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meadowfics · 4 months ago

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lost and found

hwang jun-ho x f!reader

the world is cruel, and you and the officer find out that it will get worse.

warnings: mentions of death! unfortunately, squid game is in this one. romantic tension. slow burn-ish. this takes place during season 1. junho being innocently stalker-ish. PTSD, stealing/theft, pre-established relationship, it gets spicy towards the end. platonic saebyeok x f!reader and platonic gi hun x f!reader too.

the city of seoul has never been kind to you.

it used to be, once upon a time. when you were young and did not know much, before the world decided to spit you out like something bitter and unwanted. back then, you were soft. you had this endless capacity to love, to forgive, to believe that people were good at their core.

maybe some still are, but you don’t care to look for them anymore. there was a time when your empathy was your greatest strength…when you saw someone struggling, you helped, even if it meant giving them the last bit of food in your pocket.

however, life has a way of chewing up people like you. people who give too much. people who don’t know when to stop bleeding for others.

so now, you don’t give.

you take.

survival in seoul isn’t kind to the softhearted. there are too many wolves in this city, too many people ready to step on your neck the moment you let your guard down. you learned that the hard way. so you adjusted, adapted. you became what you needed to be to live.

you steal, scam, and take what you need from those who won’t miss it. not too much…never enough to bring too much attention to yourself or get charged for the felony equivalent in south korea. you only steal enough to survive. enough to make it another day.

your hands are quick, your mind sharper. you’ve learned how to slip through the cracks of the world, how to turn your heart into steel since nobody else ever cared about you.

some nights, when the neon lights of hongdae reflect against the pavement and the city hums with life, you sit alone and wonder if there’s a way out of this. the party life is just right outside of your apartment.

sometimes you wonder if there’s a light waiting for you at the end of the tunnel.

each time, the answer is the same.

no.

there is no light. there is only the dark tunnel.

in seoul, it’s late, the air thick with the scent of soju and grilled meat, laughter spilling out from the bars lining the street. the party district of hongdae is alive, especially tonight since college students go back to school tommorow.

the sidewalks are crammed with people stumbling between clubs, couples clinging to each other, groups of friends taking drunken selfies under the flickering streetlights. it’s an easy place to disappear into, a perfect hunting ground for someone like you.

you spot the redhead almost immediately.

she looks around your age, maybe a little older. the woman’s purse hangs loosely over her shoulder, the zipper half-open, a bunch of 50,000 won bills peeking out.

that girl is too careless. too trusting, too stupid. your fingers twitch. you don’t hesitate. you step forward, close enough to brush past her, then your hand snatches the purse in one swift motion.

“hey!” she yelps, whirling around, reaching for you. the girl’s fingers graze your sleeve, but you’re faster. you yank the purse away, shoving her back hard. she stumbles, hitting the pavement with a startled cry.

you don’t feel anything. not guilt, not regret. you feel just the rush of adrenaline as you clutch the stolen bag tighter and start to run off.

then…

“hey, stop!”

your head snaps behind.

a police officer.

the voice of authority cuts through the noise of the crowd, sharp and commanding. your eyes lock onto him for a split second…a man with dark hair, strong jaw, eyes locked onto you with unwavering determination.

fuck.

you don’t hesitate. your feet move before your mind can catch up, body twisting as you bolt into the crowd. the bag is clutched tight in your arms as you weave through bodies, heart slamming against your ribs. behind you, the officer is still yelling, shoving past people, chasing you.

it’s a long run. too long. your lungs burn, your legs scream in protest, but you can’t stop. not now. you need this money to survive and cannot spend a night in a cold cell, not again at least.

the streets blur as you sprint, twisting through alleyways, slipping through groups of people too drunk to notice you. the officer is persistent, but so are you.

the desperation makes you faster in way.

left. right. through a narrow gap between two buildings. past a food stall. over a railing. you smacked into a few people but most of them mainly found entertainment in the whole thing. the police officer being frustrated that they didn’t catch you for him.

you can still hear his feet running behind you, but the distance is growing. he’s good, but you’re better. you have to be.

finally, finally, you see an opening…a narrow alley packed with people, bodies pressed together in drunken laughter. you push into the throng, squeezing between them, head down, moving fast.

the moment you’re inside the mass of people, you twist, slipping out the other side.

the officer doesn’t make it through in time.

you could swear that you heard him swear, then nothing.

you keep running until you’re sure he’s gone, until your lungs burn and your vision blurs.

back in the alley, hwang jun-ho stands at the edge of the crowd, hands on his knees, breathing hard. frustration twists in his chest.

he catches everyone, but not you tonight.

not this time.

just a few blocks away, you just linger among the party crowd. you don’t go home immediately since that would be stupid. instead, you just take a long, winding path through backstreets and alleyways, making sure no one is following you.

only when you’re certain that you’ve shaken off any lingering attention do you head back to your apartment.

your door has two locks, and you slide the security bar into place before exhaling. safe.

the stolen purse hits your kitchen island with a dull thud. you waste no time, unzipping it and dumping everything out onto the table.

a fenty lip gloss, used and sticky. gross. a single tampon, the woman could’ve kept that.

a metro card..you toss it straight into the trash since it's too risky and can be tracked.

then, jackpot.

there were identification cards which were meaningless to you. the thick wad of cash though? that’s everything. you grab the bills, hands steady as you start counting. 10,000 won, 50,000 won, 100,000 won… when you’re finished, the total stands at 1,200,000 won.

this isn’t just a good night. this is security. rent for next month, covered. a few days inside, hidden, making sure that officer doesn’t recognize you.

you let out a slow breath. for now, you’re safe.

well, only for three days because now the cold steel of the chair digs into your back as you slouch against it, wrists resting lazily in your lap, the handcuffs cold against your skin. the precinct smells of burnt coffee and old papers, fluorescent lights humming above you.

you had a few days of peace before the cops knocked on your door, telling you that you had to go down to the station. they know you by name now, not bothering to go an extra mile since you never change the signature of your crimes.

the only reason you’re not behind bars is because the girl you robbed doesn’t even live here. she already went back to her home in the UK according to the officer. so, fortunately, you just get another warning.

you should be relieved, maybe even grateful, but you don’t feel anything. nothing at all.

across from you, leaning against the edge of the desk with arms crossed, is the officer who chased you that night. hwang jun-ho is his name.

he is pissing you off. not for being a pig, but you hate that he looks good in the dim light, hate the sharp angles of his face, the slight furrow in his brow as he watches you like you’re some puzzle he can’t quite solve.

you’re used to police officers looking at you with disgust, with judgment, but there’s something different in his gaze. curiosity.

“so,” he finally speaks, his voice even.

“you’re fast.”

you shrug.

“what can i say?”

he tilts his head slightly, gaze sweeping over you in assessment.

“you play sports?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, a ghost of a laugh.

“that’s not important.”

jun-ho smirks, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

“fair.”

he steps away, pacing to the side as he flips through a thin file…yours, probably. your name, your face, your crimes reduced to black ink on paper. you wonder how much of your life is in there, if they know more than just your record.

“you’ve been warned before,” he says, flipping a page.

“a few times, actually. shoplifting. scams. pickpocketing.” he closes the file and meets your gaze. “but no felony charges.”

“guess i’m lucky,” you say, leaning back, feigning boredom.

“not luck,” jun-ho corrects, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“just smart enough to not take it too far.” he tilts his head slightly.

you say nothing, looking away.

“give back the purse.”

you reach your cuffed hands under the table, grabbing the bag and tossing it onto the desk between you. the leather is slightly worn from the days you’ve had it, but nothing else is out of place.

jun-ho watches you carefully, then sighs.

“the money.”

you don’t move.

the money is in your safe, in your bedroom walls, at home.

the money you refuse to give back.

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head like he expected this.

“of course.”

you let the silence settle between you, waiting for whatever lecture is coming, but he doesn’t scold you. instead, he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice.

“i’m keeping an eye on you.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“right. cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

jun-ho doesn’t react, his face unreadable.

“considering this isn’t your first warning? yeah. i don’t.”

you push back in your chair, the metal legs scraping against the floor.

“well, officer,” you say, tone sharp with sarcasm, “i look forward to our next meeting.”

jun-ho watches as you’re escorted out, his eyes following you even as you disappear down the hall.

weeks pass and you try to forget about the encounter, about the way his voice sounded when he said your name, about the way his dark eyes studied you like you were something worth understanding.

you try to focus on surviving.

you get a job… a shitty one, but one that pays enough to keep you afloat for now.

every now and then, when you step into a small café for breakfast, when you walk through the streets at night, when you’re with your only friend sae-byeok whispering about her crimes… he’s there.

jun-ho is never too far away, usually across the street or on the other side of a park.

he never does anything and he never speaks, but you see him, leaning against a wall, pretending to be busy with his phone, pretending to be on patrol.

however, his eyes will always follow you.

one evening, you and sae-byeok finish a quick meal at a convenience store, standing outside by the flickering neon lights. she shoves her hands into her pockets, giving you a knowing look.

“that asshole is staring again.”

you sigh, glancing over.

jun-ho stands across the street, pretending he’s not looking directly at you.

sae-byeok chuckles under her breath.

“he’s obsessed with you.”

“he’s a cop,” you mutter.

“it’s his job to be annoying.”

she nudges your arm.

“you should go say hi.”

“and what? tell him to fuck off?”

she grins.

“exactly.”

you roll your eyes, watching as she walks off.

once she’s gone, you take a deep breath and cross the street, closing the distance between you and jun-ho.

he looks up as you approach, not surprised.

“you’re a creep,” you say flatly.

jun-ho exhales through his nose, barely amused.

“you’re a criminal.”

“not anymore.”

his brows lift slightly.

“really?”

“yeah,” you say, crossing your arms.

“i found a job. so get off my back. i’m not stealing anymore.”

jun-ho hums, unconvinced.

“that’s a trend for you.”

you glare at him.

“what?”

he shrugs, “you get a job, hate the pay, then go back to stealing… sometimes from the same place you work at.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “you need a better hobby, i cannot live in your head rent free.”

“i have one,” he says, avoiding what you said last.

