyes locking onto a narrow hallway at the top of a staircase. “We’ll go this way.”

Y/N nodded, but something caught her attention—Jun-hee, visibly shaking, one hand over her belly, the other gripped by Mrs. Jang, who looked just as worried.

Y/N paused. So did Hyun-ju.

A silent look passed between them. One nod was all it took.

Y/N stepped to Jun-hee’s side gently. “Hey… are you okay?”

Jun-hee gave a small, wordless nod, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Come on. This way,” she said, voice steady but kind, offering her hand.

Hyun-ju was already there by the time they reached the steps, carefully guiding Jun-hee from the other side. “Careful,” she said, her arm offering both direction and support. Mrs. Jang followed behind, gripping the banister tight as they climbed.

Y/N cast one last glance at the mural below—trees and stars and hills, all painted like hope.

But there was no hope in this place.

Only the hunted. And the hunters.

. . .

They moved swiftly, weaving through door after door, each one creaking louder than the last. Hyun-ju led them, the keys jangling softly against her chest. Every footstep was calculated, quiet—until it wasn’t.

It had been ten minutes of stealthiness before it shattered.

Player 226.

He wore the red vest of the taggers, and his knife gleamed in his hand as he turned the corner.

They immediately bolted.

Jun-hee moved ahead, Y/N and Mrs. Jang flanking her protectively, while Hyun-ju brought up the rear. They dashed up a small staircase, but halfway up—

Crack.

Jun-hee gasped and stumbled, her ankle twisting beneath her. She fell, tumbling backward and landing hard at the bottom, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

Y/N and Mrs. Jang turned instantly, rushing to her, but Player 226 was already there, knife raised and panting as he stopped in front of her.

“Step aside,” he growled at Hyun-ju, who had moved between him and the others like a wall of steel. “I just need to kill that damn bitch.” His eyes flitted to Mrs. Jang, then to Y/N. “Or maybe the old hag. Or even the fucking dyke.”

Y/N felt her breath hitch, fury igniting, but Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. Her hand moved slowly to the keys tucked around her neck. She shoved them deeper into her jacket, zipping it up tight, and raised her fists.

She wasn’t giving him anything.

“Hyun-ju,” Y/N whispered behind her, voice trembling. But Hyun-ju’s eyes never left 226.

He lunged.

The first swing missed. So did the second. Hyun-ju caught his momentum and slammed him into the wall with a grunt, wrenching his arm down and driving her elbow into his temple once—twice. He clawed desperately, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking hard.

She didn’t falter.

She gripped his wrist, twisted, and flipped him over her shoulder. He hit the ground with a hard thud. Before he could recover, her knee pressed into his shoulder, pinning him. With one hand, she snatched the knife from his hand. With the other, she forced it toward his chest.

He fought—grunting, trying to push it away—but Hyun-ju’s strength surged from somewhere deeper. With a cry of effort, she drove the knife down, into his heart. His body went limp beneath her.

The room fell silent except for their ragged breaths.

Y/N tore her eyes from the dead man, quickly turning her attention to Jun-hee. She helped Mrs. Jang guide her to the step and crouched to examine her.

Hyun-ju stood slowly, pulling the knife free. She wiped the blade on 226’s vest before slipping it into her jacket. Then she turned, her expression tight with concern, and moved to them.

“You okay?” Y/N asked quietly, looking her over.

Hyun-ju nodded. “Don’t worry about me.” She crouched down beside Jun-hee. Her gaze moved to the ankle—already swelling, already purpling. “Can you walk?”

Jun-hee nodded weakly, though her face was pale.

“Let’s go. Anyone who heard that will head this way.”

Without a word, she took Jun-hee’s left arm, Y/N grabbed the right. Mrs. Jang supported her from behind as they helped her up the stairs, every step aching, every breath precious.

But they were still alive. And that counted for something.

After several more tense, breathless minutes of darting from one pastel-painted room to the next, Hyun-ju stopped in front of a door and quickly unlocked it with one of the keys clutched around her neck. She shoved it open and stepped inside, sweeping the room with quick, trained eyes.

Mrs. Jang and Y/N helped Jun-hee limp in, guiding her gently down to the floor.

The room was surreal—like an ocean-themed kindergarten classroom, bright and cheery in a way that felt cruel under the circumstances. The walls were painted in vibrant blues, dotted with large bubbles and smileless, cut-out fish with dead, empty eyes. Ruffled strips of green construction paper hung from the ceiling like seaweed, casting distorted shadows that danced across the floor as they moved.

Hyun-ju knelt in front of Jun-hee, examining her ankle properly. “Her ankle might be fractured. She shouldn’t walk on it.”

“Then we hide here,” Y/N said, eyes already scanning the room. “We wait it out and see how things go.”

Jun-hee quickly shook her head. “Don’t do that just for me. I’ll hide in here alone. You should go find the exit.”

“I’ll… stay with her,” Mrs. Jang said, already settling beside Jun-hee.

“What?” Hyun-ju and Y/N both said at the same time, nearly in unison.

Mrs. Jang looked up at them, her expression calm but firm. “You two should go. We've already been a big enough burden on you.”

Y/N turned to Hyun-ju, voice low. “I’ll stay too. To protect them. She’s right…You should go ahead.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw clenched. “No,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “I already told you I’m not—”

Jun-hee suddenly let out a sharp gasp, her eyes wide as her chest heaved.

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Jang asked quickly, leaning in.

Then they all saw it: a slow, clear drip of liquid spreading out from underneath Jun-hee on the floor.

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed. “Did she just—”

“Her water broke,” Mrs. Jang confirmed, her voice suddenly a notch louder, a notch more serious.

There was a beat of silence.

Panic flickered across all their faces at once.

“What do we do?” Y/N asked, already moving closer, kneeling by Jun-hee’s head.

Mrs. Jang shrugged off her jacket, the one under her vest, and covered Jun-hee’s legs with it as she helped her get her pants off. “Y/N, I need your help. Hold her hand, help her breathe through it.”

Y/N nodded without hesitation, taking trembling her hand. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Mrs. Jang got to work, murmuring instructions under her breath as she shifted into midwife mode while Y/N untied her bloody jacket from around her waist and making it into a makeshift pillow for her to lie her head back on.

Hyun-ju didn’t move at first—she was frozen in the middle of the room, watching them all. Watching Y/N.

Then something shifted in her eyes. She grabbed the knife, stood, and moved to the door. “I’ll keep watch,” she said quietly, stepping up to it.

She cracked it open, just enough to see the hallway, the shadows flickering from distant movement. Her other hand gripped the hilt of the knife tight.

Behind her, Jun-hee cried out softly as another contraction hit.

And Hyun-ju stood there—eyes fixed on the corridor, ears tuned to every noise outside that door—but her heart still anchored to the room behind her.

Y/N gently helped Jun-hee shrug off her jacket, careful not to jostle her too much, before easing her back down against the bundled fabric serving as a pillow. She reached for the sleeve of the jacket, bunching it up and bringing it toward Jun-hee’s trembling mouth.

“Here,” she said softly but firmly. “Bite down on this. We can’t risk being heard.”

Jun-hee obeyed without question, clenching her teeth around the fabric just as another contraction rippled through her body. A muffled cry escaped against the cloth, her body arching slightly in pain.

Mrs. Jang leaned forward, her tone calm but commanding. “Alright, Jun-hee. When I say push, I need you to push with everything you’ve got. Breathe through it. You’re strong. You’ve got this.”

Y/N’s free hand moved instinctively to Jun-hee’s hair, brushing it gently away from her damp forehead. “You’re doing great,” she murmured. “So great. Just hold on. You’re almost there.”

Jun-hee whimpered, nodding faintly, clutching Y/N’s hand with bruising strength.

Mrs. Jang glanced over her shoulder at Hyun-ju, still posted by the door with the knife in hand, every muscle tense. “Hyun-ju. She needs more than one hand to hold. Come here.”

There was a beat of hesitation before Hyun-ju spoke, her voice low. “Okay.”

She shut the door fully, setting the knife down within arm’s reach. Her shoes were quiet against the painted floor as she crossed to Jun-hee’s side and knelt down, reaching for her other hand.

Jun-hee’s fingers immediately latched onto hers like a lifeline.

Hyun-ju held on tight. “I’ve got you,” she said softly, locking eyes with her. “We all do.”

The room smelled of sweat and fear and iron, but in that moment, surrounded by seaweed-shaped paper and faceless fish, it held something else too—a strange flicker of defiance. Of survival. Of life.

“Alright,” Mrs. Jang said again, focused. “Jun-hee… now. Push.”

Six minutes passed in a blur of whispered encouragements and stifled cries, every second thick with tension and urgency. Outside this strange little room, there were still players hiding, dying, hunting. But here, in a sea-themed shelter of paper fish and painted coral, they were kneeling in witness to something else entirely—life, raw and fragile, fighting its way into the world.

Y/N clutched Jun-hee’s hand tightly, her voice low but firm. “Breathe through it. You’re almost there. Just a little more.”

Mrs. Jang, crouched between Jun-hee’s legs, glanced up with a tight nod. “I can see the head. Just one more big push.”

