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[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 6: Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

Author's Note: I wrote this in January, don't judge me for posting this late

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You peered out the window of your room as flurries of soft, white snowflakes fell from the sky and floated in the air until gravity ultimately dropped them to the ground. You don’t know how long you’ve been watching for, but the rhythmic pattern of finding one of those crystalized water droplets fight against gravity as the wind carried it away before ultimately losing the battle was somehow entertaining.

Usually, you’d escape Seoul during this time of year to avoid the snow. While you didn’t experience seasonal depression, snow was one of your least favourite natural phenomenons. You were already cold 24/7, and the snow that snuck into the crevices of your jacket before melting into ice cold water only exasperated your problem. The first annual fall of snow gave everyone the illusion of being in a winter wonderland due to the white blanket that covered the city— until someone inevitably ruined it when they stepped in the snow because they needed to go to work. The aftermath of a snowfall also sucked. Fluffy, malleable snow became slushy, black ice whose only purpose was to cause accidents for the less coordinated.

Christmas was also two weeks away. For you, Christmas was just another day, as you weren’t religious. Rather than staying in Seoul, you ditched the city for the Christmas festivities in Tokyo.

Compared to the scramble to buy presents, decorate a Christmas tree, and coming together as a family in North American and European countries, East Asia celebrated the holiday very differently. With your frequent travels between China, Japan, and Korea, in addition to your abundance of friends from all three countries, you were pretty familiar with how each country celebrated the holiday. While Christmas was a family holiday in Western countries, in East Asia, it was more like a second Valentine’s day. You weren’t familiar with other parts of Asia, especially the countries that had a colonial history.

The buzzing of your phone snapped you out of your trance, reaching up to check who texted you. You rolled your eyes to see your boyfriend’s contact name. It was another one of your relationship test trials that everyone failed. If someone was kind and funny, they weren’t attractive. If they were attractive, they were rude and stingy. If they were funny, kind, and attractive, then they were bad in bed. You never had to worry about dating someone who was poor, because you met all your boyfriends from introductions from your friends.

Huffing, you opened your phone and tapped on the keyboard aggressively, sending him a breakup text before hitting the block button.

-

Junho: Merry Christmas!

Junho: I hope you’re doing well.

You: Merry Christmas to you too!

You: Are you spending it with anyone?

Junho: No…

Junho: Haven’t dated in a while.

You: Whattttt

You: If you put yourself out there you’d get snatched up immediately!

Junho: That’s why I don’t.

Junho: Not really in the best place to date right now.

You: Aww.

You: Well, are you at least staying at home today?

You: Christmas is supposed to be a family holiday, you know?

Junho: I took a day off.

Junho: My mom’s been pretty sad for the past few months.

Junho: I think I should spend some time with her.

Junho: I’ve also been working a little too hard.

Junho: A new part of my body makes a cracking sound everyday.

You: You deserve this break!

You: I hope you have a good time with your mom!

You: Manifesting some Christmas magic for you!

You: A warm meal, unwrapping presents, and maybe winning the lottery?

Junho: Lol, thanks.

Junho: Wishing the same for you! (Read)

-

Inho snatched your phone out of your hands, reading your conversation with Junho as you tugged at his shirt, reaching for your phone. Pursing his lips, he handed it back to you without a word.

“Anything you want to do today?” He diverted your attention, and you were surprised he wasn’t mad that you were still contacting Junho.

A year ago, he begged you on his knees to spare his brother, acting like you were going to inflict some kind of curse on Junho. As a result, he forbade you from meeting with Junho in person. You only obeyed him out of respect, not because he suddenly possessed more power than you. Nonetheless, you still frequently texted him, and you were relegated to being his online friend even though you could easily meet with him anytime you wanted. Inho was undoubtedly still tracking your conversations, and you didn’t bother confronting him about it, instead avoiding mentioning him entirely. You effectively helped erase him out of Junho’s life.

You took a moment to contemplate Inho’s question. This is the first time in a while that you were still in Seoul during this time of the year. You hadn’t even decorated your penthouse to match the holiday vibe. “Do you want to make hot chocolate?” You suggested with a smile.

“Sure. What do we need?”

“Milk— lactose-free, of course— marshmallows, and dark chocolate.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Inho replied, reaching for his trench coat.

Slipping on your puffer jacket, you remembered another reason why you hated winter: you couldn’t dress up. In the summer, you unleashed your abundance of flowy princess dresses onto the world, twirling around on beaches, fields of flowers, and any plaza Inho was willing to amuse you in. In the winter, you had to choose between being a fashionista and comfort, which the latter usually won.

Picking up a red scarf, you wrapped it around Inho’s neck, typing a knot and straightening it out, puffing it up at his neck to create some volume. The whole time, his eyes remained glued onto your face. Finally, you grabbed the tote bag from your rack, which Inho also took from your hands. “Let’s go,” he said as he took your hand, his grip firm but gentle.

Due to your penthouse being located in a neighbourhood rather than the centre of the city, it took some time to drive to the nearest convenience store. Meanwhile, you connected your music playlist to the bluetooth of the car, playing Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe, a Christmas classic.

Inho parked the car and ran to open the door for you, one hand held out to help you out. You accepted his offer, and he interlocked your fingers as he opened the back door, taking your tote bag from the backseat and slinging it onto his shoulder. Both of you slammed the doors shut in unison, walking to the entrance of the convenience store.

Inho picked up a basket at the entrance as the two of you wandered the aisles, placing the ingredients you needed into the basket. “How many should we buy?” You asked him as you reached the chocolate aisle.

“Just one. It should be enough to last one or two recipes,” Inho replied, and you nodded, taking the largest bar of dark chocolate the store had in stock.

You repeated the process with the marshmallows before you two agreed on getting the smallest pack. It wasn’t difficult to decide how much milk to get, and you grabbed the one litre carton. Between Inho’s lactose intolerance and your general dislike of the taste, there was no reason for you to buy a lot of milk.

Once the cashier was done scanning all the items, Inho tapped his card to pay and packed it up. The two of you returned to the car, although you weren’t prepared for the gust of cold air that would slap you in the face as the automatic doors slid open.

Upon arriving at your apartment, you connected your phone to your speaker and played your Christmas playlist as Inho waited for your instructions. Reaching inside the dishwasher, you took out a small pot and poured the milk inside, turning the stove on to medium heat. “Can you open the chocolate?”

Inho grabbed the chocolate and unwrapped the foil. “How many squares do I throw in?”

You stared at the chocolate bar. Perhaps you went overboard, because there were 16 squares in total, much more than you needed. You also needed to account for the richer, darker taste of dark chocolate, as well as the lack of sweetness. The marshmallows would probably help sweeten it up a little, although you figured Inho would like this recipe because he didn’t enjoy sweets.

“Let’s start with four,” you declared, breaking four pieces off and throwing them into the milk, opening the drawer and taking a spoon to stir the chocolate into the heated milk. Behind you, Inho placed two mugs on the island.

Once the mixture turned into a dark shade of brown, Inho poured it into the mugs, leaving enough space for you to top it off with the marshmallows. You had bought the mini marshmallows, ripping the bag open and grabbing a handful for each mug.

The marshmallows began dissolving quite quickly, as you two clinked your mugs together and blew on the hot beverage. You were the first to take a small sip, your lips barely creating enough space for the most miniscule amount to leak into your mouth. You really didn’t want a burnt tongue.

The bitterness of the dark chocolate was tamed by the creamy, frothiness of the warm milk, and the sweet, fluffy marshmallows were the perfect topping. At the same time, you wished it was slightly more sweet. It seemed like something Inho would enjoy quite a bit, though.

Gauging Inho’s reaction, you were proven correct when his eyes widened as the taste hit his tongue. “It’s quite good,” he commented.

“I’m glad. I figured you’d enjoy this recipe,” you smiled at him.

“You were right,” Inho said as he lifted his mug for a second sip.

“I can make this for you more often, if you’d like,” you suggested, and Inho placed the mug on the island, cupping your face and kissing you. He tasted like chocolate.

“You don’t have to if you’re busy, but I’d like that,” he responded, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

-

“Inho, let’s go to the Christmas Night Market,” you declared at around 10pm. While you weren’t a particularly health-conscious person, Inho tried to force you to sleep before 12 on most days.

Inho checked the time on his phone and glanced at you with an eyebrow raised. “This late?”

“It’s called a night market for a reason! If you don’t want to go, I’ll go alone,” you huffed, putting on your puffer jacket and wrapping a scarf around your neck. Behind you, Inho’s feet pitter-pattered onto the wooden floor.

“I’ll go with you,” he agreed, taking his trench coat and putting it on, wrapping the same red scarf around his neck. You straightened it out and puffed it up again, satisfied at your work.

When you arrived at the night market, you marvelled at all the stands illuminated with lamps and fairy lights. Luckily, it wasn’t snowing and you didn’t have to worry about slipping because the snow was the hard, packed kind and not black ice.

As you explored the market, you had an endless source of entertainment. You sniffed homemade soy candles with Inho, purchasing one that smelled like vanilla bean. There was one stand that sold paintings, and although you didn’t buy anything, you stood at the stand, scanning the intricacies of each paint stroke. There was another stand that sold charms and stickers, and unable to resist cute things, you bought matching cat keychains for you and Inho. Hooking the orange cat to your keys, you handed the black cat to Inho.

You sifted through a crochet stand, initially intrigued by the young woman who continued working silently even as others purchased her items. She had crocheted scarves, blankets, mittens, hats, and even stuffed animals. While you didn’t need any of them, you still lifted up one of the scarves and marvelled at the sheer work it must’ve taken to even finish such a piece. “Inho, what do you think of this scarf—”

When you turned around, Inho seemingly vanished into thin air. Whipping your head back and forth, you scanned your surroundings to search for a fit man of average height wearing a red scarf. Hanging the scarf back on the rack, you dashed through the market, bumping and apologizing to dozens of people as you searched for him. In the end, you huffed and puffed with your hands on your knees, somehow sweating buckets in the cold weather as your racing heart pumped the frigid air into your lungs.

Rummaging through your purse, you whipped out your phone and frantically called him, your anxieties growing with each beep of the voicemail. By now, the time read 11:30, and some stands were already packing up for the night, many ready to return home. Without much choice, you opened Google Maps to search for the nearest police station, which was only a 10 minute walk from your location.

You shortened it to a 5 minute walk with your speed walking, your heart pounding in your chest. By now, your nose and ears lost all feeling, and your feet were killing you from your heels.

Nearly kicking down the door, you burst into the police station with a deranged glint in your eye. You must’ve looked like a crazy woman, with your heavy breathing, and your messed up hair from all your running around and the wind. “Do you need anything, Miss?” A middle-aged officer, presumably around Inho’s age, nervously asked you.

“I need you to find someone. I got separated from them while I was at the Christmas Night Market.”

The officer motioned to the chair, and you obliged him. “What is their name?”

“Hwang Inho.”

His face was overtaken by a mix of shock and glee, throwing his head back laughing. “Hwang Inho? The guy with the perfect record who ruined it by taking a bribe?”

Standing up on instinct, you lunged at him and grabbed him by the collar, scrunching the fabric in your palm. “You son of a bitch, it wasn’t a fucking bribe—”

“What are you doing?” Inho called from behind you, and you loosened your grip, running to Inho. You probably would’ve ended up in jail if he hadn’t interrupted you when he did. The last man who insulted Inho missed that year’s Squid Games because he ended up in the hospital.

“Where the hell were you?!” You screamed at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“I was at the bank,” he reached up to dry your tears, pulling you into a hug as you sighed into his chest.

“Why were you at the bank?”

“I remembered I had something to do before it closed,” he placed a kiss on your forehand before taking your hand, leading you out of the police station.

“Why didn’t you pick up my calls?” You questioned as you walked back to your car with him. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. As he showed you the screen, not only did you see a dozen missed calls from you, but you also saw around 50 missed calls from a contact named “Superman”.

Gasping, you turned to Inho. “Is that who I think it is?” He nodded.

“I wasn’t intentionally avoiding your calls,” he started, and you interrupted his train of thought with a kiss, your arms tight around his neck as his arm found your waist, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t realize you were crying until something warm dripped down your cheeks, which Inho quickly wiped away.

“You don’t have to tell me anything else,” you told him, your voice breaking. He nodded, leaning back into you and nuzzling his face into your neck.

As you gazed up at the sky, white flurries fell from above, one of them grazing your cheek and melting on your skin. With your hand in his hair, you gently tugged him off you, placing a kiss on his forehead and then on his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Inho.”

He didn’t say anything, instead, leaning back in to kiss you again. Sometimes, it’s the feelings expressed by actions rather than words that are the most healing.

[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 5: Under the Table

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

Content Warning: Stalking, NSFW, Major Injury

For more information, check Masterlist

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“Are you coming?” Inho’s warped voice asked you behind his mask.

“No,” you replied curtly, “I still have some business to take care of.”

Inho nodded before leaving, observing the final rounds of the games in a different room. Waiting for his footsteps to be inaudible, you opened your phone and read the text messages of your private investigator, leaving you detailed descriptions of Junho’s whereabouts, including the time, place, and what he was doing.

Unbeknownst to Inho, you had begun to keep an eye on his family ever since he fell into your hands, especially that pesky Hwang Junho, who was ever so close to Inho. Inho was very hesitant about still contacting them after becoming the Frontman, but you didn’t want them to think he completely disappeared, so you ordered him to text them at least once a month. They needed to know that he was alive somehow.

It seems like for a few months now, Inho completely stopped any sort of contact. Since you never mentioned it, he probably thought you didn’t notice. Junho, who you assumed became a police officer because he admired Inho, was worried sick. This led him to start an investigation on his own. Very reckless, because if he was caught by anyone except you or Inho, he would receive a bullet straight to the head. Also very odd, because Inho paid them a visit in person a week earlier despite the radio silence.

You had to admit that Junho was skilled at his job, infiltrating your games as an accomplished detective with relative ease. You watched as he frantically took the mantle of worker to manager, trying to cover his tracks. He even went so far as to break into Inho’s office, discovering all the confidential files and in the process, finding out that Inho was a previous winner of the Squid Games.

Even as Inho frantically burst into your room and informed you of a possible mole in your ranks, you pretended you had no idea and dismissed him. For now, taking drastic measures wasn’t necessary. You wanted to see how far Junho could climb before you slid the ladder from beneath him, watching him fall.

It takes over a day for any news of Junho’s movement to be reported to you. Really, the life of all the staff in these games are quite monotonous and repetitive, and there isn’t much to do in between other than eat, sleep, and shower. Somehow, Junho found himself near the VIPs, and you grinned as the VIP revealed Junho’s face, offering him information in exchange for a blowjob.

Junho, as resilient as he was, quickly took the upper hand and forced the VIP to spill many of your secrets and escaped. When you were sure that Junho was off the island, you sent his coordinates to Inho, indirectly telling him to take care of it. If Junho died because you sent someone else who couldn’t care less about shooting him in the head, Inho would probably hate you forever.

While Inho was off taking care of Junho, it was your time to shine. Getting out of bed, curling your hair, applying some light makeup and finishing it all off with a velvet black, bejewelled masquerade mask, your high heels clacked as you stepped out of the room.

In the security room, you grabbed the microphone which alerted all the VIPs and spoke. “All VIPs, please make your way to the main lounge. I repeat, all VIPs, please make your way to the main lounge.”

Bringing two managers with you, you walked to the lounge, which was packed to the brim. Some unlucky VIPs who came later had no choice but to stand as all the seats were taken up. “You should increase the size of this room!” One demanded the moment you walked in, “We’re already paying so much to watch the games, this room should be able to seat all of us!”

You shot him a charming smile. “I’ll take your words into consideration,” you replied, taking out your phone. “Do you know what I’m about to show you?” All of them shook their heads.

Opening the voice memos app, you played a recording of a VIP who exposed the secrets of your game to Junho. All the VIPs began glancing at each other, and hushed whispers filled the room. Bringing your index finger to your lips, you shushed them. “Now that it’s come to this, I’ll have to take additional measures to guarantee the security of the games,” pointing to the traitorous VIP, who the guards instantly restrained, pressing the gun to his head to prevent him from struggling.

“This is the one who betrayed you,” you smiled, ripping the golden mask off his head and throwing it across the room. “Because of him, I’m increasing the price you’ll have to pay to continue being a spectator of the games.”

Everyone groaned in unison, some men so angry they flushed red underneath their masks, balling their hands into a fist and squeezing until their knuckles were white. “Don’t worry, I’ll allow everyone to finish watching this year’s games, but starting in 2021, everyone has to pay $10M American dollars.”

“Ten million? That’s much too high!” A woman protested, and you scoffed.

“If you can’t afford to watch these games, that’s not my problem. I have no choice but to be more selective with the people watching these games now that we have a traitor on our hands,” you explained, pointing to the disgraced VIP.

“By the way, I’ll be implementing some more changes. Starting next year, everyone will have to pay a deposit of $5M at least five months in advance to be eligible to watch the games. The rest will be paid during day 1 of the games, and if you change your mind, you will get a full refund, although the refund is not applicable if the games have already started.”

“Will there be some manual that will help us remember these new rules?” Another man asked.

“Oh, yes! I’ll put it in an automated email. Please make sure to read the contents when the time comes,” you requested, motioning to the guards to take the unmasked VIP way. You couldn’t kill him since he was a wealthy man, so the next best option was to throw him out with all his stuff.

As you left the room, you received an incoming call from Inho. “Hello?” You said into the phone as the managers dragged out the VIP behind you.

“The mole has been taken care of. Thank you for the coordinates,” Inho reported, his voice shaking a little despite him trying to keep it monotone. You noticed his breathing was heavier than usual.

“Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“It’s nothing major, don’t worry about it,” he replied, hanging up on you.

You didn’t notice Inho returning, but your curiosity was piqued when someone stumbled into the washroom and you decided to head to the washroom when you heard a strained groan. You were met with Inho bent over the sink, staring into the mirror as he clutched his shoulder, pressing on it with a towel. Stepping closer, you noticed the bullet in the sink.

“What the hell happened? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You yelled, hurriedly opening the drawers to take out the First Aid kit.

“I told you, it’s nothing major,” he responded with a shakily breath, trembling slightly as a shiny sheen of sweat covered his whole body.

“Nothing major, my ass! Look at how huge that bullet is!” You shouted, pointing to the bullet in the sink as he sank to the floor. He was delirious from pain and unable to come up with a good response.

Opening the First Aid kit, you scanned it to make sure you had the necessary materials. A needle, surgical thread, bandages, and some alcohol to act as a disinfectant. “I’ll bring you some painkillers. Swallow them before I begin,” you ordered, taking out some Advil from the cupboards and pouring two pills on the palm of your hand, using your other hand to press on the towel as he took the pills and swallowed without water, gasping from the burning pain in his shoulder.

“Sorry, I can’t wait for them to take effect. It’s better I stitch you up now. You’re just going to have to endure it,” you commented, removing the towel from his bullet wound and wettening a clean one with alcohol, pressing it to his shoulder. He hissed as the stinging pain of the alcohol spread through his shoulder, his body stiffening as his hand clenched into the form of a fist. Luckily, it seemed he stopped most of the bleeding.

Acting fast, you disinfected the needle and surgical thread, typing a knot at the end before you began closing his wound, poking the needle into his flesh as he flinched and groaned from pain. At one point, you noticed him biting his hand to stay quiet. “Don’t do that, you’re going to be in big trouble if you bite too deep and I have to stitch that up too!” He instantly released his jaw and placed his hand on the floor.

When you were done, you tied a knot on the other side and tightened it, cutting the excess string with a pair of scissors. “I’m going to have to cut this tank top. You can’t lift your shoulder,” you declared, and he nodded. Taking your scissors, lifted his shirt and cut in an upwards motion until it broke at his collar, removing it completely as you slid it off each of his arms, paying extra mind to his wounded shoulder.

You wrapped a strip of sterile gauze directly on his wound before you wrapped the rest of the bandage over his shoulder tightly. When you were finished, you disinfected the needle and used the surgical thread to sew the bandage in place. A doctor would probably find your actions blasphemous, but you had to use what you had.

You sighed as you stared at your bloody hands, standing up to wash them, drying them with a towel as you sat back down with Inho. “Have the painkillers kicked in yet?”

“No,” he replied shakily, his hand reaching for his injured shoulder when you grabbed it, stopping him. “Endure it for now, it’ll kick in soon.”

You were lucky this room was always stocked up on towels, because you needed another one to wipe the sweat off Inho’s body. ‘Still, this is a pretty nice view. Does that make me a bad person?’ You thought to yourself as you stared at Inho’s shiny abs.

You started with his forehead, dabbing it gently as you moved down. His entire body was moist to the touch, his eyes firmly shut as his eyebrows scrunched up from pain. “Inho, tell me what happened. How did you end up with this bullet wound?”

“Now? When I’m like this?” Inho mumbled, unable to talk very loud from the overwhelming pain coursing through his body.

“Yes. Hurry up.”

“The mole shot me when I cornered him at the edge of a cliff. He only had one bullet left. I shot him in the shoulder and he fell off,” Inho rasped as you continued dabbing the sweat off his forehead. Suddenly, your phone vibrated and you reached up to check the notification.

-

Investigator: Hwang Junho has been rushed to the nearest hospital in Jeju Island. It’s approximately a 30 minute boat ride from your current location. He has been placed in an induced coma.

You: What happened to him after he fell off the cliff?

Investigator: He nearly drowned. A man in a boat saved him and he was rushed to the hospital.

You: Understood. When will he awaken from the coma?

Investigator: It is hard to say. Most people wake up after a week or two. I believe, judging by his injuries, he will awaken after a week.

You: That’s good. I will visit him a week from now.

-

“Who was that?” Inho asked as you put the phone down.

“My boyfriend,” you lied with a straight face.

“I thought you broke up with him.”

“Well, he’s not my boyfriend yet, but he will be,” you replied matter-of-factly, and somehow in the midst of all the pain, Inho still managed to roll his eyes. What a sassy man.

“Inho?” You called out gently, and he opened his eyes and turned to you. “Don’t you fucking dare do this again. I expect you to tell me immediately when you get a wound bigger than a papercut, understand?”

He nodded, and you wrapped your arms around him, leaning into his uninjured shoulder as his breathing stabilized and he stopped sweating. It appears the painkillers finally kicked in. Your hand ghosted over a unique-looking scar on the left side of his abdomen, lightly grazing it before you pulled away. You wondered where he got it from. You took Inho’s walkie from the counter, “Bring us dinner. Give us something light on the stomach. Nothing spicy or too greasy,” you ordered.

-

For the next few days, you took care of Inho’s wound. Each year after the Squid Games ended, you usually returned to Seoul with him, but this time you insisted he stay for a bit longer until his shoulder healed more. It was difficult for him to shower without getting his wound wet, especially when it came to washing his hair, so you had to shower together so you could help him.

Meanwhile, Inho finished the remainder of his duties as the Frontman, from anonymously escorting Gihun to the paperwork in his office he had to deal with due to your new change in rules. For the ones that required a signature, he left it for you to sign instead, as it was basically the same thing.

On the morning of the 7th day after he was shot, you allowed him to return to Seoul, hiring a private doctor who could come into your apartment and take care of him in advance. You walked him to the private jet, waving goodbye to him as he walked up the steps. Suddenly, he turned around, “Are you sure you’re not coming?” He shouted, and you shook your head. Sighing in defeat, he got on the plane alone.

As soon as the plane departed, you left for the hospital Hwang Junho was presumably staying in. Your boat ride was unpleasant, to say the least. The guy who steered the boat, named Captain Park or something along those lines, was horrible, and the choppy, rough waves made your experience worse. Still, you didn’t have a choice but to pay him for the ride, even though you wanted to throw him overboard for such a shitty experience.

Checking into a hotel, you brought your suitcase into your room and left it there as you took a taxi to the hospital. Luckily, your investigator already informed you of Junho’s room, so all you needed to do was find a way in.

Walking up to the counter, the nurse looked up at you. “What’s your business here?”

You smiled warmly. “I was wondering if Hwang Junho is available for visitation?”

The nurse took a few moments to find Hwang Junho’s file, the mouse and keyboard click-clacking loudly. “You’re lucky, he just woke up. What’s your relation to him?”

“I’m friends with his older brother. His brother is a busy man, you see, and he asked me to make sure Junho is okay,” you made up on the spot. The nurse nodded and gave you a visitor tag, which you hung around your neck. Successfully infiltrating the hospital, you began searching for his room.

“Room 309…” you mumbled to yourself as you stumbled through the third floor. Your doctors always came to your house to check up on you whenever you required treatment, so this was unexpectedly annoying and kind of stressful. Just as you were about to give up and call your investigator, you found the room.

“Success!” You cheered under your breath, knocking on the door.

“Come in,” you heard from inside the room. Junho’s voice sounded quite rough and gravelly, presumably due to the coma, nearly drowning, and an overall lack of use for the past week.

You slid the door open, slowly stepping inside. Junho scanned you from top to bottom, confusion taking over his features. You noticed the fried rice on the makeshift table many hospitals used. ‘Oh, I interrupted his mealtime.’

“Who are you?” He asked warily. You couldn’t get mad though, he’s been through hell in the last two weeks.

“I’m the one who found you in the ocean,” you lied, feigning bashfulness and tucking your hair behind your ear. “I was vacationing on a boat nearby when I saw you fall from the cliff. I’m glad you made it,” you smiled softly to him.

“Oh, I see,” he responded, taking another bite of his fried rice. Once he swallowed, he continued. “What’s your name? I’m Hwang Junho.”

You shyly introduced yourself, reaching out to give him a handshake. “Do you mind if I sit here?” You asked, pointing to the stool near his bed.

“Sure.” The way he ate his fried rice made it look like a gourmet meal.

“How are you doing? I wasn’t allowed to come in for the last week because you were in critical condition. It looked like you lost a lot of blood from that bullet wound in your shoulder when I first found you.”

“I got a blood transfusion. The doctors said they managed to revive me. Thanks for saving me,” he smiled at you. While he didn’t share all his features with Inho, being half-siblings, he still bore quite a resemblance. His nose in particular was the exact same. Junho was undeniably a handsome man, although Inho was closer to your type.

“That’s good,” you paused for a moment, your smile fading a little, “Is your throat okay? You probably swallowed a bunch of saltwater, right?”

“It’s a little sore, and it’s really dry. The doctor said it should be fine if I drink more water.”

“I’m really glad you’re alive, you know. Seeing your body floating in the ocean was really scary.”

“Sorry for ruining your vacation,” Junho joked, and you laughed.

“It’s okay. I’d rather have you ruin my vacation again than have you die in front of me,” you reassured him, pouring him some water in a paper cup and handing it to him.

He thanked you as the room fell into silence. You didn’t really know what to say to him, as you didn’t write a script or anything. Upon closer examination, you realized Junho was probably around your age. You and Junho would probably be an attractive couple if you weren’t so hellbent on chasing his brother.

“By the way, how old are you?” You asked him, breaking the awkward atmosphere.

“I’m 29 in Korean years, why?”

“Oh, I’m younger than you. I’m 26— 27 if we’re using Korean years,” you replied, a little shocked his age was so close to yours.

“Are you a foreigner or something? Your Korean is good though,” he questioned, and you laughed.

“No, not really. I lived in America for 8 years because my dad sent me there, but I was born and raised in Seoul,” you explained.

“Which part of America? I’ve never travelled there before, so I’m a little curious.”

“Boston. My dad chose that city because it’s close to Harvard and MIT. I came back to Korea for University though.”

“Is it a nice city?”

“I’d say it’s okay. Obviously, the more money you have, the better the experience. I spent a lot of time in Chinatown,” you reminisced. Every Chinatown you’ve ever been to made you feel more at home than any city in Korea ever could.

“If I ever go there, you should recommend a few restaurants for me,” Junho told you, and you smiled.

“Before that, you have to get out of this hospital bed and fly there on a plane,” you pointed out, and he looked down at his bed.

“Right…”

You chatted with him until visitation hours were over, and before you left, he got your number so he could contact you whenever he wanted. You assumed Inho replaced his phone for him since his phone was brand new, the screen without a scratch in sight. When you asked him about it, he shrugged.

When you returned to your hotel and ordered some takeout, you saw the long string of texts from Inho you unintentionally ignored. You decided to put off responding to them, taking a shower and thanking the delivery man at the lobby of the hotel as you dug in.

-

Inho: I’ve arrived in Seoul. (8hrs ago)

Inho: When are you returning to Seoul? (3hrs ago)

Inho: I had to hire a housekeeper to help me shower, I hope you don’t mind. (2hrs ago)

Inho: Why are you not responding? (1hr ago)

Inho: Hello? (30m ago)

Inho: If you don’t respond within the next hour I’m going to call 119. (10m ago)

You: Sorry, it’s been a busy day. I was at the hospital all day.

Inho: Hospital? Are you hurt?

You: No, I was visiting someone. Ended up making a new friend.

Inho: Oh.

Inho: Okay, that’s not so bad.

You: Still gonna call 119?

Inho: Since you responded, no.

You: Why were you spam texting me?

Inho: It’s weird not having you around.

You: Awww.

You: Did you miss me?

You: Do you have separation anxiety?

Inho: Nevermind, I’m going to sleep.

Inho: You should sleep too. Don’t doomscroll until 3am.

You: How did you know I was going to do that?

Inho: If I’m not around, that’s what you always do. I’ve seen you still on your phone at 3am after I finished a heavy stack of paperwork.

You: Well I have to wake up early tomorrow, so no doomscrolling tonight.

You: Goodnight.

Inho: Goodnight.

-

The next morning, you headed to the hospital again, this time with some snacks you bought from the convenience store. You mostly bought Inho’s favourites, assuming Junho would probably have similar tastes to his brother. You didn’t bring spicy Buldak ramen though. It didn’t sound like a suitable thing to bring to a recovering patient.

Junho’s face lit up as he saw you, curiously eyeing your tote bag that made the sound of crinkling plastic everytime it moved. “What’s that?”

You took out one of the snacks. “I bought some stuff from the convenience store for you. You probably need to eat more than what the hospital gives you,” you responded, placing the packet on his bed.

Junho grabbed the packet at lightning speed, opening it immediately. “I love these! My brother used to buy these for me when I was a kid!” His smile faded a bit at the mention of his brother.

You pretended you didn’t notice. “Oh really? I’m glad. I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed the ones I usually eat. I’m glad our tastes line up,” you half-lied. You didn’t really eat convenience store food, only sharing some with Inho when you watched movies together.

“You have good taste,” Junho praised, and you burst out laughing.

“You’re only saying that because I got the ones you like!” You said through giggles.

“That’s exactly why your taste is good!” He retorted, the room echoing with the sound of both of your laughs.