“i’m just doing my job.”

you shake your head, stepping back. “whatever,” you mutter, turning on your heel and walking off. you know he won’t follow. he never does but somehow he’s always close.

overtime, maybe a week or so.. jun-ho never thought that he’d be the type of cop to get overly invested. not really. working for the police is his job…catching criminals, chasing leads, dealing with lowlifes who made their money through terrible means. he never let himself get too curious, never let himself care too much to where it affected his personal life.

however, you, you are a puzzle he can’t help but try to solve.

at first, it was just an annoyance. you had slipped through his fingers that night in hongdae, and that bruised his ego. he didn’t lose people, but somehow, you had outrun him. a girl whos shorter than him.

when he finally caught you, he had expected to feel satisfaction, but it never came because instead, he just felt intrigued.

now, you’re barely doing anything wrong. you’ve stayed out of trouble for a while, and he should be relieved. he should be happy. instead, he finds himself watching and observing because despite all the things you’ve done, despite the walls you keep up, there are cracks in that mask of yours… ones he never expected to see.

he sees it in the way you linger at the local market, the way your fingers brush over fresh fruit before you tuck them carefully into a paper bag, paying with what little money you have. he wonders why you never steal from here, why the vendors greet you with small nods instead of suspicion.

junho sees it in the alley behind the convenience store, where stray cats weave between your ankles, tails flicking in contentment as you crouch down to feed them scraps of tuna and unseasoned chicken.

you don’t talk to them, don’t coo at them like most people would… but your hands are gentle, your touch careful, as if you’re afraid of breaking something fragile.

then, there’s the lemonade stand thing that happened yesterday afternoon.

jun-ho didn’t even mean to see it. he’s just in the police car, just patrolling, when he spots you across the street. there’s a kid that sis no older than ten standing behind a makeshift stand with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of plastic cups.

the sign is messy, written in thick, uneven strokes. 1,000 won per cup!

he watches as you pause, as you reach into your pocket, pulling out a crumpled bill.

you hand it to the boy.

you don’t take the over-sweetened lemonade. you just shove your hands in your pockets and walk away before the kid can even thank you.

jun-ho doesn’t know why that bothers him so much.

maybe it’s because it doesn’t fit the version of you he’s built in his head. the version that’s cold, calculating, selfish, and greedy. that version is wrong, isn’t it? a selfish person wouldn’t waste their own money on a kid just trying to make some change.

a selfish person wouldn’t play with stray cats or make sure to buy expensive fruit instead of stealing it.

he doesn’t know what your story is, but he’s starting to understand that you are not heartless. reckless? yes. irresponsible? absolutely. not cruel. not fully empty like you try to seem.

that fact is becoming his problem.

he’s read your file. he knows more than he should. your past, the childhood neglect, the system that failed you over and over again. he’s seen it before with people turning bitter, turning desperate, because the world gave them nothing and expected them to make do.

he’s a police officer, not a superhero. he can’t fix that or fix you.

junho wishes you would just stop making stupid decisions. maybe if you did, maybe if you found a way out of this cycle.

maybe then, he could approach you differently.

maybe then, he wouldn’t just be watching.

see, you’re not stupid.

jun-ho might be a good cop, but he’s a shit liar.

he acts like he’s patrolling, like he’s just doing his job. you know better. he’s watching you nd keeping tabs on you. the man is always near, always somewhere in the background. does he have a wife? kids? maybe not, he is still on the younger side. maybe just five to seven years older than you. its clear that he is single with too much freetime.

maybe if you were the same person you were five years ago, soft, trusting, and hopeful, you would have been creeped out, even scared that a police officer was suspicious of you.

now, it just makes you feel something you don’t want to name.

you know you haven’t stolen in weeks. you haven’t picked a pocket, scammed a dumb drunk, or lifted a wallet off a distracted tourist. that 1,200,000 won is keeping you stable… at least for now. long enough, hopefully, until jun-ho gets bored and moves on.

lately, the thought of him moving on, of him not watching you anymore, makes your chest feel tight because no one notices you. no one ever has in the large city of seoul.

your only friend, sae-byeok, even disappeared at times.

throughout your whole life, you’ve been invisible to the people who should’ve cared, to the world that chewed you up and spat you out, to the strangers who walk past you every day without a second glance.

jun-ho, that damn police officer, he sees you. even if he’s just doing it because he thinks you’ll screw up again, even if it’s nothing but routine for him, it still means something.

that pisses you off.

he’s annoying because he’s too attractive for his own good, because he gets under your skin in a way no one else does or has ever had.

so when you spot him across the street, writing up some guy for speeding, you don’t think and you just move.

you stand a few feet away and wait until he’s finished, watching as he hands over the ticket with that same unimpressed expression he always wears. when the guy finally drives off in frustration, you step forward, hands in your pockets, your voice laced with teasing amusement.

“well, it looks like you finally found something else to do besides watching me.”

jun-ho doesn’t even look surprised. just rolls his eyes as he slips his notepad back into his jacket.

“trust me, you’re not that interesting.”

you smirk.

“oh, really? then why are you always around?”

he exhales sharply, shaking his head.

“coincidence.”

“bullshit.”

he huffs a laugh, crossing his arms.

“you’re awfully confident for someone who’s one mistake away from getting arrested.”

you tilt your head, stepping a little closer, just enough to make it personal.

“i haven’t stolen in weeks. you know that. so what’s your excuse, officer?”

jun-ho says nothing, just looks at you, unreadable. for a second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes… something not quite irritation, not quite amusement.

then he sighs, “go home, y/n. it's getting late.”

you grin, ignoring the way his voice sounds when he says your name.

“whatever you say, officer.”

you step back, turning on your heel, but before you walk away, you glance over your shoulder.

“see you tomorrow.”

jun-ho doesn’t respond, but you don’t need him to because you both know the truth. i mean there were no plans but he is never too far away from you.

not even an hour later in the subway, you press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, fingers gripping the red square piece of paper between your thumb and index finger.

your palms sting, and faint imprints of the salesman’s hand still tingling against the skin on your face. the bastard had slapped you twice, only twice, but your pride felt more bruised than your face.

you should’ve walked away from the salesman who sat down next to you, you should’ve kept your head down, taken your money from the last round, and gone home. the moment he laughed at you, and told you that him and his “organization” knew everything about you, you knew that this was no coincidence.

the salesman had handed you a small card before leaving the station, something he implied that would change your life. it was thin, a little worn at the edges, the symbols on the front simple but strange: a circle, a triangle, a square.

you flip it over.

a phone number.

“call when you’re ready for your chance,” the man had said, smiling like he knew something you didn’t.

you stare at the numbers, tapping the card against your palm as the subway car sways gently beneath your feet.

something about it feels off. it’s too mysterious, too cryptic… but the promise of financial freedom? of something bigger?

you need that.

you close your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose. you don’t know why, but in the back of your mind, you wish jun-ho had been there.

not to stop you, necessarily… but just to be there.

if he had been, maybe he would’ve told you to be careful. maybe he would’ve pulled you away from the salesman, away from whatever this was, away from another stupid decision.

however, jun-ho has his own problems.

across the city, jun-ho exhales sharply, staring at the thin card between his fingers. little did you know, he did have a life outside of work. junho’s mind is elsewhere, swirling with frustration, worry, and a growing sense of unease.

inho, his older brother, his only family besides his mom, has been missing for weeks.

no leads. no clues. just gone. until now.

the man in front of him.. gi-hun, scruffy, desperate, looking defeated, tells junho that he made up a lie at the police station. a lie about a card that junho saw on his brother’s desk.

“where did you get this?” jun-ho asks, his voice steady but demanding.

jun-ho remembers the card. a circle. triangle. square.

inho had this same card in his apartment before he vanished.

when gihun walks away, junho lets him but he does not give up.

meanwhile, you sit in the subway car, flipping the card between your fingers, picking on the inside of your cheek with your teeth.

a few nights later, jun-ho knows that he shouldn’t be here outside.

it’s past midnight, and he should be going home after his shift, should be focusing on his brother, should be figuring out why gi-hun is connected to all of this. however, when he spots gi-hun walking down the empty street, he moves on instinct, following from a safe distance.

the thing is that he doesn’t expect to see you but there you are passing gi hun on the block, keeping your head down while walking down the quiet street.

you don’t see junho. you’re too busy walking, hands deep in your pockets, shoulders tense. at first, he assumes the worst… that you’re about to do something stupid, that you’re going back to your old habits, that you’ll make him chase you again.

he should leave you alone but junho can’t so he detours, shadowing you instead.

but then, you stop.

jun-ho narrows his eyes, staying low behind a parked car. you stand outside a small park, unmoving. your hands tighten in your pockets, and for a moment, it almost looks like you’re hesitating and then the van pulls up.

jun-ho stiffens, watching as you glance up, exhaling a breath before stepping forward. the door slides open and you climb in. three seconds later, smoke fills up the van’s windows. a thick, white, flooding the air.

jun-ho’s heart pounds. he watches as the van lingers for only a few seconds before pulling away, disappearing down the street.

“the hell?” he mutters under his breath, immediately making his way back to his car. the officers hands grip the wheel tightly as he follows, keeping a careful distance, headlights off. the man’s mind races… who the hell were these people? did you know them? were you in danger?

the van slows down five blocks later and and jun-ho’s stomach drops.

gi-hun, standing with the same look you had.

the van door slides open again, the same cloud of smoke spilling out into the night air.

gi-hun stumbles, barely reacting before he collapses, his body slumping forward.

jun-ho grips the steering wheel tighter, his jaw clenching.

this wasn’t just some underground scam.

this was something else, something big, and now, he had to protect two people.

one… a man who might be his only lead to his missing brother.

the other… a woman who had no idea what kind of hell she was walking into.

three days later, your body is stiff, motionless, even as your mind screams at you to run. that is because you don’t belong here. you never did.

the deaths, the endless and ruthless deaths, should’ve broken you by now. however, you refuse to let it show. you refuse to let anyone see that you’re barely keeping yourself together, that your heart threatens to claw its way out of your chest every time a gunshot echoes through the air.

sae-byeok notices, though. she always does.

she ended up in these games. she is player 067, and you are player 404. luckily, sae byeok stays close, her presence grounding you, keeping you from slipping too far into your own head. you’ve survived red light, green light. you’ve survived dalgona, but surviving isn’t the same as living.

you exhale slowly, fists clenched as the guards flood into the dorms due to some sort of situation. their guns are raised, black masks concealing their faces. your eyes flick to sae-byeok, who remains perfectly still, her expression unreadable.

beside you, gi-hun tenses.

a guard steps forward, voice sharp.

“do you know any player by the name of hwang in-ho?”

gi-hun shakes his head.

“no.”