“You’ve got this,” Y/N said gently, brushing back sweat-soaked strands from Jun-hee’s trembling face. “One more time, baby. One more.”

Jun-hee whimpered into her jacket sleeve, teeth sunk deep into the fabric, before gathering the last of her strength and pushing with everything she had.

“You’re so close,” Hyun-ju said from her side, her voice soft, steady. “Just a bit more. You’re almost there.”

Then—a sound.

A breathless second of silence, and then—

A soft, piercing wail filled the room.

The sound of a newborn’s first cry.

Mrs. Jang lifted the tiny, blood-slicked baby into her arms, a trembling smile on her face. “It’s a little princess,” she whispered, her voice thick with awe.

Y/N felt tears blur her vision as she leaned in, squeezing Jun-hee’s hand. “You did it,” she murmured. “She’s beautiful. You were amazing.”

Jun-hee’s body sagged back against the floor, drained but glowing.

Mrs. Jang looked toward Hyun-ju. “Hyun-ju, take the baby,” she said quietly.

Hyun-ju hesitated for only a second before scooting forward, hands outstretched. Mrs. Jang placed the baby in her arms, and Hyun-ju held her with the caution and reverence of someone cradling something holy. Her expression softened, mouth parting slightly as she looked down at the crying bundle like the world had briefly paused just for this.

Y/N watched her in awe. The hardened edge in Hyun-ju’s features was gone—replaced by wonder, by warmth. It hit her in the chest like a slow breath of fire. She looked… radiant. Like maybe, just maybe, she’d been born to hold something this gentle in a world that had never shown her gentleness.

Mrs. Jang reached into her hair, pulling free a small hidden blade to cut the umbilical cord, her hands quick and practiced.

Y/N passed her Jun-hee’s jacket, now repurposed as a wrap. She gently helped Jun-hee sit up, easing her into a sitting position despite her pain. Then she nestled the baby into her mother’s arms.

Jun-hee looked down at her daughter with tears in her eyes, whispering something only the newborn could hear.

Y/N shuffled back, her eyes never leaving the scene. Her throat tightened, the moment sinking deep in her chest. She hadn’t thought about children for herself—not in this world, not with her odds. But now… she understood something. Saw something.

She looked to Hyun-ju.

And Hyun-ju was already looking at her.

They didn’t need to say it aloud. The emotion in their eyes said enough.

Someday, if they survived this hell, they might have something like this of their own.

A quiet future. A safe place. A reason to keep fighting.

And maybe—just maybe—a life beyond survival.

The tender magic of the moment evaporated the instant the door creaked open.

Player 202, clad in red, stepped into the room with silent menace.

Y/N didn’t hesitate—she immediately slid in front of Jun-hee and the newborn, shielding them as Hyun-ju grabbed her knife off the ground.

202 moved fast, lunging, but Hyun-ju was faster—she slammed into him, the momentum sending them both tumbling into the concrete wall outside. They hit hard, breaking apart with a thud that echoed down the corridor.

Y/N’s head shot up as she heard Hyun-ju let out a pained yell. She grabbed Mrs. Jang’s small blade off the floor, putting it in her hand. “Keep her safe,” Y/N told Mrs. Jang without looking back, already sprinting out the door.

Her heart raced as she spotted Hyun-ju being shoved backward into a nearby room, the door swinging wide before it slammed shut behind them.

Her eyes snapped to the hallway floor—Hyun-ju’s knife.

Y/N grabbed it without thinking and charged in.

202 had Hyun-ju pinned, his blade inching closer to her chest as she strained against him, jaw clenched in pain and defiance.

“Get off her!” Y/N screamed, stabbing him hard in the back.

He cried out and staggered, and she yanked the knife free—stabbed again. That second hit gave Hyun-ju the opening she needed. With all her strength, she twisted, reversing their positions. Now it was him against the wall, arm holding him in a chokehold as her other hand grabbed the knife from him and rammed the blade into his chest.

Once. Twice. Three brutal strikes.

His body went slack and collapsed at her feet.

Both women stood there, breathing hard. Blood on their clothes. On their hands. In the air.

That’s when they noticed him—Player 039. Another red vest, frozen at the doorway. He hadn’t seen the beginning, but the end was clear enough. The blood. The body. The knives.

Y/N’s grip on the weapon tightened. She and Hyun-ju both stared him down like twin predators—exhausted, wounded, but not done.

He backed away slowly, then turned and disappeared without a word.

Silence reclaimed the room—brief, trembling silence.

Y/N looked down at Hyun-ju’s thigh, blood leaking fast from a deep stab wound. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live,” Hyun-ju panted, wincing as she moved past her.

But Y/N grabbed her gently, stopping her as her eyes caught something behind them.

Above a door—painted letters: EXIT.

Three locks. One shaped like a circle. One square. One triangle.

Hyun-ju wasted no time, her hands moving with a shaky urgency. She took the keys from around her neck and fitted each one into its slot.

The door creaked open.

A soft golden light spilled out, accompanied by gentle, almost mocking music—celebratory, like a lullaby for the dying.

They stared.

And then, wordlessly, they both looked back toward the classroom.

Mrs. Jang. Jun-hee. The baby.

“We can’t leave them,” Y/N said. “Go. I’ll get them,” she offered, turning toward the door they came through.

But Hyun-ju stopped her. “No.” She stepped forward, closed the exit, and tucked the keys back around her neck, locking the door once again. “We go together. I’m not leaving unless we all are.”

Y/N stared at her in disbelief, a helpless smile pulling at her lips despite everything. “You can barely walk. You’re so stubborn.”

“Alert the media,” Hyun-ju muttered dryly, her voice tight with pain but laced with affection.

She limped off down the corridor, refusing to let injury slow her. Y/N lingered at the doorway, the exit behind her, watching as Hyun-ju opened the other door and leaned inside.

“I found the exit,” she grinned. “We can get out of here together. Come on, hurry.”

Y/N’s heart lifted—only for it to lurch back into her throat a second later.

There. Behind Hyun-ju.

Player 333.

Another red vest. Creeping silently down the hallway with a knife raised.

He hadn’t seen Y/N.

But she saw him.

And she wasn’t about to let him take the woman she loved.

Her hand clamped down hard over Player 333’s mouth, muffling his startled yells. He thrashed, tried to shove her away, but she used every ounce of her strength, dragging him backward into the exit room. The door slammed shut behind them as they hit the floor—hard. Both of their knives skittered across the tile in opposite directions.

“You already passed this game,” she snapped, breathless, rolling over to crawl toward his blade. “I heard it. And now you’re going to kill someone else? For what—more blood money?”

He surged up faster than she expected, his hand closing tight around her ankle, yanking her back with brutal force.

“I need the money!” he yelled. “For me, for Jun-hee—for our kid!”

His hands latched onto her throat, squeezing.

She gasped, fingers clawing at his wrists—but instinct kicked in. The heel of her palm cracked against his forehead, disorienting him just enough. Then her thumb rammed into his eye.

He screamed, his grip loosening as he reeled back. She grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the floor beside her with a dull thud, then raised her leg and kicked him off.

Coughing, gasping for air, she dragged herself toward the wall. Her knife—there, half-buried beneath a loose rainbow-shaped decoration on the floor.

She was almost there when he stood, clutching his eye, now brightly bloodshot.

He grabbed his own knife. “You don’t get it. You didn’t get left behind with nothing,” he growled. “You didn’t destroy someone’s life the way I destroyed hers. I have to win. I have to give that baby a life.”

Y/N didn’t turn around—just crawled closer to her blade, voice low and steady. “Yes, I do. I do get it…”

Her fingers stretched. Touched the hilt.

“But we’re not the same. You’re killing for a bigger slice of the pie,” she whispered, “and I—”

He suddenly stomped his foot down, crushing it against her wounded shoulder.

Pain exploded through her. She screamed, buckling under the agony as he moved over her, flipped her onto her back, and pressed his knife against her throat.

“Finish that,” he growled, his face inches from hers. “What were you going to say?”

Her fingers curled slowly around her hidden knife, just above her head.

“I kill to save the people I love.”

And she drove the blade up.

It plunged through the side of his face—just below the cheekbone and into his mouth. He let out a garbled shriek as the steel split flesh, tore through teeth and tongue. She yanked it out with a slick, wet rip, and he tumbled off of her, writhing on the floor.

But she wasn’t done.

She mounted him with a feral cry, straddling his chest, and the blade descended again.

And again.

And again.

Twenty-one times.

Blood sprayed her cheeks, soaked her hands, ran in thick rivers across his chest. He twitched, gargled, tried to speak—

“Wait,” 333 croaked, choking on his own blood. “What about… my kid? Their life? My life? My…ending? Is this it?”

Her own bloodshot eyes locked onto his, wide and hollow. She leaned in close, one hand curling around the back of his head as if holding something precious. “Here it is,” she whispered.

And she dragged the blade across his throat—slow, deliberate, final.

Warm blood spurted onto her shirt.

Then silence.

He stilled beneath her.

She stared down at him for a moment longer, chest heaving.

And then—slowly—she pushed off of him, staggering to her feet, the bloodied knife still clenched tight in her trembling hand.

The sound of footsteps behind her made Y/N whirl around, knife still clenched tight, raised out of instinct.