At 7pm, your time was up and you needed to return home. You pointed to the snacks, which you had long put inside a basket on top of the drawer, to remind him to eat it if he got hungry. He seemed a little disappointed to see you go, but still waved you goodbye.

-

You repeated this routine for around a week until he was discharged. Just like you thought, he had a big appetite, and went through the snacks you bought him in two days. You had to repeatedly return to the convenience store to restock for him. It got to the point where all the employees and cashiers recognized you, much to your embarrassment.

Around the end of his stay, he was allowed to walk outside with an IV drip attached to him. It was probably just extra nutrients to make up for his time in a coma. At one point, you were worried about the hospital bill he would be faced with once he was released, but the nurse at the front desk informed you that all expenses had already been paid for. ‘Hwang Inho, you softie.’

On the day he was discharged, he walked up to you with a pep in his step. The colour had returned to his face, a stark contrast of his grey-ish complexion on the first day you visited him. “I should treat you to a meal when we return to Seoul. You probably spent a lot of money buying those snacks for me, right?”

“I’m counting on it,” you laughed, nudging him in the shoulder. “By the way, how are you returning to Seoul?”

“I bought a plane ticket last minute. It was really damn expensive. I’m going to have to work extra hard for all the days I was gone,” he bemoaned at his struggling bank account and all the overtime that was waiting for him.

“I’m okay with waiting a little longer for our meal,” you reassured, and he shook his head.

“No, I’ll take you out within the next two weeks. I have enough money for a meal, you know!” And you laughed again. Admittedly, Junho was a lot more fun than Inho. “Okay, I believe you. I still have a few more days of my vacation left, but I’ll be back by next week,” you lied. You were returning later tonight on your private jet.

-

Upon returning to Seoul, your driver picked you up and drove you back to your penthouse in Apgujeong-dong where Inho greeted you as you scanned your fob and opened the door. “I thought you weren’t gonna come back. You like your new friend that much?”

“He seemed lonely,” you responded while taking your shoes off, not noticing Inho’s eyebrow twitching.

“He?”

“Yes, why?”

Inho faltered. “Nevermind, it’s nothing,” he changed the topic quickly, “I had the housekeeper prepare something for you. I hope it’s still warm,” he pointed to the bowl wrapped in saran wrap on the island in your kitchen.

“Oh, thanks,” you smiled as you rinsed off a pair of chopsticks in the sink and unwrapped the bowl, digging in as Inho returned to his room. You had a long list of messages to reply to, from your friends from high school to your University friends, to Junho. You decided you would reply to Junho when Inho was out of the house.

Finishing your food, you placed the bowl and chopsticks in the dishwasher and turned on the shower. While the hotel wasn’t so bad, it was nice to be home. After half an hour, you turned your steaming shower off and dried yourself, turning on the air conditioner to air out the humidity to prevent mold. You were surprised to see Inho waiting for you in your bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” You asked curiously, applying your skincare products to your face.

“Fulfilling your conditions.”

“Seriously? With your shoulder like that?” You questioned.

“You can ride me,” he responded, waiting for you to finish applying your lip balm before he pulled your towel off your body.

You sighed, trying to snatch your towel from his hand, albeit unsuccessfully. “Let’s put it on pause for now. We can wait until you’re healed.”

“No,” he insisted, and you sighed, “I want to do it today.” You stared at yourself in the mirror as he reached up to squeeze your breast from behind with his uninjured arm, leaning down to plant sloppy kisses on your neck. He took his arm off your breast to turn your face around so he could kiss you, squeezing your ass to force your mouth open when you gasped to allow his tongue to find yours.

You gave in relatively easily. Even with only one hand, his touch set your body on fire as sparks flew wherever he touched. You turned around and wrapped your arms around his neck, one of them playing with his hair as your naked body pressed against his clothed body. You slipped one of your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the ripples of his hard abs beneath the palm of your hand.

Suddenly, he broke your kiss. “Turn around. Hands on the drawer, ass up,” he ordered, and you swallowed as you obliged. In the mirror, you saw him roll his boxers down as he slapped his erect cock against your wet pussy, causing you to gasp.

“Hey, I never said you were allowed to do that,” you reminded, and he smirked. “Do you dislike it?”

“That’s not the point h—”

You never got to finish your sentence because he inserted his cock in you, causing you to let out a string of broken moans as he bottomed out. “Looks like I don’t need you to ride me. I can fuck you like this just fine,” he laughed from behind as he began thrusting, one hand on your hip to support your body.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked between moans, hands shaking as Inho repeatedly hit your g-spot, making you see stars and float into space. Inho never responded, instead, thrusting faster and harder until you came, your entire body trembling and struggling to not collapse right then and there. Before you toppled over, he caught you with his hand and removed himself from inside of you.

“Maybe we should’ve done this on the bed after all,” he commented, guiding you to the bed as he laid your back on the soft mattress. “Open your legs.”

You hesitantly listened to him, still sensitive from your orgasm. He slipped his cock back inside, thrusting as you screamed from overstimulation, another orgasm rapidly building with each thrust. He used his injured hand to support your leg, keeping it close to his body while still holding you in place so you couldn’t escape.

You came again as he bent down to lick your nipple, tears forming in your eyes as your toes curled, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life. “When the hell are you going to cum?!” You gasped.

Inho never answered you, instead moving again when you came down from your orgasm, making you gasp and subconsciously grind your hips against his. By now, his breathing was getting progressively more heavy and even you could tell you were squeezing his cock hard, your pussy threatening to wring out everything he had.

His teeth latched onto your neck and bit down as he came, making you orgasm for a third time, the pain and pleasure making your pussy throb as you shuddered beneath his touch. He licked the blood off your neck, making you flinch during the afterglow of your orgasm.

When your mind cleared up and the reality of what he did set in, you shoved him off you. “I never said you could bite me! What the hell is this?!” You yelled, pointing to the already bruising bite mark. “Do you know how long it’s going to take for this to heal?”

“Maybe three weeks,” he replied, and you threw a pillow at his face.

“It was a rhetorical question!” You buried your face in your hands in anguish. “You just had to do this when summer is rapidly approaching. How am I gonna survive wearing a turtleneck during this heat?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I was out of line. Forgive me,” Inho pleaded, removing your hands from your face to try and make you look at him. “I’ll treat this right now, okay? You’ll have to wear a bandage over it for a while, but you won’t have to go out in turtlenecks,” he reassured, and you huffed in anger.

The bite mark was so big he had to cover it with two of the biggest bandages he could find after he disinfected it with alcohol. The whole time, other than your hissing and flinching from the stinging alcohol, an angry pout remained plastered on your face. “It’s done,” he said, pulling out the camera app on your phone to show you the finished result. While the bite mark itself had been covered up, the bruising started to spread everywhere.

“If the police ask if I’m being mistreated at home, I’m giving them your information,” you angrily huffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. He sighed. “Please don’t do that. I’ll go on a shopping spree with you tomorrow,” he bribed, trying to win you over.

“Okay!” Your face immediately brightened, a smile forming on your face. “I’ll try to spend 10 million won tomorrow!”

“10 million?” He sputtered, nervous for the upcoming damage to his wallet.

“Or I can show everyone what you did to me,” you pointed to the nasty bruising on your neck.

“Okay, 10 million it is.”

-

You giggled as you skipped through the mall, Inho carrying four bags as he sighed while tailing you. Technically, since you were buying quality pieces that would add to your collection rather than fast fashion, it made his load a lot lighter physically. Financially, it definitely did some damage.

Inho, ever humble and frugal, still lived as if he wasn’t a millionaire. All the luxury clothes and products he had was a result of you picking it out for him, and he wore them all without complaints. As a result, he had a lot of expensive turtlenecks to cover up the many hickeys you created on his neck. Still, he indulged you in the finer things, ordering champagne when he ate dinner with you on either one of your birthdays and attended exclusive events that costed a fortune to gain an invite for as your plus one.

As you skipped through the mall, occasionally, some people would shamelessly turn their heads and stare at you. Your age difference was very visible, and despite being in your late 20s, your baby face easily made you look 19. People likely assumed he was your sugar daddy or something like that, not knowing that you were actually many, many times richer than him.

You never bothered asking Inho if he needed anything while you shopped. You did, at first, but he would just politely decline everytime. You had to use context clues to figure out what he wanted, things like him staring at a particular shirt for a really long time.

With experience, you had a pretty good idea of his fashion sense. When he left the house, he liked keeping it simple but classy, with a white, black, or navy blue blouse and with a pair of dress pants in the colours white, grey and black. He topped it all off with a Gucci belt that you bought for him.

In the winter, he would wear a turtleneck with dress pants, a trench coat on top to keep him warm. Occasionally, you spiced it up with colours he usually didn’t gravitate towards, but never anything neon. You kept it at stuff like maroon and forest green. He always looked good no matter what he wore; his face was the final accessory that made everything work out.

At home, it was a hoodie and sweatpants, just like you. It was quite comfortable, especially in the winter, to be cuddling with him as you snuck into his very oversized sweater and poked your head through the collar while watching a movie. You lost track of the amount of times you fell asleep on him in that position.

As you walked into a store you’d never seen before in this mall, likely recently opened, you browsed the men’s section. You were a kind woman, after all, you weren’t going to spend all of Inho’s money solely on yourself. You laid your eyes upon a maroon tie with sleek black and gold stripes. Holding it up to Inho’s face, and making sure it suited him, you began walking up to the counter.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Inho pulled you back by your waist.

“I’m buying it for you,” you paused, “with your money, obviously.”

“You know I don’t wear ties, they’re suffocating. Plus, I already have some at home.”

You turned to him and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Inho, you have a total of three ties. Three!”

“I wear them in rotation. No one has noticed so far.”

You scoffed. “Oh trust me, they know. You attend more meetings and events than you think.”

A staff member, who originally watched you from the corner of the room, walked up to you in the middle of your petty bickering. She nervously fidgeted with her fingers, hesitant to get too close. “Excuse me, are we okay here?” She asked in her customer service voice.

You smiled at her. “Yes. Please pack this up,” you handed her the tie before Inho could react, and she nodded, walking away. You grinned at him in victory as Inho sighed.

“Don’t look so defeated. I would’ve bought it with my own money anyways,” you patted him on the shoulder, taking the velvet box from the staff member and rejecting the bag she was about to give you, slipping the box in one of the bags Inho held. “How much was it?” Inho asked as you put his card in your pocket.

You shrugged. “I didn’t look at the price,” and Inho sighed again. “Look, if it bothers you that much, I’ll transfer the money to you later.”

“No need, let’s go,” Inho took your hand and dragged you out of the store before you could do any more damage to his wallet.

Your days were relatively free after the Squid Games ended. For the next five months, you didn’t have to do any work at all. Inho went back to work after three months, spending long nights scribbling on his table and brainstorming ideas. Occasionally, when he got stuck, he would bring you in to pitch his ideas to you, and you decided whether to keep or scrap a game.

During the time you were free, you often took vacations with Inho. New York, LA, Tokyo, and Shanghai were your main locations because you owned either a penthouse or a house there. You knew enough Japanese to get by, but some older Japanese folks would look at you with disdain because of your Korean accent. In Shanghai, you feigned ignorance, pretending not to speak a lick of Mandarin while in reality, you were fluent. As a result, Inho had to hire a translator to follow you everywhere you went. You and Inho were both fluent in English, so any tourist destination where the majority of the population spoke English was no problem.

The whole time, you continued contacting Junho. At times, it was difficult because of the time difference, but Junho somehow made time for you.

-

Junho: When are you coming back to Korea?

You: Junho, it’s 1am in Seoul.

You: Go to sleep.

Junho: I usually sleep pretty late.

You: I used to, but then my secretary started nagging me too much about it.

You: So annoying…

Junho: Secretary?

You: I don’t know what else to call it. Director, maybe?

You: I don’t manage a traditional company.

Junho: That’s cool.

Junho: They work under you, right?

You: Yup.

You: Been working for me for four years now. Five, soon.

Junho: Ugh, sorry, I don’t want to talk about work right now.

Junho: Clocked out of a shift an hour ago.

Junho: Saw a really brutal car crash, the car was completely destroyed.

You: What?

You: That’s so tragic!

Junho: Not to make it too dark, but that person’s body was completely mush.

You: Do you think it was a result of drunk driving?

Junho: Probably.

Junho: Anyways, you’ve been doing a lot of traveling, right?

Junho: Where are you this time?

You: New York. I have a penthouse here.

Junho: Penthouse?!

Junho: Are you rich or something?

You: Well, I don’t really use the term rich.

You: When people ask, I say I’m comfortable.

Junho: So basically you’re really rich.

You: Does that change your opinion of me?

Junho: No, not at all.

Junho: A lot of dramas depict rich girls as being spoiled, that’s all.

You: I am spoiled.

You: But I’m not bratty.

You: Not to you, at least.

You: That’s probably the main difference.

Junho: LMAO, not to me?

Junho: Who are you giving attitude to?

You: My secretary.

You: Went shopping with him a few months ago and tried to buy a tie for him.

You: He ended up starting an argument in the middle of the store.

Junho: LOL, seriously?

Junho: Did you end up buying the tie?

You: Yup.

You: He’s never won against me before.

Junho: Sorry, I think I’m falling asleep while texting you.

You: See?

You: I told you to go to sleep.

Junho: Don’t start nagging me, you’re younger, remember?

Junho: Respect your elders!

You: 🙄

Junho: Anyways, tell me when you come back to Korea.

Junho: I still need to treat you to a meal.

You: I should be back in another month.

You: Goodnight, Junho.

Junho: Goodnight.

Junho: Sleep tight.

You: It’s daytime in New York though? (Read)

-

“Get off your phone. We’re at the airport now,” Inho declared, and you stuffed your phone in your purse. “Who are you texting so intently?”

“None of your business,” you replied as you got out of the car. A chauffeur took three suitcases out from the trunk and Inho grabbed the biggest ones, letting you handle the small carry-on.

Your experience with the TSA was never pleasant. “Is it really necessary for us to take off our shoes? I mean, come on!” You complained as you still complied.

“They’re checking to make sure there’s no hidden weapons inside,” Inho replied, and you rolled your eyes. As if you didn’t already know that! You just felt like it was a little excessive.

After a few hours in a lounge, your flight departed from New York to Shanghai with a layover in between. You never understood why layovers existed, they were the bane of your existence. The last thing you wanted to do after a long flight was to rot in an airport for a few more hours while waiting for another flight. You couldn’t imagine how horrible it was for people who had to fly economy.

Taking a melatonin gummy the moment you sat down, you hoped that it would help you adjust to the time difference and hopefully, the jet lag wouldn’t be so bad. You adjusted the seat so it laid flat. As you slowly dozed off, you turned to face Inho, who sat across from you, his hair peeking through the wall, likely staring at his laptop as your eyes fluttered shut.

-

You noticed a shift in Inho’s behaviour when you landed in Shanghai. Miraculously, you got enough sleep to not feel like you were hit by a truck, maybe something more like a bicycle. Inho, on the other hand, had heavy bags under his eyes and fell asleep as soon as he entered the car of your driver. You used the opportunity to take some silly photos of him, trying to stifle your giggles to not wake him up.

When Inho’s body finally adjusted to the time difference, he seemed more jumpy than usual. Inho wasn’t one to space out, but he’s already accidentally dropped two dishes because he was caught off guard by you. At the same time, he was also more touchy, frequently initiating sex. On some days where you had nothing planned, he would hold you for hours despite his injury. You always protested at first, worried about his shoulder, but as charming of a man he was, he always managed to make you give in.

Your time in Shanghai wasn’t very memorable because of Inho’s actions. It was finally the time of year when Shanghai cooled down, allowing you to freely explore the city without being burnt to a crisp in the humid sun— if Inho didn’t insist on fucking you in the morning, his hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place as you stared out the window, scared that if he fucked you too hard, both of you would fall out of the building.

You usually didn’t have time to clean out his cum in the mornings, so you had to go about your business as it slowly oozed out of your pussy throughout the day. Through tourist attractions, shopping sprees, dinners, hangouts with your friends, and on occasion, business meetings, Inho made his mark on your body.

At night, he was like a savage beast, ripping your dress off your body so he could fill you with more of his cum. “You know I can’t get pregnant, right?” You whined as he twisted your nipples, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I know,” he spoke into your neck, his voice muffled.

Trying to make him cum faster, you began creating hickeys on his neck, accidentally biting him when his hand brushed against your clit. Scratching up his back, you bit down harder as your orgasm washed over you, your pussy squeezing him so tight that he came shortly after. Unlatching your mouth from his neck, you licked up the blood as he hissed.

“Is this revenge?” Inho asked, wincing as he reached up to touch your bite mark.

“Well now that you mention it, yes it is. Also, keep your hands to yourself until we return to Seoul,” you pushed Inho off you, watching as he collapsed on the bed next to you. Your body was going to fall apart if he kept taking you 24/7. You cleaned up his wound and bandaged it up, throwing your head back as you cackled before reaching to take a picture with your phone.

“What’s so funny?” Inho frowned.

“Now you know how it feels to get bitten during sex.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it. The aftermath isn’t pleasant. Neither of us will ever do it again, agreed?” He held his hand out for you to shake it. You nodded, shaking it in agreement.

-

You returned to Seoul just in time for Christmas, rushing to make the reservation Junho had set for you. Covering the hickeys Inho made with an obscene amount of makeup, you dolled yourself up and headed out the door as Inho stayed back to unpack.

When you arrived, Junho was already sitting at the table waiting for you. He lit up as he spotted you, waving his arm so you knew where to go. You walked to his table as he stood up and moved the seat for you, smiling as he sat back down. The restaurant, while nothing compared to the ones you frequented, was still fancier than most.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” you greeted him before you noticed an unusual device on your purse. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be a tracker, likely the doing of Inho.

Junho didn’t notice your abnormal behaviour. “I should’ve taken you out a long time ago,” he replied.

The two of you chatted as if you’d never been apart in the first place, the conversation only pausing momentarily to place your orders and in between bites. Perhaps in another life, you would’ve set your sights on Junho instead of Inho. At some point, the conversation shifted to your families.

“Do you have any siblings?” Junho asked, and you nodded.

“I have an older half-brother. We have a pretty big age gap, so I’m not close to him,” you responded, dabbing your lips with a napkin.

“Oh, what a coincidence! Me too!” He paused, remembering the recent events he went through at the hands of the Frontman. “I fear he’s gone down a dark path, though.”

You leaned in closer, pretending to be curious. “If you don’t mind, can you explain what you mean by that?” You requested softly, trying to keep your voice low but also loud enough for him to hear you over the music.

He also leaned closer, looking around before he continued. “Around six months ago, he appeared at my apartment after not responding to our texts and calls for months. Only a day later, he received this card with weird symbols on it and disappeared,” he gulped, as if scared to continue.

“Did you ever find him again?”

“I’m getting there,” he stopped you. “I’m not sure if you’ll believe what I say next. I tried telling my coworkers and none of them believed me. My boss thought I was talking nonsense, but I swear I witnessed it with my own eyes!”

“What did you see?” You pressed on.

“One day, one man came to us claiming there was some kind of game he participated in where the staff killed everyone who couldn’t pass the game. He showed us the same card my brother received before he disappeared. I found it suspicious, so I tailed him and managed to sneak into the games when he was taken back.”

His voice shook. “It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. So many innocents killed in cold blood by workers in pink jumpsuits, a mask covering their face and altering their voice. It was ruthless, brutal, and dehumanizing, all for some entertainment. I managed to extort some information out of a spectator, but I was hunted down by this man in a black mask. He shot me and I fell off the cliff, and I lost all the evidence I gathered.”

You weren’t sure what to do with your facial expression. Which emotion were you supposed to play? Pity? Sadness? Anger? Heartbreak? “You said you think your brother is going down a dark path, right? Where does he fit in this story?”

Junho looked up at you with a bit of shock on his face. Most likely, everyone he told dismissed him and acted as if he was crazy. You must’ve been the first person who didn’t treat him that way. “You promise to not tell anyone?” His tone was desperate and pleading.

“Yes. I promise,” you didn’t have anyone to tell anyways. There was no way you were going to hand yourself over to the police.

“My brother is the one who shot me. I think he might be the leader of the games,” tears welled up in his eyes as he confessed. “Even so, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

Junho took a moment to blink back some tears as he stared at the ceiling. “My dad died when I was young. My brother, who was much older than me, felt more like a dad at times. He’s the reason I became a police officer. Even though he’s a criminal now, I still want to protect him.”

You stayed silent, staring at Junho sympathetically. Your dishes had been empty for a while now, and you took his hand to comfort him. You were genuinely sad for him, but while under your watch, the Squid Games would never end, and Inho would remain as a cog in the machine. You never wanted to deprive Inho of his family, so this conclusion was disheartening.

“Junho, can I give you a word of advice?” You hesitated as he made eye contact with you. “You might not like what I’m about to say, but I think you should stop investigating these games.”

He shook his head. “No, I can’t. I’m a police officer, I exist to protect innocent civilians. I can’t sit back and watch as hundreds are kidnapped and forced to play a death game for some money.”

“Junho, your strong sense of justice is what makes you a good police officer, but you can’t do this alone. You said your coworkers didn’t even believe you. You can’t dismantle a system without support. To me, this sounds like a hopeless case,” you argued. You weren’t doing this out of self-preservation anymore. Junho was Inho’s family. If possible, you wanted an outcome where neither of the brothers ended up dead.

“I can’t. I’d rather die trying than live knowing I didn’t do anything,” Junho was surprisingly stubborn.

A waitress interrupted your conversation by placing the bill on your table, and you assumed you’d overstayed your welcome. You were willing to pay, but Junho wrestled the bill out of your hands and insisted that he would cover it, despite his hesitance when he saw the total price.

The two of you left the restaurant, finding your way back to that park you frequented with Inho when you first met him 5 years ago. Turns out, Junho played with Inho a lot in that exact park when he was younger, and as the years passed, it became a source of nostalgia. Swinging on swings, Junho turned to you.

“Thanks for hearing me out earlier. You’re the first person who believed my story.”

You smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Before your conversation could continue, a black limousine pulled up in front of the park, and Inho, dressed as the Frontman, stepped out. Junho jumped off the swing, protectively standing in front of you. With Inho’s experience, he easily snatched you from behind Junho and pulled you in.

“Get in the car. Now.”

As you began walking towards the car, you heard Junho struggle behind you. You’re not entirely sure what happened, but you were positive a few punches were thrown. “Don’t leave with him!” Junho shouted from behind, “He’ll kill you!”

“Leave her out of this!” You heard him yell at Inho. A few more punches were thrown, and you rolled down the window to watch the rest of the skirmish.

Finally, Inho grabbed Junho by the collar and shoved him against a tree. “If you know what’s good for you, stay away from her.” He warned, releasing him and walking away as Junho remained shakened.

-

The moment you arrived in your apartment and closed the door, Inho unclasped his mask and threw it somewhere across the room, turning around and falling to his knees, grasping your shoes hard enough to crease them. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t take Junho. You already have me, isn’t it enough? Leave him out of this, please,” he begged, desperation evident in his face as tears welled up in his eyes.

You were never planning on taking Junho anyways, but you couldn’t resist giving Inho some extra comfort when he stared at you so pitifully like a puppy. You bent down, wiping the tears from his eyes as he sniffled. Before you could speak, he continued, “I’ll give you everything you want! I’ll even carve my heart out and place it in your hands if you ask me to, but please— just please leave Junho alone.”

You sighed. “Inho, I never intended on taking Junho in the first place. I don’t need anyone except you. As long as he never succeeds in exposing the games, I won’t harm him, and I’m sure you’ll never let him get that far in the first place,” you paused to place a kiss on his forehead. “Besides, he’s your family. I’m extending my protection to him because of you,” you explained, poking him in the chest.

Inho nodded, a tear falling from his eyes as you wiped it away and kissed him on the cheek. “No one in Squid Game history has had special treatment like you,” you reminded him of his unique privilege as the role of the Frontman.

You pulled away, letting Inho stand up and watching him wipe his tears on his sleeve. “Inho?” You called out as he began to walk away, causing him to turn around. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I already know you can never give me your heart.”

It was a reality you’d come to accept, and a promise that can’t be kept was simply a lie.

[quanruionechancepls]

Happiness is a Butterfly - Chapter 2: Blood is Rare (and Sweet as Cherry Wine)

Salesman x Reader

Content Warning: Substance Abuse, Child Abuse, Bullying, Dubious Consent, NSFW (This chapter is very graphic overall)

For more information, check Masterlist

---------------

Gongyoo was a strange man.

He expected you to cook for him, yet everything you made, he made better. Did he place that responsibility on you solely because you were a woman? In fact, it seemed he didn’t need you at all, as you would sometimes wake up to him ironing and folding his clothes, and other times, mopping the floors. He was fully self-sufficient.

The only area you had him beat was baking, but you weren’t going to pour your heart out into pastries for a man like him. Everytime you baked, you purposely switched out the sugar with salt, as it would be indistinguishable until someone took a bite out of it. You always prepped the night before, placing a fresh dollop of buttercream frosting on the salty cupcake the next morning, packing it neatly into his lunchbox.

For the first month, you assumed nothing was wrong. He always came home with the cupcake gone, either thrown away or eaten. You didn’t bother asking. He never thanked you for your labour, but he never complained about the food either.

Until one night, he stood guard in the kitchen, his eyes glued to you as your baking ingredients were spread across the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You asked as you measured the flour.

“Do you not know how to read labels?” The rude question aside, his tone was dripping with accusation.

“What?” You shot him a glare.

“Do you know how much salt I had to buy this month?” When you stayed silent, he scoffed. “You think I don’t know what you’re plotting? Bake properly, or don’t do it at all. No one wants to eat those disgusting salty cupcakes.”

You expected him to walk away, but he kept his mouth shut as he watched you measure and mix the ingredients together. The entire time, the quiet rage emanating from his body enveloped the entire apartment, and while you wanted to open a window to clear out the stuffiness, you also didn’t want to walk past him. He blocked you from leaving, so the only thing you could do was silently admit defeat and pour in the correct amount of sugar.

Gongyoo finally left when you popped the cupcakes into the oven after carefully inspecting your every move for nearly an hour, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he shut the door to his room. Perhaps it was a bad idea to rebel against him— just because he treated you kindly now doesn’t mean he’ll maintain this persona when you do something that he deems to be too far. The last thing you want is to be beaten black and blue because you caused him to snap.

And just like that, your feeble attempt to exert some power over him was destroyed with a mere warning— one you ought to take seriously.

With all your fight quelled, you quickly fell in line with the kind of wife he wanted. You woke up at 10am, and you spent your time around the house either cleaning, doing laundry, or cooking. At first, he was quite territorial about his room, but he eventually allowed you to enter on the condition that you don’t touch anything. It was a vague request, and you weren’t sure if you were allowed to clean it.

You also noticed how methodical of a man he was. When you looked in his closet, you were surprised to find dozens of the same suit, all perfectly ironed and ready to wear. His idea of a casual outfit was ditching the blazer and tie. In addition, you found more folded papers intended for ddakji, and when you took a closer look, they were folded so neatly you could’ve mistaken it as the work of a robot. There were no wrinkles or crinkles that showed a need for correction, only four sharp edges and the paper neatly tucked inside itself to give it an appearance similar to an envelope.

How did such a perfectionist put up with your salty cupcakes for so long? You were really lucky he didn’t grab you by your hair and throw you against the wall, rolling up his sleeves in preparation to beat you until you were bruised and swollen.

Despite Gongyoo being gone for most of the day, you didn’t allow yourself to relax until both of you had eaten dinner because you knew that only then, he wouldn’t demand anything of you. Your favourite part of the arrangement was your separate bedrooms and bathrooms. This was wishful thinking for sure, but when you snuggled under your covers, it almost seemed as if no one in the world could touch you, not even him.

As you made yourself more comfortable in the penthouse, which came a lot easier after you decorated everything to your taste, you noticed even more singularities about Gongyoo. At least twice a week, he wouldn’t come home at all. At first, he made sure to be back by 7pm sharp, but eventually, he pushed the time back further and further until it resulted in a text message informing you to not make dinner for him. It always occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

The cheating didn’t bother you, as you didn’t desire him in the first place. His money and his handsome face wasn’t enough to make up for the way your skin crawled every time he entered the room, especially if he stared at you for too long. No amount of acting could conceal how empty of a man he truly was, his life relying on routines and strict structures without room for indulgence. Even if he cooked and cleaned better than you, there was no emotion behind his actions, only duty.

In fact, you preferred the nights he was away, because the nights he stayed home were more frightening. The first time you heard it, you stayed up later than usual after binging a Kdrama in the darkness of your room underneath your covers. You were in the middle of a heartwarming scene between the two main characters when a blood curdling scream reverberated through the walls of the entire apartment. The usual huskiness of his voice was drowned out by an unsettling shrill, akin to nails on a chalkboard.

It nearly sent your heart flying out of your chest with how fast and hard it pounded, calming yourself with deep breaths as his screams continued for a few more minutes— you couldn’t be sure of the exact time. By the time he fell silent, you felt like you were more of a mess than he was, your entire body breaking out in a cold sweat, trembling in your bed as your throat dried up.

What troubled you the most was how ordinary he acted the next morning, as if he hadn’t destroyed his vocal cords with all his screaming as well as your eardrums. His hair would be slicked back and his suit was buttoned up as he silently munched on whatever you decided you wanted to eat for breakfast. Curiously, he never requested a certain type of meal either, he just let you choose what you wanted to make and went along with it.

At first, you heard it once a week. Then twice. Then it was every night he spent at home.

You weren’t always awake when it happened, and sometimes you’d wake up with a start, your body entering fight or flight as if you were in a horror movie, only to realize you were in the safety of your room. You debated staying up later so you could fall asleep after he got all the screaming out of his system, but you quickly realized it was futile because it happened randomly. Sometimes, it was 1am, and other times, it could be 6am.

While Gongyoo’s screams sucked the life out of you, your skin dull and dry with prominent bags under your eyes, he remained as radiant as ever. It was frustrating to find his natural skin glowing in the sun, the light hitting him from all the right angles, as you struggled to keep yourself afloat with your lack of sleep.

One night, when his screams weren’t letting up, you gritted your teeth and gathered all your remaining courage, uncovering your ears and lifting your blanket off you as you walked towards his room. The door to his room creaked, and he momentarily quieted down to a hum, but the calm didn’t last as his eyebrows scrunched, his hands gripping the sheets as he opened his mouth to shriek again.

You stood by the doorframe, trembling, wondering how you could possibly awaken him without getting hurt. Not only was he much larger than you, he also frequently went to the gym, always patching up his calloused hands when a new blister formed. A random swing in your direction could cause significant damage, intentional or not.