“w-we don’t use our names in here.”

he continues,

however, your breath hitches, barely audible.

because that voice…

you turn your head, scanning the line of guards, your heart pounding against your ribs.

it’s stupid. so stupid.

you’re being paranoid. you’re in survival mode, and your mind is playing tricks on you.

jun-ho is not here.

for a second, just a second, your eyes lock onto the guard that was behind you. somehow, the guard doesn’t look away.

your throat tightens but it’s impossible.

stop thinking about jun-ho all the time. he is not here.

you force yourself to clear your thoughts, shaking your head slightly before looking away, pretending the moment never happened.

the guards stay for a few more minutes, checking something… you don’t know what, don’t care what… before they leave.

however, you sit back down in exhaustion, hoping to get out of here soon.

three more days go by and the air is thick with the stench of blood and rain.

your fingers twitch, your breathing shallow, but all you can do is stare. sang-woo’s body lies motionless in front of you, crimson pooling beneath him. dead. you should feel something. anything. relief, maybe. satisfaction. however, all you feel is rage. burning, searing rage.

sae-byeok should be here. sangwoo killed sae-byeok just a few hours before this moment.

sae-byeok should be standing beside you, should be breathing, should be alive.

the only person in your life is now gone.

now it’s just you and gi-hun.

you tighten your fists, nails digging into your palms as the finality of it all crashes down on you like a tidal wave. you won. you and gi-hun are the last ones standing. it doesn’t feel like a victory though, it feels like a punishment.

you don’t remember much after that.

it’s all a blur. the way the guards forced you into a van, blindfolded, hands tied. you barely even processed the moment they threw you back onto the cold pavement of the city, the impact sending a sharp ache through your ribs. you untie yourself quickly, fingers trembling slightly as you rip the blindfold off, blinking against the dim streetlights.

you’re back but not in those suffocating green jumpsuits, not in that godforsaken arena of death. you’re in your own clothes. the same ones you wore before stepping into that van all those days ago.

your breath comes out shaky as you pat yourself down, desperate for something, anything, that proves this wasn’t some fever dream, that you’re really standing here, that you made it out.

your fingers brush against something solid, metallic. your stomach twists. slowly, you pull it from your pocket. a gold card. your hands tremble as you stare at it. you already know what it means.

however, you have to see it with your own eyes.

you take off running, feet pounding against the pavement as you sprint to the nearest ATM.

your heart is hammering in your chest when you shove the card into the machine, barely able to keep your hands steady. the screen loads, the numbers processing.

your breath catches.

balance: 22.8 billion won.

you sway on your feet, gripping the edge of the ATM, fingers white-knuckled.

you made it. you’re free since there is no more stealing, no more running, no more waking up every day wondering if you’ll make it to the next.

you won.

why does it feel so fucking hollow?

why does the sight of those numbers on the screen make your stomach churn instead of settle?

why do you feel like you lost more than you won?

you exhale, stepping away from the ATM, forcing yourself to straighten.

you have to keep moving.

you have to act normal because the moment you let this break you, the moment you let the cracks widen, is the moment you really lose.

deep down, you know it.

things aren’t over yet.

more weeks go by and your apartment doesn’t feel like home anymore. it’s the same. its the same same peeling wallpaper, same secondhand furniture, same dim lighting that flickers in the kitchen. however, you are different.

the streets outside are loud, too loud. car horns make you flinch, sudden shouts send ice down your spine, and every time you close your eyes, you see flashes of red. of green. of bodies hitting the ground. living in the city does not seem like a smart idea anymore.

however, you force yourself to settle back into your old routine. you buy fruit at the market. you feed the stray cats. you pretend everything is fine.

nothing is fine.

suddenly, a knock on your door brings back another old routine.

it’s light. soft.

you don’t flinch since it was so light but your heart pounds anyway.

you hesitate before opening the door, fingers gripping the handle tighter than necessary. when you see him standing there, alive, real, your breath catches in your throat.

jun-ho.

for a moment, you just stare.

your chest tightens, your throat burns, and you feel dangerously close to crying. for weeks, you’ve convinced yourself that he moved on. that he never noticed you were gone and that he forgot you. he’s here.

junho’s eyes scan your face carefully, like he’s checking to see if you’re really okay.

“can i come in?” his voice is softer than you remember.

you nod quickly, stepping aside.

he enters, his presence filling the small space as you shut the door behind him. he doesn’t move much, just stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes lingering on you.

“tea?” you offer, voice hoarse.

“water’s fine if you have any.”

you pour him a glass, setting it down in front of him before sitting across from him at your small table. the silence stretches between you both as you sit down in front of him at your table.

the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

“i was there, too.”

you freeze at his words.

jun-ho exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“on the island. i followed gi-hun. i was looking for my missing brother.”

your stomach twists, you did not know this much information about junho.

“you know gi-hun?”

he nods.

“yeah. he led me there without realizing it.” he hesitates, eyes locking onto yours.

he didn’t speak for a moment as you looked at him with curiosity, is he okay? was he a player? why didn’t you see him? how didn’t he get caught?

“i pretending to be a guard. the circle one that you saw that day in the dorms. later on I got shot in my shoulder, but i am okay.”

junho reassures. yet, you are not reassured.

“i was looking out for you, too.”

your breath shudders.

he leans forward slightly.

“when i saw you get in that van, i—” he stops, jaw tightening.

“i thought i lost you.”

something inside you cracks.

you don’t know when the tears start. one second, you’re staring at him, trying to hold it together, and the next, your vision blurs, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. jun-ho doesn’t say anything, just watches, just listens, as everything you’ve been holding in breaks.

“i didn’t sign up for that,” you choke out, voice shaking.

“i thought— i thought it was just games. just money. i just wanted to be able to stop what i used to do.”

junho’s expression darkens, but he says nothing.

you shake your head, wiping at your face.

“they killed them. all of them. and i– i just stood there, i just..”

you gasp, a sob wrenching from your throat before you can stop it.

jun-ho moves before you can register it. one second, you’re falling apart and the next, his arms are around you, pulling you close.

you freeze since his warmth seeps into you, his steady breathing grounding you. junho’s grip is firm, solid, real. this is the first time since sae-byeok’s death that you don’t feel alone.

you clutch the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling tightly into the material as you let yourself feel. you cry for sae-byeok. for the people who didn’t make it. for the part of yourself that died on that island.

jun-ho holds you through all of it.

when your sobs quiet into shaky breaths, you whisper against his shoulder, “can you stay?”

he doesn’t hesitate.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “i’ll stay.”

he needs this just as much as you do.

when you finally pull back, your face is inches from his.

the officer’s hand lingers on your back, his breath warm against your cheek. junho’s eyes, dark, searching, soft, flicker down to your lips for only a second before meeting your gaze again.

your heart pounds, but this time, it’s not from fear.

the officer is now living with you, but he is different now.

something inside of him has shifted, cracked beyond repair.

after finding out that his own brother, the one he spent so long searching for, was the mastermind behind that place, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his old life. to the force and to the law because what was the point?

this world was cruel but you already knew that.

he spends his days with you now. at first, it’s small things, late breakfasts, quiet conversations, accompanying each other to the store, sitting in the same room without speaking. suddenly, it becomes something more. something deeper because you grow close. too close.

neither of you say anything about it.

the tension between you simmers beneath the surface, heavy and waiting. it’s in the way jun-ho’s eyes linger on you when you’re not looking, in the way your fingers brush against his when you pass him something, in the way your body tenses whenever he gets too close, but you never pull away.

one night, it finally snaps.

you wake up crying.

your dreams, no, your memories, are suffocating. blood, screams, gunfire. your body shakes, your chest tightens, and you can’t breathe.

you force yourself out of bed, wiping your face as you shuffle toward the kitchen. maybe water will help. maybe the cold tile beneath your feet will ground you. however, as you step out into the hallway, you stop.

jun-ho stands in the hallway, shirt loose, hair messy, his face unreadable. it looks like he just step outside of his room as well.

he looks like he hasn’t slept.

“you okay?” his voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

you nod. a lie.

he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“couldn’t sleep.”

you swallow.

“me neither.”

silence.

suddenly, it snaps, something snaps.

you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, his lips are on yours.

it’s not soft. it’s not careful. it’s desperate.

junho’s hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you clutch onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. the man’s mouth moves against yours with a hunger you’ve never felt before, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

this tension, this thing between you, it’s been there for so long, even before the games. before the world burned around you and now, it’s finally boiling over.

jun-ho backs you up, step by step, until your back hits the doorframe of your bedroom. junho’s breath is hot against your lips, his hands firm on your hips.

you don’t stop him because you don’t want to stop him.

junho’s lips find yours again, and this time, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s memorizing the way you taste. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, feeling his abs as you pull him closer, and closer.

he groans softly against your mouth, and something about the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

you don’t even realize that your door opened until he’s guiding you backward, at least until your knees hit the bed.

your heart pounds, your breath shaky as his lips trail along your jaw, down to your neck, his hands never leaving your body.

you close your eyes, letting yourself drown in him, in this, in everything.

with junho, you realized this is where your nightmare ends.

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sillylilsquid · 2 months ago

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pairing - thanos x reader summary - you never expected one night out with friends to shatter you. but after the fear, and bruises you can't scrub away, the only place that feels safe is in thanos' arms. he's not gentle, not always kind...but he's yours. and he makes it his mission to erase every mark but his own. warnings - au!thanos, no squid game, mention of SA, thanos being an ass but trying his best, sexual content. minors dni, 18+ only 4.5k words

Karaoke night should’ve been harmless.

It was just a night out with you friends. Loud music, neon lights, mismatched tambourine rhythms, drinks in different sized glasses, and off-pitch screaming to old pop songs. The kind of night meant to make you forget how exhausting life can be. You hadn’t even wanted to drink at first–but one shot turned into two, and then someone passed you a cocktail that was more vodka than juice.

You remember laughing a lot. Dancing in that small, cramped room. The guys your friend invited being louder than everyone else. You remember one of them offering to walk you home and when you told him you lived kind of far, he said, “you can just crash at mine. No funny business.”

But everything after that gets blurry.

You remember being tired. You remember lying down. You remember trying to say no.

And then…nothing. Until you woke up.

Your clothes askew. The sharp sting of shame sitting heavy in your throat. His bedroom smelled like cheap cologne and stale liquor. Your phone was dead. The taste in your mouth sour. And the bruises blooming like fingerprints around your neck and down your chest make you want to crawl out of your skin.