Hyun-ju stood in the doorway, her arm around Mrs. Jang’s shoulders for balance, and Jun-hee just behind, cradling her newborn tightly to her chest.

Y/N’s voice was small, barely audible above the pounding of her heart. “He… he attacked me.”

Jun-hee’s eyes dropped to the lifeless body on the floor—what was left of Player 333—and she gasped, clutching her baby tighter and turning her face away.

“We need to leave,” Y/N said, her voice steadier this time but low, almost a whisper. “Before any more of them come.”

Hyun-ju nodded silently, limping back toward the door labeled Exit and sliding the three blood-streaked keys into their locks. One after the other.

Y/N didn’t move. She stood planted in place, blood drying on her skin, her knife raised, her eyes locked on the hallway behind them—just in case. Just in case someone else came lunging out of the shadows. Just in case they weren’t safe yet.

The door groaned open once more, golden light spilling into the room. The congratulatory music chimed in, almost mocking in its cheer.

Mrs. Jang stepped through first, cautious but quick. Jun-hee followed close behind, casting one last, shaken glance at the corpse but not stopping.

Hyun-ju turned to look back. Y/N hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even looked away from the shadows. Her shoulders were locked tight, her breathing shallow. That bloodied knife still gripped in her hand like a lifeline.

“Y/N,” Hyun-ju called softly, taking a step toward her despite the pain. “It’s over. We made it.”

Still, she didn’t move. Not until Hyun-ju reached out, gently wrapping her fingers around Y/N’s wrist, the one holding the blade. Her touch was warm. Grounding.

Y/N finally turned her head, eyes wild, still brimming with adrenaline and fear and something darker—something that had sunk into her bones after twenty-one stabs too many.

Hyun-ju met her eyes. “Come on,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

There was a pause, just a second—but enough to let Y/N blink through it. Enough to let her body remember it was hers.

Her grip loosened on the knife.

Her breathing shuddered out.

And she nodded. Wordlessly.

“He was gonna kill you,” Y/N mumbled, her voice low and thick, still staring down at the blood smeared across her hand. “I did it to protect you.”

Hyun-ju nodded softly, her eyes never leaving hers. ��I know,” she said gently. “Like you promised.”

And then, with the same tenderness she’d shown in the quiet of the bathroom, she reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “You kept your word.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat raw. “I just couldn’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” Hyun-ju said, gripping her hand, guiding it down from the knife. “Not if I can help it.”

Together, they stepped through the golden light.

[big-poppa23]

Dalmatian Dreams Part Three

synapse: a moment of peace with a purple haired idiot the night before the next game

pairing: thanos x latina!reader

contains: light smut (not insanely explicit), themes of jealousy

a/n: came to a decision about this series. this is the only series that I’m gonna write out most cannon events from the show (yes including the worse final season ever) but there’s a catch. just like my echoes of silence series. im gonna write out an ending for thanos and y/n that you could read and let it end there but before that im gonna link chapters that show y/n making it to the final round of the games

previous parts of the series in case you missed it:

PART ONE PART TWO

. . .

From her bunk, Y/N rested her chin on her folded arms and let her gaze drift across the dormitory.

There he was.

Thanos stood a few yards away, animatedly talking with Nam-gyu, Min-su, and Gyeong-su. His posture was loose, arms moving expressively, his grin ever-present. It wasn’t just the way he carried himself—it was the way the others leaned in to listen, as if his chaotic charm was magnetic. And maybe it was.

She didn’t know what it was about him exactly.

The banter? His charisma? That ridiculous swagger that bordered on unbearable? The teetering line where every time he opened his mouth, she either wanted to slap him or fuck his brains out?

Whatever it was… she liked having him around.

He made the nightmare a little less grim.

But just as her eyes softened, her line of vision was broken—stepped into, actually—by the one person she had no interest in seeing.

Myung-gi.

She sighed inwardly before lifting her gaze to meet his with slow reluctance.

“I just wanted to say I’m glad you made it,” he said, his voice soft, careful. “I was worried about you.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Yeah. I’m sure you were.”

Her tone was flat, her eyes already drifting past him. She was done playing nice.

Across the dorm, Thanos turned slightly, catching her expression even before she met his eyes. Their gaze locked for a brief moment—quick, but enough.

“I mean it,” Myung-gi tried again. “Even if you don’t think so, I really care about you…”

He trailed off when he noticed her only half-listening, her eyes clearly somewhere else. His brow twitched with something bitter. Something old.

He followed her line of sight.

And saw him.

Thanos.

The one with the purple hair who barely knew her name just days ago. The one she was actually looking at.

That familiar ache curled into Myung-gi’s chest—the kind that came from watching someone you loved look everywhere but you. “What?” he asked, quieter now. “Do you… like him or something?”

Y/N’s eyes flicked back to his, cool and unwavering. “Don’t worry about it.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to bruise.

“Am I supposed to feel bad because he beat you up?” she remarked as she tilted her head. “You deserved it.”

The words landed sharp, clean.

“I—I know,” he said quickly, stumbling over the confession, then scoffing with disbelief. “But him? Why him? Of all people here?”

Y/N leaned back against the wall of her bunk, her expression unreadable.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t owe him one.

Because if he had to ask, he never really understood her at all.

Y/N said nothing more to Myung-gi. She just looked past him—eyes shifting like he wasn’t even there anymore.

The soft creak of hinges broke the silence as the side door of the dormitory opened again. Guards ushered in the final groups. Among them, Jun-hee.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She slid off her bunk and jogged across the concrete floor, weaving past people too numb or exhausted to care. Relief flooded her face the moment she saw her—Jun-hee, pale but upright, hand instinctively cradling her belly.

“Hey,” Y/N breathed, pulling her into a gentle hug.

Jun-hee rested her cheek on Y/N’s shoulder, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath for the last hour.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked quickly, her hand brushing over her friend’s arm, then down to her stomach. “The baby?”

“We’re fine,” Jun-hee whispered. “We made it with just seconds left.”

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her smile was real, if small. Relief.

And from across the room, Myung-gi watched it all unfold.

Watched how quickly she moved. How effortlessly she smiled at someone who wasn’t him. How she lit up in a way he hadn’t seen in years—maybe ever. Not with him.

He saw the way her hand instinctively checked on the baby, the way she spoke in quiet, tender tones like Jun-hee was made of something fragile and worth protecting.

His jaw clenched.

It was always someone else.

Shitty ex-boyfriends. Friends, like Jun-hee, she stuck to like glue. People who didn’t know her the way he did—who hadn’t grown up with her. And now that smug, purple-haired asshole who sucker-punched him and called him a fraud like he hadn’t already torn himself up over it a hundred times before.

It was never him.

Not really. Not like that.

And now, after everything, it seemed like she hated him.

Myung-gi said nothing as he turned and walked back to his bunk. Each step felt heavier than the last. Not because of the games. Not because of the bruises on his body.

But because of the one that had never healed in his chest.

. . .

Another vote. Another game.

Another chance to die.

The majority had chosen to stay again. O.

So they would play. Again.

Y/N lay awake on her cot long after lights out, staring up at the ceiling as shadows shifted across the metal slats above her. Sleep felt like a myth. Her thoughts were loud. Louder than the muffled snores and quiet weeping around the dorm.

She sat up when she heard soft footsteps—Jun-hee returning from the bathroom with two other women. Player 149, older and stoic, and Player 120, who always looked like she was on the verge of saying something she’d regret.

Y/N quietly slid off her bunk, jogging toward the door as it began to close behind them. She pressed her palm flat against the steel, halting it. “I have to pee too,” she said, breath low.

“Me too,” came another voice. She turned to see Thanos striding toward her, shirt rumpled, dark eyes half-lidded but alert. “I gotta take a piss too.”

The guard, silent and faceless behind his mask, paused—then stepped aside, opening the door wider.

“Thanks,” Y/N muttered as she passed through.

Thanos followed close behind.

They walked side by side down the sterile hallway. The walls buzzed with the weak hum of flickering lights, casting their shadows long across the tiles. At the end, the guard remained still, watching like a sentry, unmoved and silent.

Y/N didn’t speak until they were far enough away. “Stalking, now?” she said under her breath, not looking at him. “That’s a new one.”

“What?” Thanos replied with a grin. “A guy can’t use the bathroom too?”

She glanced sideways at him. “Can you?”

“…No,” he admitted. “I couldn’t sleep. Needed to stretch my legs.”

“You could’ve walked around the dorm.”

“And miss the chance to walk next to you?” he scoffed softly. “No thanks.”

She snorted faintly. “So your plan is what? Walk beside me until you pass out?”

“Something like that.”

They reached the women’s bathroom. She paused at the doorframe, leaning lightly against it, arms folded across her chest. The hallway light overhead flickered just enough to make the moment feel unreal—like they were standing at the edge of something they couldn’t name yet.

She looked at him from under lowered lashes, voice lowering with her guard. “Or…” She tilted her head slightly, teasing. “You couldn’t sleep either because you’re scared of dying tomorrow… and now you’re trying to convince me to sleep with you. Finally.”

Thanos grinned at that, but the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Nearly figured out,” he murmured.