Still, you couldn’t leave him like this. It was mainly for your own sake, as you were losing your mind without sleep, but you didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that he was deeply tormented by something. It was mentally damaging enough to be haunting him every night in his dreams, an open secret you tried to wish away, but could no longer run away from.

You tiptoed towards the bed, your touch as light as a feather as you brushed your fingertip against the back of his hand, which was white from how hard he gripped the sheets. Gulping, you slowly peeled his fingers off, only to instantly regret it as he grabbed ahold of your hand and squeezed hard. Biting your inner cheek to stop yourself from screaming and startling him awake, you directed your focus to his upper body, sighing as his grip loosened slightly.

Brushing his bangs aside, you placed your hand on his forehead, surprised at how moist it was to the touch. “Gongyoo, hurry up and wake up,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. You pressed your finger in between his scrunched eyebrows, smoothing them out. “I don’t know what you’re dreaming about, but you’re safe. You’re at home, in your bed. There’s no one who can hurt you, in fact, you’re probably the one who can hurt me.”

You continued speaking to him softly, alternating between affirmations and shushes when he clenched his jaw in his sleep, grinding his teeth. After what felt like ages he finally opened his eyes, gasping for air as his vision struggled to adapt to the darkness. “You’re finally awake,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth.

“Fuck, I feel like shit,” he groaned, forcing himself to sit upright, pushing his damp hair back with his hand. It was the first time you heard such foul language leave his mouth, especially since he tried so hard to appear prim and proper.

“I think you should talk to someone about this. Your nightmares are keeping me awake too,” you suggested, and he glared at you.

“Mind your business.”

You huffed. “Well, I’ll continue waking you up then. I think I’ve endured them for long enough,” you replied, slipping your hand out of his grasp and walking out the door, shutting it behind you. ‘Suit yourself.’

-

Gongyoo didn’t expect you to stay true to that promise, but you did. Every night, when he inevitably drifted off when he couldn’t resist the sweet allure of sleep any longer, he’d be haunted by the same nightmare. He got them more often as he grew older. It was like clockwork— he’d wake up at 8am sharp in the morning on weekdays, waiting for you to cook his breakfast before he packed his lunch and spent the day monitoring previous winners. At night, he’d shower, brush his teeth, and stare at the ceiling for as long as humanly possible until he physically couldn’t open his eyes anymore.

He wished he could keep himself on autopilot with ecstasy, but he was forced to quit when the Host found out about his addiction. He recalled how horrible the first two weeks of his withdrawal symptoms were. At home, he could barely keep any food down, essentially living in his washroom as he kneeled in front of his toilet, his stomach churning as he gagged and choked on the bile creeping up his throat. He had to take an entire week off work because he physically couldn’t function— he didn’t eat, sleep, or even have the energy to walk around his apartment, yet he suddenly gained an abnormally strong craving for sweets, binging enough candy to cause 3 cavities if he wasn’t hygienic enough.

Everything was for the sake of avoiding those nightmares.

Truthfully, he didn’t want you to help him. You were the stunning bird he locked up in his cage, free for him to show off, use, and get rid of as he pleased. The Host told him to be your husband, she never explicitly said he couldn’t kill you. You were no better than the vermin he spent all day and night playing games with every year when the Squid Games rolled around, you just happened to be the one chosen to be a pet.

His little birdie.

And pets shouldn’t stick their nose in the business of their masters.

But nothing kept you away. No amount of glaring, passive aggressive insults, or even throwing his ddakji in your face deterred you from entering his room every night, holding his hand and slowly stirring him awake with your soft spoken voice. He always woke up feeling like he ran a marathon and just came out of a coma at the same time, his limbs weak and heavy, his body sticky with sweat. You never stayed once he was fully awake, undoing your interlocked fingers and yawning as you walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you.

Eventually, he just accepted it. He allowed you to wake him before he naturally jolted awake, gasping for air, covered in sweat from head to toe, his eyes moving erratically as if he was still on drugs. You were too stubborn for any sort of antics to change your mind, and he was too tired to continue resisting your kind gesture.

Sometimes he’d doze off again, other times he pushed himself out of bed and into the shower, washing off all the grime on his body left by the nightmare. He avoided his own reflection as much as he could, his eyes remaining on the marble wall or the tiles on the floor. He’d grown up with women fawning over his handsome face, but he couldn’t see what they saw. He didn’t see himself when he looked in the mirror, he saw his dad. If he grew out his stubble and stopped styling his hair, the resemblance would be so uncanny it’d send a shiver down his spine.

The most difficult part of his day was when nightfall came, the ghosts of his past trailing him as if he didn’t work his ass off to leave it all behind. Gongyoo felt the most at ease when the sun peeked through the clouds at dawn, signaling a start of a new day, giving him another chance to reinvent himself— to be anyone but himself.

Ever since you entered his life, mornings gave him a chance for normalcy. He’d open his eyes to the ceiling staring back at him, the scent of your cooking wafting through the entire apartment. None of your meals were anything special, but he imagined they were what a true homecooked meal tasted like, not his methodical step-by-step cooking that followed recipes to absolute perfection. Baking aside, he never saw you pick up a measuring tool, choosing to eyeball everything you made.

You, as a person, intrigued him. Why did you never ask him what his nightmares were about? Why haven’t you already started begging for him to love you? Other than the Host herself, who already had every detail of his life on file, you were the only woman who never pried. The women he previously had relations with were all so quick to throw away their dignity and beg him for the world. You were in a different position than those women, but you were still a woman nonetheless, and he assumed you would behave like his previous partners.

And just like that, a year flew by. He never asked you any questions about yourself— not that he needed to— and you never spoke to him more than necessary.

Other than his nightly terrors, his life was peaceful. Your methods of waking him up continued to improve, and his nightmares became shorter and shorter as you adjusted, although the nightmares themselves never got easier.

Every night, his life flashed before his eyes, from the very beginning to the present day. It was akin to an out-of-body experience, the film replaying over and over again but he could never step in and change the prophecy. It forced him to watch the most terrifying moments of his life while knowing all he wanted was to close his eyes and forget.

-

Gongyoo’s earliest memory was his younger self, barely the age of 4, reaching for the fridge on uncoordinated limbs. His dad drowned his sorrows in the form of fermented barley, the type of melancholy that seeped into every corner of their home, one that Gongyoo’s childhood innocence had no idea of. There were times his dad sobered up enough to cook up a meal for him, or even buy something at the convenience store if he was lucky, but most days, Gongyoo was left to his own devices. So, he learned to push a stool in front of the fridge, using his hands to grab anything deemed as edible. Even raw onion and garlic didn’t taste bad if he was hungry enough.

His mom? Well, he didn’t have a clue. He learned the hard way to never mention her in front of his dad after he was rushed to the hospital after a beating that resulted in a broken arm. His dad sobbed and begged him for forgiveness, but he never changed, and his curiosity stayed even as he sewed his lips shut. Was she dead? Or did she leave him and his dad behind for another man?

School was fun up until middle school. It was the only place he’d be guaranteed a meal, so he always made an effort to attend, even if he had to walk there on his own. There were days he couldn’t show up no matter how much he wanted to. The beatings that left his entire face swollen and purple happened three times a year, although he didn’t know the significance of those days except one: Mother’s Day.

Middle school changed everything. Grades started to matter, and he was the target of bullying because his dad barely made ends meet, so he was always behind in clothing trends and had no access to the shiniest new toy. He studied as hard as he could, but everyday on his way to school, a few kids would pull him into the alleyway and steal his homework. It was always at least a group of three, two holding him back while one dumped everything out of his backpack. They’d throw a few punches at him until he was too winded to fight back and run away with his papers.

When his grades slipped because his assignments were stolen, his dad expressed his disappointment in the only way he knew how: whipping him with his belt until his skin blistered. At first, he tried reporting the bullying to his teachers, but when it worsened and he realized no one would help, something snapped within him.

Gongyoo stopped attending school. His way of learning was borrowing books from the library, but it became less and less frequent as he fell down the wrong path.

He first realized his fighting potential when he single-handedly knocked out his bullies when they tried harassing him even as he stopped attending school— like father, like son. It escalated into him picking fights with anyone who irritated him until finally, a group of delinquents confronted him and demanded for him to join.

Pain and cigarettes became his life. After being beaten around his whole life, he didn’t let people think they could swing at him and get away with it anymore, quickly countering with his bandaged fist, the skin on his knuckles always raw and sore. The stench of blood and smoke was stained on his skin and clothes, the metallic iron pooling on his fists and inside his mouth. He’d swallow his own blood with a twisted smile, imagining it was sweet liquor running down his throat.

His blood tasted sweet.

At his speed of crashing and burning through life, Gongyoo genuinely believed he wouldn’t make it past age 28, but everything changed the day he turned 18. As he smoked in an alleyway, a man in a fancy suit approached him. Inhaling a puff of his cigarette, he held it in his mouth and blew it in his face, expecting the usual reaction of coughing or flinching, but the man remained still, giving him a polite smile. He was handed the same beige business card he gave out to people in the present day, a circle, triangle, and square on the front and a phone number on the back.

“This is a chance for you to turn your life around,” the man said to him.

If he wasn’t desperately trying to save enough money to move out of his dad’s apartment, he would’ve regarded it as trash, but something possessed him to run to the nearest telephone booth and call the number. The next day, a truck parked outside of his door, and a person in a pink jumpsuit approached him, telling him to go inside.

So he did.

He allowed them to take him to the middle of nowhere, huddled in a cramped space with dozens of other people. Some were equally as confused as him, and others sat calmly as they waited for the truck to slow to a halt.

They were escorted out of the truck and brought into a mysterious dormitory, each given a pink jumpsuit, a ski mask, and a black mask with a large circle where the face was supposed to be. He was trained to do menial tasks his dad never bothered teaching him, such as cooking, cleaning, and laundry. ‘This is strange,’ is what he thought at the time, not understanding why he needed his identity to remain anonymous for such everyday tasks.

When he first saw players being slaughtered without remorse, it was a bit of a shock to the system, but when a more experienced guard informed him of their paycheck, he quickly bit his tongue and turned his head the other way. After growing up with the scent of iron always lingering nearby, it didn’t repulse him anymore, rather, he found it comforting. The cleaning was relatively easy, with the tractors rolling away the bodies as he carried the coffin with another worker. At the time, there were only 200 participants in the games, so there wasn’t much to clean up as well.

He bawled when the money hit his bank account, having never seen such a huge sum in his life. He didn’t earn the money by beating up unsuspecting teenagers and stealing whatever they had in their wallets— no, he earned it without having to get hurt. It allowed him to immediately move out, and although he had to be frugal and rent a shabbier apartment, it was the first time he tasted freedom.

Other than a brief pause due to his military enlistment, Gongyoo returned to the games every year, becoming a soldier at the age of 22. His military training was fresh in his mind as he handled the rifle with expertise, pulling the trigger and enduring the recoil on his shoulder, shooting his victims directly on the forehead as his triangle mask concealed his sadistic grin. It was the first time he had a taste of power, and the way his brain lit up with dopamine everytime he exerted it was addicting. Even better, being a soldier paid better than a worker.

Two years later, he was on the same island, a rifle in his hand when a manager ordered him to eliminate Player 056 from his earpiece. He approached the player, his arms heavy and sore from carrying the gun all day, when Player 056 turned around, and he was faced with a familiar face.

It was his dad.

He recalled hesitating, watching as his dad collapsed to his knees, tears springing in his eyes as he begged to be spared. “Please, I need this money for my son! I need to clear my debts for him!”

At the time, it sounded like bullshit. When did his dad ever give him money? He had to beat his way into scraping enough together for a few packets of ramen at the convenience store, otherwise he’d starve.

So, he stepped closer, his body stiff as his dad crumpled further, the fear evident in his eyes. Gongyoo tapped the muzzle of his rifle against his dad’s forehead, his finger pressing down on the trigger, watching as blood and brain sprayed out of his dad’s head as his body collapsed. Taking a deep breath, he peeled his eyes away from the crimson flowing out of his dad’s head and walked back to his station.

In the privacy of his room, barely larger than a capsule hotel, hot tears poured down his cheeks as he gasped for breath in between sniffles. It was uncontrollable— everytime he tried to convince himself to stop, it seemed his body rebelled harder against him.

Gongyoo stared at his younger self who was wracked with guilt, knowing exactly why he couldn’t stop crying. If he dug deep enough, he found happy memories with his dad as well. The annual birthday cakes, swinging at the park together, taking him to the amusement park and laughing when he threw up after a roller coaster ride. In darkness, there were always cracks of light.

After that day, he couldn’t stand to fall asleep, the moment of his dad’s death replaying again and again. At times, he wondered if his dad cursed him in the afterlife once he found out the person who killed him was his own son.

Around the same time, one of his delinquent friends, who was now in a gang, introduced him to ecstasy. Ecstasy, molly, MDMA— whatever you want to call it, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that it kept him awake, and bringing him to a new level of euphoria was only a side effect. With the help of the drug, the only way he fell asleep was by passing out after days of pumping the substance into his veins through his consumption of pills. It didn’t take long for him to develop an unhealthy obsession with it, frequenting clubs and buying them in bulk. He didn’t need the measly effects of cigarettes when ecstasy offered something much stronger.

His life alternated between drugs and the Squid Games, partying, fucking, and killing his way through life. Was this what that man meant when he told him he could turn his life around? Ironically, he only felt more like a bum, despite having the money to live in a comfortable apartment and plenty of disposable income to spend on drugs and women as he pleased.

At 27, shortly after being promoted to the position of manager, Gongyoo began begging the Host— Oh Ilnam, at the time— for more work. He was willing to do anything he wanted, nothing was off the table.

His first job was being a waiter for the VIPs for an afterparty to celebrate the games, the mask tight on his face, making it difficult for him to breathe. He ran around the room for hours, constantly refilling empty cups, making sure the music was played to perfection, and generally being as accommodating as he could. Towards the end of the party, the waiters were given a 30 minute break with a drink on the house, an offer that Gongyoo took up gratefully as he gulped it down all at once.

His drink had been spiked.

There was no way for him to find out who did it, but the effect was instantaneous, his body burning with heat as his legs wobbled and shook. It was an aphrodisiac. Even behind the masks, Gongyoo could feel the predatory gaze of the VIPs. He could practically feel their eyes wandering his body as the drug overwhelmed his senses, and he forced himself to stand his feet and stumbled out of the room, accidentally knocking over a few glasses and flinching as they shattered on the floor.

Bursting into the nearest men’s washroom, he nearly collapsed as he fumbled to close the door to his stall, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat, and he winced every time the fabric of his clothing rubbed against his skin, his sensitivity dialed up to 100. Unable to take it anymore, he clumsily unzipped the fly of his pants and pushed down his underwear, gasping as the cold air hit his cock and thrusting into nothing.

He was so wet, his cock dripping with precum before he’d even touched himself. Gulping, he struggled to comprehend how mindboggling it would feel if he began stroking himself, almost scared of the electrifying pleasure. At the same time, he couldn’t leave himself like this— he needed to return to work, and the amount of blood rushing to his cock made it so hard it was painful.

Biting his lip, he ran his finger on his cock, his body stiffening as it twitched violently. After a few more seconds, he decided he couldn’t procrastinate anymore, enveloping his entire cock in the heat of his hand, almost doubling over as he groaned. His entire body was convulsing, and he hadn’t even finished yet.

The door creaked, and Gongyoo froze as the sound of footsteps entered the room, someone turning the tap on as he heard the water running in the sink. Blushing at the idea of being caught, he began pumping his hand on his cock, biting the thick fabric of his sleeve in an attempt to muffle his noises. He sped up when the person left the bathroom, falling to his knees as his cum spurted directly onto the door of his stall.

Gasping, shaking, and shuddering, when his vision finally cleared, he was horrified to find that he was still erect, the heat pooling where he desperately needed relief. Gongyoo recalled the enormous knot of shame and humiliation that formed in his stomach, fighting back tears as his hand reached for his cock once again.

Ilnam was understandably pissed, as Gongyoo’s actions offended many VIPs and ruined the mood of the party, with some of them even pulling their investments. Gongyoo had to beg him to check the security cameras, averting his eyes as the footage of him desperately jerking off in the washroom appeared on screen, his face burning red.

“I see, it wasn’t your fault. Okay, I’ll let you go by simply firing you.”

“Please, sir, don’t fire me! I’ll do anything to make it up to you!”

He couldn’t allow Ilnam to let him go like this. Gongyoo didn’t know how to be an adult, he never even had a job outside of the Squid Games. After being swept up at 18, being part of the games was a key part of his identity.

Ilnam, a playful man and a lenient master, brought out two folded papers intended for ddakji, and told him to flip it a hundred times in a row. It took him hours to complete the task, his arm feeling like putty attached to the rest of the body once he was finally done. Frustratingly, he kept reaching the mid-90s, only to fail and having to restart again.

When he finally reached 100, Ilnam allowed him to become a recruiter— to work in the outside world.

Gongyoo had to completely reinvent himself to become a recruiter. It wasn’t a requirement from Ilnam, it was simply his own self-loathing that drove him to change. He had to become like the refined man that recruited him all those years ago, otherwise, he couldn’t represent the games.

It started with him doing a deep clean of his apartment, scrubbing every inch down to the corners of the walls, ridding it of all stains. He cut off all his friends who he deemed to be bad for his image, like gang members, although he kept the contact of his supplier. Then, it escalated to him getting rid of all his old clothes, replacing them with a dozen of the same suit, some in different colours. The sales associate looked at him as if he was crazy, but neatly wrapped them all for him as he walked home with the bags. Most importantly, he needed to perfect ddakji, practicing day and night until he could barely lift his arms, but it made him unbeatable.

He kept his drug addiction under wraps, having his supplier secretly ship it to his apartment instead of going to the club and picking it up himself.

Then, Ilnam became incapable of managing the games by himself, and he introduced Gongyoo to the woman who would succeed him— an illegitimate daughter who recently turned 21. Gongyoo was the first to be made aware of her existence and have the opportunity to see her face, a privilege few had because she guarded her identity fiercely. He personally introduced her to all the ins-and-outs of the games after all his years of experience.

Only a year later, a new position was made: the Frontman, filled by Player 132 from the 2015 Squid Games. After years of labour, Player 132 overtook his position overnight due to favouritism from Ilnam’s daughter. To make matters worse, the Frontman was unrefined, constantly causing messes that needed to be cleaned up, and often used the favouritism he received to his advantage. Gongyoo had completely cleaned up his image for a scum of a human to shatter his world in an instant.

The relationship between the Frontman and the new Host was an open secret, a necessary one to protect him against the hungry VIPs. With the Frontman glued to her hip 24/7, Gongyoo could only pray for the brief moments when the Frontman was away, allowing him to have a taste of her, running his hands through her hair and her soft skin.

Unlike the Frontman, Gongyoo never overstepped his boundaries. He never ordered the Host around, waiting for her to come to him of her own volition. She was the closest thing he knew to a goddess, being the daughter of the very man who changed his life for the better. It was ridiculous for mortals to order around gods and goddesses.

Then, in 2019, he overdosed. All the molly he’d secretly been taking caught up with him all at once, the euphoric high he desperately chased was long gone, and the drug only functioned to make him a working member of society. His tolerance was so high that he fell asleep even after taking the drug, and it drove him to take more and more and more until it bubbled over and left him unconscious in his room, barely breathing, when a manager discovered him.

When he opened his eyes again, he laid in a hospital bed, staring up at a grey ceiling as the Host sat by his bed, the Frontman standing beside her.

“Gongyoo, you need to quit. You seriously almost died. You can’t take them anymore.”

And that was that.

He quit, enduring all the pains of withdrawal.

And he succeeded, like he always did.

-

Gongyoo awoke. There were none of his usual dramatics, like gasping for air, his intense sweating, or trembling. He simply opened his eyes to find himself unable to comprehend visual information, as if a veil covered him.

“Are you awake?” It was a woman’s voice, but she sounded far away, as if she was speaking to him from across the apartment. It couldn’t be the case though, because he could clearly feel her soft touch in the palm of his hand. His eyes drifted in what he assumed to be her direction, but they remained unfocused, and he could only make out her figure, not her face. “You seem conscious to me.”

Before she fully pulled away, Gongyoo tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her closer to him, and after a brief moment of the sound of slippers shuffling, her body weight weighed down his chest. Using his sense of touch to guide him, he moved his hand up, stopping when he reached her scalp, running his hands through her hair as he buried his head somewhere on her body, possibly her neck, and inhaled deeply. She smelled of L’eau Papier by Diptyque.

Was she the Host? The Host always smelled like L’eau Papier right before bed, a clean, slightly sweet rice scent in a starchy way.

Flipping her over, Gongyoo pinned her down in his bed, his hand holding both her arms above her head. Though his vision wasn’t fully working, he could still vaguely make out the important parts of her body, from the valley of her breasts to her hips. “What are you doing?!” She yelled, squirming beneath him, but Gongyoo had her exactly where he wanted, and he tightened his grip a little more.

“Just comfort me…” he trailed off, his hand slipping underneath her shirt, pinching her nipple as he felt his way to her neck, kissing, licking, and nipping at the skin. Her body stiffened, tiny squeaks occasionally escaping her lips as she attempted to hold back her voice.

Gongyoo removed his hand from her nipple and moved downwards, his fingertips grazing against her soft skin as he fumbled with her pants, trying to slip his hand into her panties. He didn’t recall the Host ever dressing this conservatively in front of him, but he didn’t think much of it as he traced his finger around her clit, eliciting soft whines from her until he pressed down and heard her gasp, feeling her arching into him.

Pressing his lips against her jaw, he worked his way up until his lips found hers, continuing to rub circles on her clit to force her mouth open for him to explore. Gongyoo didn’t know what time it was, but she tasted oddly sweet for what he presumed to be the middle of the night. Did she eat a piece of candy right before he kissed her? He found himself subconsciously smiling into the kiss, picking up the pace as she ground her hips into his hand and came with a loud squeak.

Gongyoo waited for her to stop trembling to feel his way back to her pants, sliding everything off until her bottom half was completely bare. Releasing her arms, he held her thigh open as he traced the entrance of her pussy, soaking his hand in her slick as she quietly whined. Smirking, he inserted two fingers at once, causing her to jolt and let out a long moan as he pumped in and out of her, occasionally bending his fingers to brush against her g-spot, only to straighten them again when she tightened around him.

Once he felt he’d sufficiently loosened her up, he pushed down his boxers and lined his tip to her entrance, groaning as he pressed into her. Without giving her time to adjust, he slammed his hips against hers, moving at a steady pace, aiming at the spot he deliberately avoided earlier to tease her. She gasped and trembled beneath him, her hands firmly gripping the sheets, tightening every time he hit her g-spot. With one of his hands palming her breasts through her shirt and the other pressing on her clit, she came with a loud gasp— the kind that only happens when all the air leaves your lungs.

Turning her over on her knees, her ass facing him, he continued on his pursuit for his own climax, throwing his head back in pleasure when she clamped down on him every time he thrusted back into her. Was she always this tight? Perhaps she finally stopped letting the Frontman climb all over her at night.

He wanted to be rougher— to have her begging him for release as he spanked her, but he knew she’d kick him out of the room the moment he acted on those thoughts, so he simply grabbed her arm and held her steady as he thrusted into her, gritting his teeth and swallowing his desire. As her walls clenched onto his cock again, he rode out his orgasm with a last few hard thrusts, groaning her name until he went soft, slipping out of her as she whined from overstimulation.

Collapsing beside her, breathing heavily, he reached for her face, brushing her cheek and pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.

[quanruionechancepls]

Happiness is a Butterfly - Chapter 1: Almost You

Salesman x Reader

Content Warning: Kidnapping, Assault

For more information, check Masterlist

-------------

Today was a special day— your first day off in months ever since you got that new corporate job. Dolled up in the best makeup you could muster, you sat on a bench in the subway, halfway through your dripping popsicle. Admittedly, you arrived too early for your date with your boyfriend, but who could blame you? You haven’t seen his face in nearly a month, with both of you buried in a mountain of work— especially you, since you had so much to catch up on.

Out of the blue, a handsome man dressed in a suffocating suit, carrying a large suitcase, stepped out of the train directly in front of you. ‘Seriously, how is he not dying?’ You wondered to yourself. He looked as pristine as one could be, no beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face, nor a single hair out of place.

‘Maybe it’s the air conditioner?’ You glanced up at the vents.

Pretty privilege sure went a long way, because no one paid him any mind in spite of his strange behaviour. After checking the time on his watch, he simply stared into space as dozens passed him by, as if waiting for something, or perhaps someone? But who could he possibly be waiting for in a subway station?

You expected him to approach someone of a similar standing— another handsome man in a suit, but instead, he stopped a drunken man who stumbled out of the trolley, hiccuping and laughing at thin air. Everyone else avoided him, some sending momentary judgmental stares his way, yet the man in the suit gave him a warm smile. For a moment, you thought he planned on helping him, but he pulled out two folded sheets of paper and asked him to play ddakji with him. The rumbling of footsteps tuned out the rest of their conversation, but you were intrigued.

Ddakji, that game everyone played in their childhood? This guy’s job was running around asking people to play ddakji with him? It was almost laughable. You convinced yourself it was merely his lunchtime. If there was a job on earth that easy, you would’ve applied for it a long time ago.

Even so, your eyes remained glued in his direction, switching between his broad back and the sheets of paper every time he slammed it down and flipped it. You expected it to be a one-and-done game, but you couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your mouth when his arm swung at the drunk man, the sound reverberating throughout the station. Even more baffling, no one stepped in to stop him, despite it clearly being assault.

Perhaps you were in no position to judge, as you didn’t step in either, your body frozen in shock as you continued to ogle him.

Other than the initial shock, the drunk man didn’t seem too affected, rolling up his sleeves and bending his knees as he gripped onto the folded paper, groaning as it pathetically landed on the floor. Smirking, the suited man flipped the paper with ease, striking him again on the cheek.

It went on for a few more rounds, and your gaze remained on the drunk man as his face got redder and redder— you didn’t know if it was from anger or bruises. With every round he won, the suited man’s grin only grew, and a knot formed in your stomach as you chewed on your wooden popsicle stick. Was he enjoying the suffering and despair of the other person?

At last, the drunk man flipped over the folded paper as he slammed his down, cheering wildly in victory and about to punch the suited man with the force of the Big Bang when his arm was caught mid-air. Scoffing, you were about to turn away until the suited man reached into his pocket and placed a crumpled bill into the hand of the other man, handing him something as he began to walk away.

Despite being firmly middle-class, you weren’t immune to the allure of money, your legs standing up and breaking into a run as you caught his sleeve. The suited man turned to you, his gaze dark, dripping with suspicion as you clutched your chest, trying to calm down your racing heart.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Let me play ddakji with you!” You demanded, your voice brimming with confidence. No one has ever beaten you to a game of ddakji before. Even if all you were earning was a mere 10,000 won, you would still be ten thousand won richer than before. You could buy a few packets of ramen with that!

“What are you talking about?” He feigned ignorance.

“I saw you play ddakji with that drunken man! You gave him all those nasty bruises too! Play with me, or I’ll report you to the police for committing assault!” You threatened, and his jaw clenched, his eyebrows scrunching.

He attempted to shake off your grip on his sleeve, but you refused to relent, grabbing his other arm as you bunched the fabric tightly in the palm of your hand. His gaze of suspicion hardened into a glare, his irritation growing with every passing second until he finally sighed and laughed bitterly. “Fine, but make it quick. I have places to be.”

Throwing one folded paper on the floor, he slammed the one in his hand down, his eyes remaining on you, challenging you. As you expected, the paper flew into the air, flipping as he smirked in victory, bending down to pick it up and hand it to you, purposely brushing his fingers against yours. His touch was surprisingly cold despite it being such a warm day.

You weren’t about to show up to your date looking like a beaten ragdoll, so you turned the paper around and directed your swing to the corner of the limp paper, catapulting it into the air as it flipped on your first try. Now, it was your turn to grin at him, and his smirk fell, handing you a 100,000 won bill as you cheered and stuffed it into your wallet.

Five minutes later, you’d beaten him to 10 rounds of ddakji without a single slap to your face. Your grin only grew wider as his face flushed with anger. Just as you were going to demand an eleventh round, he picked up both the papers and tucked it inside his suit, pulling out a bizarre business card and handing it to you. “Let’s see if you’ll do well here, seeing as you’re so good at ddakji,” he spat with venom, and you flipped it around to see a phone number on the back.

The business card was unlike anything you’ve ever seen, a beige colour in the front with a circle, triangle, and a square instead of anything distinguishable, like a name or a company. A business card with nothing but a phone number was useless to you. Before you could return it to him, he was already gone, slipping away into the crowd. You shrugged and turned on your phone to see a dozen missed calls from your boyfriend, who waited for you outside the station. ‘Shit, I’m late for my date!’

Your boyfriend was understandably pissed, impatiently tapping his foot on the pavement with his hands on his hips. “Where the hell were you?” He yelled, pointing to the time on his phone.

You pulled out your prize money in response. “Sorry, I ran into a man who gave out money when you won a round of ddakji against him,” you winked, and his gaze softened at the money. “Let’s have fun without worrying about money!”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, patting your back and pulling you into a firm hug.

-

Gongyoo slapped the man before him harder than ever before, taking his anger out in the form of throwing ddakji and beating up unsuspecting civilians who were unfortunate enough to be approached by him. He was the best at ddakji out of everyone in the Squid Games, even Player 132— the Frontman, once fell victim to his unrivalled skill.

But all his pride came crashing down due to a random woman in a subway station— a woman who wasn’t even on his list. At times like this, it made him thankful that he had enough leeway to squeeze in people who irritated him into the games.

Suppressing all the rage that threatened to boil over, he focused on maintaining his tight-lipped smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to the panting man clutching his cheeks. “If you want to earn more money, call this number,” he repeated the line robotically, a line said so often it was second nature to him before he walked away, his polite smile contorting into a sneer.

-

You were worried sick. Your eye bags exposed your lack of sleep to the entire world as you drank your fifth cup of coffee, staring at your phone screen, a picture of your sleeping boyfriend.

Where in the world was he?

Your sweet boyfriend, who raised his voice so rarely you could count it on one hand, who held you on your darkest nights, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, who celebrated all your victories with the largest bouquet of roses and a fancy dinner, was gone. Poof— he just vanished into thin air as if he’d never been part of your life in the first place, yet your memories, text messages, and photographs were proof you weren’t hallucinating him.

Exactly a week ago, right after you went home after your date, he stopped responding to your text messages. All your calls went straight to voicemail, and you must’ve called him 800 times already. It was incredibly out of character, as he’d always make an effort to at least send you a thumbs up emoji to let you know he was alive on his busiest days.

Could he be cheating on you? But he never gave you any reason to doubt him, his eyes shining like stars every time he caught your gaze, staring at you like you were the most beautiful person alive. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe that such a devoted person was out there betraying you.