You snuck out before he woke up.

Back at your apartment, you plug your phone in with trembling hands. It lights up immediately.

23 missed calls. 15 messages.

yo you ghosting me now?

answer your phone

you with someone else?

the fuck’s going on, baby?

at least have the decency to tell me if you are

The lump in your throat nearly chokes you. You throw the phone face down on the couch and stumble into the shower. The water is too hot, scalding your skin, but you stand under it anyway. Scrubbing at your arms, your thighs, your neck. Reddening your skin until your reflection blurs in the fogged-up glass.

You don’t cry until after. When you see your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

You text Thanos when you get out. Say you’re home. Say you’re sorry.

His reply is short.

nam gyu’s party tonight. 9pm. don’t bail

You stare at the screen for a long moment before replying. i’ll go.

And then you’re standing in front of your closet, yanking out an oversized hoodie and jeans. Something that covers everything. Something safe. You don’t want to go. But you don't want him to think anything’s wrong either.

The party is already buzzing by the time you get there. Music thumping. Smoke curling through the air. People pressed shoulder to shoulder in Nam Gyu’s massive apartment.

Thanos is already inside when you arrive. He’s leaning against a wall, all black on black, eyes sweeping the room until they land on you. His expression doesn’t change, but he pushes off the wall and meets you halfway.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” he says, flat, eyes skating over your hoodie.

“I’m cold,” you mumble.

He doesn’t press. Just jerks his chin toward the bar. “Drink?”

You shake your head. “Not tonight.”

You try to keep it together. Really, you do. But the music feels too loud, the bodies too close. You keep flinching when someone walks behind you. You’re hyper aware of your sleeves and your collar. Of how his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You force a smile. Laugh at someone’s joke. Try to act normal.

Thanos watches all of it.

After a while, he leans in. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

He doesn’t believe you. You know that. But he lets it go.

Until you tug on his sleeve and whisper, “Can we go?”

Thanos groaned the second you ask to leave. Runs a hand down his face, annoyed, already halfway through his drink. “Seriously? We just got here.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t feel good.”

He watches you for a long beat. Jaw tight, eyes unreadable. You can tell he’s trying to figure out if it’s bullshit. But then his shoulders drop, and he sighs, pushing away from the wall.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

The car is quiet. Too quiet. He’s got one hand gripping the wheel drumming on the center console. You sit rigid beside him, hoodie pulled tight around your frame, your fingers wound in the sleeves.

He starts the engine. Puts it in reverse. Then he pauses, shifting the car back into park.

Thanos’ gaze shifts. Slowly. Like he’s noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

You feel it when his eyes land on the bruise just peeking from the edge of your hoodie–the top of a mark near your collarbone you couldn’t quite cover.

“What the fuck is that?”

You don’t have time to react before his hand is on you–firm, not gentle–and he yanks the collar of your hoodie down.

Hard.

The fabric pulls and your body tenses, the panic instant.

His face goes still when he sees them. The scattered hickies painted across your chest. Some deep. All unmistakable.

“What. The fuck.” His voice is low. Dangerous. “You’re joking, right?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He jerks back like you burned him. “You said you were at karaoke. With friends. You didn’t answer your phone all night. Now I know why.”

“No,” you say quickly, “it’s not what you think–”

“Oh, really?” He laughs–bitter and disbelieving. “Because it looks like some asshole had his fucking mouth all over you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” you snap, voice cracking.

“You expect me to believe that?” he growls. “What, you just tripped and fell into his goddamn bed?”

Your cheeks burn. Your stomach churns. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“Then explain those bruises,” he barks, gesturing to your chest. “Explain why you’re acting like a ghost, why you couldn’t even look at me all night.”

“I can’t,” you bite out.

“That’s not good enough.”

The air is thick with it now–his anger, your fear, everything unspoken crowding the space between you. You turn toward the door, fumbling for the handle.

His voice stops you cold.

“If you get out of this car…” he says, voice tight, jaw clenched. “I’m not chasing you after this time.”

Your hand freezes. Gripping the handle.

You don’t look at him. Can’t. You just breathe, shallow and quick, heart in your throat.

Then you open the door and step out.

And true to his word, he doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t move.

Not when you slam the door shut. Not when your footsteps fade into the night. Not even when the silence in the car gets so loud it feels like it’s crawling under his skin.

Thanos sits there, seething. Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, knuckles white around the steering wheel. But the anger is hollow now.

What the fuck just happened?

He leans back in the seat, drags a hand down his face.

He didn’t mean to yell. Not like that. But those fucking marks–

Thanos' mind replays it like a loop. The way you flinched when he grabbed your collar. The way your voice cracked when you insisted you didn’t cheat. The way your fingers trembled around the door handle like you were deciding if it was safer outside than in the car with him.

And worst of all–the way you left without looking back.

His gut twists.

Thanos stays parked there for a long time. Long enough for the streetlights to hum like static. Long enough for the guilt to start gnawing through the heat of his temper.

He thinks about the messages he sent you last night. The ones you never answered. The unread texts. The missed calls.

His throat tightens.

Eventually, he throws the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. The empty seat beside him feels colder now.

You walk home in silence, hoodie still clutched tight around your frame. Your head throbs. Your chest aches. You shower again–twice–scrubbing until your skin feels raw. You still can’t get warm.

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

1:53 a.m.

are you home?

1:55 a.m.

i shouldn’t have yelled at you

i just…fuck. please answer me

2:01 a.m.

i’m coming over

You stare at the screen, fingers hovering but you don’t reply.

You barely have time to register what that means before you hear it.

The soft metallic click of your front door unlocking. You sit up, heart hammering.

Thanos steps into the apartment like a shadow–big, broad, still wearing the same jacket he had on at the party. His hair’s a little messy, jaw tight, but his eyes…They’re soft. Wild. Scared in a way you’ve never seen.

“I used the spare,” he mutters. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

You don’t say anything. Just watch him as he closes the door behind him, standing in your entryway like he’s not sure if he should come closer.

He looks around, as if checking if someone else is there. His voice is rough when he finally asks, “are you okay?”

You sit curled on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your fingers. Your hair’s still damp from the shower, sticking to the back of your neck. You look up at him slowly, heart thudding.

Thanos stands there, staring at you for a long second. Then–

“Give me your phone.”

His voice is low. Controlled. But there’s an edge underneath it–one that could slice clean through you if he let it.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

Thanos takes a slow step forward, hand outstretched. “Your phone,” he says again, firmer. “Let me see it.”

You hesitate for a second, confused. Then you grab it from the coffee table, silently unlocking it before placing it in his open palm.

He takes it without a word. And for the next minute, all you hear is the soft sound of his thumb scrolling across your screen. His jaw tightens with every flick–his eyes scanning your messages, your calls, your apps.

Silence stretches.

When he finally speaks, his voice is different–deeper, quieter. “There’s nothing here.”

“No shit,” you whisper, staring down at your knees.

He exhales through his nose, tosses your phone onto the couch beside you. “So who the fuck was it?”

Your head snaps up. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“You are covered in hickies,” he growls, taking a step closer. “You didn’t come home. You didn’t answer your phone. And now you’re acting like I’m the one losing my mind?”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Then tell me what happened,” he snaps. “Because I’m trying, okay? I’m fucking trying not to lose it right now–”

He cuts himself off, fingers raking through his hair. “You left with that guy last night, didn’t you? The one on your friend’s story. I texted you so many times and you just–disappeared.”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice.

“I thought maybe you got hurt. Or maybe…” he trails off, swallowing. “I didn’t want to think this. But then I saw those marks, and you just looked at me like I was some kind of asshole for asking.”

“I wasn’t looking at you like that–”

“I need you to tell me the truth,” he says, and this time, it’s almost a plea. “Please. Just say it. I’m going fucking insane here.”

You stare at Thanos, throat tight, fingerings gripping the edge of the cushion beneath you.

You don’t say anything.

You just sit there–frozen on the couch with your knees drawn up, eyes locked on him like he’s made of smoke and might vanish if you blink too hard.

But he’s not disappearing.

He’s getting louder.

Thanos scoffs, pacing in front of you now, hand dragging through his hair in agitation. “You know what? Fuck this. I come here at three in the goddamn morning because I’m worried, and you just sit there like a fucking ghost. Do you want me to think the worst? Because right now, I am.”

You flinch.

Still, you don’t speak.

He stops in front of you again. Voice sharper now. “You think I can’t see it? You’re not even looking at me–”

“I didn’t want to go with him,” you whisper.

His rant screeches to a halt.

Silence.

Thanos blinks, stunned. “What?”

“I didn’t…” you swallow, voice paper thin. “I didn’t want to go with him.”

The words hang there. They feel heavier than the walls, heavier than the hours you’ve carried them. You can feel them sitting in the center of the room now–ugly and raw, taking up all the air between you.

He stares at you.

And then his expression starts to change like he’s seeing something different now–like he’s finally noticing the stiffness in your body, the way your hands are trembling in your sleeves.

His voice drops to a rasp. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You don’t answer. Can’t answer.

“Take off the hoodie.”

You look at him–wide-eyed.

Thanos steps closer, gaze dark and deadly serious now. “Take it off,” he says again, quieter. “Show me what he did to you.”

You hesitate–everything in you screaming not to, not to relive it, not to look at it. But your hands move anyway. Slow. Mechanical. Like you’re watching yourself from somewhere far away.

You pull the hoodie up and over your head. It drops beside you.

And you can feel the change in the room instantly.

Thanos doesn’t say anything.

His eyes roam across your skin–your collarbone, your chest, your arms. The marks are all over you. Some purple and yellow as they begin to fade. Some darker and angry red. Finger-shaped bruises around your waist. Dark spots trailing down your ribs like they were put there on purpose.

He clenches his jaw so hard you swear you hear it crack.

And he just stares–like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like every second he looks is another second closer to losing control.

The silence doesn’t last.

Thanos rips a hand through his hair, turns away like he can’t stand to look at you–or maybe because he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps looking.

And then it hits. The explosion.

“Fuck!”

He slams his fist into the wall. The sound ricochets through the apartment, making you jump.

“You let me think you cheated,” he growls, turning on you. “You let me sit there, drowning in it–thinking you chose someone else.”

“I didn’t–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice cracks. “You let me think it was just some fucking hookup! You hid it from me!”

You flinch, guilt tightening your throat. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t–” He stops short, chest heaving, face twisted in something between grief and rage. “Don’t fucking apologize to me.”

