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The truth of it 🤣

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IM SO SURE HES A BOOB MAN

sangwoo sucking on boobs …. rb if you agree

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Manifesting my vision for their season 3 dynamic.

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HEAR ME AWWWWOOOT

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GI-HUN HANDCUFFED TO A FUCKING BED??

Y'all I'm crashing tf out

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squid game season 3 prediction

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Cigarettes

a cho sang woo fic | post-squidgame au

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

inspired by this cas song + a dream i had

1.5k words, dbf!cho sang woo x f!reader

warnings: age gap, smoking, mentions of lighters

note: first time writing a fic ! i genuinely could not explain to you what this is, happy reading <3

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The night wrapped itself around the house like a thick velvet blanket, cool and heavy, muffling the world outside. The warmth from inside spilled out in golden streams through the windows, making the dark feel even more intimate, more distant. The house stood like an oasis in the midst of the night, quiet but alive with the weight of the evening’s conversation.

Inside, the table had been cleared, the dishes stacked in the sink with care. The remnants of dinner lingering in the air—a warm hum of laughter, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain. He had come for dinner, a guest of my father, the man whose sharp wit and quiet intelligence had filled the room, a surprising contrast to the heavy weight he carried in his eyes.

Cho Sang Woo, my father’s business partner, was a man in his forties who seemed older than the years that clung to him. But when my father suggested he stay the night—too late to drive, too long a distance—he didn’t hesitate. “Stay in the guest room,” my father had said, waving a hand as if it were nothing, and so he did.

He had lingered on the couch, nursing his scotch, his hands resting on the edge of the glass like he was trying to find an anchor in a storm. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was only half-present, as though his mind was on an island somewhere far away.

When my parents retired to bed, he excused himself, saying he needed some air. It was a statement that didn’t quite ask for permission, but there was something about the way he spoke it—so softly, yet so firmly—that made it clear he didn’t need to explain himself.

I watched as he stepped outside, his form slipping into the night like a shadow, leaving me to the quiet lull of the house. I rinsed the dishes slowly, my thoughts lingering on the man who seemed to be running from something, his every movement weighed with invisible regret. When I finished, I stepped out onto the porch, the wood beneath my feet creaking in the stillness.

The air was cold and sweet, tinged with the scent of damp earth from the garden.

He was sitting on the steps leading up to the house, a shadow among shadows. He had come outside to escape something inside him. His figure was relaxed, almost languid, but there was a tension in him that I couldn’t quite place, a rigidity beneath the surface that suggested a history deeper than I could understand, but he masked it with the ease of someone used to playing a role.

I didn’t know what haunted him, but I could feel it in the way his gaze occasionally dipped into the distance, as if looking for something that no longer existed.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fingers almost caressing the smooth cardboard, before cursing softly under his breath when he realized he’d forgotten his lighter. I almost smiled at how perfectly human the moment felt—despite everything, he was still just a man, fumbling for something as ordinary as a flame.

I lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the way he exhaled in frustration. Then, as if on cue, he turned his head slightly, sensing me before I even made a sound.

“Got a lighter?”

His voice was low, amused, but with that edge of tiredness I was beginning to recognize.

Without a word, I reached into the pocket of my jacket, feeling the cool metal of my lighter against my fingers. When I pulled it out, it was an object of pure contrast to him. My lighter was small, almost dainty, a delicate pink glimmering thing that would have looked absurd in his calloused, heavy hands.

It flew through the air, almost weightless, and he caught it with the reflexes of someone who was used to playing more dangerous games than catch.

He stared at the lighter, as though trying to figure out its very existence. His brow furrowed, and then, he slowly lifted his gaze to mine.

“This… is your lighter?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice, but more so amusement.

I held his gaze, my lips twitching, and in a voice that felt more like a dare than a simple answer, I murmured, “It’s for birthday candles,” the ghost of a smile flitting across my lips. The words tasted like a lie wrapped in a joke.

For a moment, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, and I could almost see the corner of his mouth twitch. His lips pressed into a hard line, fighting a smile. But it didn’t come. Instead, he shut his eyes with a long exhale, a weary chuckle escaping him as he nodded slightly, as though accepting that this ridiculous object was now the truth of the moment. “Right,” he muttered.

There was something about the way he fidgeted with the lighter—fingers circling it, almost testing its weight—that made the space between us feel impossibly intimate. Without a word, I slid onto the step opposite him, settling a foot’s distance away, my body angled just enough toward him to catch every small detail. The way he inhaled, the slight easing of his shoulders, the way his square rimmed glasses reflected the glow of the cigarette as he took his first drag. He looked, for a moment, like he had finally found the stillness he was searching for.

“You don’t smoke,” he said, not with curiosity, but with the knowing air of someone who was used to reading people like books.