As you brought your cup of coffee to your lips and dialed your boyfriend’s number for the umpteenth time, someone knocked on your door. Grumbling under your breath, you opened the door to see the suited man you played ddakji against a week prior, this time without a suitcase. When you first met him, he at least had enough decency to appear polite, but it seemed to have been a facade considering his present emotionless expression and the overwhelming disdain in his eyes as he looked at you. Behind him were two people in pink jumpsuits, a mask covering their faces. Lowering your eyes, you stumbled backwards when you saw them carrying rifles.

“What the—” you blurted out, trying to shut the door in their face, but the suited man grabbed the door and swung it open, the momentum slamming you against the wall.

You hissed and groaned in pain as the nerves on your back were set on fire with a sensation that felt like a mix of burning and tingling, spreading throughout your body like falling dominos. As you opened your eyes, you saw the man bent down in front of you, a handkerchief in his hand. “I suggest you come with us without struggle.”

You lunged at him, hoping to at least be able to scratch him with your nails and dig his eyes out, but he grabbed your wrist and clamped down, and you swore he broke a bone as you screamed. His hand inched closer to your face, and you whipped your head back and forth to avoid the handkerchief. One of the people wearing the jumpsuit dropped the rifle, tugging you by your hair and forcing you to stay still.

“Have it your way, I guess,” he said, his voice eerily monotonous compared to the violence he was inflicting on you.

The last thing you remember before you blacked out was the soft cloth against your skin and the faint scent of lavender.

-

“I have to do what?” Gongyoo questioned the Frontman, his eyebrows raised. Beside him, a woman laid unconscious, her lips taped shut and her hands and feet bound in cuffs.

“I told you to marry her,” he replied, taking a sip of his whiskey. What an absolute joke. How dare he act so cocky when he was human trash like the rest of the players? Did he forget how he was introduced to these games in the first place?

Gongyoo laughed in his face. “Why should I do that?”

‘And why the hell should I take orders from you?’

The Frontman’s hardened expression didn’t change, much to Gongyoo’s irritation. “It’s just a contractual marriage. You can directly monitor her.” He stood up from his hair and walked over, lifting his arm and pouring the remainder of his whiskey on Gongyoo’s head. “Take responsibility for your actions. You were the one who played ddakji with her when you weren’t supposed to.”

His facial muscles twitched as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression, taking a deep breath and breathing in the thick scent of alcohol as the liquid seeped through his clothing. That arrogant motherfucker— acting so audaciously because the Host was listening in on their conversation. He was nothing without the authority she exerted to protect him.

Even more aggravatingly, he gave you that card because he expected you to join the games by calling the number. He anticipated seeing you on the screen, running away or even frozen in fear during Red Light, Green Light. Who knew that you would simply walk away with the money and forget about it? If you had joined the games and died in it, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“No,” he refused.

The Frontman’s eyebrow twitched. “No?”

Gongyoo smirked. “When have I ever taken orders from you?”

The thrill of his triumphant retort was short lived, because the Frontman instantly turned his head and stared at the Host expectantly. “You don’t have to love her, just pretend to be her husband. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to come home to a warm meal?” She reasoned with a small smile, and Gongyoo had to physically repress a sigh. Of course she’d take the Frontman’s side and pressure him into this marriage.

“Okay, fine,” he gave in. How could he ever go against her wishes? Besides, she was right, he didn’t have to fall in love with her. He could play the part of a sweet husband by day and sleep with any woman he wanted at night, even the Host, if she allowed him to.

“I’ll have everything arranged for you by the end of next week. All you have to do is show up to the wedding,” the Frontman declared, and Gongyoo balled his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to punch him in the face. He couldn’t wait for the day the Host got tired of him and finally decided to throw him away.

Peering down at the woman by his feet, he took in her features. She wasn’t an ugly woman, quite the opposite, actually, and he wouldn’t find it repulsive to sleep with her. If she could keep that mouth of hers shut, living as his trophy wife, then it would make his life much easier. If she could handle cooking, cleaning, and sleeping with him occasionally while keeping her head down, he could promise her an easy life as well.

-

You groaned as you stirred awake, stretching your arms as you blinked back your drowsiness. Your bed was unusually cozy, and you snuggled back into your pillow, closing your eyes and slipping one arm underneath, using the other to tuck yourself under the covers. It felt like you were sleeping on a cloud or a bed of feathers, a stark contrast to your usual mattress that was comparable to a concrete slate.

Wait, why were you so comfortable?

Jerking awake, you sat upright on the bed, finding yourself in an unfamiliar room. The off-white walls contrasted beautifully with the navy blue and black shelves, one filled with books and the other with clothing. Squinting your eyes, you realized all the clothes still had tags on them— as if they were so new that no one had the chance to wear them yet. A white vanity stood directly across the bed, including two mirrors— one large and a smaller makeup mirror— and a few organizers intended for beauty products. Whoever decorated this room was obviously a woman.

Looking down at the bed, the first thing you noticed were your bruised wrists, one of them in much worse condition than the other. ‘That’s the one that got broken,’ you thought to yourself.

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as someone knocked on the door, opening it before you even gave them permission to enter. Your mood instantly soured as you were met with the same man you saw in the subway, who somehow kidnapped you. He wore a white blouse with dress pants, although he hadn’t bothered putting on his blazer and tie. His bangs framed the sides of his face unlike the slicked back style you previously saw.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You questioned, backing up against the wall.

He chuckled at your reaction, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he bodied you last time, you would’ve started a physical fight with him. “You’re in my apartment, yet you’re asking what I’m doing here?”

“Well, then what the hell am I doing here?” You sassed.

“We’re getting married,” he said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and perhaps it would be if it wasn’t for the fact that you two were strangers. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and only then did you notice how tall he was, the doorframe a few inches off from touching his head.

Slapping your cheeks, you willed yourself to stay focused. “I have a boyfriend! I can’t marry you!”

“That’s not your choice to make.” While his expression gave you no clues, the way he slumped against the wall showed his exhaustion.

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be able to make decisions in a marriage I’m involved in?”

He sighed deeply, pushing his hair back with his hand. “It’s an arranged marriage,” he answered, and you scowled. “Trust me, I objected to it as much as I could.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. While the man standing in front of you appeared ordinary, save for his incredibly handsome face, behind his friendly smile lied something sinister. No man who was normal would slap people as casually as he did, acting without thinking of the consequences, almost as if he knew he’d be absolved from it all. In addition, you never told him anything about yourself, yet he managed to find your address and kidnap you with ease. Now, he was going on about an arranged marriage that neither of you wanted, but clearly have no choice in. The first thing that came to mind was the Mafia— it fit him frighteningly well, and you decided you couldn’t trust a single thing that came out of his mouth.

“How did this happen?” He cocked his head at you in confusion, wordlessly telling you to elaborate. “What the hell happened while I was unconscious?”

“Your life is now in my hands. I was told to take responsibility for you because I agreed to play ddakji with you.” He stepped closer to you, holding you still by the shoulder so you couldn’t wiggle out of his grasp. “You were supposed to call that number behind that business card.”

“My life is in your hands just because of ddakji?! You’ve got to be kidding me!” You attempted to shove him, but his body was like an impenetrable wall, and your throbbing wrist didn’t allow you to use your full strength. “Tell me who’s behind this. If you can’t get rid of this arrangement, I’ll do it myself.”

Releasing you from his grasp, he doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach as he bent down. You were quite offended at his reaction, who does he think he is? “You— You think you can convince my boss to dissolve this marriage?” He cackled even louder, and you grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “You’d be lucky if you’re even granted an audience with her.”

Seriously, who did this guy work for? You were starting to believe that Mafia theory, as things lined up a little too well. “Do you work for the Mafia?”

“Of course not. I would never work for such a disorganized system,” he denied with swiftness. “Either way, I suggest you don’t pry into my work life unless you want to potentially lose your life. Stay at home and be a good housewife, and you’ll live a comfortable life with a kind husband.”

“I can’t marry you,” you insisted, swallowing your spit and the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to marry a man whose mere job could threaten your life. You wanted a normal life with a normal man who you woke up to every morning and left for your normal job. “I told you, I have a boyfriend.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” He didn’t seem concerned about your relationship status, treating him like someone who would inevitably be tossed aside as he forced his way into your life.

You paused, patting yourself, then your sheets, and finally looking around the room. As if reading your mind, he opened a drawer and handed you your phone, and you were surprised to discover it was fully charged. Your face hardened as you saw an email from your workplace, and he peered over your shoulder as you opened the attachment to find out you’ve been laid off.

Pushing down the urge to curl up into a ball and sob, you opened your Photos app and clicked on the album filled with memories of your relationship. You showed him your most recent photo of him— the one you took of him on your last date, and a wave of sadness washed through you as you remembered how long it’s been since you last heard from him.

“Player 440,” he said, and you snapped your neck towards him.

“What?! He has a name, you know!” You yelled at him angrily.

“I played ddakji with him too. He’s already dead, so I guess there’s nothing else stopping this marriage,” he shrugged, about to walk away when you grabbed him by the collar.

“What did you just say?” You seethed, the fabric crumpling in your hand. How could he say such a thing so offhandedly?

“I told you, he’s already dead,” he squeezed your injured wrist, and you winced, your grip loosening as he peeled your other hand off his collar. “I don’t like repeating myself, so don’t make me do that again. This wrist isn’t broken either, but don’t make me put pressure on it to get your hands off me.”

He walked out of your room, returning with a tray of steaming food for you, yet all you could think about were the series of losses you received in the span of your conversation with him. The job you spent years perfecting your resume for and the boyfriend you built your life with— the man you were going to marry— were both gone. They slipped out of your fingers as if you were a pathetic child trying to catch butterflies to no avail. Even your freedom was at risk, he said your life was in his hands, didn’t he? You were going to live the rest of his life as his trophy, a beautiful housewife that slaved away in his home without any appreciation.

There was no way for you to stop this marriage. Overnight, everything you worked for crumbled away all at once, and one day, all you’d have is him; a dangerous man who didn’t care for you, with the addition of having the potential of being violent.

You were doomed. You could feel it in your bones.

-

Your wedding took place a week later in a venue much larger than necessary. White flower petals were littered all over the floor, and a variety of floral arrangements were placed in each row of empty benches. It wasn’t the wedding you dreamed of, not in the slightest.

You at least thought that you’d be able to invite some people, such as your family and friends, but the private ceremony was imposed on you in advance. The only people in the venue were you, your future husband, and the officiator who would bind you two together. It was as if they wanted your marriage to be as secretive as possible, yet also create a somewhat “nice” experience for you.

It truly felt like a contractual marriage. It was supposed to be a joyous day, yet none of the parties involved were happy, and it seemed even the officiator didn’t want to be there. While the venue was beautiful, it was so quiet that you would assume the event was a funeral instead of a wedding if you accidentally stumbled upon it. You walked down the aisle by yourself instead of holding the hand of your father, and the ceremony was completed without any physical contact.

Even the dress was chosen for you in advance. It was a simple white dress that accentuated your body, from the fullness of your breasts to the dip from your waist to your hips. You found it a bit difficult to walk in, as it was skin-tight and reached all the way down to your ankles. Tiny diamonds were scattered along your veil, which fell just above your butt.

Before the wedding, you spent most of your day wallowing in bed until each mealtime, forcing yourself out of bed to step into the kitchen. Other than the room you woke up in, the rest of the apartment felt unusually foreign, probably because the scent of his cologne seeped into every atom, lingering even when he was nowhere to be seen— which was most of the time.

Even so, he always managed to appear just in time to eat with you. Through those meals, you discovered a few things about him, or at least, as much as he was willing to share. For one, his name was Gongyoo, an eccentric name, as it was a mixture of two last names. Second, he was 38 years old, exactly 10 years older than you. Third, and most surprisingly, he never went to college. You wondered how he had the means to live so luxuriously.

You assumed he’d be prone to violence, but he was shockingly gentlemanly, cooking for you on days you overslept, taking you shopping to allow you to curate your wardrobe and buy everything you previously couldn’t afford, and coming back home with flowers whenever he left the apartment. Normally, you’d be thrilled by such gestures, but the air of insincerity that surrounded Gongyoo was thick and suffocating, especially since he would hand you the flowers with a straight face and immediately walk away without sparing you another glance. He was probably trying to get used to playing the part of a kind husband.

And you couldn’t forget how nonchalant he was when he ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it with three little words.

“He’s already dead.”

For the rest of your life, you were bound to Gongyoo, but you promised yourself to never fall in love with him. No amount of proximity or grand gestures could stir up any sort of affection in your heart, not after that awful first impression, his rough behaviour as he took you from your home, and his apathetic personality. He didn’t even try to appear remorseful for everything he put you through, nor did he apologize for his bluntness. He quite literally couldn’t care less about you, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were forced to rely on him, you couldn’t care less about him either.

That led you to your current position, your back uncomfortably straight while you were seated in the backseat of a car as you sucked in your stomach to avoid ripping the dress apart at the seams. Whoever tailored it for you was too exact, because you quite literally couldn’t breathe. For some reason, you suspected it was Gongyoo who sent in the measurements, perhaps even making sure it was a centimetre smaller than it was supposed to be.

“We’re moving to a new apartment,” Gongyoo’s voice broke the silence, and you turned to find him glued to his phone.

“Why?”

“My boss bought me a penthouse to congratulate me for our union— I guess my current apartment is too small,” he huffed. Other than his white suit with a floral brooch, he didn’t look all that different from his everyday appearance, yet his face was somehow so beautiful it was blinding. You said you’d never fall in love with him, not that you’d convince yourself to believe he was ugly.

You also couldn’t deny that his current apartment wasn’t suited for a couple, despite it being a two bedroom, two bathroom suite. It felt like he stamped his name on every single room except yours, and even then, he probably begrudgingly cleared the room to make space for you. How were you supposed to be his wife when you felt like an intruder every time you stepped out of the cage he set up for you?

When the car stopped, you excitedly swung the door open, standing up straight and inhaling a deep breath, finally feeling like you could breathe normally. The concierge handed the fobs to Gongyoo, and you assumed his boss already hired movers for you two to make you more comfortable, judging by the people going up and down the elevator.

After an hour, you were finally allowed to enter your penthouse, and your jaw dropped at the view from the window. You swore you could see the entirety of Seoul, naming landmarks such as malls, busy streets like Itaewon, and neighbourhoods. This was the type of apartment you used to only have the privilege of dreaming about.

“Our bedrooms are ready, we can shop for furniture later,” Gongyoo mentioned from behind.

“Bedrooms? We aren’t sleeping together?”

He let out a sound that was not quite a sigh nor a laugh. “We’re sleeping separately unless you’re really in the mood and decide to pounce on me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Me? In the mood for you? You wish.”

And that’s how your marriage to Gongyoo began.

[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 4: Forwards Beckon Rebound

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

--------------

It’s been two years since Inho became your Frontman, a role heavily discussed in meetings between you, Inho, and your dad. It was necessary for Inho to begin work right away due to your dad’s frequent headaches that keep him bedridden for days. For some reason, he refuses to get it checked out, despite persistent persuasion from your brother, leaving you to pick up the pieces while also trying to keep the inexperienced Inho in check.

In reality, you had never done any of the work either, so you had to bullshit your way through. You refused to show any weakness in front of Inho. Inho, ever distant and distrusting, would take any stumble of yours as a sign to rebel. As a result, you spent long nights in your office, barely holding on with your 5 shots of espressos and your hair falling out from stress. You couldn’t even ask your brother for help, as he wanted nothing to do with the Squid Games.

Today was one of the rare days your dad was well enough to get out of bed and actually do some work, not that he did any. He waived all the paperwork off as work he would hand to you to prepare you for your role as the next Host. What a load of bullshit. He was just trying to get out of work. Even so, keeping your curses under your breath and your eyes at the front of your head instead of rolling them back in exasperation, you read, signed, and sifted through the paperwork diligently.

Out of the blue, you received a text.

-

Nerd: Dad wants to host a family dinner today.

Nerd: Be there at 7pm.

You: What’s the special occasion?

Nerd: Celebration of the 31st Squid Games.

Nerd: He invited all the high-ranking staff.

You: Celebration?

You: The Squid Games ended a month ago!

Nerd: Don’t complain to me, this wasn’t my idea.

Nerd: And you already know how dad’s health is.

Nerd: I’m sure he would’ve hosted this sooner if his headaches weren’t so bad.

You: What’s the location?

Nerd: My place.

Nerd: You know how dad’s been living with me for a while now.

You: Okay.

Nerd: Also, I have some of your old stuff to give to you.

Nerd: My mom tried to throw it out when you moved out.

Nerd: You’re lucky I stopped her before she completely trashed it.

You: Okay.

Nerd: See you there. (Read)

-

You sighed, your pen falling onto the desk with a clack as you buried your face in your hands. After the frantic and messy planning of the Squid Games for the past two years, you felt as though you aged 10 years. Looking in the mirror a month later, your dark circles and gaunt cheeks were evidence of the immense stress you were under. In a sense, it was as if you had to present your PhD thesis— except it was every year— and you needed to perfect it everytime.

Peeling yourself out of your chair and walking to the room next door, you knocked twice. “Come in,” you heard from inside, and you opened the door slowly.

“Do you need anything?” Inho asked curtly, not bothering to turn around to face you, intently typing away on his laptop. His exhaustion was evident on his face as well, shown by the stubble on his face.

“There’s going to be a dinner party tonight at 7. Apparently, it’s to celebrate the games.”

The news caused him to face you, his eyebrows slightly scrunched. “It’s been one month since the games have ended, though?”

You shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger. My brother only texted me a minute ago. Just clean yourself up a little for tonight.”

It was around 3pm, just enough time for you to take an everything shower, style your hair, apply your makeup, and softly perfume your skin. You sighed as the steam humidified the room as your foot stepped onto the marble floor, wrapping a towel around your body and styling your hair into a blowout style. You couldn’t remember the last time you had the chance to take such a thorough shower.

As you finished your makeup and got dressed, you stared at your perfume collection dauntingly. At times like this, you almost wished you weren’t such a shopaholic, as you really had no idea what to choose. Floral? But you didn’t like pure florals that had no depth. Gourmand? It didn’t seem suitable for a formal dinner full of other rich people. Fruity? You didn’t want to seem too flirty and juvenile at a party your family was attending.

While you contemplated, Inho tapped on your shoulder to get your attention. “What are you thinking so hard about? We have to leave soon,” he pointed to his phone, the time reading 6:30pm. He cleaned himself up nicely, with his stubble completely gone, wearing a navy blue suit, a fancy watch on his wrist, and his hair gelled back.

“I’m wondering what perfume I should wear,” you replied, turning your attention back to your collection.

“Is that really necessary? We’ll be late if we don’t leave in the next five minutes,” he argued, and you noticed he wasn’t wearing any fragrance either. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

Reaching for Maison Francis Kurkdijian’s Oud Satin Mood, you took a few steps back and sprayed it on his suit, motioning for him to turn around before spraying again. “It’s not bad,” he commented as he sniffed himself while you sprayed your hair and your chest.

“Let’s go to the car,” you declared as he nodded and followed you.

-

Inho opened the door for you and took your hand as you stepped out of the car, escorting you inside your brother’s penthouse in Gangnam. As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted with Gongyoo’s handsome face and pearly white teeth.

“Saving the best for last, hm?” He teased with outstretched arms, and you giggled as you gave him a brief embrace. His fragrance was nice, some kind of combination of fresh woods and a powdery floral.

Gongyoo led you two to the dinner table, where your dad, brother and stepmom waited for you. The food hadn’t arrived yet, likely out of courtesy because of your lateness as your stepmom gave you an unapproving glare. Oddly enough, your brother stared directly behind you, and when you turned around, you realized he was staring at Inho.

The dinner was pleasant, while very awkward other than your conversation with Gongyoo, who sat right across from you. You never had any problems with the food, as your brother was very picky and thus only hired Michelin star chefs, a true rich kid at heart.

“What did the VIPs think of the people I recruited this year? Were they entertaining to watch?” Gongyoo asked, as if begging for your approval.

You took a small sip of your wine. “I think they enjoyed it. They were quite surprised when Player 075, an old woman, won the game.”

Gongyoo’s eyes widened. “Oh, really? I think this is the first time I’ve heard of someone elderly winning the games. In the past, it was always someone middle-aged or a young person.” He turned to Inho and smiled, “You were a previous winner, yourself. How did you feel about it?”

Inho shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat. “It’s all the same to me. I’m only there to watch so I can prevent unfairness.”

Gongyoo threw his head back, laughing. “Looks like you learned from last year’s mistake,” he replied, a hint of a taunt in his voice. Inho’s face hardened as his jaw clenched, his ears blushing slightly.

You patted Inho’s shoulder and smiled at Gongyoo. “Now, now, there’s no need to make the atmosphere so tense. Last year was his first time managing most of the games on his own, after all. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Speaking of improvement, are there any people you particularly want me to recruit? Perhaps someone with a drug addiction? Or maybe someone who’s crazy?” Gongyoo turned his attention back to you. Your brother was having his own side conversation with your stepmom, presumably not wanting to hear about the games.

“Are you trying to make me do your work for you?” Your smile dropped as you set down your fork on the plate, watching as Gongyoo’s expression slowly matched yours, his body stiffening. “I’m kidding! I trust you to recruit the right people. You’ve never failed us after all these years, you know,” you teased, giggling as you made a heart with your index finger and thumb.

He immediately relaxed, sinking into his seat ever-so-slightly as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that! I thought you were going to fire me!” He laughed, and you giggled with him.

The dinner ended with you feeling slightly tipsy, having had a few glasses of wine by then. As you and Gongyoo said your goodbyes, your brother pulled you aside. “Follow me, I have something for you.”

As you began tailing him, Inho traced your footsteps like a lost duckling. You followed your brother up a few flights of stairs, finally reaching his office. “There’s a box on my desk with your name on it,” he explained, and you stepped inside. Before Inho could go in, your brother blocked his way with his body and closed the door behind you.

“Hwang Inho, come with me,” he ordered, the two men walking away and leaving you to your own devices.

-

You approached the box cautiously, slowly lifting the lid with a piece of scotch tape and your name written on it off and putting it aside. Your eyes widened as you discovered a photo album, a USB, and a sticky note.

I printed out everything the USB has and put it in the photo album, if you prefer it that way.

Flipping through the photo album, your eyes immediately started tingling and watering when you laid your eyes upon your childhood photos with your mom. Your mom, who you barely had any memories with other than her muffled cries in the washroom when she assumed you were asleep, her constant bemoaning about her lack of money, and her waking up early in the morning and returning late at night after a long day of work. Your meals were eaten alone, consisting of food she prepped at dawn so you wouldn’t go hungry. You rarely ever saw her eat when she came home, instead, she would shower, brush her teeth, and collapse onto the bed.

Even so, you two were happy. She couldn’t afford to buy books for you, so you frequented the local library every week where she borrowed and returned them. Her Korean, as a Chinese immigrant, was also not great, so she had to specifically scrounge through the limited Chinese sections to find books she could read to you at night. Eventually, you ran through all the children’s books, and all that was left was magazines and academic textbooks.

Lowering your head, afraid of ruining your lashes, you let your tears drip directly onto the desk. A part of you wanted to throw the photo album into the fireplace and never think about it again, but another part of you wanted to keep going. There were more memories you’ve surely forgotten. Dinners, birthdays, your first day of school, they were all in this photo album, neatly printed out by your brother.

Fanning your eyes, you flipped the page and stumbled upon a set of unusual photos. You appeared to be around 7, your eyes slightly red and swollen, in the arms of a young, handsome policeman in a police station. In each photo, he smiled brightly. In one, he was wiping your tears off your face. In another, your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as he appeared to comfort you by patting you on the back.

“Hwang Inho,” you gasped, dropping the photo album as the memories flooded into your brain.

-

You sat on the bench, your little legs swinging as they hovered over the ground, staring down at your frilly pink dress. Families, couples, and elderly folks passed you by as you sniffled, none of them paying you any mind. You were supposed to finally have a chance to play outside with your mom, to go to the park with her instead of running boring errands like groceries.

With your emotions too overwhelming to feel any shame, you sobbed on the bench, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve. You weren’t sure how long you'd been sitting there for, but your stomach began growling with hunger, and a disheveled man with long hair and an unkempt beard stared at you in a way that made you want to run away and hide behind your mom— if she was here.

You had no idea how you even managed to lose her. One minute, your mom was buying you a crepe at a local food truck while you eyed a stray cat, and the next, you followed the cat behind a bush and ended up on a completely different path.

Footsteps approached you, and for a moment, you stopped crying, cautiously lowering your hands from your face as you lifted your head. You were fully expecting to get kidnapped by that weird man, but instead, you were met with a policeman, who crouched down to make eye contact with you.

“What are you doing here alone, hm? Where are your parents?” He asked with a gentle smile, cocking his head in curiosity.

Your waterworks immediately started up again. “Mr. Police… please help me..” you cried in Mandarin, reaching for his sleeve.

Taking out a tissue from one of his pockets, he began wiping your face, bringing it to your nose so you could blow it. “I’m sorry, I can’t speak Chinese. Can you speak Korean?” He asked, speaking a little slower this time. “I really hope you’re not a foreigner, because that’s gonna make this really complicated…” he mumbled under his breath.

“I can’t find my mom,” you instantly switched languages, speaking in perfect Korean, and his eyes widened a little.

“Oh, I guess that answers my question.” He chuckled to himself. “What’s your name?” He asked, and you pouted.

“I don’t like my Korean name. No one calls me by it anyways.”

“Even so, I still need your name,” he reasoned, and you shook your head stubbornly. He sighed and gave in. “Still, you’re lucky I found you. It’s dangerous for a kid to be alone in a park,” he stood up, holding his hand out for you. You took his hand and began walking with him, not sure where he was going to take you.

“I’m technically on break right now, so I can go wherever. Are you hungry?” He asked, and you nodded timidly. “What would you like to eat?”

You weren’t really sure, as your meals were primarily cooked by your mom, and as a result, you didn’t have a taste for Korean food. “I want dim sum.”

“Dim sum? I don’t know if there are any places like that nearby. If I can’t find any, do you mind having kimchi instead?” The police officer appeared a little stressed at your request.

“Okay. I like kimchi,” you agreed, and he sighed in relief.

“Oh, by the way, my name is Hwang Inho,” he declared, forgetting to introduce himself earlier.

You left the park with him, your hand in his as he strolled along a busy street, searching for a Chinese restaurant. You walked for around two blocks before he paused and crouched down again. “Sorry, I don’t think there’s any dim sum here. I’ll get you some kimchi, okay?” You nodded.

Sitting down at a restaurant, he studied you as you ate your kimchi, helping you wipe your cheek when you got messy. Being a kid, you could only eat so much, and once you decided you were full, Inho finished the rest of the meal for you. Checking the time, he smiled at you as he paid for your meal. “I still have some time left. Do you want a popsicle?”

“Yes!” You cheered, and he walked you to a convenience store to pick one out. You didn’t really have the luxury to have ice cream or any sweet treats, so you didn’t know which ones tasted good. “I don’t know which to choose,” you admitted to him.

He bent down, scanning the ice cream for you. “What about Haagen-Dazs vanilla?” He asked, and you nodded. You didn’t hate vanilla, but you didn’t find it particularly interesting. Your mom drilled the idea of being grateful into you, so you didn’t peep a word as he bought a mini tub of vanilla ice cream and opened it for you.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you began eating, watching him check the time again.

Out of the blue, he lifted you up into his arms. “My break is nearly over, I’ll drop you off at the police station, okay?”

You hesitantly nodded as you continued eating, trying to finish it before it completely melted, your body swaying with every step he took. The police station wasn’t very far away, and he called over his superior, telling him about your situation.

“Little girl, you can stay here with us for as long as you need. We’ll figure out how to find your mom, okay?” Another police officer told you, and you backed away, hiding behind Inho. He was much older than Inho, burlier too. He looked like he could kill you with one swing.

Inho nervously chuckled as you clung onto his pants, your ice cream long gone and thrown away. He bent down to meet your eyes. “My break is over. I have to go back to work. My coworkers will take good care of you, okay?” He reassured, but something inside you was screaming at you to not let him leave.

So, you pulled out the best weapon you had: your tears. Your eyes watered as your tears dribbled down your cheeks, your nose and eyes equally prickly. Inho wiped your tears away and pulled you in for a hug, but when he tried pulling away, you clung onto his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Inho… don’t leave me…” you cried into him, and you could tell it was working with the way he pulled you in tighter and patted your back, lifting you up and swaying you as if you were a baby.

Over your shoulder, Inho glanced at his superior helplessly. His superior sighed loudly. “Stay here, we’ll send someone to cover you. If we let you leave, she might scream our ears off. You know how some kids are.”

“Understood,” Inho responded as you buried your face into his shoulder, smiling to yourself in victory. When your sniffles quieted down, Inho walked to a chair and sat down, placing you on his lap.

“Do you know your home phone number?” He asked, and you shook your head. This was a time where people mostly used home phones and landlines. You did have one at home, but your mom bought it for cheap and it wasn’t effective most of the time, so it ended up being another item she hoarded. Either way, you didn’t know the number even if it was in use.

Inho sighed and sunk into his chair, holding you steady with his arm. “How am I going to find your mom if you don’t know anything, hm?” He teased, gently flicking your forehead.

After an unknown period of time, Inho must’ve gotten bored with staring at the wall, because he carried you into his arms and jumped off the chair, walking around the police station searching for something. “What are you looking for?” You asked curiously.

“Hair ties. Maybe I can try styling your hair to make this waiting less boring.” Of course, in a male-dominated job field like being a police officer, there were no hair ties in sight. It’s not like any of the officers needed any in the first place.

“I don’t think you’ll find any,” you said while Inho was digging through a pile of pens in a drawer. Many of the other officers were starting to side eye him due to all his shuffling, although you assumed they refrained from yelling at him because they didn’t want you to start crying.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he mumbled dejectedly, sitting back down on a chair.

It seemed Inho was quite eager to keep you entertained, even with his lack of resources. At first, it started with simple hand games like rock, paper, scissors. When that became boring, he grabbed a pen and a scrap piece of paper to play tic-tac-toe on. Eventually, it turned into the two of you drawing together, albeit very poorly. Inho was certainly not made to be an artist.

When the sun slipped into the shadows and the moon illuminated the night sky, many of the officers began packing up to return home. There were obviously officers that patrolled the streets at night, but Inho worked the day shift, so he needed to go home too. Your collective anxiety seeped through the floors and walls of the police station. You hadn’t provided any useful information, refusing to even give your name, and it was practically impossible for ordinary police to help you find your way home if you didn’t cooperate.