You don’t know what else to say. It spills out anyway, desperate and cracked. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I didn’t know what to do–I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want to ruin–”

“He ruined you.” His voice drops into something dangerous.

Your lips press together, eyes stinging. You look down at your lap, ashamed, raw. “Yeah…”

“No.”

The word slices the air. You look up.

And the look in his eyes?

It’s lethal.

Thanos storms toward you, crouches in front of the couch like he wants to shake you, like he doesn’t know whether to scream or gather you in his arms and never let you leave again.

“No one ruins you.” His voice is low now. Deadly calm. “No one ruins you.”

Your mouth parts. His gaze is burning into you, all fury and heartbreak and something else–something that coils down your spine and makes you ache in a different way.

His hand comes up, gentle, grazing your jaw where there aren’t bruises.

“No one ruins you,” he says again, softer this time. Then, voice rough as gravel: “Except for me.”

The breath leaves your lungs.

Your hands tremble where they rest on your lap. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You think I can’t handle the dark parts of you? You think I can’t hold them?”

You blink at him.

“You’re mine.” His thumb presses under your chin, tilting your face up. “And I don’t care how broken you think you are. You’re still mine.”

You don’t remember when you crawled into his lap.

Maybe it was after the third apology. Maybe it was when your voice broke on the words I didn’t know how to tell you.

But the moment Thanos sat back on the couch, jaw clenched and hands twitching with rage, you slipped between his knees, reached for him like it was the only thing you knew how to do–and then collapsed into him.

And he let you.

He let you cry into his chest, his hoodie soft and smelling like him. He let your hands curl into the fabric, bunching it in your fists like you’d fall apart without the weight of him grounding you. He held you–arms steel around your body, his voice low and steady in your ear.

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re okay now.”

“He’s not coming near you again.”

You lost track of time like that. All you knew was the rhythm of his heart against your cheek and the way his fingers traced your spine like a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

The next day, you hardly left his side.

Everywhere he went, you were right there. Quiet. Watchful. Clingy in a way that surprised even you.

When he went to the kitchen–you followed.

When he sat on the floor to fix something–you dropped next to him, thigh pressed to his.

When he got up to take a call–you held onto the hem of his shirt, like maybe he’d vanish if you didn’t.

He didn’t say anything about it. Not once.

Just slipped his hand into yours, or touched the back of your neck in passing, or glanced at you like he could feel the pull too.

That night, curled up on his couch with a movie playing low in the background, you shifted in his lap. You were wearing one of his hoodies again–something oversized and soft and safe smelling. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

And you said it.

“I want you to mark me.”

Thanos paused.

You looked up at him, voice steadier this time. “I want you to make me forget his marks. I want to remember yours instead.”

He stares at you for a moment. Long enough that your heart fluttered in your chest like a warning bell. You almost backtracked–almost took it back.

But then he shook his head slowly. “Baby girl…”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said gently. “Not when you’re still hurting.”

You looked down. “But I trust you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “And that’s exactly why I’m not gonna touch you like that. Not tonight. Not when part of you still feels like you’re trying to erase something.”

You swallowed hard. It wasn’t rejection–it didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like him protecting you from yourself. And still…there was that ache. That need to feel something else–anything else.

“Can I at least sleep with you tonight?” you whispered.

His arms tightened around you. “You don’t even have to ask.”

A few weeks later–Club Pentagon

Thanos has barely taken his eyes off you all night.

It’s been weeks since that night you first clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking. Weeks of slow, tender moments. Of healing. Of his hands on your back, your waist, your thighs–but never lower. Never past what you were ready for.

You wanted to be ready.

You wanted him to take you apart with those same hands that held you so gently.

But he waited.

Patient. Protective. Frustratingly in control.

And now? With the thump of the bass vibrating under your feet, and your dress riding just a little higher with every sway of your hips–you could feel the tension radiating off him from across the room.

Thanos was leaning against the wall near the bar, drink untouched in his hand, watching you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.

You smiled.

And then your heart stopped.

He was here.

The guy from that night. Laughing with a group of people, beer in hand, like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Like your skin hadn’t been covered in his bruises. Like he didn’t destroy a piece of you.

You froze mid step. Your drink sloshed a little.

The music faded into white noise.

Thanos noticed.

He was next to you in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer. Your eyes were locked. Adn Thanos followed your gaze. His whole body went rigid.

His hand shot out to rest on your lower back, possessive and grounding. “Stay here,” he growled.

“No–wait,” you whispered, catching his wrist. “Don’t.”

He was already moving toward the guy.

“Thanos.”

You chased after him, grabbing at his arm, trying to pull him back. You caught up just as he squared up in front of the asshole.

“Got something to say to me?” Thanos asked, voice full of hate.

The guy blinked. “Do I…know you?”

“Yeah,” Thanos snapped. “You hurt my girl.”

Confusion flickered, then something uglier. A smirk. “Your girl?”

Thanos shoved him–just hard enough to knock his drink out of his hand. “Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

You squeezed between them, heart pounding, hands pressed to Thanos’ chest. “Please, not here.”

His chest was heaving. Jaw clenched. But when he looked down at you–he saw it. That fear. That ache.

And he backed down.

For you.

Thanos grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd. Past the pulsing lights, down a hallway near the bathrooms.

He slammed the door behind you both, locking it.

You barely had time to speak before his mouth crashed into yours.

Finally.

The kiss was brutal. Heated. Weeks of restraint bursting all at once. His hands tangled in your hair, yours fisting his shirt.

“You should’ve let me kill him,” he breathed against your lips.

“I didn’t want to ruin tonight,” you whispered.

His hands were on your thighs now, lifting you onto the bathroom counter. “You didn’t. But I’m gonna fucking ruin you now, baby. Got it?”

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

Thanos groaned low in his throat.

Your fingers undid his belt, your mouth at his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. He cupped your cheek, gaze searching yours one last time.

And then you were on your knees.

He hissed your name when your mouth wrapped around him, one hand on the back of your head, the other gripping the counter behind him. Every groan, every curse, was laced with need. And affection. And possessiveness.

“You look so pretty like this,” he panted. “Fuck baby girl…that mouth.”

It was messy. Desperate. Cathartic.

When he came, it was with a low growl and a string of praise tangled in your hair–so good, fuck, that’s it, baby girl.

He pulled you into his arms after, still half dressed, kissing your forehead.

“You’re mine,” Thanos said again. Quieter this time.

You nodded against his chest. “Yours.”

The apartment door barely shuts before Thanos has you pressed to it, mouth crashing into yours like a storm finally given permission to destroy. His hands are everywhere–palming your hips, gripping your thighs, sliding beneath the hoodie he’d let you borrow in the car.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he growls against your lips. “Like you want me to fucking devour you.”

You whisper back, breathless and already aching, “What if I do?”

That’s all it takes.

Thanos spins you, walking you backward down the hallway with that dark, hungry look in his eyes, like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or throw you down. When your back hits the bedroom door, he opens it and pushes you through, lips never leaving yours.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low and feral, tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

You obey, pulling it over your head, bare underneath. His eyes darken at the sight of you–his girl, trembling with need, still flushed from what just happened in that club bathroom.

He steps closer, sliding his hand up your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “You’re mine,” he says, not a question. A statement. A promise. A warning.

You nod, breath catching in your throat. “Yours.”

He kisses you again–rougher this time, bruising. Teeth and tongue. He backs you toward the bed and you fall back with a gasp, watching him pull off his shirt, then climb over you like he’s starving.

His mouth is on your neck, trailing down to the places that man marked you weeks ago. Thanos bites. Sucks. Lingers.

“I’m gonna cover every fucking inch of you,” he growls. “So you never forget who this body belongs to.”

Thanos works you open slow–but not gently. Fingers curling inside you, lips never leaving your skin. When he finally pushes into you, you moan like it’s the only sound your body remembers how to make.

“Fuck,” he hisses thorugh clenched teeth. “So tight. So fucking wet for me.”

Every thrust is a promise. Every kiss, a vow. He takes you hard–rough enough that the headboard bangs the wall, fast enough that your back arches off the bed, fingers clutching the sheets.

But he doesn’t let go. Not for a second. His mouth is on yours, his hand gripping yours, like he’s anchoring you to the moment, like he needs you to feel it.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he growls against your neck. “So no one ever thinks about touching you again.”

You gasp his name, over and over again, until your moans break into whimpers, until you fall apart beneath him–shaking, wrecked, owned.

And only then does he let go, with a guttural groan, spilling into you with a shudder and a low curse, his mouth still pressed to your skin.

It’s quiet afterward. Heavy breathing, tangled limbs. You’re still clinging to him when he shifts up and kisses your shoulder, gently this time. Like the storm has passed.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Are you?”

Thanos helps you sit up, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then disappears into the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth, carefully wiping the sweat and makeup from your skin like you’re something fragile.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

You smile, soft and sleepy, and he pulls one of his shirts over your head. It falls to your thighs, smelling like him. Familiar. Safe.

Thanos helps you into bed and slides in beside you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as you press your cheek to his chest.

Neither of you speak for a while.

Until he kisses your hair and whispers, “Next time you see him–I want you to look him in the eye. And know that you’re mine.”

You close your eyes, fingers curling into his side. “I already do.”

#thanos x y/n #thanos smut #thanos x reader #t.o.p x reader #t.o.p fanfic #t.o.p bigbang #thanos #thanos squid game #thanos imagine #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #squid game x y/n #squid game #alternate universe #player 230 x y/n #player 230 x reader

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dear-satan · 4 months ago

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Falling Without a Sound

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 871

★ CW: no squid game events, fem!reader, mention of suicide, death, drugs and debts

★ Summary: the salesman didn't show up and Thanos jumped off a bridge

★ author's note: the story contains the theme of suicide, it does not urge ANYONE to do something similar!! if you are struggling, similar thinking please contact your family or loved ones. remember - you are a wonderful person and you are NEVER alone <3

The world had a habit of taking things from you without warning. You didn’t expect him to come back. Not like this. Not this way.

Outside the window, the city pulsed with its own rhythm—neon lights flickering, footsteps echoing, voices rising and falling, none of them belonging to you. Somewhere in that noise, someone laughed the way he used to. Someone sang his song, completely unaware that its author was now lying several floors above the ground, bound to white sheets and his own shadow.

And you were here. You slipped through the crowd like a ghost no one could see—though everyone wanted to.