She squinted slightly. “What am I missing?”

He stepped forward—slow and easy. His palm found the wall beside her head, his body close now, warm and steady, but not touching. His gaze held hers with raw intensity, everything about him serious for once. Unflinching.

“It’s not that I’m scared of dying,” he said, voice quiet. Then he switched to English. “I want you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I think about you when I try to sleep,” he went on, his voice lower now—confessional. “Your mouth. Your body. Your voice when you’re pissed at me… the way you walk away like you don’t know I’d follow you.”

Y/N’s stomach tightened. Her heart pounded hard—fast, chaotic. His words hit somewhere deeper than she expected.

He leaned in slightly, gaze sweeping across her face. “You drive me fucking crazy. And if tomorrow’s our last day… I don’t wanna die wondering what you taste like.”

The hallway suddenly felt warmer. Too warm. Her breath quickened.

She looked up at him, taking in the bruises on his jaw, the split in his lip, the want in his expression that no longer felt cocky—but hungry. Honest.

She hated how much she wanted him right now.

But not enough to stop herself.

Her eyes darted down the hall. The guard was still posted, unmoving.

She turned back to Thanos, grabbed the front of his jacket, and yanked him into the bathroom with her.

The door closed behind them with a quiet, final click.

No more words were needed.

She looked at him like she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing—what they were doing. Like the weight of giving in had finally caught up to her in the second of silence that hung between them.

But Thanos didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward and kissed her—hard. Rough. His hands found her waist instantly, sliding down her sides like he was claiming her piece by piece. When he gripped her hips, she inhaled sharply through her nose and kissed him back with equal force, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently.

A low groan escaped him, muffled against her lips as his hands moved lower, catching the back of her thighs. She got the hint instantly, wrapping her legs around his waist just as he lifted her, her breath catching at the sensation of being carried.

He moved fast, crossing the tiled floor in a few long strides before setting her down on the edge of the sink counter. The kiss didn’t break—it only deepened, growing messier, more desperate. She opened for him like a flame feeding on oxygen, their lips clashing, tongues sliding.

Then his mouth left hers, trailing down to her neck, where he kissed and bit softly, tasting her skin as her head tilted back to give him more. Her hands held onto his shoulders, fingers digging in through the fabric of his jacket.

His own hands were already at her waistband, tugging her pants and underwear down in one rough motion. The sound of fabric rustling filled the quiet space, echoing between them and the mirror behind her.

Thanos pulled back just enough to look at her—both of them breathless now, lips red and slightly swollen, eyes locked.

And in that brief, heated silence, neither one of them moved to stop.

She leaned forward again, pulling him into another kiss, this one sloppier, needier, like the air around them had thickened with urgency. Her hand gripped the front of his jacket while his fingers slid down to push at the waistband of his own pants.

She shifted closer to the edge of the counter, legs tightening around him as her mouth found his again—sucking lightly on his bottom lip. His hand roamed under her shirt, sliding up over warm skin, memorizing the curve of her waist and chest as if he’d dreamed about it before he ever touched it.

There was nothing soft about this. Nothing slow.

They were running out of time—and they both knew it.

But for now, this was all they needed.

Just this.

. . .

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling as she slowly came down from her high. Her head rolled back against the bathroom mirror with a dull thud, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted as she tried to steady herself.

Thanos remained close, his face buried in the curve of her neck, breath warm against her skin as he exhaled just as shakily. A moment passed—silent but full—before he finally stepped back, releasing his hold on her, his hand trailing from beneath her shirt. He adjusted his pants, pulling them back up his legs with his boxers.

Y/N slid off the sink with a quiet exhale, pulling her underwear and pants back up in practiced motions, still catching her breath. Her knees were slightly wobbly, but she didn’t show it.

She turned to the mirror, blinking at the sight of herself.

Her hair was a mess—disheveled in every direction, her lips swollen, flushed from kissing, and her shirt wrinkled, slipping off one shoulder. Small red marks decorated her neck and collarbone, faint now but destined to turn dark and unmistakable by morning. She sighed and began running her fingers through her hair, attempting to fix the worst of it.

In the mirror’s reflection, she caught Thanos watching her. Jacket zipped, expression smug. “Shut up,” she muttered.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied casually.

She glared at him. “I could sense it on you. You look like it’s physically hard not to say something dumb right now.”

He gave a dramatic shrug. “…Wasn’t the only thing that was hard.”

“Dude.”

Thanos grinned, unabashed. “Just so you know… I’m not letting this go. I’m gonna be thinking about this for a long time.”

She straightened her shirt, shooting him a sharp side-eye. “You can think about it all you want. But don’t tell anyone. Not Nam-gyu, not Gyeong-su—no one. The last thing I need is to be slut shamed in the death arena.”

“I won’t,” he said, and for once, there was no joke in his voice.

“Good.”

She opened the door and stepped out first, her body already calming from the heat of the moment as the cold hallway air met her skin. He followed close behind, walking beside her, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

They didn’t speak until they were halfway back to the dormitory.

She glanced at him sideways, her voice quieter now. “So… you over me now that we’ve had sex?”

Thanos looked at her, his answer immediate, without even a trace of hesitation.

“Not even close,” he said in English, the words soft but firm. Then he slipped back into Korean, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Now I just want you more.”

Y/N grinned to herself as she stepped back into the dormitory, the heavy steel door sliding shut behind her with a quiet hiss. She didn’t say a word to Thanos as they entered. No jokes, no glances, no parting quip. Just that smug little curve of her lips as she made her way back to her bunk like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just touched her like a man starved.

Thanos lingered a moment longer, walking a little slower, his gaze drawn to her even as she climbed up into her bed and rolled onto her side. He watched her for one last second—soft, unreadable—before heading back to his own bed close to hers.

But Myung-gi saw everything.

He had been lying awake, staring at the wall, his mind chasing thoughts he couldn’t catch. When he heard footsteps, he rolled onto his back. Then to his side. Just enough to peek at the returning figures.

It was her.

Y/N.

And behind her… Thanos.

She didn’t look at Myung-gi. Didn’t look at anyone. She just moved with purpose, like she had nothing to hide and no one to answer to.

Thanos, though, kept his eyes on her until the last possible moment—before finally turning and heading to his own bunk like a man satisfied.

Myung-gi’s chest tightened.

He couldn’t stop himself. His eyes followed Y/N, scanning over her quickly, greedily, making sure she was okay even though he knew deep down that wasn’t really what he was looking for.

And then he saw it.

Even in the dim light—the faint, bluish-purple mark on the side of her neck. Her slightly tousled hair. Her shirt still rumpled in a way that didn’t come from tossing and turning in bed.

His stomach twisted.

He knew that look. That afterglow. That smirk.

He buried his face in his pillow, his jaw clenching so tightly it hurt.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what had happened.

She’d gone out with Thanos. And now she was back, marked by him. Touched by him.

The white-hot burn of jealousy coiled in his gut, hollow and consuming.

It was always someone else. Someone worse. Someone louder. Someone who didn’t know her the way he did.

Never him.

Never fucking him.

. . .

The next morning arrived too soon.

Y/N had been up before most of the others, the weight of the games already pressing on her chest like a bad dream she hadn’t quite shaken. She sat on the edge of her bunk for a moment, rubbing her hands together before slipping into her tracksuit jacket and zipping it up to the neck. The fabric brushed over her throat, concealing the faint marks blooming on her skin in bruised purples and fading reds.

No need to give anyone something to whisper about.

Across the dormitory, a quiet movement caught her attention. Min-su was awake too, seated stiffly on his bunk with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes looked tired, heavy with something deeper than exhaustion.

She made her way over and sat beside him. “Hey, kid,” she murmured.

He turned his head slightly. “Hi.”

“You nervous about today?” she asked gently, resting her arms across her knees.

He gave a tiny nod.

“Me too.”

They sat there for a beat, the silence companionable. Her eyes followed his gaze across the room—to a short-haired girl sitting on a bunk, quietly pulling on her shoes. Player 380. Awake. Alert. Pretty, in an understated way.

“That the girl who joined the group?” Y/N asked, keeping her tone casual.

“Yeah. Se-mi,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

“She’s cute,” Y/N noted. “Do you like her?”

“What?” Min-su jerked his head toward her, eyes wide in panic before quickly shaking it. “N-No. No, I… she’s just been very nice to me is all…”

Y/N hummed with a half-smile, unconvinced. “Well… she either joined the group because she felt alone or… maybe she likes you too.”

He blinked at her.

“I said maybe,” she added quickly. “She just doesn’t seem like the type to hang out with Thanos or Nam-gyu. Speaking of—why are you still with their group? Doesn’t really seem like your crowd.”

Min-su stared down at his hands, thumbs fidgeting. “…Because I don’t wanna be alone.”

Y/N’s expression softened. She didn’t press further. “I get it,” she said. “I’m not judging. Just curious.”

Before he could respond, the familiar swell of classical music poured through the speakers above—sweet and eerie as always. A moment later, the harsh fluorescent lights blinked on, casting everything in an uncomfortably sterile glow.

It was time again.

Min-su shifted beside her, preparing to stand. “…Is that why you’re with his group too?” he asked quietly, eyes flicking toward her, then to Thanos, who was now stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “No. It’s not.”