You sat on a bench as Inho hung up his police jacket in the locker room. “Hey Inho! What’s with this kid? You have a secret love child or something?” One of the officers teased, wrapping his arm around Inho’s neck and playfully squeezing.

“Of course not!” Inho laughed while he struggled out of his grip, “I found her alone at a park.”

“And she’s still here? Her parents haven’t come to fetch her yet?”

“It’s kind of a complicated situation. She hasn’t told us anything, so I don’t know if we can even find her parents,” Inho explained, and your bottom lip began to quiver at the idea of never seeing your mom again. Noticing the tears welling up in your eyes, Inho rushed to comfort you. “Wait, don’t cry! We’ll find your parents, I promise.”

As the rest of the officers clocked out and left, you were left alone with Inho. He sat down beside you, gently patting your head and running his hand through your ebony hair. “You know, I have a little brother at home. He’s around your age, maybe a year or two older than you,” he hesitated, trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. “What I’m trying to say is… if you can’t find your way home, I’m happy to bring you home and let you into my family. I think it would be nice to have a little sister.”

Before you could respond, Inho’s superior bursted into the locker room. “Hwang Inho, come out with the girl! Her brother is here to pick her up!” He claimed, and Inho immediately scooped you into his arms and ran out the door.

A young man with square glasses, voluminous hair styled into a middle part, wearing a white blouse and a grey vest greeted you. He had a camera hung around his neck. At the time, you didn’t know he was actually related to you— you only knew him from his frequent visits to your apartment claiming to be your mom’s family friend. Even so, a wave of relief washed over you as you finally saw someone you recognized.

“Youngil!” You called out to him as tears streamed down your face, and he held his arms out so Inho could pass you over to him. He rocked you side-to-side as he held you tight, sighing.

“What’s your name?” He turned to Inho, who was probably relieved he wouldn’t have to actually take you home.

“Hwang Inho. It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, shaking your brother’s hand.

“I’m Oh Youngil. Can you write down your name somewhere for me?” It was an unusual request, but Inho scribbled his name on a piece of paper and passed it to Youngil, who folded it and shoved it in his pocket. “Thank you for finding her.”

“Oh, no, of course! It’s my job as a police officer to protect civilians! I think she would’ve been kidnapped if I didn’t find her when I did. She’s a very cute girl,” Inho sputtered, his ears blushing from embarrassment.

“You’re a good police officer, Inho. I’m glad you found her in time,” Youngil praised before he turned to you. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Inho? Your mom is waiting for you.”

You were a bit hesitant, your hands reaching out for Inho so he could pull you in for another hug. Behind you, your brother’s camera shuttered and flashed. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m taking these pictures to show to her as a keepsake in the future.”

Inho laughed. “Yes, of course,” smiling at the camera before wiping your tears with his thumb motioning for you to turn around. You resisted the urge to blink every time the flash hit your eyes. You got in a lot of trouble for doing that during picture day, so you learned your lesson.

You waved one last goodbye to Inho as Youngil carried you out of the police station and into a fancy car. Sitting in the back, he gave the driver the location of your apartment, and 15 minutes later, you found yourself knocking on the door, waiting for your mom to answer.

On the other side, you heard frantic shuffling and stumbling, and your mom practically burst the door open as she heard the knock. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, as she wrapped you into her arms and kissed you all over your face. “Thank you, Youngil, truly. I don’t know how I can repay you for this,” she bowed deeply to him, still holding you tightly in her arms.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Youngil replied before waving goodbye to you, your mom closing the door as she escorted you to the dinner table where a feast waited for you.

-

Inho sat uncomfortably on a velvet couch as your brother popped open a bottle of wine, pouring a hefty amount into two cups. Your brother pushed one closer to Inho as he took a sip. “I think it’s time we have a talk, Hwang Inho.”

Inho gulped, straightening his posture to appear taller. “What is there for us to talk about?”

Your brother laughed, although it didn’t sound very sincere. “You don’t recognize me?”

Now, Inho was truly confused. First, he’s forced to attend a dinner party full of snobby rich people, sitting through an hour of subtle insults from that smug son of a bitch, Gongyoo. When the dinner was over, he followed you thinking that if he helped you finish your business quicker, the two of you could go home and he could collapse onto his bed. Finally, this CEO of a chaebol empire is holding him hostage in an unfamiliar building, spewing bullshit he doesn’t have a clue about.

Squinting his eyes, he noticed that in between the slight weight gain and the wrinkles on his face, your brother did seem familiar somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he was positive he met him somewhere. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted after a moment of contemplation.

“Oh Youngil. Does that name ring a bell?”

Inho’s eyes widened immediately, and his mind was flooded with memories of that one peculiar day he found a young girl sitting on a bench in a park. While she was an adorable kid, he couldn’t deny that her stubbornness made his job way more difficult than it should’ve been. At one point, he genuinely started to worry about how he would support his stepmom, Junho, and a new little girl he added to the family all at once.

“You’re the older brother of that little girl who got lost right?” Inho recalled, snapping his fingers. “I never got her name because she refused to tell me.”

“Yes,” Youngil paused for a moment, “Was the money I gave you not enough?”

Confusion returned to Inho’s features. “Money?”

“I gave you 50 million won a few days after you found her. Surely, you would’ve seen it in your bank account.”

Inho recalled that month when he went to the bank to deposit his paycheck, his jaw dropping when 50 million won miraculously appeared out of thin air. He nearly turned himself in for committing fraud, although he wasn’t even sure what kind of scheme he found himself in. The only thing he knew was that the large sum of money sitting in his bank was far from natural.

“That was from you?! I thought I somehow committed fraud!” Inho exclaimed, his hands flying to his face as Youngil casually took another sip from his wine.

“Yes. It was your reward for finding my sister,” Youngil explained, "Was it not enough?”

Inho lowered his gaze, grabbing his glass and taking a large sip of wine. It was shameful to admit that such a large sum of money didn’t at all cure his financial woes. At the time, he had just graduated from university, wracking up a ton of student debt. Junho was still young, and needed his financial support on top of paying for tutors to help him keep up in class. The 50 million won disappeared within 3 months.

“No, it wasn’t. I had a lot of student debt and I needed to hire tutors for my younger brother,” Inho admitted quietly, refusing to meet Youngil’s eyes.

“You know, after you saved my sister, I truly wished you well. I hoped that you would live the rest of your life as a crime-fighting police officer, dedicated to protecting citizens, like you told me that day,” Youngil paused to drink out of his glass, “I never would’ve imagined you’d end up getting sucked into this kind of life.”

Inho balled up his fist and clenched his jaw at Youngil’s words as he slowly raised his head to make eye contact. “I don’t want this life either, but I didn’t have a choice. My wife was sick and I needed quick money. Who would’ve known that even after I won the Squid Games, there were still VIPs chasing after me, wanting to take a bite out of me for entertainment? My only options were to become the Frontman or fall victim to the VIPs.”

“I am aware. I looked into you after I heard my dad mention your name in a conversation.”

Inho stood up, slamming his hands on the table as his glass toppled over, the burgundy contents splattering all over the table, some dripping onto his leather shoes. “What’s the point of you bringing me here, then? To mock me? To show how much power you hold over me?”

Youngil calmly shook his head, unafraid of Inho’s bravado. “No. I simply want you to stay away from my sister.”

“What? I haven’t seen your sister since that day.”

Youngil sighed, chugging the remainder of his wine. “Seriously? Saying that after you tried to follow her into my office like a lost puppy?” He stood up to refill it to about a quarter of the entire glass.

Inho flopped back into the couch, feeling like the stupidest person alive. He followed you into your family dinner, sitting silently as he observed them interacting with each other for an hour, and then having a conversation with your brother about a past encounter you had. And the whole time, he still didn’t connect the dots!

After he was done wallowing in his self loathing, he straightened his posture again. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I work directly beside her. Our roles require us to interact with each other frequently,” he replied, leaving out your conditions. He wasn’t about to tell the whole world that you made him your fucktoy— if it wasn’t necessary.

“Then keep your distance emotionally.”

Youngil’s insistence was odd. Inho knew he couldn’t fully listen to him because you would catch on quickly and throw a fit, but his stubbornness did stir up some curiosity in him. “Why do you want me to stay away from her?”

Youngil stood up again, grabbed another glass, refilled it with wine for Inho, then handed it to him. “I don’t want you to get into a relationship with her.”

Inho scoffed loudly at his words. Relationship? He’d rather drop dead tomorrow than get into a relationship with a woman nearly 20 years his junior, especially now that he knew he previously met her when she was a kid. “What kind of degenerate do you think I am? I’m not interested in the slightest.”

“Inho, did you know that proximity affects the type of person you will marry? This means that the more often you see them, the more likely you are to like them because familiarity breeds affection,” Youngil smugly revealed while swishing around the burgundy liquid in his glass. “Why do you think people marry their coworkers and classmates? It’s because of proximity and familiarity.”

He walked towards Inho, leaning close enough for Inho to make out every pore. “Now, guess who has the closest proximity to my sister?” He questioned, sliding out Inho’s tie and tugging it.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Inho denied, “Our relationship is purely work. There’s no room for emotions.” At least, he didn’t have any room for emotions.

“You say that now, but who knows when you’ll change your mind? My sister is a charismatic woman, she knows how to get men wrapped around her finger,” Youngil let go of Inho’s tie and walked back to the couch behind him. “Inho, you can’t fool me. I already know you have something going on with my sister.”

“I’m not going to. I still love my wife,” Inho declared through gritted teeth. “And there’s nothing going on. Nothing will ever happen.”

“Well, now that you mention it, that’s another reason why I want you to keep your distance. I don’t want my sister to marry someone who can’t love her fully. Someone like her isn’t meant to be another person’s replacement— she’s meant to be the original.”

If Inho was even a tiny bit more immature, he would’ve pummelled this guy on the spot. A man who’s never had to work hard a day in his life, insulting his wife and implying that she’s nothing compared to his younger sister, who he mistakenly thinks will end up marrying him. It all sounded preposterous.

Instead, all he could do was silently fume as his face flushed red with anger, gripping the fabric of his pants hard enough to wrinkle them. “This conversation is pointless. You’re talking purely out of speculation and fiction.”

Youngil laughed. “Perhaps I am. Perhaps all my worries are for naught, and nothing will happen. In fact, you could even completely ignore everything I said today. I don’t have anything to offer you that you don’t already have, so my words are simply a request, not a demand.”

Inho grabbed the glass of wine Youngil refilled for him, tipping his head back and raising it to his lips, drinking all the contents in one gulp. He set it down into the table with a loud clack as he wiped off the remaining liquid dribbling down his chin. “Are we done here?”

Youngil did the same. “I’ll lead you back to my office.”

-

You sighed as you closed the photo album, covering the box with the lid and sliding down a wall you didn’t realize you were leaning against. All you wanted to do was lay down and sleep it off, hoping that everything was a dream and you would go back to your daily life the next morning. You didn’t know how you could face Inho after seeing his younger self in your photo album.

Out of the blue, someone knocked on the door. Grabbing the box, you opened the door and stepped outside. “Have you had enough time to flip through it?” Youngil asked.

“Too much time, actually,” you grumbled. You didn’t even want to think about how you looked after that crying session.

“Let’s go, it’s nearly 9pm,” Inho held out his hand for you, which you took hesitantly as he carried the box from your hands and escorted you out of your brother’s penthouse.

You were staring out the window of the car in a daze when Inho’s voice snapped you back to reality. “Your eyes are red,” he pointed out, rubbing the corners of your puffy eyes.

“And you seem like you drank more than usual,” you snapped, turning around to ignore him.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You haven’t looked at me for the past ten minutes. You’re very obviously avoiding me.”

“You’re imagining it.”

Grabbing you by your chin, he forced your face to turn around and face him. The stark contrast between his past and present self almost made them seem like entirely different people. Other than the wrinkles that showed his age, his entire demeanor had shifted. The glimmer in his eyes vanished, replaced by an endless black void of nothingness. His touch no longer felt like gentle caresses, but rather commanding imprints. Even his hair, which was once carelessly tousled back by his hand, was now meticulously gelled back, not a single strand out of place.

Even during his time as a participant in the Squid Games, you swore you still saw a fire in him, something courageous and full of hope. There was an innocence in him that hadn’t been corrupted no matter how horrible life was, a part of him that still believed in the good of others. It was unwavering and untouchable, something even the games themselves couldn’t change.

Until he met you.

You were the serpent, slithering away in the background and scheming for his downfall. You placed the apple in his hands and forced him to take a bite, giving him all the power, glory, and money he could ever need, but for what? All you did was rip the wings off his back, causing him to fall from grace before dragging him to the depths below. You managed to corrupt the purest of them all.

You had thoroughly ruined this man.

How could you do such a thing to someone who'd treated you with such kindness— someone who saved your life? Would you be sitting here in this car with him if he hadn't found you that day? Or would your 7 year old corpse be discovered in a river?

Your lip quivered as tears streamed down your face, his grip firm on your chin even as you attempted to struggle out of his hands. Finally, he sighed, enveloping his arms around you as you sobbed into his chest.

“Were the contents of that box that bad?” He asked as he played with your hair. You could only gasp for air in between the cascades of sadness that washed over you, your nails digging into his chest with how hard you were hanging onto him.

When you arrived home, Inho had the driver help carry your belongings upstairs as you remained in his arms, tipping him generously as you watched him drive away. Setting you down a chair, he bent down to remove your heels, placing them back on the shoe rack before removing his own. The entire time, your eyes remained glassy as tears continued to well in your eyes. You didn’t have much room for anything other than crying.

Inho carried you onto the couch, placing you on his lap as he wiped your tears away. He pushed your head closer to his as he leaned down for a kiss, his lips melting into yours without hesitation after the many long nights you’ve spent together. You entertained him, wishing for anything that could possibly distract you from the knot forming in your stomach, but you pulled away as his hands ghosted away from your face, down to your breasts and ass.

“Not tonight. I’m not in the mood for it,” you dismissed, about to get off him as he tightened his grip on you.

“I won’t go further than this,” he promised as his lips found yours again, your body instinctively turning towards him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

The rest of the night was a blur, with some more wine poured and drank as you two continued to make out on the couch, only pausing in between sips. It was some sick, lustful way of giving each other some much needed comfort after a stressful time.

You were drowning in emotions unfamiliar to you, your head surfacing momentarily during kisses before you were dragged down again, bubbles of oxygen forming at your lips as you gasped for breath in the water. But if you were going down, Inho would come with you.

If you went down, then you’d go down together.

[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 3: Illicit Affairs

Hwang Inho x Reader

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, Threesome, NSFW

For more information, check Masterlist

-----------

You sat on a brown leather couch, sipping on a glass of wine in a dimly lit room. Behind you, Inho’s click-clacking on the keyboard echoed throughout the entire room. His mask rested on your lap after you picked it up so you could sit down.

“Why are you not watching? This is your job, you know?” You giggled. Somehow, you had switched roles with Inho in the midst of all your planning and stressing for the 2017 Squid games. It was the first time for both of you, and you required heavy guidance from your dad. “You know that I’m the one who should be handling the paperwork, right?”

Inho sighed, turning off his laptop and slamming it shut. He walked over to the couch and flopped onto it, reaching for his mask. You swatted his hand away. “You can barely see with it on. How are you going to do anything when your field of vision is obstructed?”

The room fell into silence and remained that way as Inho refused to respond. You didn’t mind, as you were more interested in seeing the response of the VIPs to your work. You also wanted to see how it would play out. This year's games were Red Light, Green Light, Capture the Flag, a Scavenger Hunt, Hopscotch, where two people were tied at the foot, Musical Chairs, and finally, Chess. You were on day 5: Musical Chair day.

Red Light, Green Light proceeded as usual. Everyone would go in, egotistical, confident, and naive, thinking that it was a regular childhood game. At some point, someone would fail to freeze during Red Light, where they would be shot down, and chaos would ensue. Flocks of panicked people forgetting about the game, fleeing to and banging on the door, begging to be set free as bullets fired and killed them. In a sense, it weeded out the weak. Red Light, Green Light was undoubtedly your easiest game, and anyone who couldn’t pass it didn’t deserve the prize money in the first place.

Capture the Flag was more brutal than you expected. The teams were split into odd numbers and even numbers, forcing the ‘X’ and ‘O’ players to cooperate for one game. It was a simple game, really. Each team had to capture the flag of the other team and run back to their home goal to score a point. The opposing team could tag them and place them in ‘jail,’ which they could then be freed from when one of their teammates tagged the one standing closest to the line dividing both teams. The game lasted an hour and a half, and the first team to score two points would win the game. Violence towards other players resulted in elimination, an unlucky 170 setting an example for everyone else after the first thing he did was try to punch his way through. One twist that the players likely didn’t expect was that on top of the losing team being eliminated, everyone in jail was also taken out. Teams should be loyal to each other, after all. It easily wiped out 60% of participants, and greedy players marvelled at the stacks of money that fell into the taunting piggy bank.

The Scavenger Hunt was a nice break from the brutality of Capture the Flag. The reward was extra food rations for the day in the form of hotdogs Gongyoo bought at the bakery. 50 hotdogs were hidden throughout an obstacle course, with players facing monkey bars, slides, and stairs. The only people left standing were people with hotdogs in their hands. Players were prohibited from snatching the bread out of another person’s hand and claiming it for themselves, and both of them would be eliminated.

You didn’t have to worry about having too many players leftover, because Hopscotch had either driven people insane or sent them into a state of mania. Two people tied up by the leg, having to somehow balance on one leg as they bent down to pick up a small puck. Of course, there were breaks where they could have two, or even all their feet on the ground, but the less coordinated didn’t make it that far. Stumbling was accepted, but if anyone toppled over, both would be eliminated. It effectively narrowed down the pool to 20 players, falling to 14 after a massacre took place when the lights were out.

That brings you to Musical Chairs. Each round was one chair short, and without fail, fists were thrown to fight for the last remaining chair. The music you chose were all popular Korean classics, like 10 Minutes from Lee Hyori. There wasn’t a single player who didn’t know the songs of your choice. Not only did it effectively narrow the game down to two players for the final game of Chess, but everyone had at least one splotch of a nasty hue of purple on their face.

You had to admit, you did really well for your first time. Perhaps it was slightly overly brutal, because you were worried about not having enough players towards the end, but it seemed to work out somehow. As the last two players, 421, an attractive, young female foreigner struggling to pay off her student debt, and 034, a middle aged man who fled Japan to escape the Yakuza, were escorted away for a luxurious meal and bath, Gongyoo sent you a text.

-

Gongyoo: You did a good job!

Gongyoo: I’ve never been so entertained in my life!

Gongyoo: I feel like there’s so many twists this year.

You: I’m glad you like it!

Gongyoo: I was wondering why you made me buy those hotdogs a few days ago.

Gongyoo: I didn’t think you’d use it for that.

You: Well, I thought it made the most sense.

You: We can’t exactly give them something like a toy.

You: What are a bunch of adults going to do with a toy made for a 5 year old?

Gongyoo: Good point.

Gongyoo: You know, I was really surprised when it was revealed you were going to be the next Host.

Gongyoo: I’m glad I was one of the first to find out.

You: Of course you’d find out quickly!

You: You’re one of the highest ranking staff members!

You: Also, why were you surprised?

Gongyoo: Your brother had no interest in the games.

Gongyoo: Your dad hid you so well that no one knew of your existence.

Gongyoo: I thought the games would end when he died.

Gongyoo: I guess I don’t have to worry about it anymore.

Gongyoo: I don’t have to worry about not having a place to go back to or not having a master.

You: Thank you for being so loyal to us.

You: I’ll always trust you to do your best for these games.

Gongyoo: Thank you.

Gongyoo: I’ll work hard to not disappoint you. (Read)

-

You ate dinner alone in your room, the sharp shriek of your metal cutlery filling the room as Fly Me to the Moon looped and restarted several times. It was a beautiful song, a wonderful song to waltz to with a lover, if you had one.

Despite Inho being away during the day, he made his mark on your life. From his razor and shaving cream remaining tucked away in your bathroom drawer, his half-empty whiskey glasses, the lingering scent of his cologne, to his Fly Me to the Moon vinyl that played nearly 24/7. You didn’t know how he discovered the song, nor how he received that specific rendition of the piece, but it was a lovely soundtrack to relax to.

You weren’t particularly concerned about his whereabouts, nor about his safety. For now, VIPs knew he was off limits due to an incident where you gave a man the beating of a lifetime after he whispered vulgar words into his ear. You had snatched his cane from his hand, pummeling him even as the nerves in your arm seemed as if they were on fire, the whipping sound of his skin breaking resounding through the room as everyone else could only shiver and gasp. You only stopped after he let out a ragged wheeze, coughing, and spitting out blood. Despite Gongyoo’s annoyance, he promised you he wouldn’t let them harm Inho. Luckily, during this time of the year, he couldn’t go very far anyways, and you could always go to the security room and watch him from the cameras.

Humming, you placed your empty plate onto a tray as someone knocked on your door. You quickly reached for your masquerade mask, fastening the string behind your head and shifting it to center it. Opening the door, you breathed a sigh of relief when you realized it was only Gongyoo. You motioned for him to enter.

“Would you like a drink?” You asked as you took your mask off.

“What are my options?” He entertained you with a chuckle.

“Whiskey and wine. I only like red wine, so that’s all I have.” You hated whiskey too, but unless he didn’t have access to it, it was all Inho drank.

“I’ll have wine. Whiskey is too strong,” Gongyoo declared, and you handed him a freshly poured glass as he sat down and swished it.

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve noticed some suspicious behaviour from the Frontman.”

Your blood ran cold as you stiffly turned around. “What did you see?” You questioned, your tone commanding.

He smiled and took a sip, looking up to make eye contact with you. “What did he tell you before he left?”

“He said he has something to announce to the VIPs and he would eat dinner in his office.”

Gongyoo hummed, an ambiguous response. “There’s a possibility that he ate dinner in his office,” he started, “But I didn’t see him with the VIPs.”

You placed your glass on the table and sat down beside Gongyoo, who offered his glass to you, the sparkle in his eyes begging you to drink. You obliged him, taking a long gulp as the alcohol warmed your throat, the wine leaving an aromatic, sweet, fermented aftertaste in your mouth. “Answer my previous question,” you ordered, feeling yourself getting impatient as the alcohol loosened your nerves.

“You know how I always stay in a room near the guest rooms of the VIPs?” He asked, and you nodded. “I mistakenly opened a room that wasn’t my own. I thought it was a VIP’s, and as I was about to apologize, I saw Player 421, freshly showered and smelling like roses, in a silk nightgown.”

You balled your hand into a fist, ignoring the stinging of your acrylic nails digging into your skin as your jaw clenched. “Where was he?”

Gongyoo shrugged. “I don’t know. He wasn’t in the room when I found her. I only know that he was the one who snuck her out. No one else has the authority to do that other than the two of you. Well, your dad does too, but he’s never done something like this in the past.”

You sighed, cupping the sides of your face with your hand before pushing your overgrown bangs out of your face. “Do the VIPs know about this yet?”

“I assume they don’t. I found her purely by accident. If I hadn’t opened that door, Inho could’ve easily snuck her out the next morning.”

You sighed, slumping into the couch as you struggled to figure out what to do. You could very easily kill her, but that would compromise the last game and cause an uproar from the VIPs. If you didn’t kill her and they somehow found her, they would accuse you of rigging the game. Actually, it seemed there would be an uproar no matter what you did.

“Struggling to figure out what to do?” Gongyoo chuckled, saying exactly what was on your mind as if he was a mind reader, and pointing at your untouched glass. You picked it up and clinked it against his, both of you throwing your head back to take a sip at the same time.

“The VIPs are going to be so pissed,” you bemoaned.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“If you have any ideas, sure.”

He shifted his body to face you, his hands making grand gestures as the wine swooshed around in the glass. “I can wake up earlier tomorrow. I can stop Inho from letting her re-enter the games.”

You cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by his plan. “And the VIPs?”

Gongyoo laughed. “They can choose what to do with her.”

“Are you sure you’d make it before Inho?”

“I’ll wake up at 5 if I have to. We can’t let her back into the games anymore, she knows too much about what’s going on behind the scenes,” he proclaimed, and you nodded in agreement.

“I don’t think Inho intends to let her back in the first place,” you suspected, and Gongyoo’s jaw dropped. “I mean, think about it. She was going to receive luxury treatment either way for surviving this far. Why would he step in, only to give her a taste of luxury, then send her back? He surely has other motives.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

You shrugged. “It could be anything. Maybe he’ll set her free. Maybe he’ll fuck her and throw her away,” your blood boiled as a particularly irritating thought popped into your head. “Maybe he wants to date her.”

Gongyoo patted your back. “I don’t think he wants to date her. Everyone knows he still loves his wife,” he reassured you.

“Either way, can you catch her before Inho does?” You changed the topic, and Gongyoo agreed immediately.

Finishing the rest of his wine, he stood up and bowed to you with his hands at his side. He held out his hand, waiting for you to place it in his before planting a chaste kiss. “I won’t let you down,” he affirmed, walking out and closing the door behind him.

-

You were getting ready for bed, towel wrapped around your damp hair, when Inho returned. You stared at him curiously as he took off his mask and hopped into the shower. If Gongyoo hadn’t snitched on him earlier, you would’ve never suspected anything was wrong.

Ten minutes later, he left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, with visible droplets on his back and torso while he furiously rubbed his hair with a towel to dry it. Your eyes never left his body, wandering as his muscles flexed everytime he moved. Your eyes landed on his wrists, which were still slightly red from your previous session.

Flipping the blankets aside, you stood up to blowdry your hair beside him. He opened your skincare products and applied them randomly, very obviously having no clue what any of them were. Moisturizer, toner, then serum. You suppressed a giggle, but didn’t bother correcting him.

Once you were finished with the blow dryer, you wordlessly offered it to him, to which he nodded and began drying his hair. As you watched him, you realized how unusual it was for you to see Inho with his hair down. After he became the Frontman— actually, ever since he accepted your conditions— he never went a day without styling his hair in a gelled, slicked back style. The only time his natural bangs fell just above his eyes were times like now, when he’d just finished showering, or on the rare occasion he fell ill and could barely get out of bed, let alone style his hair.

When he shut off the blow dryer and unplugged it, wrapping the cord into a neat coil, you collapsed onto the bed and snuggled underneath the sheets. To your surprise, Inho walked to the other side and tucked himself in opposite to you.

“Not sleeping on the couch tonight?” You teased him. The only time you shared a room with him was during this special week, otherwise you slept separately. It was out of pure laziness that you didn’t construct a new room for him to sleep in, and as a result, he slept on the couch for the first few days to avoid you.

“Haven’t slept a wink on that couch. I’ll die if I have to do it again,” he mumbled sleepily, his breathing stabilizing into a rhythmic pattern shortly after. He wasn’t kidding about being tired.

Turning around, you slept on the edge of the bed, giving Inho sufficient space to move around if needed. He wasn’t a tosser by any means, so perhaps the space was just to prevent him from getting kicked off the bed by you when you fell asleep. As your eyes fluttered shut and you began getting drowsy, you welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep.

-

The ringing of your alarm woke you up with a start, as it did on most days. Opening your phone to turn it off, the time read 6am. You usually started your day at 8, but today was a special case. You needed to see what would become of Player 421.

Behind you, Inho lowly groaned as he shifted underneath the sheets. It seemed your alarm woke him up too. “What time is it?” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Six in the morning.”

“What the hell are you awake at 6 for? The games don’t start until 9.”

“I thought I’d try doing a morning workout today,” you lied, putting your slippers on as you began brushing your teeth. After a moment of the sound of rustling bedsheets, Inho followed you to the washroom and began brushing his teeth as well.

There were still leftovers from the hotdogs Gongyoo bought for the scavenger hunt, so you grabbed one from the fridge in the VIP lounge and warmed it up in the microwave. You were surprised no one had taken it and eaten it. Perhaps the top 1% didn’t like hotdogs.

None of the VIPs had awakened yet, so you were free to walk around without your mask, although you still took precautions to maintain your anonymity and wore it anyway. Last night, Gongyoo already texted you the room in which 421 stayed in.

VIP 26.

Every year, there would always be one or two VIPs who failed to attend the Squid Games. Sometimes, it was a vacation that overlapped, an unexpected business bust in their company, or even a family death. This year, VIP 26 died, and his son inherited his company, thus, his room was vacant.

You knocked on the door twice, and Gongyoo opened the door, stepping aside to let you in. 421, who appeared to have just woken up, stared at the two of you with a mix of confusion and fear. “Who are you?” She asked you.

“Who let you into this room?” You countered with another question.

Before she could open her mouth, Gongyoo silenced her by putting his index finger to his mouth. “I’d recommend you answer her first.”

Pursing her lips, her fingers gripped the sheets as she trembled. “A man in a black mask. It was right before I was about to eat dinner.”

You sighed. Gongyoo hadn’t lied to you. Inho really did compromise the games for this one girl. “Did he promise you anything?” You pressed.

She shook her head. “He said he couldn’t save me, but he told me what the next game was. He said it was up to me to save myself.”

Truthfully, somewhere deep down in your icy heart, you did pity this girl. She had come so far, only one game away from winning the grand prize. She had a very good chance of winning Chess and leaving as a new woman, but not anymore. Giving her a gentle smile, you began to speak, “You can no longer be saved. No one can save you because the Frontman couldn’t stay impartial.”

As her lips quivered and she suppressed a choked sob, you slowly walked in circles around her bed. “You see, the point of these games is to give people equality when society can’t,” you leaned in close enough to see every blemish on her face, “If this equality is compromised, the player must be eliminated. It is prohibited to bribe our staff, and it is prohibited for our staff to show favouritism.”

You ignored her anguished sobs behind you as you turned to Gongyoo. “At 8, open the doors to her room. Let the VIPs discover her,” you ordered, and he nodded. Before leaving, you remembered you never answered 421’s question. “I’ll answer your question now. I am training to be the next Host of these games.”

And with that, you left Gongyoo to monitor her last few hours alive.

-

Your walkie buzzed as Inho’s frantic voice called for you. “The VIPs are angry! They’re claiming the games are rigged!”

“Give me a moment. I’ll be there soon,” you replied calmly, placing your fork down and wiping the corners of your lips, applying a new layer of lip gloss. Your half-eaten tiramisu was abandoned in your room as you put on your mask and made your way to VIP 26.

A crowd had gathered outside the room, some VIPs dressed all prim and proper with their masks on while others were dishevelled, wearing only a robe and not even bothering to put on their mask. The only thing they all had in common were they were very, very angry.

Gongyoo blocked the entrance with his body as they inched closer, while Inho stood behind him. “Please step back. The Host will be here soon,” he attempted to calm them.

“I thought these games were supposed to be fair! What the hell is she doing here?” A masked VIP yelled.