The elevator carried you to the second floor, every second stretching into eternity. Sterile walls, the scent of disinfectants, and a silence worse than screams.

You stopped in front of door number 230. You couldn’t breathe.

Your hand hovered over the handle, and in your mind, the memories returned: his laughter when he first heard his song on the radio. The excitement in his eyes as he counted the growing views on streaming platforms. The fire in his heart that fueled his dreams. And then…

A phone call at 2 a.m.

Passersby who saw his silhouette on the bridge railing.

Cold water swallowing him before anyone could react.

He was lucky.. Or maybe he wasn’t.

You clenched your teeth and stepped inside. A hospital bed by the window. A heart monitor beeping in a steady, rhythmic beep, beep, beep. An IV drip, its clear liquid falling slowly, like time being measured drop by drop.

And him - he was a shadow of himself.

Purple hair, still damp, staining the pillow. A pale face, dark circles under hollow eyes, skin stretched over sharp bones. The blanket was too big, or maybe he had become too small. His hands lay still at his sides, but you saw them—the needle marks, the scabs, the veins pierced too many times.

You were afraid to touch him. Afraid he might break.

“Su-bong?” you whispered, as if his name could bring him back to life.

His jaw tightened. He held his breath.

But he didn’t look at you.

You pulled a chair closer, sitting beside him. “Look at me.”

Silence.

A shiver ran down your spine as you saw his hands clench the sheets.

“Su-bong.”

Slowly, as if forcing himself into each movement, he turned his head.

And that’s when you saw it - his eyes were empty. There was no light in them, not even sadness.. Just exhaustion.

“Hey.” his voice was hoarse, quiet, breaking at the edges.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “That’s all you have to say to me? Just ‘hey’?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze wandered over the walls, as if trying to find in them the answers to questions you hadn’t yet asked.

“I want to understand.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of your pants. “I want to understand why this happened. Why…” You couldn’t finish.

But he did it for you. “Why I jumped?”

Silence

“It’s simple.” He gave a bitter smile, but it was broken. “I had nothing left to lose.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something more than exhaustion.

Pain. Collapse. Loss.

“You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice shook. “To wake up in the morning and know you’re worth less than nothing. That your bank account is empty, and the only time your phone rings is when someone wants money you don’t have.”

You swallowed hard. “Su-bong…”

“My contract was terminated.” His fingers gripped the sheets. “ ‘You’ve spent too long in the dark, Mr. Thanos. It’s time for someone new.’ ” a hollow laugh. “Do you know how much my debt was? 1.19 billion.” something inside you froze “I owed them more than my life was worth.” he exhaled, a sound filled with quiet defeat. “So I figured the simplest solution was… to stop existing.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “You had no right-”

“I had no choice.” his eyes - those dull, empty eyes - finally filled with tears. “I was a burden. To the company. To my family. To the world.”

“Not to me.” he blinked, as if your words were the last thing he expected to hear.

You didn’t let him look away. Your hand reached for his cheek, warm skin meeting his cold one. “I won’t let you go.”

His fingers trembled, then tears—silent, uncontrollable—began falling, one after another, like raindrops against glass.

“I don’t know how…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to-”

“You don’t have to know.” you ran your fingers through his hair, gently, as if he were made of porcelain. “Just let me be here.”

For a moment, he hesitated in silence.

Then his fingers, the same ones that had clung so tightly to nothingness, tightened around your hand.

Not hard, but enough.

Enough to know that you hadn’t lost him yet. Enough to know he was still here. Enough to know he still wanted to stay.

And that was enough.

This time, even if everything else crumbled, you wouldn’t let him disappear.

You wouldn’t let him fall.

#choi subong #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader #squid game thanos #thanos squid game #squid game thanos x reader #thanos x reader #thanos #player 230 #x reader #character x you #x y/n #x you #squid game x y/n #squid game #player 230 x reader

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dynaloy · 5 months ago

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Behind the Mask

Lee Byung-hun | Front man x fem!reader

Summary: After surviving the Squid Game, you’re approached by Hwang In-ho, the former Front Man, who secretly feels responsible for your pain. As he helps you rebuild your life, his guilt and your anger clash, but an unexpected bond begins to form. When he confesses his past and asks for forgiveness, you struggle with your feelings.

author’s note: You are free to imagine yourself however you want but I always imagine as a foreign woman in Korea. Hope you guys like it.

It had been a year since the Squid Game, and the world had moved on. The news cycles had churned out their fill of the horrors, the survivors had been cast back into obscurity, and the games had once again retreated into the shadows of urban legend. But for you, the nightmares remained as vivid as the day you had stepped off that fateful plane, the faces of your lost friends haunting your every waking moment. You had survived the games and won the prize but you weren’t living.

One evening, as the neon lights of the city flickered to life outside your small, cramped apartment, you decided to venture out in search of something—anything—to distract you from the ghosts of your past. Rain pattered against the windowpanes, creating a rhythm that seemed to echo the chaotic dance of your thoughts. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the small, dimly lit coffee shop downstairs, luring you in with the promise of warmth and solace.

You stepped inside, the bell jingling as the door swung shut behind you. The barista nodded a familiar greeting, and you took your usual spot in the corner, a table sticky with the residue of a hundred forgotten drinks. As you stared into the murky depths of your black coffee, trying to read the future in the swirling patterns, a man entered. Tall, with a sharp jawline and piercing eyes, he had an aura of quiet strength that seemed almost out of place in the dingy establishment.

He noticed you immediately, his gaze lingering for a second too long before he ordered a drink and took a seat across from you. He introduced himself as Hwang In-ho, and though something about his name tickled the back of your mind, you couldn’t quite place it. His voice was soothing, his mannerisms gentle—like a balm to your soul in a world that had become too harsh and jaded. Without realizing it, you found yourself opening up to him, sharing the weight of your burdens with someone who seemed to understand your pain. As the hours slipped by, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope, a whisper of human connection in the vast loneliness that had become your existence.

Over the next few weeks, In-ho became a fixture in your life—helping you find a stable job, offering a listening ear, and even cooking you dinner when the memories grew too much to bear. His kindness was a stark contrast to the ruthless efficiency you remembered from the games, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the enigma that was this man. In the quiet moments, you’d catch him watching you, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own. It was as if he was fighting his own invisible demons, ones that you desperately wanted to help him vanquish.

But there were moments, fleeting as they were, that made you question his intentions. The way his hand would hover just a fraction too long when he handed you a cup of tea, or the knowing glances he’d cast at the TV when news of the Squid Game would briefly resurface. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding something back, that there was more to him than met the eye. Yet, you pushed these thoughts aside, telling yourself that you were just being paranoid—that the games had left you too suspicious of even the most innocent of gestures.

Then, one night, as you rummaged through a pile of old newspapers, a photograph slipped into view—an image of the Front Man, the mastermind behind the Squid Game. Your heart stopped as you stared at the picture, the masked figure’s eyes eerily similar to the ones you’d looked into so often during your late-night chats with In-ho. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. He was watching you, not just as a concerned friend, but as someone who knew the darkest secrets of your soul. You had to know the truth.

You waited for In-ho's next visit, your nerves jangling like an out-of-tune guitar string. When he arrived, his smile was as warm as ever, but you couldn’t ignore the tremor in your hand as you handed him a cup of coffee. The air grew thick with tension as you held the newspaper out to him, the damning photo on full display.

"Is this you?" you demanded, your voice shaking.

He took the paper, his eyes flitting from your face to the image and back again. For a moment, you thought he might deny it. But then, with a sigh that seemed to deflate his very essence, he nodded.

"Yes, it is," he admitted, his voice low and pained. "But please, let me explain."

He began to recount his history, the story of his brother and the origins of the Squid Game. He told about how his wife died without treatment and he went to the game to pay his debts, he won the prize after the founder befriends him and died letting the control of the game on his hands.

"After that," he paused, his voice thick with regret, "I became the Front Man. I watched over everything, ensured the games ran smoothly. And when you played, I watched you, too."

You felt the color drain from your face as his words sank in. "Why me?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hiss of the espresso machine.

"Because you were different," he replied, his gaze intense. "You had a fire in your eyes—a will to live that was stronger than the rest. I didn't want you to win because you were the best player, but because I knew you had a reason to survive."

You slammed the newspaper down on the counter, the sound echoing through the empty café. "That doesn't change anything," you spat. "You were the one who sent me there, who forced me to watch my friends die."

He didn't flinch at your anger. Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know what I've done is unforgivable. But since that day, I've seen the way you've struggled. The pain you carry is like my own, and I wanted to help you carry it."

For a long moment, you just stared at him, the weight of his confession pressing down on you like an invisible vice. His words, his demeanor, everything about him was a stark contrast to the cold, calculated figure you knew from the games. Yet, the evidence was right there in front of you. You had to decide whether to trust the man before you or hold onto the anger that had become your lifeline.

Taking a deep breath, you demanded, "What do you want from me?"

He looked at you with a mix of hope and desperation. "Redemption, perhaps. But mostly, I want you to understand that I'm not the monster you think I am. I'm just a man who made terrible choices, trying to make amends."

The room grew quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of the rain outside. You felt torn between the rage that burned within you and the strange comfort you had found in his presence. As the silence stretched on, a question bubbled to the surface of your thoughts—what would you do with the truth now that you had it?

"I need time to process this," you finally said, your voice firm despite the turmoil within.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here."

With that, he left you alone in the coffee shop, the mask of his true identity shattered on the floor between you. Outside, the rain had turned to a gentle drizzle, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation of your next move.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the photograph and the story he told you swirling in your mind. His words of regret and his desire for redemption echoed in your ears. Was he truly sorry, or was this just another game, another twisted manipulation?

Days turned into weeks as you wrestled with your emotions, trying to reconcile the man you thought you knew with the monster he had revealed himself to be. The late-night chats grew fewer, the warmth of his smile cooler with each passing encounter. Yet, with every step you took away from him, you felt a strange pull, a whisper that maybe—just maybe—his love for you was genuine.

One rainy evening, you found yourself standing outside the coffee shop again, the neon lights casting a warm glow on the damp pavement. You knew you had to make a choice: either walk away from the enigma that was Hwang In-ho and the painful ties to your past, or take a chance and confront him with the full weight of your anger and doubt.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door, the bell chiming a greeting that felt like a declaration of war. He was there, sitting at your usual table, looking up at you with those haunted eyes.