She looked over at Thanos. The purple-haired idiot was yawning, blinking groggily at the noise. She couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m not really with his group,” she clarified. “I mean, I like you. And him. Mostly him, annoyingly enough. But I don’t know… it’s complicated.”

There was a pause. Then Min-su murmured, “I think Thanos really likes you. He doesn’t talk about you, but… he looks at you. A lot. Like he wants to follow wherever you go.”

Y/N arched a brow. “You mean the way you look at Se-mi?”

Min-su flushed instantly and turned his face away, ears tinged red.

She chuckled. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But… if you do like her, treat her right, okay?”

Min-su nodded without looking at her.

She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. “And good luck in the game today. Stay close.”

He looked up, his face a little brighter. “You too.”

Y/N turned and made her way toward Jun-hee, who was slowly getting to her feet. Her hand instinctively cradled her belly as she stood.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly. “How are you and the little one feeling?”

Jun-hee offered a tired but genuine smile. “We’re okay. Just… scared for what’s next.”

“You have no reason to be,” Y/N replied, her voice firm and steady. “This time, I’m not leaving your side. I’m gonna look out for you. You, me, this baby—we’re gonna make it. Okay?”

Jun-hee nodded quietly, and Y/N wrapped an arm around her shoulders as the two of them fell into step beside the others.

Together, they followed the stream of players into whatever horror the next game had in store.

[big-poppa23]

Period. I do my best.

there’s a reason I always trust fanfic writers to understand and do the characters justice more than I trust canon writers

[big-poppa23]

Something Like Her Part Five

synapse: a moment hyun-ju shows how much she truly cares about y/n and how much she means to her

pairing: cho hyun-ju x female!reader

contains: graphic description of gunshot wound, slight smut (the closest to smut ill write), semi-spoilers for season 3

a/n: im still depressed about season 3 but writing about mommy hyun-ju and cutie dae-ho has her making me feel better

series parts in case you missed it:

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

PART FOUR PART SIX

. . .

Hyun-ju didn’t wait for orders. She didn’t flinch when the guards screamed for submission. Her world had narrowed to one thing—Y/N’s body crumpled on the blood-slick floor.

She dropped her weapon without a second thought and sprinted to her, knees hitting the tile as her arms slid under her—one beneath the knees, one bracing her back. Y/N was limp, her head lolling slightly as Hyun-ju lifted her like something sacred, something breakable.

“No, no, no…”

She rushed her to the nearest bunk, laying her down with trembling care. Her jacket was soaked through with blood, heavy and clinging. Hyun-ju unzipped it quickly, pulling it back inch by inch, revealing the blood-soaked shirt beneath.

The wound was worse than she thought.

A jagged hole had torn through the back of her left shoulder, just beneath the ridge of her scapula. The bleeding wasn’t arterial, but it hadn’t slowed either—thick, dark, relentless. Too much.

“Y/N,” Hyun-ju whispered, her hand cupping her cheek. “Stay with me, okay? Come on—open your eyes. Look at me.”

A faint groan left Y/N’s lips, but she didn’t stir.

Panic bloomed in her chest, hot and tight, but Hyun-ju swallowed it down like glass and turned to the only thing she had: the jacket that had bundled the magazines.

With shaking hands, she tore a wide strip from the thickest section, folding it into a pad. No gauze. No antiseptic. No time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and pressed the makeshift gauze against the entry wound.

Y/N flinched in her unconsciousness, a low whimper escaping her. It nearly broke Hyun-ju.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—just hold on.”

She needed to see the exit wound. Gritting her teeth, she carefully rolled her just enough—there it was. Smaller, angrier, just beneath the collarblade. The bullet had gone clean through.

She tore off a cleaner sleeve and tucked part of it beneath her back to soak the blood. The rest, she wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder and chest—tight, crossing over like a crude harness. A medic would’ve scolded her for it. But it would hold. It had to.

Hyun-ju eased herself down beside her, pulling Y/N’s head gently into her lap, cradling it like something rare and irreplaceable. Her fingers were soaked with blood, sweat, desperation. None of it mattered.

“You’re not dying here,” she whispered, brushing sweat from her forehead. “Not in this place. Not like this.”

She kissed her between the brows, fiercely, like sealing a promise into her skin.

Footsteps approached. Mrs. Jang knelt down nearby, eyes wide with quiet concern. “Is she going to be okay?”

Hyun-ju didn’t look up. She pressed her palm over the cloth bandage, applying pressure where it counted, and nodded once—grim, determined.

“I think so,” she said hoarsely. “I did what I could for now.”

But inside her chest, something was breaking. And she wouldn’t let it crack—not until Y/N opened her eyes again.

Hyun-ju didn’t notice the guns being taken. Didn’t hear the clicks of confiscated magazines or the shuffle of boots moving in and out.

Her whole world had narrowed to the unconscious girl bleeding in her lap.

Breathe. Please just keep breathing.

It wasn’t until the sharp metallic groan of the dormitory doors echoed that she lifted her head, eyes burning. More guards entered, carrying something—a large box, maybe chest-high, wrapped absurdly in a silky pink bow like some twisted parody of a gift.

They set it down in the center of the room and, without a word, turned and left.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Hyun-ju glanced down at Y/N—still breathing, still alive—but reluctantly eased her head onto the bedHer heart wrenched at the thought of leaving her side, even for a second. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, brushing a thumb over Y/N’s cheek.

Yong-sik, Mrs. Jang, and Jun-hee approached the box with her, all four exchanging wary glances. With a breath, Hyun-ju reached out and pushed the lid back.

The sight inside made her chest tighten.

Gi-hun lay on his back, pale, the side of his head bloodied, unconscious.

“Is he dead?” Mrs. Jang asked behind her, the tremble in her voice unmistakable.

Hyun-ju leaned down, fingers pressed to his neck. A beat. Then another.

“He’s alive,” she confirmed, but her voice was flat. Measured. Tired. “Help me. Let’s get him to a bed. Gently.”

Together, she and Yong-sik lifted him out, his limbs hanging limp between them like a broken puppet. They laid him down on the closest empty bunk. His chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, as if it took all the strength left in him just to stay tethered to this world.

. . .

First, the ache—deep and searing, centered in her shoulder and spreading out like fire laced with frost. Then the sounds—soft murmurs, the metallic hum of the lights overhead, someone pacing nearby.

Then came the weight. Not heavy, but warm.

A hand. On hers.

Y/N’s brows knit faintly before her eyes fluttered open. The ceiling blurred into focus, those familiar bland tiles of the dormitory above. The pain hit her next, sharp and immediate, pulling a groan from her lips.

“Hey. Hey, easy,” came a voice—her voice.

Hyun-ju.

She was leaning over her now, eyes wide with relief and rimmed with exhaustion. Her fingers tightened gently around Y/N’s. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Y/N blinked slowly. Her head felt like it had been packed with wool and fog, but the sight of Hyun-ju—hair messy, cheeks stained with dried blood, but so achingly beautiful—made the haze start to lift.

“What… happened?” Her voice cracked. Dry. Weak.

Hyun-ju reached beside the bed, lifting a small water bottle and unscrewing the cap. Her water bottle from the first meal. She slipped an arm under Y/N’s head, helping her drink slowly. “You were shot. In the shoulder. We made it back, but you lost a lot of blood. I had to patch you up with a piece of a jacket.”

Y/N winced as she shifted slightly, pain radiating down her side. “Sounds sexy,” she rasped with a weak smirk.

Hyun-ju huffed a breath of a laugh, tears glimmering in her eyes now. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

Y/N’s hand found hers again. “You didn’t leave me.”

“Never,” she whispered.

There was a moment of stillness between them, broken only by Y/N’s quiet breathing and the distant murmur of the others tending to Gi-hun across the room.

“How… long was I out?” she asked.

“Only a couple hours. Long enough for my heart to break and mend twice,” Hyun-ju said, brushing her knuckles along her cheek. “Gi-hun’s back. He was in the box they left.”

Y/N blinked again. “He’s alive?”

Hyun-ju nodded. “Barely. But yeah.”

Y/N sighed shakily. “We’re still alive, huh?”

Hyun-ju leaned down, pressing her forehead gently against hers.

“We’re still alive,” she whispered. “And I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Y/N looked up at the sound of the dormitory doors groaning open, her body instinctively tensing at the familiar sight of the masked guards filing in. The square-masked leader stepped forward, silent but purposeful, and held up a small remote. With a single press, the fluorescent lights above dimmed slightly. The digital board lit up, flickering before updating.

61 remaining. 39.6 billion won. 660 million won per person.

The money rained down above in thick stacks, feeding into the grotesque piggy bank suspended like a trophy from the ceiling. It jingled faintly as it filled, and Y/N could feel the way the others looked up—some with awe, some with hollowed-out dread.

“You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not,” the square guard announced with that same calm, lifeless voice.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears. Not again. Not this vote. Not after all this.

Suddenly, Gi-hun pushed past her, still pale from blood loss and trauma, but driven by something deeper—grief. Anger. Fury. “Why did you keep me alive?” he barked, his voice cracking with desperation. “Why didn’t you kill me? Answer me! Why?”