“Who the hell brought her here? They should be eliminated immediately!” Another man shouted.

Behind him, a woman gasped. “The Frontman was a previous player, remember? He must’ve snuck her in!”

This realization enraged them even more, many balling their fists, on the precipice of starting a fight. “We should’ve taken you that day, like we planned! You should’ve never been allowed to become the Frontman!” A man screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at Inho as he stepped back.

“In fact, we should take him right now!” Another woman suggested, and they all cheered in unison.

“What’s going on?” Your voice silenced the crowd as they glanced in your direction, slowly parting to make space for you to approach Gongyoo, who relaxed at your presence.

“One of the players was caught in this room! What is the meaning of this?!” Someone called out.

Ignoring the angry VIP, you approached Inho. While his mask hid his facial expression, when you glanced at his hands, the uncontrollable trembling gave him away immediately. “Did you really sneak her in?” You asked calmly.

Noticing you staring at his hands, he put them together to attempt to stop the shaking. Taking a shaky breath, he nodded hesitantly.

A woman, the same one who wanted to capture Inho, stepped forward. “We can forgive this, but under one condition,” she spoke, and many hushed whispers fell onto the hallway. “You either give us the girl, or you strip the Frontman of his position and hand him over.”

Inho immediately stepped forward, but you blocked his way. “You are not going with them,” you declared through gritted teeth.

Before he could protest, your dad, wearing his VIP mask, tapped you on the shoulder, with two guards standing behind him. “What’s going on?” You recounted the story, telling him how Inho snuck in a player, which landed him in this precarious situation.

After hearing about the trade offer, your dad hummed, thinking out loud. “Take the girl. The Frontman is crucial to these games, and we can’t afford to lose him. Everyone is human, and we aren’t born with discipline and knowledge,” he bowed to the VIPs, “I promise this will never happen again.”

Gongyoo stepped aside the moment your dad made his call, and the guards captured the girl and took her away, the VIPs hungrily following her. You didn’t even have to think to know exactly what they were going to do to her. Inho, as an attractive man, was targeted, so what else could happen to a young, attractive foreigner?

“Go back to our room,” you said quietly to Inho as your dad gathered a few guards to follow you down to announce the news to Player 034.

You almost wished you made your dad go instead, because the maze of pastel stairs seemed endless. Admittedly, you’d never gone down to the arena before, so you had no idea where to go. This led to one guard to leading you in the front while the others tailed you.

Player 034 was in a white room, his bed a lot bigger than the tiny bunk bed he was forced to sleep on just two days prior. His tracksuit had been replaced with dress pants and a white blouse. A worker guard monitored him as he dug into his morning steak.

“How are you feeling, Player 034?” You smiled at him as he stared at the guns your guards carried.

“A-Are you here to kill me?” He stuttered.

“No, of course not,” you reassured him. “You have won the game.” A pile of money dropped into the piggy bank, despite the automated voice not yet announcing 421’s elimination. Perhaps she would be gone in a few hours.

“I thought there would be another game?” He questioned, appearing more relaxed.

“There was an internal dispute,” you explained briefly. “You can leave after you finish your meal.”

-

You found Inho sobbing into his hands when you returned, nonchalantly setting your mask on a table as you continued eating your tiramisu. Your eyes remained on him, observing his entire body trembling as tears dribbled down the cracks of his interdigit and down the back of his hands. It was as if you were watching him cling to his wife's gravestone all over again.

As if it couldn't get worse, you swore you saw the silhouette of a woman embracing him, the ends of her hair brushing against his face as she clung to his neck. Her lips opened, mouthing something unintelligible, yet you could nearly hear the sound of her shushing his tears away when all of a sudden, she made eye contact with you. Her gaze was incomprehensible, something of a mix of disdain, disappointment, and sorrow. You didn't have access to a mirror, but you assumed your expression was similar.

Fuck, was Lacy haunting you or was it a mere hallucination?

Sighing, you left your tiramisu and grabbed a tissue, ripping Inho’s hands off his face and wiping his face with it. “It was my fault,” he confessed to you in between sniffles and sobs. “If it wasn’t for me, she would’ve survived.”

Her expression soured, frowning from how roughly you treated Inho, but as she was dead, she had no right to control your behaviour. She no longer had any physical attachment to Inho, and even if Inho still yearned for her every night in his dreams, he was yours in all other aspects. You were the keeper of his mind and body, as if telling her to suck your metaphorical dick.

You scoffed at his words, your eyes remaining on hers, as if challenging her. “You know her survival wasn’t guaranteed. She would’ve died even without your intervention,” you half-lied. Of course, she could’ve survived the Chess game, but she also could’ve very well lost.

“Why didn’t you let me go with the VIPs?” He asked after his sobs quieted down into sniffles.

You didn’t know either. Inho wasn't the only attractive middle-aged man in Korea. Either way, you had no reason to save that woman. With Inho, at least he could clumsily take the mantle of the Frontman. Tossing the tissue into the trash can, you returned to your tiramisu and opened your phone, your acrylics tapping against the screen as you texted your friends.

“Answer me!” Inho yelled at you after your silence, and you sighed as you turned to him.

Rolling your eyes at his tone, you replied to him, “I don’t know.” It was an unsatisfactory answer, judging by the way he glared at you. You simply diverted your attention to Gongyoo’s text messages, tuning out the piercing glare of Lacy.

-

Gongyoo: Crisis averted!

Gongyoo: How long do you think she’ll last?

You: Not long.

You: Do you even know how many male VIPs we have?

You: She’ll be dead by tomorrow.

Gongyoo: True.

Gongyoo: Inho should’ve just minded his own business.

You: He thinks it’s his fault she’s going to die.

Gongyoo: How ridiculous.

Gongyoo: She could’ve died even without his intervention.

Gongyoo: She would’ve died a lot more peacefully though.

You: That’s what I told him.

Gongyoo: Anyways, don’t you think my idea worked out really well?

You: Yes, it did.

You: I don’t think the VIPs were that bothered once we handed her over.

Gongyoo: Right?

Gongyoo: Don’t you think I should get a reward?

You: Oh?

You: What kind?

Gongyoo: It’s kind of embarrassing.

Gongyoo: You can cut my salary if it makes you mad.

You: Just tell me.

Gongyoo: I want to sleep with you.

You: Come to my room at 8pm.

Gongyoo: Thank you.

Gongyoo: I didn’t think you’d agree. (Read)

-

At 8pm sharp, Gongyoo knocked on your door, snatching you by your waist and passionately kissing you before he even closed the door. You gasped as he bit your bottom lip, his hand wandering down to squeeze your ass. The kisses smeared your lip gloss all over his face, but he didn’t seem to mind, cupping your face with another hand to bring you impossibly closer. In the midst of your make out session, you somehow managed to slam the door shut behind you, pinning Gongyoo to the wall.

Inho had left to do some work, a bold move after the scare from this morning. Even when he was around, all he did was glare at you even after you handed him an ice pack to calm his swollen eyes. For the last few weeks, you couldn’t play with him due to the state of his wrists, so Gongyoo’s invitation felt like a sign from god.

Gongyoo lifted you up, carrying you to the bed as you ran your hand through his hair while the other clumsily unbuttoned his blouse. Before he could unzip your dress, the sound of the doorknob twisting broke your focus, and Inho entered the room.

“What the hell is going on?” Inho asked, taking off his mask to reveal a hardened expression.

Pushing Gongyoo off you and wiping the lip gloss off the corners of your mouth, you approached him. “We’re just relieving some stress.”

“Why do it in this room? Couldn’t you do it in his room?” He hissed quietly, pointing at Gongyoo, whose lips were shiny from your lip gloss.

“To give you the choice of joining,” and before Inho could roll his eyes, you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I’ll allow you to dominate me, if that’s what you want.”

Truthfully, you’ve wanted to let Inho dominate you for a while now, but you weren’t sure how to go about it. His first year as the Frontman was a bust, and it cemented the fact that you couldn’t fully trust him into your mind. Despite your power imbalance, you always reminded yourself of your different physical statures. Inho could easily kill a petite woman like you with his eyes closed, and you needed to be aware of that. You hoped that with Gongyoo’s presence, it would prevent Inho from acting out.

You walked away, fully expecting Inho to throw some kind of fit or silently walk out the door, but as you turned your back on him to approach Gongyoo, he lunged towards you, his lips latching onto your neck as he sucked hard. His hands moved down to your breasts, squeezing them as Gongyoo’s eyes widened at the sudden company.

Laughing, Gongyoo shut the door, and his lips were on yours again. It was almost too much, from Inho’s harsh grip on your breasts, his sloppy kisses on your neck, to Gongyoo’s dominating tongue intertwining with yours, his hands on your ass. Inho was the one who unzipped your dress, and the two men worked together to shove it off your body and onto the floor.

Gongyoo took his lips off yours and moved from your chin to your neck to your breasts, pinching and twisting a nipple in one hand while licking, sucking and kissing the other. Your legs shook from the stimulation as Inho slid your panties off your legs, shoving his face into your ass and without any warning, sticking his tongue into your pussy. If it wasn’t for Gongyoo, you would’ve collapsed then and there as Inho supported you by your hip to keep you standing, the waves of pleasure so overstimulating that all you could do was gasp for air. You came as Inho pinched your clit, your hands flying to Inho’s hair to tug his head closer, shuddering as the combination of Gongyoo’s nipple stimulation and Inho lapping up your juices nearly sent you over the edge a second time.

When Gongyoo stood up straight, you nearly toppled over before he pulled you into his chest. While your eyes were shut and you struggled to catch your breath, Gongyoo smirked at Inho as he carried you to the bed. After a few moments of fabric rustling, you opened your eyes to see the two men naked and staring down at you expectantly.

“Whoever goes first, use a condom,” you groaned.

“Why? Don’t you have an IUD?” Inho retorted.

“Just because I can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean I want to taste myself and your cum on your cock.”

Inho and Gongyoo played a round of rock, paper, scissors, which Inho won by beating Gongyoo with scissors. Inho opened the drawer closest to the bed, shuffling the items around to search for a condom. Just when you thought he was going to give up, he tore one open with his hands and wrapped it around his cock. You opened your mouth for Gongyoo, allowing him to fill you with his cock, effectively muffling any sounds you would make. You prayed he wouldn’t randomly start facefucking you, because you didn’t want to have to crush his balls on the spot.

In your current position, it was difficult for you to fully take in Gongyoo, so you compromised by stroking the remaining part of his cock with your hand while you bobbed your head up and down. He threw his head back and moaned, almost thrusting on instinct but was stopped when you squeezed his cock. You took your mouth off, “If you try to facefuck me, I’m going to castrate you,” you warned.

Now that Inho was face to face with you, he lost his previous confidence, timidly leaning down to eat you out again before Gongyoo stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. “You’re already going first, don’t hog her.”

With that, Inho took a deep breath and inserted his cock painfully slowly, causing you to gasp onto Gongyoo’s cock as Inho stretched you out inch by inch. Gongyoo shuddered from the vibrations of your gasp, his hips squirming as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to listen to your orders.

Even as Inho began thrusting, he remained annoyingly gentle, treating you as if you were made of porcelain. After a minute or two, you ground your hips into his, silently demanding for him to quicken his pace without having to deprive Gongyoo of your mouth. While Inho sped up, his movements were still soft, his hand moving to stimulate your clit as opposed to slamming his cock into your g-spot. Even so, he built you up to your second orgasm, causing you to struggle hollowing out your cheeks to suck off Gongyoo. Inho came as your orgasm wrung out his cock, and his last thrust forced the rest of Gongyoo’s cock down your throat, causing him to groan as he released.

As soon as Gongyoo stopped cumming, you took your mouth off him and coughed, painfully swallowing the remainder of his cum as your throat burned from the stretch of his dick. Inho removed his condom and tied it up, throwing it into the garbage bin before lifting you by your head to kiss you, using his other hand to pinch your nipple as he switched positions with Gongyoo.

In the midst of the kiss, Gongyoo’s hands gripped you by your waist as he slammed his cock into you. You broke your kiss with Inho with a long moan, your back arching as Gongyoo immediately found your g-spot and hammered into it. You stuffed Inho’s cock into your mouth to muffle your moans, slightly embarrassed at how much you enjoyed Gongyoo’s rough movements.

Gongyoo made you cum faster than you could count to twenty, your pussy clenching around his cock. You had to take Inho out of your mouth to stop yourself from biting his cock off. As soon as you came down from your orgasm, Gongyoo continued his previous pace, and you could only clumsily stroke Inho’s cock as he played with your hair. Forcing an orgasm out of you for a fourth time, Gongyoo released inside you with a loud groan, his hands leaving bruised imprints on your hips and waist.

When he finally caught his breath, he slid his cock out and you kissed Inho’s neglected tip, swiping your tongue to lick up his precum. “Go shower, I’ll take care of her,” you heard Inho say to Gongyoo as you stroked him, waiting for Gongyoo to be out of sight before you opened your mouth as wide as you could, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking long and hard.

You were functioning on pure adrenaline at this point, your body moving on instinct to force an orgasm out of Inho as fast as you could. Inho bit his lip to keep his voice down, although little moans and gasps still occasionally slipped through as you stroked his cock, focusing all your attention on his tip in the form of licking and sucking before enveloping his entire dick back into your mouth. With one final swipe on the slit of his dick, he came unexpectedly on your face, your eyes fluttering shut to prevent his cum from landing in your eye.

You wiped some of his cum off with your hand, staring at the white sticky mess in your palm. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered as he reached for a tissue, taking care of the remainder of his cum while also wiping the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

Gongyoo left shortly after his shower, waving you goodbye as he draped a robe around his body, water droplets falling from his bangs.

Inho guided you into the shower, your legs still wobbly from your orgasms and drowsiness starting to take over your senses. You managed to pull yourself together just enough to lather soap onto your body and rinse yourself off. Inho helped clean out Gongyoo’s cum, his fingers digging around inside your pussy as he muffled your moans with a kiss. Still sensitive from your previous orgasms, you gasped and shuddered, cumming on his fingers.

As you dried yourself off with a towel, you sleepily studied Inho as he began drawing a warm bath, momentarily leaving the room to bark out some unintelligible order into his walkie, returning to turn off the water and lower you in. “You should join me,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes to try and force yourself awake.

Shuffling a little, you made enough room for Inho to step inside and sit down, stretching his legs and sighing into the warm water as he slid down. On your bath tray, lived a Diptyque candle and a lighter, and Inho seemingly read your mind and lit the candle before you could cause some kind of fire hazard in your half-awake state.

Relaxing into his chest and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and fall asleep.

[quanruionechancepls]

thanks, i'm stealing this

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[quanruionechancepls]

the tumblr queuing system is making me lose my mind 🤬

i'm uploading my fanfiction onto tumblr and putting space in between uploads to give people time to actually find it, read it, build suspense, etc, BUT ARGHHHHH THE QUEUING SYSTEM

so basically, i finish doing my thing and i schedule the post to let's say, two days from now, but on top of that, i have to MANUALLY check the queue to make sure it doesn't upload the NEXT DAY.

like how do you make the frequency of the automatic uploads to at least every other day? for mine it just automatically uploads it the day after and it PISSES ME OFF 🤬🤬🤬

[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 2: Moth to a Flame

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

Content Warning: Dubious Consent, NSFW

For more information, check Masterlist

--------------

At your ripe age of 30, life is good, especially after your dad died. Being his illegitimate child who was only accepted into the family after your mom died when you were 10, there was no way you could inherit the company, but you weren’t particularly hurt by this reality. That job was for your spoiled, sheltered, and annoyingly sophisticated brother. When the word ‘nerd’ comes to mind, his face is the one that would pop into your mind. Everything from his huge square glasses, his everyday plaid sweatshirt with a blouse underneath, and that horrid gelled, side part hairstyle made your skin break out in goosebumps. It’s no wonder he had to get an arranged marriage to even dream of feeling the touch of a woman other than his own mother.

In comparison, you were the hot sibling. Being illegitimate never stopped you from having suitors even though your partners wouldn’t inherit much wealth. Insultingly, many assumed you were stupid and naive because of your baby face. Yes, your doe eyes, button nose and perfectly-proportioned plump lips made you look like a real life doll, but you were a far cry from a trophy wife. There’s a reason why you never bothered to compete with your brother for the company, but jumped at the opportunity to host the games once that brain tumor was discovered.

Even your lifestyles were completely different. Your brother slept at 9pm sharp every night, falling asleep in bed after dozing off while reading a book. Your niece and nephew followed a similar lifestyle, with strict tutoring sessions everyday on various subjects way past their comprehension level at the ages of 7 and 9 respectively. You can’t even fathom how nerdy you have to be to teach a 7 year-old philosophy.

Alternatively, you were a wild child, going to bed at dawn and waking up at noon whenever you didn’t have responsibilities like school. Your step-mother once tried to correct your behaviour, which resulted in her Van Cleef necklace and Cartier bracelets going missing. Missing where? In your jewelry box, obviously. She couldn’t even beat you for it, because despite your dad’s neglect, you knew she would get it if she even touched a hair on your head.

Still, you studied hard and got good grades, entering university like every other rich kid with heavy expectations did. Even though you could never be the CEO, your brother probably wanted you to be the CMO or something, not that it would ever happen. The last thing you wanted out of life was to sit at a desk for 8 hours everyday, sifting through paperwork and answering dozens of mind numbing emails. You had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life, you had no need to work.

You first met Inho when you were 21, when you were first introduced to the existence of the Squid Games. Sure, his handsome face was nice eye candy, but his determination and ruthlessness was what pulled you in. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty if it meant he could advance to the next game. This was what led him to win the 2015 Squid Games. Very fitting, for a disgraced ex-police officer.

Some found his age gap a little alarming, but you and your raging daddy issues didn’t see a problem with a slightly older man— slightly being a 19 year age gap. It’s not like you were even in love with him. Love was reserved for the dumb and overly-emotional, both of which being traits you didn’t possess. Instead, you wanted him to be your new toy. After all, there was nothing standing in your way after his wife died of liver cancer while pregnant. Very sad, but it wasn’t your problem.

Once his wife was out of the picture, all you had to do was swoop in at the right time and heal all his problems like a saint.

-

You convinced your dad to approach Inho a few months after his wife passed. The timing was very important. Too soon, and he would be too resentful to listen to anything you had to say. He could even turn violent, which would be disastrous for a fragile old man like your dad. Even before the tumor, it’s not like he was a bodybuilder who frequently went to the gym and remained physically strong. No, he was always a skinny, weak old man.

If you contacted Inho too late, he would’ve moved on with his life and the memory of the Squid Games would likely be forgotten. Again, the timing was very important. You had to ensnare him at the perfect time to drag him back to the Squid Games, even if he wasn’t coming back as a participant. He was an intelligent man after all, and despite your dad being willing to pass on the legacy of the games to you, you weren’t too keen on the paperwork and planning that would come with it. In short, Inho was the scapegoat that would get you out of work. If he was willing to play along as your toy, even better.

Three months after the 2015 Squid Games ended, you entered your dad’s office to pitch an idea to him: making Inho your future right-hand man. Your dad rarely listened to what you had to say, shutting you up with a hefty allowance every month to make up for the relationship you didn’t have. This time, it seemed that he was also intrigued by Inho, because he found him with swiftness once you mentioned his name.

Unfortunately, all his attempts to lure him back were failures. He tried everything, from more money, to blackmail. Inho, who was freshly widowed and still reeling from the overwhelming grief of losing his wife and unborn child, couldn’t be bribed with anything.

By the time he was rejected the fifth time, your dad gave up and told you to forget about it. What he underestimated was your greediness and determination to get what you wanted. With every rejection, your interest in Inho only grew.

“Men are so useless! Must I do everything myself?!” You groaned to yourself, laying on your bed kicking the mattress and squeezing the life out of your pillow. Your wailing ended quickly, as you grabbed the notebook on your vanity and clicked your pen, furiously scribbling your game plan to capture Inho.

-

It was a rainy day in Seoul, and you were in a convenience store scanning one of the aisles. Your appearance was a far cry from your usual styled, blow out hair, acrylic nails and flashy dress. Instead, your hair was put in a messy bun, and you were in a hoodie, sweats, and a puffer jacket with an umbrella in your hand. Normally, you would rather die than leave the house looking like such a mess, but this was your disguise; this made you look like a normal person.

This convenience store was near Inho’s apartment. Despite the large sum of money he received from the Squid Games six months ago, he hadn’t bothered upgrading his apartment, splurging on luxuries to treat himself, or any of the usual behaviours you saw in winners. Instead, his life spiralled as he usually laid in bed staring at the ceiling, only leaving the house to buy some instant ramen at the convenience store and immediately going back home.

You tracked his life down to the minutes. He woke up at 10am everyday, brushed his teeth at 12 after wallowing in bed for two hours, and made himself some instant ramen at around 12:30. On Saturdays, he would restock on his ramen at his nearest conveniemce store at 7pm. He was quite particular with the type of ramen he would buy too. It seemed he enjoyed spicy food, because his go-to was the spicy Buldak ramen.

And what a coincidence! Here you were, in his local convenience store at 7pm, holding the last packet of spicy Buldak ramen. It seemed this store was experiencing supply chain issues, resulting in your current situation as Inho looked you up and down, eyeing the ramen in your hand longingly and occasionally looking up to glare at you. He looked rough, with visible stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes.

“Why are you glaring at me like that?” You asked, feigning defensiveness as you clutched the ramen closer to your chest.

“That’s my favourite ramen. You’re holding the last one,” he replied, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘last’ to make sure you really understood his situation.

“Well, I got my hands on it first. I’m not giving it to you just because it’s your favourite,” you countered, taking a step backwards, ready to make a run for it. You didn’t even like this ramen, you just wanted to irritate him.

“What do I have to do to make you hand it over?” He pressured, taking a step towards you. With each step you took backwards, he took one forwards.

You thought about it for a second. He didn’t have anything he could give you that you lacked, so you were kind of stumped. “Uh, maybe treat me to a meal? I’m only here because I’m hungry, you know,” you improvised, feeling proud of yourself for making it up on the spot.

He sighed into his hand, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache, thinking long and hard. You wouldn’t be surprised if he really did have a headache, considering how unhealthily he’d been eating for the past couple of months. “Okay, you win. Where do you want to go?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied as you made your way to the cash register.

“Hey, you said you would give it to me!”

“I’m bringing it to the cash register so you can pay for it and take it, duh!”

You placed the ramen on the counter and watched as the cashier scanned it. “1,000 won please.” You simply stared at Inho as he took out a bill and paid, putting his singular packet of ramen into a bag.

Just as you were about to leave, the cashier said something that made both of the blood in your bodies run cold. “You two look like a good couple,” he complimented, and both of you grimaced at lightning speed.

“She’s a stranger,” Inho replied.

“He’s a stranger to me too,” you backed up. You were glad the feeling was mutual.

The cashier looked at you two weirdly, as if questioning your behaviour. It was only then when you realized how close the two of you were standing, so close that you could feel his his chest on your back, his breath on your neck, and if you really focused, his heartbeat as well.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ears— not out of love or affection or anything of that sort, but embarrassment. It wasn’t very ladylike to be so touchy with a man you just met. Your step-mom would probably throw a fit if she saw you like this.

“Hey, you said you’re hungry, right? Let’s go. I want to go home,” Inho snapped, and you rolled your eyes as you were brought back to reality with his voice. As the automatic doors slid open, you two walked onto the street where surprisingly, it wasn’t pouring rain.

“What do you want to eat?” He asked, the impatience evident in his tone. It was a bit shocking to have anyone talk to you that way. It only happened briefly when you were first brought to your dad’s at the age of 10, but everyone was quickly fired and replaced when you brought it up.

“I don’t know,” you responded. You rarely ate anything other than fancy steak at restaurants or the meals cooked by your private chef.

“You don’t even know what you want to eat?” Inho groaned, exasperated.

“Well, I rarely eat anything that isn’t homecooked, so excuse me if I’m not familiar with what options I have!”

“You act like a foreigner even though you speak perfect Korean,” he mumbled, and you kicked him in the shin. After he was finished clutching his leg, he decided for you. “We’re getting Korean barbeque. Can’t ever go wrong with barbeque,” he noted as he grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the nearest restaurant.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was a little loud for your liking, with drunk men yelling at each other with soju in their hands, increasing the volume with each shot. There was a crying baby at the table beside you, crying ear-splitting screams that could nearly break glass. The only redeeming quality about the restaurant was the delicious scent of meat that permeated throughout the entire building.

“How often do you go to places like this?” You groaned, rubbing your temples to avoid an incoming headache. Inho had already ordered for you upon realizing you had no idea what you were doing.

“Not often. Barbeque can get expensive, especially if you have a large family,” he responded, and you were taken aback by his humble answer. Why was he so frugal with money when he’s a millionaire now?

“This better be the best meal of my life because I’m losing my mind with all this noise,” you grumbled. Your definition of a restaurant was a quiet, serene atmosphere with dim lighting and mini candles at the table to illuminate the area. The main sounds you could hear were quiet chattering and the sound of the cutlery on plates.

“No one I know has ever been upset with barbeque,” he shrugged.

Soon enough, the meat arrived, and your jaw dropped. “It’s not even cooked! What the hell is this?” You sputtered, preparing to stand up to complain at the counter.

“Sit down! This is how it’s supposed to be! Have you never had barbeque in your life?” Inho yelled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down. Luckily, the drunk men helped drown out your little fit and no one stopped to stare at the scene you were making.

Once you sat back down, huffing and pouting at the raw meat, Inho sighed again. “You’re either the stupidest person ever or you’re a sheltered rich girl who’s never had anything other than foie gras and Dom Perignon.”

“I don’t eat foie gras, it’s unethical!” You countered.

“Well that answers my question,” he sighed again as he began to cook the meat. You watched curiously as it sizzled and juices began to leak onto the hot stove. When he flipped it, the meat had turned brown. When he was done, he poured an unfamiliar sauce into a bowl and placed it in front of you, picking up the meat with his chopsticks and moving it onto your plate.

You picked up your chopsticks and blew into the steaming meat, dipping it in the sauce and taking a bite. When you realized you couldn’t bite off a piece, you quickly covered your mouth and stuffed the rest in, ears blushing from embarrassment.

It wasn’t impressive, by all means. There’s only so much you can do with regular meat and some sauce. Even so, it wasn’t so bad, and definitely not bad enough for you to spit it out. You recall having similar meals with your mom you were younger.

“So? Do you like it?” Inho asked expectantly.

“It’s good,” you replied, giving him a thumbs up. It wasn’t necessary to go into details about how you’ve had better.

He seemed to loosen up a little with your approval, and placed a few more strips on the stove, cooking for the two of you. The two of you ate in silence for a while before Inho suddenly straightened his back and looked you concerningly. “Wait, how old are you?”

“21, why?” You answered between your munching.

He groaned, his hands flying to his face as if he’d encountered something extremely exasperating. “What are you doing hanging around with an old man like me? Do you lack common sense or have no sense of danger?”

“If you were to do something, you would’ve done it already,” you shrugged.

“That’s not how the world works! Do you know how many women marry men and then get beaten around like a ragdoll everyday?”

“Are you that type of man?”

“No, of course not!”

“Okay, then I have nothing to worry about,” you concluded, and he shook his head.

“You have to be more alert than that. Just because I’m not going to hurt you doesn’t mean other people won’t.”

“Ugh! You sound like a dad!” You groaned. The peaceful atmosphere the two of you had was thoroughly ruined now. It wasn’t a big deal though, because in between his yapping and your responses, you two had cleared every piece of meat brought to your table.

“Are you still hungry?” He asked, staring at all the empty plates.

“No.”

Inho called out for a waiter and the bill was promptly presented to him. His eyes widened a little at the price, but he paid without complaints, stuffing his arms through his jacket holes and zipping it up while the waiter grabbed his change at the register.

Before you two went your separate ways, you grabbed his arm. “Give me your number,” you demanded.

“What? You’re too young to date me, and I’m not interested in dating,” he scoffed.

“No, you idiot! I’m getting your number so you can show me around Seoul!”

“Why should I do that? I already treated you to dinner, and you gave me my ramen. Anything else is not necessary.”

“So you’re going to leave a college student who’s living in an unfamiliar city to survive on her own?” An obvious lie to guilt trip him— you were born and raised in Seoul.

“Where are you from?”

“Busan.”

“Show me your Busan accent.”

“What! You’re so mean! I have a complex over my Busan accent, you know! It’s embarrassing!” Another lie, you have no idea how to speak in a Busan accent.

Inho sighed again. You wondered if it was a habit of his or if he just wasn’t used to someone so enchantingly amazing as you. “Give me your phone.”

You watched as he typed his number in along with his name, as if you didn’t know that already, but it occurred to you that you two never introduced yourselves but already had a meal together. He passed you his phone and you did the same, but adding a little heart emoji to the end of your name, and he scowled. “Is this necessary?” He pointed to the heart.

“It’s just for fun. You’re free to delete it if you want.”

He mumbled something under his breath but kept the heart in your contact name, shoving his phone in his pocket. He offered to walk you home since it was getting dark, but you rejected his offer, spotting your driver’s car across the street. You were surprised at how gentlemanly he was.

After waving him goodbye, you crossed the street, opened the car door, and sank into the car seat, breathing a sigh of relief. You opened your phone and called your dad. “I’ve met with Inho. Give me a few months and he’s ours.”

-

Getting close to Inho wasn’t as hard as you thought. Underneath the cold, sometimes brutish man who was still grieving his family, was a deeply lonely person. He’d told you about his family situation, from his divorced parents, step-mom and half-brother, to his wife and unborn kid. You never pried, you just let him tell you whatever he was willing to say.

He met up with his family once a month at most, but they rarely talked to each other on the phone. He said something about brother wanting to get closer with him, but their age gap and different life experiences made it awkward and hard to connect. He also still held a bit of resentment for how his parents broke up and his dad immediately remarried.

His disappearance during his time at the Squid Games combined with his isolation due to his grief also meant he lost the majority of his friends. The only one he had lived abroad, all the way in Switzerland. In short, he was in the perfect condition to be lured back to the Squid Games.

Inho was so starved for any sort of social interaction that it only took around two weeks for regular meet-ups to be arranged, and around a month for daily conversations through text. You were essentially his unpaid sugar baby, not that you’ve gone that far yet. You still needed to find a way into his pants.

Around three months after meeting him, you messed up big time. You two were walking down the street after having dinner together, the usual. It was a quiet night, with no one around, and he had cracked a joke that made both of your laughs echo throughout the streets.

After stopping by an empty park and playing around with the slides and swings, there was a brief moment when you noticed him staring at your lips. Being the opportunist you were, you closed your eyes and leaned in, but instead of feeling his lips on yours, a warm hand firmly covered your mouth. Once he removed it, you could clearly see the shine of your lip gloss on his hand despite the dim streetlights.