"You came," he said, his voice tentative.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You had rehearsed a thousand scenarios in your mind, but now that you were facing him, the words felt jumbled and raw. He looked so... ordinary. The man you had feared, the man who had orchestrated your living hell, reduced to sipping coffee in a worn-out sweater, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and despair.

You took a seat across from him, the air between you crackling with tension. He waited, his hands clasped around the mug as if it was a lifeline. You studied him, searching for the Front Man you knew, the one who had made you play those games, who had watched you suffer. But all you saw was In-ho, the man who had held your hand in the dark, who had made you laugh when you thought you had forgotten how.

"I've been thinking," you began, your voice steady despite the tumult in your soul. "About what you said. About what you are, and what you've done."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "And?"

You took a deep breath, the scent of the coffee shop mingling with the dampness of the rain outside. "And I’ve decided that I can’t live with the anger anymore. It’s eating away at me, In-ho. I need to let it go."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. Raindrops pattered against the windows, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the silence that stretched out like a tightrope between you.

"But," you added, your voice firm, "Forgiveness doesn’t mean I excuse what you’ve done. It means I’m willing to let go of the anger, for myself. So, yes, I forgive you—not because you deserve it, but because I need to move forward. And if you truly want to change, I’ll give you the chance to prove it."

Relief washed over In-ho’s face, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "I understand," he murmured. "And I’ll do everything in my power to make it right."

#squid game #kdrama #korean #ambw #squid game imagine #front man #front man x reader #lee byung hun #inho #in ho x reader

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gotmyyass2marz · 9 months ago

Text

I Feel Like Freddy Fazbear Behind Me

i love instilling fear into the heart of my qpp.

#neon lights and squids

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angelnoe9 · 2 months ago

Text

Love beyond Deepspace

Chapter 7: Stillness of the Night

Summary of the chapter:

Vacation may be over, but a cozy night in his arms before going back to boring daily life makes it better?

˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you and your friends returned to the hotel. The fading light painted golden reflections across the polished floors as you entered the lobby, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses spilling from the nearby restaurant.

Your group decided to skip the hassle of heading back out into the city. The hotel’s restaurant, after all, was well-known for its seafood menu—and none of you needed convincing.

You settle into a cozy booth near the window, your legs aching in that satisfying way after a long day of wandering. The sea breeze slips in through a crack in the tall windows, mingling with the scent of grilled fish, buttered shellfish, and seaweed broth.

As the dishes begin to arrive—steamed mussels glistening in garlic butter, grilled squid with a spicy glaze, crab soup thick and fragrant—you feel your stomach rumble with anticipation. Laughter and the clinking of utensils fills the space around you, a comforting backdrop to the warmth of shared company.

Then, without warning, your thoughts drift.

Seafood. You pause mid-bite, the rich flavor of grilled snapper melting on your tongue.

Rafayel would love this.

The memory slips in so naturally, you don’t even realize you’re smiling at first. You picture him again—his eyes glowing in the dim light, sitting cross-legged on that soft white chair, his voice teasing yet somehow tender.

It’s strange, how certain things linger. How even a plate of food can pull someone back into your thoughts with such ease. The world around you is filled with chatter and clinking cutlery, yet all you can think about is how vividly you remember him—how his presence could fill a space even in silence.

Your gaze drifts to the seafood platter between you and your friends, the scent and flavor suddenly tinged with something softer, more personal. A little pang settles in your chest.

He’s not here.

Not really.

And yet, the thought of him feels closer than ever.

You stir your spoon slowly in the crab soup, wondering if he’d have laughed at the way your nose crinkled from the spicy heat. Would he have ordered for you, nudging a dish closer with a smug “You’ll like this one”? Or insisted on stealing bites from your plate, only to pout dramatically when you caught him?

A gentle bump on your shoulder pulls you back to reality. One of your friends is offering you a piece of grilled octopus with a grin. "You’ve gone quiet again. Thinking about secret boyfriend?"

You choke a little on your soup, heat rising to your face. “I am not—”

They just laugh, and you quickly reach for your water, hiding behind the glass.

But even as the teasing continues and your friends dive back into their meal, you can’t shake the thought of him.

Rafayel Somewhere between pixels and memory, fantasy and feeling, he lingers like the taste of sweet melon on your tongue—unexpected, lingering, and real in all the ways that matter.

And for just a second, you imagine him here—seated beside you, fingers curled loosely around his fork, eyes sparkling with quiet amusement as if he knows exactly what you're thinking.

The moment passes, but the warmth in your chest remains.

Later that night, full from dinner and drowsy from the long day, you return to your room with the quiet hush of the hallway wrapping around you like a blanket. The city outside glows faintly through the curtains, neon signs casting slow, pulsing shadows against the walls.

You toss your bag onto the chair and sink onto the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath. Your feet ache, your shoulders are sore—but your mind is elsewhere, still lingering at that dinner table, still tracing the outline of a memory that feels both impossibly distant and unbearably close.

It’s been a hectic day, and you’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone check your phone. But now, as the evening settles in and the world outside your window softens into twilight, you finally find a moment.

You plug your phone in and swipe through notifications—nothing urgent. Just the usual buzz of daily life. But then, your thumb pauses over the game’s icon.

You haven’t opened it in a while. Not since... well, not since you had arrived at the hotel.

You open the game, the familiar soft chime greeting you as the screen comes to life. You haven't had time to check in for a while, but today, you need your daily ritual—just a quick look, a moment to feel grounded.

The home screen loads, and there he is.

Rafayel

Standing casually, his dark purple hair tousled just enough to look effortless. His eyes meet yours, and that soft, knowing smile spreads across his lips. His white collared shirt is slightly open at the top, hinting at something casual, something inviting. His posture is relaxed, hands in his pockets, leaning against nothing but the air itself.

The soft lighting wraps around him, giving his figure a subtle warmth, and the muted background seems to fade away, as if it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is him, standing there, waiting.

"I will be here for you whenever you want to talk," his voice line appears, smooth and steady, like a gentle promise hanging in the quiet space between you and the screen.

You can’t help but smile, the words resonating in a way you didn’t expect. It's comforting, even if you know it’s just a scripted line.

“Thanks, Rafayel,” you whisper, your thumb brushing the screen as if that could somehow bridge the gap between the digital world and the real one.

For a moment, the illusion feels almost real. You watch his eyes, soft and patient, and it feels like he’s waiting, just for you. Maybe you’ll talk to him about today, or just listen to his calming voice.

“I had seafood tonight,” you whisper, even though you know he can’t hear. “You would’ve liked it.”

A faint knock sounds through the shared wall—one of your friends checking in. You answer them with a quiet "All good," and glance back at your screen.

Rafayel hasn’t moved. But something in his gaze feels different. The smirk has faded, replaced with something softer. Quieter.

You hesitate, then close the app.

The screen dims, and your reflection stares back at you—tired eyes, a lingering smile, and something unspoken resting behind your ribs.

You slip under the covers, the sounds of the city outside blending with the low hum of the AC. And as sleep begins to pull you under, you swear you hear his voice again—gentler now, like the memory of salt in sea breeze.

“Next time… save a bite for me.”

You smile.

And somewhere between dreams and digital echoes, you carry him with you—soft as water, fleeting as moonlight, but real.

Real enough.

The morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, pulling you from your dreams. For a moment, the world is still, quiet—a brief space where the memory of last night lingers like a delicate thread between sleep and wakefulness.

Your phone buzzes beside you, snapping you into the present. It’s a message from one of your friends: “Rise and shine! We’re heading out for breakfast, then the amusement park. Last day here! Let’s make it count!”

You stretch and yawn, pushing the lingering thoughts of Rafayel aside for now. There’s no time for that today. You quickly pull yourself out of bed, the excitement of the day ahead settling into your bones as you get ready. You can already feel the energy of your friends bubbling through the group chat as they finalize plans.

After a quick breakfast at the hotel, you and your friends venture out into the city, the crisp morning air feeling like a fresh start. The streets are lively with locals and tourists alike, the hum of city sounds mixing with laughter and music drifting from street vendors and performers.

You wander through the bustling market, the stalls offering colorful fruits, handmade trinkets, and delicious smells that make your stomach rumble. The excitement is contagious as you and your friends snap pictures, trying to capture the moment and your wide grins as you sample local delicacies. There’s the sweet and tangy fruit from a vendor whose stall is packed with vibrant colors, soft bread filled with gooey fillings, and sizzling skewers of meats cooked right in front of you.

Then, it’s off to the amusement park, where the air smells of popcorn and cotton candy, and the clatter of roller coasters and laughter fills the sky. You and your friends race to the rides, faces lit up with excitement as you scream your way through loops and turns. The day is spent in a blur of thrills and fun: trying the craziest rides, posing for goofy pictures, and losing track of time as you wander through arcades and snack stands.

By the time the sun starts to dip low on the horizon, you’re all ready for the next part of the day—something that’s become a must for every trip you take together.

The beach.

As the first stars twinkle in the sky, you and your friends set up a bonfire, the crackling flames warm against the cool evening air. The scent of saltwater mingles with the smoke, and laughter rises into the night, joining the sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore. You all gather around the fire, roasting marshmallows, sharing stories, and taking in the last few moments before the trip comes to an end.

With your feet buried in the sand, you lean back to watch the flames dance, your thoughts drifting for a moment. The day had been full—full of excitement, joy, and the kind of memories that would last a lifetime. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a familiar thought flits through again.

Rafayel.

You smile softly, the quiet memory of his voice and that promise hanging in your mind.

But tonight, with the sound of laughter and the warmth of good company surrounding you, you push it aside for now. You have this moment, and that’s enough.

As the fire crackles, you hear one of your friends call out, “Group photo time!”

Everyone gathers around the fire, the orange glow lighting up your faces as you pose and laugh for the camera. In the corner of your vision, the ocean stretches out into the night, the waves lapping softly against the shore.

Tomorrow, you’ll return to your home, but tonight, you’re here. And that’s all that matters.

The night winds down, the sound of the bonfire crackling slowly fading into the distance as the laughter of your friends begins to quiet. You feel the warm buzz of contentment from the day’s adventures, your heart full of the fun and memories.

As you sit back, the cool breeze ruffling your hair, you pull your phone from your pocket, your usual evening ritual calling you. The glow of the screen lights up your face as you unlock it, and instinctively, you open the game.

The familiar chime greets you, soft and welcoming, and the home screen slowly loads.

This time, it’s Xavier.