He stormed up to the front, his hand grabbing the end of the guard’s rifle and shoving it into his own forehead.

“Shoot me!” he screamed.

The square guard didn’t flinch. The triangle guards moved quickly, restraining him by the arms. Gi-hun thrashed for a second before his knees buckled, sobs ripping out of him as he sagged against them.

Y/N had to turn away. She couldn’t watch. She had seen enough death, enough pain. But it was his voice—that broken, choked plea—that tore through her more than anything else.

Hyun-ju was beside her now, fingers brushing against her hand, grounding her. “It’s not over,” she whispered. “We have each other.”

Y/N nodded faintly, her eyes flickering to the glowing floor as the guards began calling players up one by one to cast their votes—‘O’ to continue, ‘X’ to end it all.

. . .

In the end, the vote felt pointless. Like it never mattered.

Forty-one players voted O—to stay, to play, to gamble their souls for bloodstained money. Some of them had originally stood with X, but the weight of greed and fear in the room shifted things. Eyes filled with threats. Promises whispered through clenched teeth. The vote tipped. X lost.

Another game tomorrow. Another chance to die.

Afterward, the guards dispersed like shadows, leaving behind trays of food—if it could be called that. Boiled sweet potatoes. Bottled water. Barely enough for strength, just enough to keep the body upright.

Y/N didn’t move from the bed. The pain in her shoulder still throbbed dully beneath the makeshift bandage, and her stomach twisted more from anxiety than hunger. She sat on the edge of the bunk, absently tugging at the frayed hem of her pants leg. Across the room, Gi-hun sat chained to the frame of a lower bunk, his eyes sunken but watching. Quiet.

She dropped her gaze as footsteps approached.

Hyun-ju’s presence was warm even before she spoke. She sat beside her, gentle and close, and placed a small container on her lap.

“You need to eat,” she said softly, her tone not forceful but firm. Protective.

Y/N looked down, seeing two sweet potatoes inside, still warm. She picked one up and took a small bite, the taste bland and dry but comforting in a strange, grounding way.

“Are you gonna baby me the whole time we’re here?” she asked, trying for a tease. Her voice was quiet, a little rough around the edges.

“No,” Hyun-ju said, brushing her fingers lightly over Y/N’s knee before withdrawing. “Just until the next game. I want you to be okay.”

She gave a small nod. “Guess it’s a plus my nurse is really attractive,” she murmured, lips curling slightly.

Hyun-ju let out a soft laugh, the first in what felt like days. “You’re lucky I like smartasses.”

Y/N nudged her gently with her shoulder, careful of the pain, and looked back down at the food. The dormitory was too quiet for comfort, and too loud in all the wrong ways—breathing, chewing, whispers of paranoia. But for a moment, there was just the two of them. Sharing silence. Sharing warmth.

After they both finished eating, Hyun-ju rose to her feet and extended her hand. “Come on.”

Y/N blinked at her. “What?”

“We need to go to the bathroom,” she said simply. “I’m going to clean your wound properly this time.”

Y/N hesitated before slipping her hand into hers, letting her pull her upright with gentle steadiness. “Didn’t you already do that?”

“I stopped the bleeding,” Hyun-ju replied. “Now I need to wash away the blood, make sure it doesn’t get infected. You might feel fine now, but that’s adrenaline lying to you.”

Together, they walked hand-in-hand to the side door of the dormitory. Hyun-ju knocked twice. A square-masked guard peered through the narrow viewing slit, eyeing them in silence.

“We have to use the bathroom,” Hyun-ju said calmly.

The door slid open with a mechanical clunk. “Ten minutes,” the guard warned flatly.

The hall was cold, and the fluorescent lights buzzed softly as the two women made their way into the tiled bathroom. Inside, the sharp scent of bleach lingered in the air, doing little to mask the metallic tang of old blood still clinging to the drains.

Hyun-ju went straight to the sink to wash her hands while Y/N eased herself onto the edge of another, the porcelain cool against her thighs. Despite the thick warmth crawling just beneath her skin, she shivered.

Her shoulder pulsed with a heavy ache—deep, bone-deep. The pressure bandage was soaked through, rusted with dried blood. Her whole upper back felt tight, like her skin had been wrapped too tightly around her bones.

Hyun-ju turned and stepped toward her, her hands still damp, and her eyes steady. “You ready?” she asked softly, her voice more tender than it had any right to be in a place like this.

Y/N gave a faint nod. “Yeah.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the hem of her shirt, and Hyun-ju immediately stepped forward, lifting the fabric for her—slow, deliberate. The shirt clung to the wound, and as it peeled away, Y/N flinched, teeth gritted in silence.

Hyun-ju paused, their eyes meeting—asking permission without words.

Y/N nodded once more, her jaw locked tight.

When the shirt finally came off, Y/N instinctively crossed her arm over her chest, vulnerable. But Hyun-ju didn’t gawk or stare. Her attention was only on the damage. On her.

“It’s not exactly how I pictured you seeing me half naked,” Y/N muttered.

Hyun-ju huffed a soft laugh, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s not how I pictured it either.” She knelt down to inspect the wound, her brows furrowing. “It’s not infected. Not yet.”

Y/N let her head rest back against the mirror, breathing shallow as Hyun-ju soaked a rag under the cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it gently to her shoulder. The sudden chill hit like ice, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Hyun-ju whispered. “Almost done.”

“It’s okay.”

Hyun-ju kept cleaning in silence for a moment before she spoke again, voice barely audible. “This is my fault. I should’ve seen the guard before he got close. If I had reacted just a second faster—”

“Don’t,” Y/N interrupted gently. “This isn’t your fault. I made my choice. I chose to risk myself for you.”

“I know,” Hyun-ju murmured. “But when you passed out, I thought I’d lost you. I held you and you were bleeding so much. I just kept thinking, ‘Please, please don’t take her from me.’”

Y/N lifted her good arm, fingertips brushing Hyun-ju’s cheek. Her touch was light, but grounding. “But I’m still here,” she whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyun-ju leaned into her hand, gripping it tightly before leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “I can’t lose you,” she breathed.

“Then don’t,” Y/N whispered.

Hyun-ju kissed her forehead gently, lingering. Then she went back to work. She discarded the ruined bandage, using a fresh strip of the jacket to bind her wound—tight but not cruel, wrapping it under her arm and across her chest, knotting it with practiced hands.

“There,” she said softly. “It’s not perfect. But it’ll hold.”

Y/N looked at her. Really looked. Her loose strands of hair damp from sweat, the deep lines of exhaustion etched into her face. Still beautiful. Still here.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

“Don’t say that yet. We’re not out of this.”

“But I’m alive,” Y/N said, eyes locked on hers as she watched Hyun-ju rinse her hands again.

“You are,” Hyun-ju replied, shaking off the water and stepping closer.

“Thanks to you,” Y/N added softly, taking her hand and pulling her in, close.

Their faces hovered inches apart, breath mingling.

Hyun-ju didn’t wait for permission this time.

She kissed her.

And this kiss wasn’t hurried or stolen—it was slow, deep, and unshaken by fear. It was warmth pressed against pain, the trembling heartbeat of two people too close to death not to crave life.

Y/N responded immediately, lips meeting Hyun-ju’s with growing hunger as her hands framed her face, guiding her in closer until Hyun-ju stood firmly between her legs.

The kiss deepened, slow but intent, and Hyun-ju’s hand slid along the curve of her waist, fingers curling softly around the bare skin of her hip to pull her closer still. There was no hesitation now—just quiet urgency.

They broke for air, foreheads touching, their breaths mingling in the close space between them. Neither moved away. If anything, something shifted in Hyun-ju’s eyes—a flicker of longing, of desperation, of not knowing if they’d get another chance like this.

Then she leaned in, her lips brushing along Y/N’s jaw, soft and reverent, before trailing lower, down her neck in a slow, aching rhythm.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, a quiet breath leaving her lips. Her fingers slipped from Hyun-ju’s face, tracing the outline of her shoulders before dragging down with tender precision to the curves of her chest—gentle, grounding, like she needed to memorize every inch.

Hyun-ju’s mouth grew more insistent, her kisses against Y/N’s skin turning open, slow, almost hungry. Her hand trailed down the line of Y/N’s side, her fingers grazing the waistband of her pants—pausing, not moving further, waiting for an answer without words.

Y/N nodded once, quick but sure, and her hands reached up to unzip Hyun-ju’s jacket, parting it to slip her palms over the softness of her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt.

Hyun-ju let out a soft breath against her neck, almost a shiver, and then brought her lips back to Y/N’s in a kiss that was deeper now, full of heat and quiet need. Her hand slipped past the waistband, fingers brushing lower as Y/N’s thighs parted instinctively, welcoming her—

But then—

A hard knock slammed against the bathroom door, the guard’s voice curt: “Time’s up.”

They froze, lips still nearly touching, breath ragged.

Y/N pressed her forehead to Hyun-ju’s, her voice barely a whisper. “We’ll finish this… when we’re free.”

Hyun-ju gave the faintest nod, her touch lingering for one last second before she helped her straighten up and pull her shirt back over the bandaged shoulder, their silence thick with everything unspoken. They didn’t need to say it aloud.