“I don’t want this kind of relationship, and you’re still too young for me,” he said curtly, walking away without a word, leaving you dumbfounded.

You silently screamed to yourself once he was out of sight. It was the worst calculation error you’ve ever made in your life. You thought that since the light had come back in his eyes because of your presence that this calculated kiss would definitely work on him. You underestimated how much he loved his wife.

‘Too soon,’ you thought to yourself, wondering how you were going to come back from this mistake.

In the end, you couldn’t. The conversations dried up immediately, and all your attempts to meet up with him were met with silence. He even had the audacity to leave you on read, driving you crazy. Being left on read was one of your biggest pet peeves. Eventually, you had to give up on him just like your dad did.

-

A month before the the 2016 Squid Games were held, you heard whispers of VIPs who were also interested in Inho. You managed to eavesdrop by feigning ignorance, playing on your phone with noise cancelling earbuds while your dad discussed with the other businessmen. Of course, none of them had seen your face, being perfectly hidden behind a masquerade mask.

You weren’t sure what the VIPs exactly wanted with Inho, especially because he had long won the previous year’s games. If they wanted to do something to him, wouldn’t it be easier to do it when he first won, while he was still on Jeju Island and easy to kidnap? It didn’t make any sense to you.

Turns out, they wanted him at his lowest, when he believed he had nothing to live for, to completely break him. It was apparently the idea of a female VIP who found him attractive. They would take him when he had nothing left to lose, use him like a toy, and wash their hands of him as if nothing had happened. They were certainly rich enough to completely cover up his disappearance if they wanted to.

By all means, you weren’t a saint who wanted to save him from this predicament. After all, you wanted a piece of him too. You simply didn’t want him to completely break and then get tossed aside. He was too useful for you to waste his potential like that.

So when he was kidnapped and brought back to Jeju Island, you jumped at the opportunity to bring him back to your side. The VIPs were quite serious about him, judging by how they had him cleaned up while he was unconscious and left him in only a robe for their easy access. Even the bed was huge, enough for multiple people to lay on it at once. Anyone with a brain knew what would happen to him if you didn’t step in.

Every VIP knew exactly who you were. Your distinct masquerade mask stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of full, golden, head masks that each looked like a different animal. Even if you threw tantrums or acted bratty, no one had the guts to oppose you, because pissing you off meant you’d tattle to your dad and have them kicked out from being a spectator of the games. They already pay millions annually to keep up these games, they’re not willing to risk their highlight of the year over a young woman who will eventually inherit the position of Host.

With your advantage of being able to access all the security, it wasn’t difficult for you to find out where Inho was being held. Luckily, it seemed you didn’t have to try too hard to find him in the maze of VIP rooms, because he was only a hallway away. He had already awakened by the time you found him, and was trying to find a way to pick his handcuffs.

You speedwalked to his room. Running was not an option in your heels, especially because you hadn’t broke them in yet. You brought the masterkey of all the locks with you, since you were sure the VIPs had taken the handcuffs from one of the toy bins in the lounge. Even if you were wrong, you could always pick his lock.

You slowly cracked the door open and pushed slowly, wincing at the sound of the creaks. He was visibly startled by your presence, trying to appear brave but you could clearly see him trembling slightly.

“Get away from me!” He yelled as you approached him, causing you to immediately cover his mouth.

“Shhhhh!” You shushed through gritted teeth. “Do you want them to discover you before I even take your handcuffs off?”

He immediately shook his head. “That’s what I thought,” you mumbled as you freed him from his handcuffs. You noticed the red chaffing on his wrists as he rubbed them.

“Where are we?” He asked firmly, although his voice wavered.

“Jeju Island. The 2016 Squid Games are currently under production,” you answered.

“Squid Game? I already won last year! Why am I back in this dreaded place?!” He whisper-yelled, shaking you by your shoulders.

“What do you think?”

“..Am I a wanted man?” He was starting to get nervous.

“Yes, but not in the way you think. The VIPs want to host an orgy in this room.”

“So you’re saying they want to rape me,” he responded dejectedly after a moment of silence.

“Bingo. But I’m willing to save you, but not without my own conditions,” you offered.

“Great. My options are getting raped and your unknown ulterior motives,” he groaned.

“I can guarantee whatever I ask of you is leagues better than what the VIPs will do to you once they get here. With them, your asshole will never close up again, and they might even kill you and cover up your disappearance as if you’d never existed,” you reasoned.

Inho sat down on a nearby couch and buried his head in his hands. The sound of footsteps could be heard from afar, but you weren’t going to pressure him. Yet.

“What’s your offer?” He finally gave in.

“You’ll be my right-hand man. Your role will be determined later. Also, I do want to play with you every now and then,” you responded.

“You’re going to rape me too?” He whisper-yelled, his face getting red with anger.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. I’ll only do it when you agree to it, but you have to do it at some point. I won’t allow loopholes where everytime I ask you, you just reject me. Both my conditions need to be fulfilled faithfully,” you explained, “So? What’s your decision.”

Inho’s jaw was clenched as he trembled with anger, the glare in his eyes defiant. He appeared even more lively than the three months you were in contact with him. The VIPs were wrong about him having nothing to lose. Clearly, even when he had nothing but a pile of money that couldn’t buy him an ounce of happiness, he still had his pride.

As the footsteps drew closer, you observed as Inho peered at the door, contemplating the most important choice he would ever make in his life. Either way, his pride and dignity would be ripped from him, it all depended on whether or not he would be alive after it was ripped away.

Mere miliseconds before the VIPs burst through the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head hung with shame for what he was about to do. “I accept your offer.”

You internally cheered. “Good choice.”

As a large group of VIPs poured into the room, you turned to face them with a smile. “Wow, I didn’t know you’d gotten me a gift! You all are so sweet!” You exclaimed excitedly, trying not to giggle as they instantly froze where they stood.

“Miss, there seems to be a misunderstanding—”

“Oh,” you said dejectedly, “This isn’t for me?” You pouted, pointing to Inho.

“Miss, please. Let us explain what’s going on—”

Too late, you started your crocodile tears. All those tedious days of joining Drama club as a mandatory extracurricular and forcing yourself to stare at the mirror for hours to make yourself cry on command finally paid off. You were pretty grateful for your high school self in this moment.

The VIPs nervously glanced at each other. Some of them had come in with erections, although those were long gone due to your performance. They knew that one wrong move and they’d be thrown out of Jeju Island with swiftness.

Finally, the VIP who appeared to be the leader stepped up. It was the woman who came up with the plan. “Oh, Miss! Of course we brought him in for you! You two would look perfect together!” She came in closer, pulling you into a hug.

“If you try and pinch me, I’ll call my dad,” you whispered in her ear before she could do anything.

“You win this time, but don’t get in our way ever again,” she threatened with a whisper.

“I don’t plan on it. He’s the only one I want,” you responded in a whisper.

She pulled away after a convincing amount of time and motioned for the other VIPs to leave, leaving you alone with Inho. You could tell Inho wanted to breathe a sigh of relief as the main threat left, but he was still wary of you and your conditions.

After a bit of thinking, you shut the door the VIPs left open and took off your mask, turning to face Inho. The expression on his face was one you’d never forget. It was betrayal, shock, anger, hatred, anything and everything you can imagine.

“You— was this your idea?!” He shouted, all his wariness leaving his body, replaced with pure anger.

“Of course not. I was planning on letting you go when our conversations dried up. I wasn’t expecting the VIPs to do what they did, but what can I say? I’m an opportunist at heart! How can I not take it when they did all the work for me?” You grinned mischevously, watching as his anger slowly dissipated into resignation.

“What will happen to me if I ask you to let me go? Will you hand me back to the VIPs?” He asked, slumped on the couch.

“I don’t need to hand you back for them to immediately realize you aren’t under my protection. They have access to every player that’s ever participated in these games; they can choose to observe every moment of your life if they wish to. The only way they can’t reach you is if you’re with me,” you explained, although you couldn’t help but let a tinge of giddiness slip through.

“And who are you for you to hold so much power within these games?”

To answer this question, you walked up to him and grabbed his jaw, gripping it firmly and making eye contact with him. Now that he knew of your identity, he was less scared and you were aware he could freely break away from your grip if he wished to, but all his hope had disappeared and he surprisingly remained obedient. “I’m the daughter of the man who created these games,” you told him in a low voice, releasing his jaw.

His jaw went slack, almost as if it had broken and was no longer attached to his body. It took him a full minute for him to close it again. “Why me? Why did you have to take me out of everyone?” It was clear he still didn’t understand how he ended up in this position, despite sealing his fate the moment he decided to enter the Squid Games last year.

“You’re intelligent. You’re ruthless. You’re incredibly competent. You’re the perfect person to help manage the games, even if you don’t see your own potential yet,” you replied matter-of-factly.

“...I don’t want to be the reason hundreds of people die. I’m a police officer! I’m supposed to protect innocent civilians, regardless of their financial status!” He argued, and you almost burst out laughing.

“You’re an ex-police officer. You got fired, remember? Besides, the life I’m offering you isn’t so bad, is it? You get to sit back and relax for 9 months out of the year, only working three months prior to the annual games. You’ll never have to worry about money, being harassed or mistreated, and most importantly…” you placed your hand on his thigh, “Your desires will always be fulfilled.”

“You’re a demon,” he spat, the defiant look returning to his eyes.

“Maybe I am, but you’re the one who signed my contract and agreed to my terms, so why don’t we begin carrying out the terms now?” You snickered, motioning to the bed. “I mean, they made so many preparations just for us.”

“Fine, I’ll give you what you want. It’s the only reason you chased after me in the first place,” he snarled, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises as his lips crashed into yours, as if to assert the dominance he didn’t have.

Unsurprisingly, he was an amazing kisser, although anyone with eyes could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. You had no doubt he was a retired playboy who left a trail of broken hearts everywhere he went before he decided to settle down. He was a biter too, nipping on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp, but not enough to draw blood. As you two made out, you decided you’ll never doubt your intuition ever again.

You broke the kiss as his hands travelled to your ass, pushing him away slightly. “Why’d you stop? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He mocked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re going to learn to be obedient,” you declared, motioning for him to get on the bed, which he hesitantly obliged to.

“Lean on the headboard and lift your arms above your head,” you ordered, which he questioned silently with a raised eyebrow. You had to pull out a walkie to implicitly threaten him into submission. You pulled out a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and cuffed his wrists together, making sure to attach it to the headboard so he couldn’t move very well.

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” he commented, the one of the only unmalicious things he said while in this room.

“I wasn’t the one who bought it, and I’m only using it to make sure you don’t choke me during sex or something along those lines,” you explained, gently raking your nails down his chest as you opened his robe until you reached his stomach. His body was lean, yet muscular from his time as a police officer, but it was obvious he wasn’t at his peak condition.

“Your intuition is unnecessarily strong,” he said before freezing as you placed a chaste kiss on his neck, still raking your nails through his torso.

You climbed onto his lap before you continued, although this time, you amped it up with the occasional lick. Turning up the intensity even further, you started nipping, kissing, and licking his neck until you found a particular spot that made him gasp. Grinning to yourself, you latched on and sucked, smiling into his neck as an even louder gasp escaped his lips. You knew you were getting him riled up, evident by the bulge pressing against your ass.

It made you even determined to make him scream when you pulled away, witnessing the litany of hickeys on his neck that would surely bruise in the upcoming days while he struggled to catch his breath. Perhaps you were too old for them, but you justified it using the looming threat of the VIPs.

“Stay with me, we haven’t even gotten started,” you laughed, moving down to his chest as you palmed his cock through the cloth of the robe, causing him to shudder beneath your touch. It seemed that no matter how severe his grief was, his body would always react in front of an attractive woman. You doubted he even touched himself at all after his wife passed, considering how he wallowed in bed and only got up to eat and shower.

You slowly untied the belt around his robe and pushed the cloth aside, his cock springing up in front of your face. You were actually a bit scared it would slap you in the face. After taking a good look, you realized it was the biggest cock you’ve ever had, not that you’ve had much experience with well-endowed men. You preferred men who were closer to the average 6 inches considering your petite stature, but now you were face to cock with 7 inches. Not a horse by any means, but still larger than what you were used to.

“Why are you staring at it like that?” Inho asked, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, as if amused by your internal battle.

“I usually go smaller..” you mumbled to yourself, giving his tip a cautious lick. The moment your tongue touched his tip, it twitched violently and he sucked in a deep breath, likely to avoid making any sounds.

His reaction gave you the confidence to be a little bolder. Slowly, you took him in your mouth until you felt him hit the back of your throat. Your mouth wasn’t big enough to take him all in, but it didn’t stop him from instantly throwing his head back. If you’d been any less experienced, you would’ve definitely gagged and thrown up on the spot, but your body count was between you and god. You slowly began bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue on the underside of his shaft.

The whole time, he’s as stiff as a statue. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s biting his lips so hard you swear you see blood.

‘He looks so pathetic,’ you think to yourself as you take your mouth off his cock, watching him buck his hips at the sudden loss of stimulation. When it looks like he’s calmed down a little, you blow air on his cock, and he groans, clearly caught off guard.

Something snaps within you, and you start stroking his cock with your dominant hand, making sure to occasionally swipe his swollen tip. By now, he’s struggling against the cuffs. It’s so obvious he wants to pin you down and just take what he needs, but that’s exactly why you have the cuffs in the first place. He needs to learn obedience and patience.

When it looks like he’s about to cum, you stop, and he sits there, shaking and gasping for breath. “Why’d you stop?” He asked between gasps.

“You’re not allowed to cum. Not yet, at least,” you grinned at him. If you had a mirror in front of you, you would surely be twins with the Grinch.

“So that’s what this is about?” He sighed, his body stiffening again as you licked his tip.

“I like how you look right now, that’s all,” you replied before taking him back in your mouth, and he instinctively thrusted. You immediately took him out again, coughing a little. “If you do that again, I’m gonna leave you like this for two hours.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please don’t do that,” he backtracked, the only thing on his mind was his overwhelming need to climax.

You gave the base of his cock a hard squeeze as a warning before opening your mouth and welcoming it back in, reveling in every twitch. Looking up at him, he was once again trying to keep his mouth shut the best he could. You hadn’t even begun sucking yet, and it seemed like he was already close to cumming in your mouth.

You repeated the process of blowing him, stroking him, and teasing him with repeated edging. You hadn’t exactly set a timer to decide when you were done toying with him, but you knew for sure you either wanted him to scream or start crying.

Usually, for this type of sex, according to your friend who was well-versed in BDSM, you needed stuff like safewords to avoid going too far, but this time you decided to gloss over it because you wanted to push Inho to his absolute limit. You could always go slower and gentler later. It didn’t seem like he was familiar with this either.

In the end, your goal of making him scream and cry were both achieved. He stopped holding back his voice around the 30 minute mark, moaning as if no one except you could hear him. He didn’t exactly burst into tears and start sobbing, but you did see a stray tear drip down his cheeks. That was your sign to stop teasing him.

You checked the clock. It was exactly one hour after you had initially started, and you decided it was more than enough. Taking your hand off his cock, you reached for your panties and slowly slipped them off your legs. You didn’t even realize how wet you’d gotten.

You figured you didn’t need any prep or foreplay because of how wet you were, so you lined your pussy at his tip and slowly put it in, feeling the pain and pleasure of him stretching you and filling you up. “Don’t move your hips, you warned him,” as you went excruciatingly slow.

When you finally bottomed out, he let out a loud gasp followed by an equally loud moan. You can tell it took everything in him to listen to your words and not start thrusting like a madman. Brushing his wet bangs out of his eyes, you leaned forward and cupped his face.

“You can cum now,” you smiled, and boy did he take you up on that offer. He came immediately after those words left your mouth, his cock twitching violently in your pussy as he spilled rope after rope. He could barely moan at this point, only loudly gasping for just enough air to enter his lungs.

You waited for him to come back down to Earth to remove yourself from his cock, undoing his handcuffs. A few blisters were forming from the extreme chafing, and you frowned a little, making a mental note to apply ointment on his wrists later.

As he sunk into the bed and laid there breathing heavily, you presented your pussy to him. “Clean up your mess, will you?” You asked sweetly, and he was too consumed with lust to argue with you.

He pulled your hips down so you were firmly sitting on his face, his strong arms preventing you from squirming. He fucked you with his tongue, slurping up all his cum without complaints, making you see stars. Once he couldn’t taste any more of his cum, he moved to your clit and sucked, scissoring you open with two fingers at a punishing pace. You could tell he was trying to make you orgasm as fast as possible, not that you cared because you were too blissed out to even feel the effects of time. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

Your fingers gripped and tugged at his hair, impossibly trying to force him even closer. His warm, sweaty scalp was the only thing keeping you from believing you’d entered a completely different realm, and you swear you scratched it up until it bled.

You reached your orgasm with a scream, and Inho, the sneaky bastard he was, prolonged it by continuing to finger you until you were so spent you collapsed onto the bed. That was definitely his way of taking revenge on your actions of edging him for an hour.

Once both of your breaths steadied, you sat up and were about to walk to the toilet when Inho suddenly sprang up. “Wait! We didn’t use protection!” He pointed out nervously.

“It’s fine, I have an IUD,” you responded sleepily. You wanted to hurry up and put ointment on his wrists and pass out for 12 hours.

Inho calmed at your revelation, and laid back down on the bed. By the time you returned, he was nearly asleep when you woke him up again with the sting of the ointment. “Seriously? Can’t you do it tomorrow morning?”

“If you want to get an infection, sure,” you sassed, and he instantly shut up, letting you do whatever was necessary.

You climbed into bed with him, too tired to clean up or care about clean sheets. You slept on the opposite of him, as far as you could be, but you knew that you had won him over for good.

As you imagined the future glory of the Squid Games under your combined efforts, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

‘He’s so mine.’

[quanruionechancepls]

The Albatross - Chapter 1: Lacy's Angel Dust

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

----------------

You’re rearranging your bookshelves, blowing off the dust that accumulated over the various books that sat around your room, forgotten with time, when you rediscover Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human. Inside the book, a small bookmark peeks through the pages, and you flip it open to find a hand-pressed, blue flower. There’s no name on the bookmark, yet your hands shake as you pick it up.

Opening the book to the acknowledgements page, your face hardens as you see the scribbled ink on the page in messy handwriting.

Thank you for lending this book to me - Lacy.

-

Day 1: Squid Game 2015

Before you were escorted off the plane by a handsome man in a suit named Gongyoo, your dad flicked his hand, and a masked person in a pink jumpsuit brought out a tray with a black masquerade mask. The edges were lined with shining diamonds, a golden feather sticking out on the right. Running your finger through the centre, it discoloured the velvet texture as it ran in the opposite direction.

“What is this?” You asked, yelping when you lifted your head to see a bejeweled mask in the shape of an animal head on Ilnam. How utterly tacky, it shined like a disco ball! The diamonds scattered the reflections of light in all directions. “What’s that ugly thing on your head?”

Ilnam scoffed at you, perhaps offended. “Put on that mask before we get out,” he replied, holding onto the handles as he slowly wobbled down the stairs.

‘Thanks a lot for answering absolutely nothing!’ You thought to yourself, rolling your eyes as you struggled to tie it to the back of your head. Perhaps those fresh acrylic nails were a bad idea.

You flinched when you felt someone’s hand graze the back of your head. “I assumed you needed some help,” Gongyoo commented, his skillful hands looping the string around and creating a perfectly symmetrical bow.

“Oh, thanks.”

The mask sat perfectly on your face, as if it’d been custom-made for you, which was odd, because you didn’t recall ever ordering anything of the sort. Could it be that your dad bought it for you? It was a ridiculous sentiment, he couldn’t even name your favourite colour if he tried. Still, you doubted your brother would ever get you something like this, instead, gifting you another book he found particularly moving.

Gongyoo held out a hand for you, and you placed your hand in his palm as you stepped down the stairs of Ilnam’s private jet with him. Even as you turned your head side-to-side, there were no distinct features of your surroundings, only concrete and an endlessly blue sky. Before you could open your mouth to ask another question, a gust of wind slapped your hair into your face, and you sputtered as you spat the hair out of your mouth. How embarrassing.

“Welcome, to my creation— the Squid Games,” Ilnam announced, arms embracing the wind, basking in his own glory.

You turned to Gongyoo. “What’s a Squid Game?”

“It’s a traditional Korean game usually played in one’s childhood,” he explained.

You facepalmed and sighed into your hand. “This is it… my dad’s lost it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ilnam snapped, his hands now on his hips. “You’ll be impressed soon enough.” He began walking, those bizarre people in the pink jumpsuits trailing behind him. Gongyoo nudged you gently with his elbow, motioning for you to follow your dad. Sighing, your high heels click-clacked with each step you took.

Eventually, you found yourself in a theater-like room with many other adults wearing similarly tacky masks, some lifting their masks slightly to take a puff of their cigar or take a sip of their whiskey. The majority of them spoke in an American-accented English, snobbily debating about some sort of business deal.

“Do I have to stay in this room?” You asked your dad, coughing at the cigarette smoke, your eyes burning as you wafted away the chemicals with your hand. You could feel your lifespan decreasing with each second you spent in this room.

Ilnam motioned for one of the human pink jumpsuits with a square mask to come over. “Give her a private room,” he ordered before turning to Gongyoo. “Stay with her.”

Gongyoo bowed to Ilnam as you followed the person in the pink jumpsuit. “So, why do you wear that?” You asked as you followed them down a dimly-lit hallway.

“I will answer all your questions once we arrive at your private room,” Gongyoo interrupted, and you raised a hidden eyebrow at him.

The person in the jumpsuit stopped outside a door labelled VIP 001, and Gongyoo opened the door for you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped inside. No unnecessary noises, like the sound of glasses clinking incessantly, or the inescapable, disgusting smell of cigarettes. The room itself was quite ordinary, appearing like a normal luxury hotel other than a large screen on one of the walls.

“What’s the screen for?” You asked, picking up the remote on the table beside the couch as Gongyoo shut the door behind you.

“The screen allows you to watch the games. They will begin in 10 minutes,” he answered vaguely, and you huffed in frustration.

“You said you would answer all my questions! What kind of half-assed answer is that?” You yelled.

“Ask away,” he retorted, his hands in the air. You wanted to mess up that pretty face of his.

“What kind of games are they?”

“The selection changes annually, but they usually consist of traditional Korean games. My job is to recruit players, and there are 456 in total. Each round, the players who lose the game will be eliminated,” he explained.

“Eliminated in what way?”

“You’ll see.” A dark grin appeared on his face, as if giddy.

“Hm, okay,” you thought out loud, trying to absorb the new influx of information. “What’s up with the pink jumpsuits?”

“Those are the staff. There are three hierarchies within these games: the Managers, the Soldiers, and the Workers. Squares, triangles, and circles, respectively.”

You nodded, and the modulated voice of a woman blasted through the speakers, with Gongyoo instantly snatching the remote out of your hand to turn on the screen. Before you could swing your arm at him and scratch him up with your acrylics, he caught your wrist. His grip was firm enough to prevent any movement, but gentle enough to not hurt you.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and he nodded, releasing your arm and motioning for you to sit on the couch. He sat beside you, pulling a walkie out of his pocket and ordering some snacks and refreshments.

Hundreds of players stepped into the arena in green tracksuits and a number, a giant doll-like figure staring them down on the other end. “This is Red Light, Green Light. It’s the only reoccurring game,” Gongyoo remarked, and you nodded.

“Is there a list of players I can look at? So I can keep track of the eliminations?” You questioned, and Gongyoo stood up and opened a drawer, pulling out an iPad and plugging in a charger.

While your eyes were on the iPad, the first gunshot rang out, and you whipped your head in the direction of the screen. A bloodcurdling scream, followed by a stampede of hurried footsteps, then banging on the door, until finally, the bodies all slumped on top of each other like a mountain.

“I see, that’s what you meant by elimination,” you commented, and Gongyoo handed you the iPad, which was now at 5%.

When you looked down, you were met with a long spreadsheet of numbers and names. Each name was highlighted blue, and when you clicked one, it opened a PDF that showed you the profile of the player. After opening a few, you realized the common theme was debt.

“Fuck, it’s going to take me forever to go through all these!” You complained, ignoring the explosive sound of gunshots echoing throughout the room.

Two hours later, long after the first game was over, you were still individually clicking through all the PDF files of the players. Right before you were about to give up and call it a day, you clicked on the profile of Player 132, a 40 year-old man at a height of 5’10, a survivor of the first round. You couldn’t help but giggle at his photo, particularly at his overgrown side-swept bangs that looked so 2000s.

Hwang Inho.

The name was familiar to you somehow, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you heard it before. Zooming in on his photo, you realized you’ve seen his face before, but when you tried jogging your memories, all you got was a pitch black void. You knew for sure that if you knew him, it wasn’t a recent encounter. Despite that unfortunate choice of a hairstyle, that handsome face of his was unforgettable.

In fact, you needed to know if he was single.

His profile didn’t mention anything about his relationship status, only his past as a police officer who was fired for taking bribes. You wondered how accurate that information was, as something about his features made him appear innocent.

Still, you weren’t going to stop your investigation there. Pulling out your phone, you opened Instagram, typing his name into the search engine as you scrolled past a dozen accounts to find him. Unfortunately, you hit your first dead end as you discovered his account was private, groaning loudly as Gongyoo glanced curiously in your direction. Exiting Instagram, you opened Facebook.

Facebook was exactly what you needed to find out everything about him. Player 132 was an avid Facebook user, posting random rants, selfies, and annual, near-identical cherry blossom photos. His recent posts were gloomy, consisting of overcast skies and emo quotes. You could’ve crumpled to your knees when you scrolled down far enough to find his wedding photo, the couple smiling brightly at the camera in a gaudily decorated venue. In another photo, a younger man around your age threw up a peace sign with Inho. At the very least, his hair was presentable for his wedding, rocking a slicked back style.

Sighing, you scrolled back up to continue your stalking, this time through his friend list. At the very top of the list was the name Hwang Junho, and upon closer inspection, you realized it was the same younger man holding up the peace sign. Judging by their last name, you assumed they were related, although they barely bore any resemblance to each other, their noses aside. Clicking on his profile, the first thing you saw was a post of him in the hospital with Inho’s wife with the caption: ‘Get well soon.’

How odd. Player 132’s profile didn’t mention anything about his sick wife. Typing Junho’s name into your notes, you went back to scouring through Player 132’s friend list. His wife’s profile wasn’t much farther down, and you discovered her illness as you scrolled. Liver cirrhosis in one post, the kind that needed an urgent transplant, and an ultrasound post following soon after. She was pregnant and had an illness that at best was chronic? She must’ve had a death wish.

Perhaps it was due to how familiar Player 132 seemed, or it was his strikingly attractive face, but he’d certainly piqued your interest. You turned to Gongyoo, who crunched on a bag of chips. “How long does it take to create a fake police badge and ID?”

-

Day 2: Squid Game 2015

Turns out, when you have enough money, you can just about get anything done within 24hrs, because here you were, back in Seoul. The moment the plane landed, your chauffeur handed you the ID and badge you requested, specifically for the position of a detective. You couldn’t say you were happy though, because even with negotiation, you were only able to bring the price down to 5 million won— that greedy motherfucker…

While 5 million won should be nothing to you, it still didn’t sit right that a badge and an ID barely larger than the size of your hand was so expensive. God, if you hadn’t bought it over the phone, you could’ve brought down the price to 2 million won for sure.

Your dad wasn’t very thrilled about your return, trying every spell in his book to keep you on whatever island those games were held on— you’d have to ask Gongyoo about that later. Luckily, you inherited your mom’s sharp tongue, one that deflected Ilnam’s every attempt at reasoning with you. It’s not that you didn’t like the games, and you would willingly watch the games in person, but alas, other duties called. At the very least, you could stream the edited footage on a later date, and Gongyoo could keep you up to date.

Your current priority was meeting Player 132’s wife in person. While Player 132 was fighting for his life in the games, you wanted to have a little chat with Little Miss Tragic Princess— Player 132’s beloved bird in a cage.

It wasn’t hard to force your way into having access to her room, as your dad was a huge investor of the hospital she stayed in. One glance into your files and pulling out all the times you stayed in the most luxurious ward was all it took to get a visitor pass hung around your neck. God, it felt great to be rich, even if all your riches were built on corruption. Besides, it was your dad’s corruption, not yours, so it didn’t really concern you.

A nurse personally escorted you to her room, and a few patients stared at you as you walked by, likely wondering what you did to gain such special treatment. You pulled out your least impressive outfit to blend in, your hair in a messy bun, a white blouse, and a blazer and pencil skirt, both in black. You looked like an average office worker, save for your unkempt hair.

“Please sanitize your hands before you enter. This patient is high-risk,” the nurse requested, pointing to the hand sanitizer on the counter opposite to the door.

“It appears her condition is quite severe,” you commented casually, pumping a generous amount into your hands and rubbing it in. The nurse didn’t respond, probably to avoid spilling any private information, not that it mattered. If you wanted the information, you had the means to find it on your own.

As the nurse walked away, you knocked on the door. For a moment, there was no response, and you wondered if Player 132’s wife had died the moment you arrived.

“Come in,” a soft voice called out from inside the room, so soft that if you were distracted, you would’ve never noticed it. You opened the door, entered, and shut it behind you.

Her skin was a sickly yellow, from her fingertips to her face. Even what was supposed to be the whites in her eyes were replaced with yellow.

Jaundice.

It was a common thing within people who had issues with their liver, something to do with a problem with the liver removing bilirubin from the body, a byproduct of processing old hemoglobin, causing a yellowish hue on the body. You knew a lot of random medical knowledge due to the amount of dates you had to sit through with the many, many doctors and students in pre-med that you dated.

“Who are you?” She asked, her voice firm.

You pulled out your fake badge and ID from the pocket in your blazer. “I’m a detective. In the past few days, there’s been a mass kidnapping within Seoul, though this information hasn’t been released to the public.” For the amount of money you paid, if she wasn’t convinced, then you’d definitely hunt down the guy who sold it to you and tear him apart limb from limb. “You’re the wife of Hwang Inho, correct?”

She didn’t relax, instead becoming even warier. “Why are you asking a sick patient like me? And how do you know my husband?”

“When looking through the files of the people who have gone missing, I noticed something they all had in common: they all had financial problems, enough to be in debt,” you continued.

“What are you implying? I know my family is working class, but debt?” She seemed quite offended by your words. There’s no way she wasn’t aware of how large of a financial burden her condition caused, especially her urgent need for a new liver.

“I apologize if I seemed condescending,” you replied, stepping closer and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Your husband is on the file as well.”

She seemed quite shaken at this revelation. “That’s impossible, he visited me three days ago!” You wished you could live in as much delusion as her.