“I do not,” I said, my voice soft, but deliberate.

A thought flickered through me, a quiet, reckless impulse. I glanced at the pack of cigarettes resting beside him. “Today’s as good a day as any,” I said, my fingers already stretching toward the box.

His eyes shifted to me, sharp and quick, and his hand immediately shot out, placing a finger on the pack, sliding it just out of reach with a quiet tut. His gaze met mine, his smile tight, a warning hidden behind the casual gesture.

I couldn’t help but give him a soft pout. My bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, a playful protest hanging between us like a suspended breath. His gaze snapped away quicker than lightning, fixating on the trail of glistening pebbles leading towards the house. His eyes shifted down to his shoes, then to the blades of grass fluttering in the breeze, and then up at the stars, as if the world around him had suddenly become infinitely more interesting than me.

There was a strange hesitation in the air, like I’d caught him off guard, but I held my ground, watching the way he carefully avoided my gaze. The silence stretched, and something shifted in the way the night felt around us.

Reaching into the other pocket of my jacket, I pulled out my own pack of cigarettes, the plastic wrapper crinkling softly under my fingers. I could feel the beginnings of a grin forming, but I bit it back, my focus entirely on the subtle task at hand.

When he looked back at me, his eyes widened for the briefest moment, a slight chuckle escaping him as he almost choked on the smoke that had been hanging in his mouth. It slipped from his lips in violent tendrils, twisting and scattering through the air, as if his breath itself was suddenly off-kilter.

I watched him carefully, a flutter in my chest, as I picked up my lighter and flicked it open with a soft click. The flame danced to life, casting a glow on my face that seems to give me a depth he’d never seen before. It was almost too intimate, the way the light shifted and shaped my features.

I held the cigarette between my fingers, the tip glowing bright, and without glancing at him, I exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the air, inhaling it back in with the practiced precision of someone who’d done this far too many times. The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and soft, like a secret I couldn’t quite keep to myself.

“Surprised?”

He didn’t answer right away. The smoke curled between us, swirling in the cool night air as I watched the horizon, city lights shimmering in the distance.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his breath a soft laugh, but it was quiet, almost reverent.

“I should have known.”

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Sangwoo rolling in his grave at his childhood situationship cutting his pretty boy curls

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i have been fed

What Makes You Happy - Cho Sang-Woo x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Biggest Regret

Synopsis: You confront Cho Sang-Woo about why he left. But when he has questions of his own, you can’t seem to answer them

You had a boyfriend now. Some American businessman who’d settled in Seoul after successfully expanding his marketing business. Sang-Woo had seen you a few times together, leaving restaurants and shops, smiling and holding hands.

He remembered when he used to make you laugh, when he’d hold your hand and pull you close, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He’d never been overly good with words, had never been able to properly express emotion, but somehow with you, it came so naturally to him.

He’d tried to avoid you, had stopped going near the places the two of you had once frequented. But for some reason, everywhere he turned, you were there. You made eye contact a few times, your face falling every time you saw him.

Sang-Woo was working at his mother’s market stall now, spending his days filleting and gutting fish, coming home each day stinking of fish and regret. You’d come by a few times, and he’d always managed to sneak away and avoid seeing you.

You loved Sang-Woo’s mother like your own, and could never fully let her go, even after her son had abandoned you.

He was gutting a salmon one day, his hands and forearms caked in blood when you arrived. His mother was out, and he had nowhere to hide.

“Hello,” you said, your face stony and cold as you looked at him. Gone were his sharp suits and expensive briefcase. He was now wearing a faded t shirt and jeans, his glasses perched on his nose, his floppy hair falling into his eyes as he worked. Your heart still ached when your saw him, your stomach still flipped when you looked into his eyes. Despite the heartbreak he’d put you through, your body still responded to him like it had done when you were together.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, his eyes not meeting yours. He was ashamed, ashamed of how far he’d fallen. “We have salmon on special offer today.”

“I’m not here for the fish, Sang-Woo,” you sighed. “I’m here for answers. You owe me that much.”

You knew he’d been running away whenever you turned up, had seen him hightailing it out of the market as you arrived. It was like he had a sixth sense; he always knew when you were nearby.

“Now isn’t a good time,” he muttered, indicating the blood and guts that covered his hands.

“I don’t give a shit!” You snapped, your eyes bright with tears. “You left me! I loved you so much, Sang-Woo, and you left me like I was nothing to you. Why? If you can’t tell me anything else, at least tell me why.”

You were wearing a green dress today, the colour complimenting your skin beautifully. Even when you were angry, even when tears stung your eyes, you were so stunning.