They’d wait.

But they wouldn’t forget.

[big-poppa23]

Okay what the fuck I’m throwing hands with Netflix

Netflix was stupid enough to summarize their subtitles just enough to make people hate my pookie Dae-ho. I was on social media today and come across this—you must read it if you think Dae-ho deserved to die or you hate on him because he’s “useless”

Like…what…

I understood his reasoning in the first place but the fact Netflix has the fucking gaul to not properly translate what he said and turn fans against him even more and make him seem like a good for nothing guy which btw…he’s not

[big-poppa23]

Echoes Of Silence Part 5.5

synapse: y/n had chosen to stay with her chosen team—red. she’d have to do what she can to survive and then find the dae-ho to protect him from someone who wants him dead.

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: blood, graphic deaths

a/n: @katscloudy @f3r4lfr0gg3r this is a pick your ending but if you chose this— here’s more chapters for this one

part six part seven

. . .

Y/N closed her eyes as the doors slammed shut behind the final member of the blue team. The finality echoed in her chest like a drumbeat.

No turning back now.

Red Team it is.

Kill who you have to. Find Dae-ho. That was the plan.

She glanced at the digital timer ticking down from two minutes above the arena entrance, the red glow washing over her face. Two minutes to steel herself. Two minutes before the hunt began.

Then her gaze flickered sideways—landing on Gi-hun. He wasn’t watching the clock. He was watching the hallway Dae-ho disappeared into. His jaw was set, his eyes blazing like a man possessed.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She had to get to Dae-ho before Gi-hun did.

She dropped her box to the floor with a hollow clang, gripping the cold handle of the knife inside. Her hand wrapped around it tightly, pulse pounding in her ears. Breathe in. Breathe out. She could do this.

But then someone shifted in front of her. She opened her eyes.

Player 124. Nam-gyu.

Of course.

He turned toward her with that same infuriating grin, his expression too casual for the nightmare they were about to step into. “Hey, deaf girl,” he greeted like an old buddy at a bar, not a killer gearing up for the next hunt. “We’re playing for the same team now.”

She gave him a stiff, silent nod.

He stepped closer, hands finding her shoulders. She didn’t flinch, but her muscles tensed like coiled wire. “Word of advice, deafy,” he said with mock sincerity. “Don’t just kill one. Kill every blue player you see. The more blood we spill, the fatter the prize pot gets.”

She gave a small nod again, but not because she agreed. She wasn’t here for money. Not anymore.

She was here for him.

Nam-gyu leaned in just a bit, his breath sour with arrogance. “I’m rooting for you, deafy. I hope you don’t die.” Then he smirked, tone dropping, crueler now. “But if your little long-haired translator does? Well… there’s always someone better.”

Her grip on the knife tightened.

Without a word, she lifted her hand and pointed squarely to the center of his chest, gaze sharp.

His grin widened as if she’d just flirted with him. “I always did like quiet girls,” he murmured, biting his bottom lip in some twisted show of charm.

She didn’t dignify it with a response.

Instead, she looked up as the timer above them blinked its final seconds.

3… 2… 1…

A long mechanical beep. The doors creaked open.

Nam-gyu let out a whoop of laughter, throwing his arms up. “Let’s get it!” he shouted in English, striding ahead like this was a damn party.

Y/N followed quietly, knife in hand, eyes darting everywhere.

Her silence wasn’t weakness. It was war.

And she was going to find Dae-ho.

Before Gi-hun did. Before Nam-gyu decided to follow through on his veiled threats. Before the arena swallowed them whole.

Let the game begin.

The doors slammed shut behind the Red Team with a metallic finality, and above them, the thirty-minute timer began its cruel descent.

Y/N moved without hesitation, her boots echoing down the sterile hallway. She kept low, her blade gripped tight in one hand, her eyes sharp as razors. One by one, she tested every door she passed—locked. Every handle turned, every effort fruitless.

The building was a maze designed to disorient. But she had something no map could offer—instinct.

She paused and crouched low, placing her palm flat on the cold floor.

There.

The soft tremor of hurried footsteps.

To her right.

She sprang into motion, feet pounding silently on the concrete as she sprinted down the corridor. A blur of movement caught her eye—blue. A jersey disappearing behind a door.

She didn’t hesitate.

Y/N lunged forward just as the door slammed shut. She shoved it with her shoulder, but the person inside pushed back hard. Her boots slid on the floor as she strained against it, grunting quietly, but then—she stopped.

Silence followed.

Whoever was behind the door paused too, believing perhaps she’d given up.

That was their mistake.

With a guttural exhale, Y/N hurled her weight into the door. It burst open, slamming with bone-crunching force into the face of the blue-jerseyed man on the other side. A sickening crack echoed off the walls as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his bloodied nose.

She looked down, heart hammering.

Player 100.

The bastard who had rallied others to keep the game going. The man who’d shouted about cattle ranches while others died around him.

For a fleeting second, pity sparked. Then it died.

“Please,” he whimpered, blood dripping through his fingers. “Spare me…”

She met his eyes. Cold.

And slowly shook her head.

The blade rose.

But he wasn’t done fighting.

With a sudden shout, he kicked her square in the stomach, sending her flying back against the door. The wind left her lungs with a gasp. By the time she looked up, he was scrambling—up the stairs, desperate, pawing at a locked exit.

Wrong key. Wrong door.

He knew it, and still he tried.

Y/N rose, knife still in hand. Her ribs ached, but she stalked forward.

Player 100 spun to face her, face twisted in rage and fear. “Stupid deaf bitch! You’re gonna die—!”

She lunged. He ducked, but not fast enough. The blade tore through his forearm. His scream echoed through the corridor.

He shoved her off with frantic strength, his bloodied arm sliding off the blade with a wet squelch. He hit the floor hard, crawling. Desperate.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She drove her knife into the back of his leg, pinning him in place as he howled in agony.

She yanked him toward her like a ragdoll, gripping the handle, her face emotionless.

He flipped over, pleading again—eyes wild, lips trembling.

Too late.

The knife plunged into his chest with brutal finality.

Blood sprayed her face. She didn’t blink. Not once.

She didn’t breathe until he stilled.

Only then did she pull the knife free. It slid out slick and slow, and she rose to her feet in silence, wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

Another breath. Another heartbeat.

And she moved on.

“Player 100, eliminated. Player 067, pass.”

The robotic announcement echoed off the walls, flat and devoid of humanity. But Y/N didn’t hear it.

What she did see was the silhouette leaning against the now-open exit door at the top of the stairs.

She raised her knife on instinct, breath hitching—until she recognized him.

Nam-gyu.

He clapped slowly, a grin curling across his face. “Damn. That might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do. I am so turned on.”

Y/N didn’t acknowledge him. She barely spared a glance at the man beside him—Player 333, Myung-gi. Quieter, twitchy, clearly uncomfortable but tagging along nonetheless.

She lowered her blade and descended the steps, blood still splattered across her shirt, her eyes burning with only one goal:

Find Dae-ho.

Nam-gyu’s gaze followed her like a wolf eyeing prey. “I really thought she was just a mute, annoying bitch,” he laughed. “But man, I’d kill to get her in bed now.” He looked down at the knife in his hand, amused. “I bet she’d be crazy in—”

“She’s not important right now,” Myung-gi interrupted sharply, his voice low, warning. “Focus.”

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes but followed as they moved off.

Meanwhile, Y/N kept moving through the twisting hallways, her breath steady, her grip on the blade unshaking. She didn’t even look at the trembling Blue Team members she passed. One huddled behind a half-open door. Another peeked out from behind a corner.

They weren’t her target.

They weren’t him.

All she cared about now… was finding Dae-ho.

She pressed her palm to the floor again, grounding herself. And there it was—a subtle drag, like a body being pulled or someone crawling. Close. Recent. Her pulse quickened.

She rose swiftly, every muscle tense as she followed the faint sensation, knife raised in case it wasn’t who she hoped it would be.

She rounded the corner sharply—and froze.

Jun-hee. Hyun-ju. Mrs. Jang.

Her eyes softened and immediately lowered the knife. Relief, but only a flicker.

Jun-hee leaned heavily on Mrs. Jang, her face pale and pinched with pain. She was limping badly. Y/N’s eyes shot to Hyun-ju, her brows pulling together in silent question.

“She fell,” Hyun-ju said softly, already unlocking a nearby door. “We’re hiding here for now.” Jun-hee and Mrs. Jang disappeared into the room, Hyun-ju pausing to glance back at Y/N. “Stay safe, alright?”

Y/N gave a short nod, watching them vanish behind the door before turning away—her grip on the knife tightening once more.

She kept moving. Different hallway. Different doors. Different faces.

But never his.

She started to spiral. What if he was gone? What if he—

No. She clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to think like that.

And then—blood.

A thin smear across the floor. Still wet. Still red.

Her stomach twisted.

Without hesitation, she broke into a sprint, boots pounding against the floor as she followed the trail, heart in her throat, praying—

Please let it be you. Let me find you before someone else does.

She pushed forward, eyes trained on the smears of blood that now streaked toward a door at the end of the hall. It pooled just slightly beneath the handle—fresh and still glistening. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she twisted the knob and threw it open.