“It seems he was taken soon after he visited you.”

Before she could get more upset with you, her chest seized up and she hacked out a coughing fit, taking deep ragged breaths as you walked over to the corner of the room, took a paper cup, and filled it with warm water. She didn’t seem sick with pneumonia or anything of that sort, but it could be a lingering cough. She was quite susceptible at the moment, after all. “Can you find him?” She asked, her voice hoarse as she took a sip.

“I’m not in charge of that, so I’m not sure. I’m only able to gather information through interviews like this.” She visibly shriveled up with your purposeful vagueness. Even you could tell she was in a pitiful situation, not having much financial backing while dying in a hospital, and now you’re telling her her husband is missing. “If I’m being honest, we don’t have much support for this investigation either. It’s hard to find evidence.”

Before you knew it, she clung onto the sleeve of your blazer, her grip weak as her shaking fingers grasped at the fabric. You could easily fling her off if you wanted to, but all you did was glance at the sleeve that was surely going to wrinkle. “Please, find him! My husband is a good man— he’s been a police officer for nearly 20 years! Everyone would be losing out on another good person if he’s gone!”

Is a police officer? Does she not know that he was fired for allegedly taking bribes? You sucked in a breath, unsure about your next course of action as you pieced together the story. Starting from the top: Player 132 was a police officer who was apparently fired for taking bribes from a criminal organization. With your discovery of his sick wife, it’s safe to say he started taking bribes with the intent of using it for her treatment, and when he was fired, he was driven to join the games as a last ditch effort. Seems like a plausible story.

“...It says on our file that he was fired for taking bribes, although I’m unsure of how accurate it is. Sometimes investigators leave out important details,” you enunciated your words, trying to let your brain catch up with your mouth. Leaving out Player 132’s wife was a fatal mistake on the part of whichever man your dad put in charge of hunting down these desperate people— her role was crucial to why he entered the games in the first place.

Her expression twisted into a mixture of shock and despair. “That’s impossible…” she mumbled, and you wondered how much more denial she had left inside of her. “Why in the world would he do such a thing?”

Now you were suspecting she was purposely acting clueless. “Is your husband a devoted man?” You inquired.

“Yes, he is,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve never needed to worry about another woman. He’s always treated me like a princess; brushing my hair, cooking my meals, helping me clean the apartment.” While it sounded like the bare minimum to you, you couldn’t deny that Player 132 was certainly better than the majority of men. It would be nice to be loved by a man like that.

“Then…”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she stared into your eyes. “Does that mean he took out those bribes for me?!”

“That appears to be the case.”

“Gosh, Inho, that idiot!” She cried into her hands, leaning into the pillow behind her as she reeled from the shock.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” you blurted out, not even sure what possessed you to say such a thing. What does this have anything to do with you?

She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m more upset that he didn't tell me himself. How is it fair that I had to find out through a detective instead of directly from my own husband?”

“He probably didn’t want to worry you, don’t be too hard on him,” you reassured her. A part of you wanted to sit down and pat her back, but you’ve been standing for so long that it would be a bit awkward if you suddenly sat down. That, and it was probably too intimate for two strangers. “Your only worry should be about recovering your health, nothing else matters.”

She didn’t have much to say, and you couldn’t blame her. It was likely a sentiment drilled into her by her family as soon as they discovered her condition. Here she was, a grown adult woman, reduced to her increasingly worsening illness. You would’ve been furious if you were in her position, so she was handling it with a lot more grace than you would be giving to the people around you.

Removing the visitor pass from your neck, you stuffed your badge and ID back into your pocket. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I hope you don’t mind,” you announced, then cupping your mouth and leaning in slightly. “You’re the last person I came to find. Over the next few days, I don’t have much else to do, but I still need to somehow kill time.”

This elicited a giggle out of her. “Sure, I don’t mind. My mother-in-law has mobility issues, and my brother-in-law is busy at work, so I’m alone for most of the day. It gets a little lonely, staring at the wall with all these needles stuck inside of you,” she responded, lifting the arm the IV was attached to, revealing a myriad of needles.

You flashed her with the most charming smile you could muster, showing off the pearly white teeth that you paid top dollars for. “See you tomorrow.”

Right before you opened the door, you turned around. “Keep this a secret between us, okay?” You requested, holding your index finger to your lips.

-

Day 3: Squid Game 2015

Gongyoo informed you that Player 132 survived the second round, much to your relief. If he died so quickly, what was the point in visiting his wife? You weren’t in need of any new friends. You hadn’t had the time to keep up with the games, and with near 24hr surveillance of the players, how on earth were you supposed to watch everything? Instead, you dug up more information on Player 132’s family.

His family consisted of his young half-brother, Hwang Junho, and his stepmom, Park Malsoon. He had a 16 year age gap with Junho, not far off from your own large age gap with your brother. His parents divorced when he was a teenager, and he had an estranged relationship with his biological mother while his father died soon after Junho was born. How tragic.

As the third round began, you made your way to the hospital, monitoring the file as it updated the eliminated players in real time. You prayed that Player 132 would survive this round as well— in fact, you wanted him to win. Someone with a face that hot didn’t deserve to die.

Actually, you wondered if you could do anything about it.

-

You: Am I allowed to rig the games to keep a player alive?

Gongyoo: For you, it’s not explicitly forbidden, but I don’t recommend it.

Gongyoo: The VIPs could get mad.

You: And why does that matter?

Gongyoo: They’re politicians, billionaires, world leaders, etc.

Gongyoo: You don’t want to mess with them.

You: Well, fuck.

Gongyoo: What’s going on?

You: There’s this really hot player.

You: I don’t want him to die.

Gongyoo: LOL, who?

You: Player 132.

Gongyoo: The one who came straight out of an emo band?

You: Hey!

You: You need to trust the process!

You: You need to believe in his potential!

Gongyoo: I won’t believe in it no matter what you say.

Gongyoo: I’m a straight man.

Gongyoo: Only got eyes for women.

You: Okay, then don’t judge my taste in men.

You: God, I guess my next best option is thoughts and prayers.

Gongyoo: Good luck with that. (Read)

-

Before you knew it, you were back in the hospital room, just in time to catch Player 132’s wife eating lunch. It didn’t appear appetizing in the slightest, a plain bowl of porridge and a fruit salad consisting of grapes, watermelon, and apples. In comparison to other patients, the food she received was considered as special treatment due to how expensive the cost of fruit was. With the cost of her treatment and her stay, you could only imagine how desperate Player 132 looked when begging for financial help.

“I should’ve brought you some dim sum,” you remarked, sitting on a stool and setting down your purse as she shook her head.

“They don’t allow outside food because I’m high risk. They’re very particular on what I’m allowed to eat,” she shrugged, although you could tell she was disheartened by her slight pout.

“That’s a shame.”

You diverted your attention to the IV drip, the isotonic fluid trickling into a long, transparent tube one droplet at a time. With it attached, you doubted she could walk very far, if not, at all. The hospital room seemed grayer than the rest, the lights off with the sunlight peeking through the window. The curtains were a drabby shade of baby blue. Even her sheets allowed no room for comfort or indulgence, a rough fabric in off-white.

“What do you do during the day?” You asked curiously, as there were no visible methods of entertainment in front of you. On the rare occasion you fell sick enough to require a stay in the hospital, you always had access to a TV.

“I facetime my mother-in-law, although it gets a little exhausting. She’s quite chatty, and I sometimes find it hard to keep up. She worries a lot too,” she replied with a small smile. You wondered why she never mentioned her own parents, but that might be too invasive of a question, so you bit back your curiosity. “I like reading, but in the rush of checking in, I couldn’t bring any books.”

She certainly looked like someone who enjoyed reading as a hobby. Your brother would probably kill to have a sister like her, only to end up with a party girl like you. “What kind of books do you read?”

“Hm,” she thought aloud. “When I was younger, I read a lot of romance, but I think I’ve grown out of it now. I like philosophical things, topics that talk about what the point of life is and what it means to be human.”

What it means to be human? You were sick of that topic after all the time you spent in Psychology and Sociology classes, despite it being your majors. It always made you feel like less of a person because often times a student would share a traumatic personal experience and everyone else would quietly chatter among themselves to discuss how horrible they felt, and you were in the corner baffled and wondering why they didn’t act differently in that situation.

Even so, you had to at least try to seem interested. “Have you ever read No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai? I think you’d enjoy it.”

She shook her head. “I never had the time to read it, and it’s hard to find in person. In hindsight, I wish I pursued it harder rather than putting it off.”

“I have a copy of it at home, I can lend it to you if you’d like,” you offered. Your brother gave it to you a year ago, although you haven’t gotten around to reading it. Most of your brother’s gifts ended up collecting dust because you had no use for them.

She perked up immediately. “Really? If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to read it!”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” you replied. Suddenly, you paused. You weren’t sure if your copy was in the Korean translation, as you and your brother were both fluent in English, and could freely choose to read anything within those two languages. “Ah, it might be in the English translation…”

“English? You know how to speak English?” She asked curiously. While English was a subject taught in school, with the lack of opportunities to practice, most Koreans could only hold a basic conversation.

“Yes, I have dual citizenship,” you responded. “If the one I have isn’t in Korean, I’ll try and find a Korean copy.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” She waived, trying to seem modest. It was a common tactic— always pretend you don’t want something even if you do.

“You’re already cooped up in here all day, I should at least try and make you comfortable while you’re here!” You insisted, although you dreaded cleaning through your bookshelf, already imagining all the dust flying in your face.

She seemed to give in with your insistence, but she probably wasn’t going to put up much of a fight either way. “Can I ask you a question?” She asked you after a moment of silence, and you nodded. “What’s America like? I never had the money to travel abroad, only within Korea.”

Well, fuck. You didn’t know how to answer her question. The United States was like every other country, and it had pros and cons. You also weren’t sure how normal your experience was, as you were very sheltered while you were there. Despite how sheltered you were, you still had to pick up a new language to the point of fluency within two years or you’d fall behind in school.

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Hm… I’d say America is a good tourist destination, just avoid the subways.” The first time you took the subway, you almost got stabbed, and since then, your dad hired a driver for you. It might’ve been partially your fault though, as it was 11pm.

She laughed. “Are the subways that bad?”

“I almost got killed the last time I took it, so you tell me,” you joked, and she gasped.

“What happened?”

“A man was drunk after a night out at the bar. I looked like an easy target. I only got away because the train arrived in time and he tripped on his pants and faceplanted onto the floor,” you recounted the story. He flashed everyone inside the trolley when he tripped, and you winced as you recalled the memory. Gross.

“Oh my, that’s so scary! I’m glad you’re okay!”

“I have a lot of luck on my side,” you bragged jokingly. If you were still unlucky after that childhood of yours, you’d bring this issue up with whatever higher power was willing to turn the tides for you.

“Since you’re American, you have an English name, right?” She questioned and you nodded. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Do you want me to give you one?” You asked after telling her your English name. She seemed quite excited at this, and you pondered what kind of name you’d give her.

You didn’t want to give her a name that was elegant, like Eleanor or Charlotte. A name that was too common was off the table too— you’ve met enough Emilys in this lifetime, the world doesn’t need another one.

Lacy.

Unconventional, odd, and can be vulgar in certain contexts, particularly concerning the description of lingerie. It was perfect. After all, you weren’t going to give her an actual name that sounded nice, and she was ignorant enough to not know any better. Within Korea, she could go around telling people her name was Lacy and no one would bat an eye— perhaps they would think it sounded cute.

“What about Lacy? A lot of feminine English names have a long e sound.”

“Oh, it sounds quite cute! Thank you.” She clapped giddily, probably the most energetic she’s been in weeks. You typed it out on your phone and showed her the spelling of her name, and she added the English keyboard to her device, copying it.

Thankfully, your alarm rang before you had to try and come up with another conversation topic, and you picked up your purse from the floor. “I have a meeting I have to attend. I’ll come back tomorrow,” you declared. There was no meeting for you to attend, just an alarm you forgot to turn off from your school semester that reminded you to study.

“Don’t forget the book!” She reminded, and you laughed.

“I’ll try my best.”

-

Day 4: Squid Game 2015

Player 132 survived again.

At this point, you were really starting to believe that he could be a finalist. You spent the previous night catching up on everything you missed, mainly watching the games themselves, opting out of the downtime in the dormitory. Gongyoo said that towards the end, there were special games that occured in the middle of the night. You found out what he meant when you opened the file this morning to find several more players dead.

Concerning the book, your copy was thankfully in Korean, so you didn’t have to hunt it down last minute. You didn’t mind if she kept it forever, it was only a book, after all. You could buy a million copies if you wanted to.

You also needed to get back on track since you only started talking to Lacy with the intention of somehow getting your hands on her man. Anyone with eyes knew she didn’t have long left, and her last sliver of hope was the desperate Player 132. If he died, it wasn’t just a death sentence for him, but also Lacy and their fetus.

You had the means to give her exactly what she urgently needed, but why in the world would you do that? To make your life harder? If Player 132 survived and returned to see his wife healthy, you’d have no chance of getting in between them. If he died, Lacy would become a single mother, and you’d toss her aside like a broken doll. If the odds were stacked against you, you’d might as well let all of them die together.

The visits began becoming routine. Every morning, you’d wake up at 9, check the files for any updates, and get ready for the day. By 10:30, you were in the backseat of a car, your driver silently making his way to the hospital. Today, the only difference was the book in your hand. You didn’t have any space inside that tiny purse that was only meant for stylish purposes.

You didn’t need a nurse to escort you anymore, nor did you need them to remind you to sanitize your hands, tucking the book underneath your arm as you rubbed it in. As soon as you walked in, you presented the book to Lacy as if it was a shiny diamond, and despite the discoloured bags underneath her eyes representing her fatigue, she lit up immediately.

“You remembered the book!” She cheered, lifting her arms into the air.

“I’m glad it was in Korean. I’d have to buy a new one if mine was in English,” you responded, placing it on her lap as she excitedly flipped through it.

“I’ll be sure to finish it as soon as possible.”

You shook your head. “No need, take your time. Read when you want to, rest when you need to.”

She sighed, her shoulders drooping as her smile dropped. “I can’t return it to you if I take my time. I don’t think I have long left.” She attempted to force a half-smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m worried for my husband. What if I’m gone by the time he’s found? Our baby too…”

You feigned surprise. “Baby?”

“Oh, you can’t tell because I’m still in my first trimester. We discovered the pregnancy and the illness at the same time,” she explained.

“That must be so frustrating. You can’t even celebrate such a joyous moment because it’s given to you with bad news.”

Lacy nodded. “I’ve accepted the end, although I haven’t told anyone this except you. We can’t afford the liver transplant, and after you told me that my husband’s gone into debt to pay for my hospital bills…. I don’t know, it seems like a hopeless situation.”

“How much does a liver transplant cost?” You were genuinely curious. The cost of buying an organ was already expensive, and then combining that with the price of an operation and a hospital stay easily bankrupted families. There was also the added issue of the possibility of the body of the recipient rejecting the organ, which caused more complications. Compared to Korea, such lifesaving care was even more expensive in the States.

She sighed. “Last time we checked, it’s over 200 million won. That’s 4 years of my husband’s salary without accounting for our cost of living. I used to work in a corporation, but I quit six months ago because I kept getting sick.”

200 million won was two months of your allowance, and it made you realize how different your worlds were. You could buy her a new liver a thousand times over. You really had no business sitting in her hospital room chatting with her like this.

“Gosh, I didn’t realize it was so expensive!” You gasped. “On the bright side, now you know how much your husband loves you because of how hard he’s fighting to make sure you receive the care you need.”

She giggled. “Yes, I’m very lucky.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

She glanced at the ceiling as she reminisced in her mind. “We actually met while he was at work. He was on patrol when he saw me getting harassed by a man. He saved me, and later that day, we coincidentally ran into each other at a restaurant.”

“Ooh, you’ve got your own prince charming!” You teased, and the two of you burst into laughter.

“I wish he was a prince charming! Without me, the entire apartment would be covered in ramen packets. One time, I was away for a business trip, and I returned to plastic crunching under my feet as they overflowed from the kitchen!” She recounted, her gestures large to show you how large of a mess he’d made.

“I’d be so mad if I came home to that!” You exclaimed, and she nodded in agreement.

“I was! I chewed him out until he was begging for forgiveness on his knees!”

“But you said he knows how to cook, so why does he rely on ramen when you’re not around?” You asked.

“He only cooks for me. He doesn’t take care of his health as much as he should, yet he always worried about mine even before my illness,” Lacy sighed, shaking her head. “At this rate, I’m going to die of the stress he causes before my liver gets the chance to kill me.”

It seemed Player 132 was quite hypocritical, although in a self-sacrificing way. Going into debt, entering the Squid Games, and worrying about everyone but himself. It only made him more appealing to you. Why wouldn’t you want a partner who worshipped you like the goddess you were? And he was one of the hottest men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Seriously, if you couldn’t have him, no one else could either.

Before you could respond, someone knocked on the door. Once Lacy gave them permission to enter, a nurse opened the door while another tip-toed inside, balancing Lacy's next meal on the tray. After a makeshift table was set up on her bed, they placed it in front of her and left. Lacy glanced at the steaming food, but didn’t pick up any utensils, instead turning her attention back to you.

“Are you not going to eat?” You pointed at the food. “It won’t taste good when it’s cold.”

“Ah…” she hesitated. “I’m actually not hungry. For the last few days, I’ve been forcing myself to eat for the sake of the baby, but I can’t do it anymore, I just keep feeling worse.”

You raised both your eyebrows at the same time. “You should tell a doctor about this!” You exclaimed, about to ring the bell when Lacy grabbed your hand and shook her head.

“I told you that I’m going to die soon, didn’t I? Any treatment they give me will be for naught, and it’s only going to increase the debt.” Wow, she was just as self-sacrificing as her husband.

Dropping your hand back at your side, you inhaled deeply. “How are you so casual about dying? Are you not scared?”

Lacy averted your eyes, staring down at her yellow hands and her bedsheets. “I am scared,” she admitted in a whisper. “Inho— my husband and I have always wanted a baby. When we found out I was pregnant, I hoped I’d at least be able to carry it to term so he would have a piece of me if I'm gone, but my condition worsened quicker than expected, and I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

Fuck, were you really feeling pity for a woman whose husband you wanted to steal? Worse, were you starting to care about a woman who’s one infection away from being taken by the Grim Reaper?

If you spend any more time with her, you were going to lose your mind. She trusted you so easily, telling you about her family— even her greatest fear. You doubted she could tell her husband about it, both of them wanting to protect each other from additional woes in such a difficult time.

Yet here you were, taking advantage of her, waiting for her to die.

Even with her illness, it was as if she was an angel, from her warm disposition to her dainty fingertips. She was pure as can be, not even suspecting if you had any ulterior motives, as if she believed in the good in people. She took everything you said and did at face value.

If you were the type of show-stopping beauty that landed you on magazines and runways, then Lacy was the opposite. She could roll out of bed, apply a tinted lip balm, lazily tie her hair up in a ponytail, and leave the house. She was an effortless beauty, the pretty girl next door that didn’t stick out, but was the talk of the town locally. You hated to admit it, but she fit Inho like a missing puzzle piece.

You were a rose, and she was a dandelion, often overlooked, yet one of the many joys brought to children who blew the seeds away when spring rolled around every year. With her illness, she was just as fleeting as those dandelion seeds. In fact, with the jaundice her condition caused, she quite literally looked as yellow as a dandelion— how fitting.

Even so, how could she be so beautiful when she was knocking on death’s door? You wanted to rip the skin off her face and glue it to your own.

“I think you would be a good mother,” you said after a long period of silence, your throat suddenly dry, yet you somehow still managed to swallow your own spit. She was much better suited for motherhood than you’d ever be, her love and dedication for a child that wasn’t even here yet was proof of it.

She smiled at you. “Thank you. If I could live for a bit longer, I’d hope this child has a better life than me, but I think my stubbornness will kill both of us.”

Even if she had prioritized herself and got an abortion, the baby was still going to die. Assuming she recovered and got pregnant again, the baby in her stomach wouldn’t be this baby. She needed a miracle to save both of them— one such miracle that her husband was willing to throw away his life for in the form of 45.6 billion won. Still, she needed to hang on long enough for the miracle to actually work.

You weren’t sure if your question was acceptable, but you decided it was now or never. “Would you want your husband to move on if you pass?” It seemed insensitive to use the word ‘when.’

“Of course. Why would I want him to wallow in grief for the rest of his life? I want him to be happy even when I’m gone. I’d only truly be at peace once I know someone will look out and care for him.” What an angel. She was truly better than you in every possible way.

The rest of your visit was a blur, and your feet trudged on the floor as you walked through the hallway of the hospital once your alarm rang. You were starting to dread tomorrow, as you knew you’d have to return, but it would also be cruel to leave her alone. She made it clear it was rare for family members to visit her in person, so who were you to steal this small bundle of happiness from her? Even if you weren’t genuine, it’s better to let her have this momentarily.

-

Day 5: Squid Game 2015

You officially ran out of conversation topics, awkwardly fiddling with your thumbs as you sat on a stool near her bed. She was so invested in reading she hadn’t noticed your presence, and you weren’t going to break her concentration. Impressively, she was already more than halfway through the book. She wasn’t kidding about trying to return it to you at the earliest date.

Your mind wandered back to the games and to Inho, who’d survived another round, like you expected. He was officially in the semifinals— the last stretch of the games. His chances of winning were now around 1 in 20, depending on how many players died with each passing minute you spent in the hospital.

When she turned her head slightly to reach for a cup of water on the counter, she noticed you in her peripheral vision, and yelped. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked as she placed a bookmark inside and closed the book.

“You were so focused, I didn’t want to break your concentration,” you replied.

“We only chat for a few hours at most, and I have the rest of the day to read. My time with you is more precious than this book,” she pointed out, and your heart tingled. How odd.

“I didn’t prepare any conversation topics today.”

She burst out laughing, wheezing as she attempted to catch her breath, and the corners of your lips twitched upwards. “You prepare conversation topics?

“Sometimes. It’s a good guideline when you’re getting to know someone,” you shrugged. No shame in your game, you had to do what you had to do to avoid awkwardness.

“Well, I’ve spent the last few days talking a lot about me, but I don’t actually know much about you other than you being American, so, today we’re talking about you,” she declared, rather determined.

You chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

“Hm, let me think,” Lacy pondered. “Were you born in America?”

You shook your head. “I’m a naturalized citizen. I was born in Seoul.”

“Oh? Then how did you immigrate to America?”

“I was there for school. I came back to Seoul for school as well,” you answered. Other than being obnoxiously rich, you were still a pretty normal person.

“Which school?”

“Seoul National University.”

She gasped. “Wow, that’s a really good school!” She clapped for you, and your ears blushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nothing, really. My brother went to Harvard,” you replied. If you really wanted to go to Harvard, all you had to do was get your dad to donate a large amount to the institution, but you opted to return to Korea because, well, the Korean food in America could never compare to the real thing.

Lacy gasped even louder. “What the… is your family full of geniuses?”

“My dad has high expectations, so we’re expected to perform.” You could imagine the disappointment on his face if you hadn’t even gotten into Seoul National University.

“Gosh, isn’t that a bit cruel? I would never put that much pressure on my child, life is already stressful enough.” Her mentality was quite similar to your mother’s, although your mom still wanted you to enter a school of a decent standing even if you weren't reaching for the stars.

You shrugged again. “Every parent wants their child to succeed. School is the easiest way to climb the social ladder.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about such a bleak subject,” she declared. “Anyways, what do you study? You look quite young, so I assume you’re still in school.”

Right, Lacy was probably in her thirties. You doubted Inho would date someone more than 10 years younger than him. “Psychology and Sociology. I don’t like Math.”

She giggled. “Me neither. Math was my worst subject in school.” You held your hand up to high-five her in solidarity, and she returned it without hesitation. Math victims have to stick together.

“Hm, what else can I ask you?” She thought aloud, before an imaginary lightbulb lit up beside her head. “What are your hobbies?”

Shit, she got you there. What were you supposed to say— go shopping? It would either expose your financial status or your lack of impulse control, and you weren’t going to tell her about your shopping addiction.

“I really like anything to do with beauty. Makeup, skincare, anything else you can name. I also like doing other people’s makeup,” you responded. It was basically a roundabout way of saying you had a shopping addiction without explicitly stating it.

“Ooh, I noticed that! Your makeup always looks flawless, although you already look like a doll, but it enhances your features so much more!” She praised, and you blushed harder. Receiving compliments from a pretty woman always felt nice.

“Thank you,” you mumbled shyly. You received compliments quite often, so you weren’t sure why you were so flustered when getting complimented by someone who looked like they were going to eat a banana and aid Gru in stealing the moon. As you averted your gaze, you noticed a half-used perfume bottle on the counter. That wasn’t there before! “Is that Chance Eau Tendre by Chanel?”

Lacy whipped her head towards the bottle, then back to you. “How did you know? The writing was on the opposite side!” She looked quite amazed.

“One of my friends uses it regularly. She likes perfume, and she drags me with her, so I know a lot about perfume too.”

“She probably goes shopping quite often, considering how fast you recognized that bottle.” She picked it up and held out a hand for you, which you glanced at confusingly, your eyebrows slightly scrunched. “Can you open your hand for me?”

You obliged to her request, still confused. She placed it in your hand, and you could’ve broken your neck with how fast you lifted your head to make eye contact with her. “What are you doing?”

“Keep it,” she replied, as if her actions were the most normal thing anyone’s ever done. She covered your hand with her own, the perfume bottle sandwiched in between, her icy fingertips brushing against your wrist. “I can’t finish it anyways.”

Normally, you’d be offended that someone was giving you their leftover perfume, regardless of whether or not it was free, but you couldn’t find it in you to get upset. Lacy was nearing the end of her life, and her family was struggling to keep themselves afloat while juggling her medical bills. This perfume was one of the last small luxuries she had, likely a gift she received during a holiday or a birthday.

Without realizing, your eyes prickled, and you fought back tears as you met her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she reassured you with a smile on her face. She seemed at peace with her decision.

Thats when you knew she was going to die tomorrow.

-

Day 6: Squid Game 2015

God, you hated being right sometimes.

You were in the middle of a call with the CEO of the hospital, discussing the best match for the organ you were going to purchase for Lacy, when you heard the sound of hurried footsteps and heavy breathing from the other end. Lacy had died right before you were going to finalize your purchase, mere minutes before the liver she desperately needed would be delivered to the hospital and she would enter a lifesaving surgery. Fuck, sometimes it was better to be wrong.

You bit back tears as you watched Inho on the screen, now having no reason for all the suffering and psychological torture he went through.

The book was personally returned to you by the CEO, and you stared at it as if it was a foreign object— as if Lacy wasn't holding it mere moments ago. You didn't think you'd ever be able to pick up and read this book, not now, and not in the future.

-

The funeral was held a week later, along with a burial. Of course, you weren’t invited, but with your connections, you found out where it was held. You were dressed in a basic black dress with a matching hat, hoping to shield your eyes enough for your identity to be unclear— and so no one could see your tears. No one was aware of your existence except for Lacy herself, and as a result, you were a ghost who had no right to mourn.

It seemed even the heavens were mourning the loss of Lacy, the sky crying for her in the form of a heavy downpour. Inho was equally as crushed, his body trembling as it wracked in sobs, in the fetal position as if he was a little kid. Junho, biting his lip and staring up at the sky to prevent his tears from falling, comforted his brother by rubbing his back. Malsoon dabbed her tears with a tissue, blowing her nose before more tears fell, and she repeated the cycle.

You observed all this while standing in front of a gravestone a few rows away, which is why you brought two bouquets of flowers. How disrespectful would you be if you pretended to mourn for a random stranger without even bringing them an offering? In one hand, you had a bouquet of roses, and the other of white carnations.

You patiently waited for her family to leave, and Junho had to physically drag Inho away from the gravestone. “Inho, you’re going to get sick if you stay here for any longer! We can visit her again tomorrow!” You heard him yell.

“How the fuck can I leave her now?! I left her alone for a week, only to come back and find her dead! I can’t ever leave her again!” Inho screamed back, his anguish coating every word that left his mouth.

“Please, she wouldn’t want the two of you to fight!” Malsoon attempted to reason with them in between her own tears, and the two brothers quieted down with her interference.

As Inho hesitantly stood up and trudged away, mud soaking much of his clothing, Malsoon took his hand and guided him away. As Junho’s hand left his brother’s back, he glanced in your direction, and you quickly looked away, placing the roses on the gravestone in front of you. You prayed he wouldn’t find you suspicious. Did he realize you were watching them the whole time?

When they were finally out of sight, you walked over to Lacy’s gravestone, the mud beneath your feet coating the soles and sides of your boots. Inhaling deeply, you stared at the engraved letters for a moment, your eyes skimming through a few photo frames. In one, she held a bouquet while she smiled brightly at the camera, and in another, she sat on a small staircase with Inho as he grinned. She looked even more beautiful when she was healthy.

“I hate you,” you blurted out, placing the carnations on her gravestone.

No one mourns the wicked, but the wicked don’t mourn for the good either.

[quanruionechancepls]

Fanfiction Masterlist

The Albatross - Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

FULL WORK HERE! WILL UPLOAD THE REST EVENTUALLY!

-

"She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you."

What if Hwang Inho didn't willingly become the Frontman?

Hwang Inho's life is falling apart after winning the Squid Games but finding his wife dead. Unluckily for him, you're the daughter of Oh Ilnam, and you're determined to drag him back to the games, even if he isn't a participant.

Tags: Older Man/Younger Woman, Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Unreliable Narrator, Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Chapter 1 - Lacy's Angel Dust

Chapter 2 - Moth to a Flame

Chapter 3 - Ilicit Affairs

Chapter 4 - Forwards Beckon Rebound

Chapter 5 - Under the Table

Chapter 6 - Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call

Happiness is a Butterfly - The Salesman x Reader

-

"If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt."

What was supposed to be a simple game of ddakji spiralled into something you could've never expected, all because of a smug man in a suit who irritates you to no end.

But what can you do? You're his, but he's not your's.

Tags: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Older Man/Younger Woman, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Implied Cheating, Past Child Abuse, Smut, The Salesman's Name is Gongyoo, Past Bullying, Past Substance Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter 1 - Almost You

Chapter 2 - Blood is Rare (and Sweet as Cherry Wine)

[quanruionechancepls]

um so i'm new to tumblr and i want to start posting my fanfictions here, but i don't really know how to, can anyone help? i have experience with ao3 and wattpad already, so this seems like the next step.

i also don't want to go straight into uploading since this account is new and idk if anyone actually wants to read my fanfic. i'm currently writing a hwang inho/reader ff (already on ao3 with the same username).

but yeah, just lmk how to use tumblr 😅