“I had money problems,” he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What kind of problems?” You were shocked, almost speechless. You’d spent two years assuming he’d found someone better than you, that he’d left because you weren’t good enough for him. You tortured yourself, went on every diet imaginable, changed your hair, your makeup and clothes to try and figure out what type of person you should be. But to find out he left because of money, it floored you.

“I had debts. A lot of debt. I had debt collectors knocking on the door, they were threatening to repossess my belongings. They were going to take our home, we’d have been out on the streets. I couldn’t do that to you. I left because you deserved better than me.”

You both stood staring at each other, the hubbub of the market behind you drowning out the pounding of your heart.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about it?” You finally said, when you’d had time to wrap your head around his bombshell. “You didn’t think to tell me so we could sit down and work out how we were going to fix it?”

“There was no fixing it!” Sang-Woo yelled, slamming his fists down on to the metal countertops. “Even now, two years on, I have debts that I can’t pay back. I can’t get a house, I can barely feed myself. I didn’t want that life for you.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” You were yelling now too, your argument drawing attention from nearby stalls. “We were supposed to be a team, we were supposed to work things out together!”

His heart was racing, his breath ragged as he tried to control his emotions.

“Would you have stayed with me?” He asked, his voice now lower. “Knowing we’d be homeless, that I couldn’t give you the life you deserved. Would you have still stayed with me?”

Tears streaked down your pretty face, your lip trembling as you nodded fiercely. “I would have gone to hell and back with you,” you whispered. “I only ever wanted you. Even if we had to live in a cardboard box, I only wanted you.”

Now you were both crying, years of regret, heartbreak and anger swirling through the tension between you. Sang-Woo had been a fool to let you go, and now he was paying the price.

“Does he make you happy?” He asked you, his voice hoarse with tears. “Does he treat you well?”

“He treats me very well,” you nodded, knowing he was talking about your new boyfriend, the one with the bright blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. The one who cared for you, and loved you.

“Does he make you happy?” Sang-Woo repeated.

You closed your eyes, your lashes wet with tears as you willed yourself to turn and walk away. It had taken you eighteen months to get up the courage to date again, and Jason was nice enough. He was a little cocky, a little stern, and he didn’t have the best sense of humour, but he treated you with kindness. But he did make you happy? He didn’t make you laugh like Sang-Woo did, didn’t make your whole body burn with desire when he fucked you like Sang-Woo had. He didn’t hold you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, didn’t make you feel like you were an unstoppable force of nature, not like Sang-Woo did. But he was kind to you. And you’d tried to hard to tell yourself that was enough.

“Does he make you happy?” Sang-Woo asked again, his voice more urgent this time.

You couldn’t answer him, couldn’t tell him that Jason didn’t make you happy, not like he had.

“Goodbye, Sang-Woo,” you smiled sadly, turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

He ran after you, pushing past people in the street as he tried to find you. But you were gone, melted into the sea of shoppers. He searched frantically, running down side passages and alleyways until his lungs burned in his chest.

When he returned to the market stall, his mum was about to shout at him for leaving her shop unattended. But she saw the hurt in his eyes, saw the way his shoulders slumped as he walked.

“He doesn’t make her happy, mum,” he whispered. “She couldn’t tell me he makes her happy.”

“Oh, son,” his mum sighed, opening her arms to him. Sang-Woo towered over his mother’s petite frame, and yet she hugged him with such force that he felt safe for the first time in years.

“How do I fix this?” He asked between sobs, his head buried in his mums shoulder like he did when he was a boy.

“I don’t know if you can,” she said. “She was broken when you left.”

He didn’t know how long he stood there, his mum stroking his hair and soothing him as if he were a child again. You couldn’t tell him Jason made you happy, and that broke him even more. He’d pushed you away, pushed you into the arms of a man who couldn’t give what you needed.

You looked so sad when you left, so broken. He needed to fix things, even if he wasn’t sure how.

As he lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling he wondered if you were thinking of him. He wondered if you thought of him when you were with Jason, if you pictured him when the two of you were making love.

You said your boyfriend didn’t make you happy. So maybe Sang-Woo could win you back. Maybe he could show you that he’d changed, that he wouldn’t ever run away again when things got tough. He’d regretted leaving you. He wouldn’t allow himself to regret not fighting for you.

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[I swear, the whole season 2 is just them staring at each other]

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my friends get me

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stabbing me would hurt less than this

pariah

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STOOOP

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You do NOT understand.

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me talking about inhun

"Everything is a sex scene. Except sex scenes, which are metaphors."

-Me talking about my degree to my wife

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please

you all better still be on here yelling about in ho and gi hun in 6 months so we can all freak out and cry about season 3 together. 😭😭😭

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im not even gonna say hear me out bc why would i LOOK AT HIMMMMMMM

creditos: @dreamsdarko