Stairs.

The blood continued upward.

She didn’t hesitate. Her shoes pounded against the steps, one hand on the railing, the other gripping the knife like a lifeline. The blood curved around the upper landing, leading her down another corridor.

She rounded the corner, breath catching in her throat, prepared for the worst—when she slammed into another body.

A sharp yelp. Her knife flew up instinctively—

But then stopped. Her fingers loosened their grip.

Dae-ho.

His face crumpled with visible relief as he pulled her into a desperate hug, shaking slightly. He clung to her like he’d found the only solid thing in a collapsing world.

Then he pulled back, his voice hoarse, trembling. “Gi-hun’s after me… my leg’s messed up. I don’t know how much farther I can go…”

She nodded quickly, her hands already moving as she signed, ‘Let’s try, okay? Let’s get you to a room. Sit down, breathe.’

She looped his arm over her shoulder, her own arm snaking around his waist, careful not to jostle the wound. Together, they hobbled down the corridor, her knife still clenched tightly in her hand.

She tried the nearest door. It swung open—and her breath caught in her throat.

A ledge. A drop. Nothing below but a black void. One misstep and they’d fall to their deaths.

She didn’t have time to close the door.

A presence behind them.

She tensed.

Gi-hun.

They turned, and Dae-ho pushed himself upright, trying to shield her. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, voice low and fierce despite the pain.

But Y/N moved faster, stepping in front of him, arms wide, knife ready. Her entire body screamed protective. Gi-hun’s eyes burned with rage as he tried to get around her.

“Move,” he growled.

She shook her head firmly.

He didn’t care. He shoved her hard against the wall, her head snapping back from the force.

And then he lunged at Dae-ho.

The two men collided. Dae-ho managed to knock the blade from Gi-hun’s hand and shoved him against the wall. But Gi-hun was relentless. He punched Dae-ho hard—too hard. Dae-ho crumpled to the ground.

Gi-hun raised a fist to finish it—until he felt the cold kiss of steel against his throat.

He froze.

Y/N stood there, arm rigid, knife pressed into the soft skin of his neck, her gaze like fire.

She didn’t flinch.

She dragged him backward by the collar, forcing him to stand—and without a word, flipped the knife in her hand and slammed the hilt into the back of his skull.

He collapsed like a dropped puppet, unconscious.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d wake.

She dropped to Dae-ho’s side. ‘Are you okay?’ she signed, her hands shaking.

He nodded, face pale but alive.

Relief surged through her. That was enough.

She threw his arm over her shoulders again and guided him away. They didn’t have much time. Two minutes at most.

The next door opened easily. She helped him inside, gently lowering him to the floor.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “My leg…”

She studied him, worry in her eyes. ‘I could stop the bleeding—but it’ll make us vulnerable.’

He shook his head, panting. “No. You’re right. We can’t risk it yet… not if he wakes up…”

But she wasn’t worried about Gi-hun anymore.

She was looking at the door.

Her eyes lit with an idea. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out something small and dull—a metal fork, stolen from the gimbap meal.

In silence, she bent the handle back and forth until it snapped. Then she bent the prongs just slightly and walked to the door. Carefully, she cracked it open just enough to slide the fork into the latch. She wedged the broken handle into the prongs, jamming the lock shut.

A makeshift barricade.

She backed away from the door, hands trembling, heart racing as she checked the makeshift lock one more time. It wasn’t perfect—but it would hold. At least long enough.

When she turned around, Dae-ho was staring at her with wide, tired eyes. He was breathing heavily, sweat clinging to his brow, and his leg was stretched out awkwardly, the fabric of his pants dark with blood.

Still, his lips curved into the faintest, dazed smile. “You’re…you’re amazing…”

She knelt beside him, her hands already moving in fluent, rapid signs: ‘Don’t talk. Don’t move. Save your strength.’

He exhaled with a small laugh, like he couldn’t believe she was real. “You came for me…”

She paused, then signed slower. ‘Of course I did. I told you I would. I’ll always come for you.’

His eyes flickered with emotion, mouth parting slightly, but no words came—just a sharp hiss of pain as he shifted too much.

She reached up, gently cupping his face to calm him. His eyes met hers.

‘I need to look at the wound,’ she signed. ‘I’ll be fast.’

He nodded, leaning back against the wall as she gently pulled up the fabric on his leg. The sight made her stomach drop. A deep gash, nasty and raw, likely from falling or being cut while fleeing. It wasn’t life-threatening—yet. But it needed to be cleaned and wrapped.

She pulled off her jacket tied around her waist, tore a clean section of it with her teeth, and carefully pressed it to the wound. Dae-ho gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the wall to stay quiet.

‘Just a little longer,’ she signed, looking up.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded again, his hand reaching out—finding hers.

She held it, thumb brushing across his knuckles. Then she looked up at the timer through the small sliver of a high window. Thirty-eight seconds left.

They were going to make it.

They were still breathing.

And she wasn’t letting him go. Not now. Not ever.

The door rattled—once, twice—sharp and sudden, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. She jumped, instinctively reaching for her knife, heart hammering.

Someone was trying to get in.

But the makeshift fork lock held.

The door trembled beneath the weight of the attempt, but didn’t give. Seconds stretched like hours.

And then… it stopped.

A tense breath later, that cold, mechanical voice filled the air. “The game has ended.”

Dae-ho exhaled shakily, a low sound of relief in his throat. His head turned slowly toward her, eyes wide with disbelief but full of warmth. He signed, ‘It’s over. We made it.’

She gave a small nod, sinking down beside him with a heavy breath. Her body felt like it had been through war. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, both of them still catching up to the fact that they were alive.

His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm with a gentle squeeze. “You saved me,” he whispered, “but he’ll try again. He’ll try to kill me next chance he gets.”

She lifted her head, meeting his eyes, and signed with fire behind her hands: ‘Not if I can help it.’

He stared at her for a moment—really looked at her. And then his hands rose, cradling her face, trembling slightly not from fear now, but something else. He leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft, sincere—his lips pressed to hers in a moment that felt like it existed outside the Games, outside the violence. Just them. Just this.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you,” he murmured, voice raw with gratitude and something deeper.

She smiled softly, barely signing her reply, ‘Then make sure you live like you do.’

. . .

They made it back to the dormitory in silence, the weight of survival still pressing down on their shoulders. Blood had dried on clothes, hearts still thudded with adrenaline, but the fight—for now—was over.

Y/N only parted from Dae-ho once, quietly moving across the room to check on Jun-hee, who sat against the wall cradling her newborn. A miracle born during hell.

Dae-ho watched her go, eyes never straying far from her figure. His jaw clenched when they flicked over to Gi-hun. The rage was still there, cold and steady. The man might’ve been chained to a bed, but Dae-ho didn’t need reminding—he hadn’t forgotten. Not what he did. Not what he tried.

But that didn’t matter now. Y/N had come back. And she was safe.

Then came the vote.

The pot had risen, each person’s share now ₩1.724 billion. A staggering amount. But the most ruthless players—the ones that would’ve killed for it—were already gone.

And when the final vote was cast… shock rolled through the dormitory like thunder.

17 for X. 8 for O. One abstention.

“Of the 25 voters,” the guard spoke. “16 voted for X, eight votes for O and one abstention. In accordance with your democratic vote, the majority has voted to end the games. And so, the games are now terminated.”

A beat of silence. Then a breath. Then joy.

Dae-ho turned to her, his face bright with disbelief. “This is it,” he said. “We can go home. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy as her arms wrapped around him. It wasn’t just a celebration—it was a release. A release from the nightmare, from death, from fear.

Others laughed, hugged, cried. Some from Team O cursed and shouted, but no one could ruin this.

When they pulled apart, Dae-ho reached into his pocket, holding out the worn piece of paper she’d given him—the goodbye note. “Can I read this? Even though we’re…”

Before he could finish, she gently took it from his hand and tore it into pieces. The shredded paper fell between them like snow.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ she signed with a small smile.

He nodded, slipping a hand into his other pocket. From it, he pulled the old note she’d given him nights ago—her number and address. It had survived everything. So had they.

“I’m gonna find you again,” he said, voice soft but firm. “I promise.”

She leaned in and gave him a small kiss, tender and filled with unspoken relief.

Then she turned, walking to her bunk to gather the only two things she owned now: her notebook and her dog-eared sign language book. But her steps slowed when she passed Gi-hun.

Still handcuffed. Still silent.

Still staring at nothing.

Her jaw tensed, but she walked to him anyway, notebook already open in her hands. She squatted down in front of him, her eyes calm but sharp. She held the notebook up for him to read.

‘Don’t blame Dae-ho. It’s not his fault. It never was. He got scared. People were going to die anyway, whether the magazines got there or not. It was a risky plan and everyone knew that.’

Gi-hun read it, but said nothing. His gaze dropped again, hollowed by grief.

She hesitated… then wrote something else. She gently placed the new note on his lap, then turned and walked away without another look.

The final note read:

‘I’m sorry about your friend. I’m sorry about everyone you lost. But people die. That’s life. It’s unfair. And sometimes… you just have to live with the hand you were dealt.’