His short, light-colored hair frames his face with delicate wisps, the darker undertones adding a mysterious touch to his otherwise soft appearance. His light-colored eyes seem to look straight at you, sharp and clear, as if he's studying you from across the screen. His light-colored button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, seems effortlessly casual, and the grey pants with a black belt only add to his understated, yet sharp appearance. The warm indoor setting behind him—furniture, shelves, and a potted plant—feels cozy, almost like you’re peeking into a quiet space of his own.

Just as you’re about to do the daily routine of the game, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey, is that the game you’re playing?”

You turn your head slightly, startled, and look up to find a guy standing just behind you, leaning slightly over the back of your seat. His friendly smile is accompanied by a casual curiosity in his eyes as he watches you play.

"Yeah," you answer, a little taken aback. "Just a game I like."

He steps closer, glancing at the screen as if he's trying to figure out what exactly has you so captivated. "It looks cool," he says, chuckling a little. "Mind if I ask you something?"

Your friends, who had been sitting nearby chatting and laughing, immediately catch the shift. One of them winks at you, and another smirks.

"Uh-oh," one of them teases, a sly grin on their face. "Looks like someone's got a fan."

"Go on, ask her," another one chimes in, nudging you playfully. "We’ll cheer you on!"

The guy seems a bit hesitant but leans in a little. “I know this is kinda random, but… can I get your number? And maybe your social media? I just thought you seemed interesting, and I’d love to stay in touch.”

Your friends erupt into teasing cheers, their voices a mix of amusement and playful excitement.

"Ooooh, look at you," one of them calls out. "Making connections!"

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin tugging at your lips. The moment is silly but fun, your heart racing slightly from the unexpected attention. You glance back at the screen one more time, where Xavier’s gentle expression still lingers.

“Maybe next time,” you say with a wink, enjoying the brief sense of power in the playful exchange. “But, thanks for the offer.”

Your friends burst out laughing, some pretending to cheer like they were at a sporting event. One of them claps dramatically, making exaggerated slow clap motions.

“Nice,” they say, still teasing. “She plays it cool.”

You can’t help but laugh along, shaking your head. The guy, slightly embarrassed but still smiling, waves it off with a shrug. “Guess I’ll take that as a ‘maybe.’”

“Better luck next time,” you tease, winking at him.

He laughs, shaking his head as he walks away, leaving you with your friends who are now full-on teasing you with exaggerated sighs and comments.

“Smooth," one of them says. "I see you playing the game and playing the field.”

You stick your tongue out at them but can’t keep the smile off your face. In the end, the night continues with more laughter, the warmth of the bonfire still radiating through the air. Even though it’s just a silly moment in the grand scheme of things, it’s the kind of memory that will stick with you—the kind of night you’ll remember with fondness, even long after you’re back to your everyday routine.

It’s been a perfect day, filled with laughter, new experiences, and memories that you know will stay with you long after this trip ends.

Your friends are still joking around, teasing you about the guy earlier, but you can’t help the smile that lingers on your face. Even as they continue to poke fun at you, you’re wrapped in a sense of happiness, a sense of peace you didn’t expect.

Eventually, you all make your way back to the hotel. The cool night air greets you as you step into the lobby, your feet sore but your heart light. The exhaustion of the day hits you all at once, and within minutes, everyone’s settling in for the night, eager to get some rest before the early flight the next morning.

The room is quiet, the soft hum of the city outside muffled by the windows, as you slip into bed. You set your alarm, knowing the morning will come all too soon. The sheets are cool against your skin, and for a moment, you think about the adventures you’ve had, the faces you’ve seen, and the memories you’ve made.

The quiet of the hotel room lulls you into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The morning arrives quicker than expected, the shrill sound of your alarm pulling you out of a deep sleep. You stretch and groan as the group stirs around you, all of you begrudgingly getting ready for the early morning flight. There’s no time to linger in the comfort of the hotel room, no time for reflection—just the rush of gathering your things, double-checking your passport, and ensuring you didn’t leave anything behind.

The airport has a feeling of finality as you make your way through check-in, grabbing a quick breakfast at a café, and then navigating through security. A quiet sadness settles over you as you glance back at the airport terminal, realizing that the place that’s been home for the last few days is now behind you. The adventure is officially over.

The conversations around you feel a little quieter now, as your friends, too, come to terms with the end of the trip. You board the plane, and the excitement of the past few days gives way to a peaceful calm as the final chapter of this adventure begins to close.

This time, there’s no surreal fall from the sky, no sudden, jolting moment of shock. The flight is smooth, the view from the window a peaceful, hazy stretch of blue sky as the plane ascends toward home.

As you look out the window, your mind drifts back to the trip—the moments of laughter, the stories shared, and the things you tried for the first time. You think about how these memories will stay with you, even as life pulls you back into its routine.

Before you know it, the plane is descending, and your home airport comes into view. You feel a small but steady sense of peace settle over you, your feet about to touch familiar ground once again. The trip may be over, but it’s a memory you’ll always carry with you.

When the plane finally comes to a stop, there’s a quiet sense of contentment. The adventure is behind you, but the memories remain, and that’s something no plane ride can take away.

You breathe in the air of home, the familiar surroundings of your apartment greeting you as you step inside. The soft hum of the city outside filters through the windows, but it's the quiet comfort of your own space that settles over you.

The trip is over, but the memories remain, tucked away in the corners of your mind, ready to be revisited whenever you want. As you set your bag down and glance around the room, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. It's good to be back, even if just for a moment, before the routine of everyday life takes over again.

The moment you drop your bag by the door, the exhaustion hits you all at once. You barely manage to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto your bed. The familiar scent of your pillow, the coolness of the sheets—it all wraps around you like a lullaby.

You don’t remember closing your eyes.

When you wake again, the sky outside your window is painted in soft shades of evening, the last golden rays of sunlight slipping beneath the horizon. For a moment, you forget where you are. Then it all settles back in—home. You're back home.

With a groggy stretch and a yawn, you drag yourself into the bathroom, shedding the remnants of travel. The shower is a welcome reset, warm water chasing away the stiffness in your limbs and the weight of the long day. You linger there a while, letting it soothe you.

Fresh and clean, wrapped in the comfort of your favorite clothes, you step into the kitchen. It’s quiet, but not lonely. You move around the space with ease, the rhythm of home falling back into place. Soon, the smell of something warm and comforting fills the air.

Dinner is simple—nothing extravagant, but it hits the spot. You sit at your usual place by the window, watching the city lights blink to life as you eat. There’s a quiet peace in the air, like the world has slowed just for you.

After dinner, you clear your plate and rinse it absentmindedly, your body moving through the motions like muscle memory. A long sigh leaves your lips as you head into the bathroom, flipping on the light. You brush your teeth slowly, your eyes heavy, your thoughts distant—still half in the clouds of sleep, half grounded in the quiet peace of being back home.

You finish, rinse, and reach for the door handle.

But when you open it—

You freeze.

It’s not your room.

The soft amber glow of a bedside lamp greets you, casting gentle shadows against familiar walls. You take one slow step forward, and then another, drawn in by the warmth and quiet intimacy of the space. You know this room.

Xavier’s room.

The sloped ceiling arches overhead, the same one you remember. To your right, tall windows reveal a tapestry of city lights twinkling in the dark, their reflections stretching across the polished wooden floor. The air feels still here, calm. Safe. The scent is familiar too—something clean, faintly earthy, and undeniably him.

The bed rests against the far wall, the wooden frame blending with the darker tones of the room. And there he is.

Xavier

He’s lying on his side, half-curled under the covers, one arm tucked beneath his head. The soft light from the lamp washes over him, highlighting the delicate curve of his jaw, the way his light-colored hair fans out slightly against the pillow. His chest rises and falls in an even rhythm, completely at peace.

You don’t want to wake him.

Quietly, you pad across the room and sit gently beside him on the edge of the bed. The comforter shifts slightly under your weight. You glance around—the floating shelves still hold the same books, a small potted plant rests beside a framed photo. Everything is just as you remember.

Your gaze returns to him.

In this light, Xavier almost doesn’t look real. Like something out of a dream—beautiful, serene. You don’t even realize your hand is moving until your fingers graze lightly across his cheek, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

He stirs.

Slowly, his eyes blink open, that soft, light gaze locking onto you. For a breathless second, he just looks at you, unblinking.

Then his arms move—gentle, unhurried—as he pulls you down beside him and into his warmth.

You don’t resist.

He wraps himself around you, his touch firm yet tender, anchoring you to him in the quiet glow of the night. His voice, low and still touched by sleep, barely breaks the silence.

“…You came back.”

There’s no need for words. You simply lean in, resting your forehead gently against his chest, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat greets you like a familiar song. It’s grounding, calming—like everything in the world has quieted down just for this moment.

Outside the window, the city lights flicker softly, casting a faint glow across the room. The world beyond feels distant, almost unreal. But here, wrapped in the gentle hush of the lamplight and the warmth of his arms, everything feels right.

And for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel the need to go anywhere.

You’re exactly where you want to be.

Still tucked in his embrace, you feel his fingers gently shift along your back, but there’s a slight pause—just enough to tell something’s on his mind.

“…So,” Xavier murmurs, voice low and casual—but not quite casual enough. “That guy at the beach. The one who asked for your number.”

You blink, then tilt your head up to look at him.

He’s not looking at you at first—his gaze is fixed somewhere above, like he’s trying to play it cool. But the slight pout on his lips and the way his brows dip in the middle give him away. When he finally meets your eyes, there’s a mix of playful jealousy and a quiet vulnerability behind them. His expression is almost childlike, soft and a little sulky, like a puppy that just got scolded for no reason.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Xavier… were you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he gently tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer again until your nose nearly brushes his collarbone.

“…No,” he mutters into your hair. “I just didn’t like how he looked at you.”

You smile, heart fluttering. His honesty is endearing, but it’s that slightly grumpy tone that makes it even cuter.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze again, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You know I didn’t give him my number, right?”

“I know,” he mumbles, eyes glancing away again, still wearing that soft sulk. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

And gods, he’s too cute like this—jealous, quiet, and all yours.

You can’t stop smiling. The way he sulks without fully admitting it, all while holding you so close, like you might slip away if he lets go for even a second—it tugs at your heart in the gentlest way.

“Mm, you’re pouting,” you tease softly, tracing a slow circle on his chest with your finger. “You say you’re not jealous, but your pout says otherwise.”

“I’m not pouting,” he mutters, but the slight rise in his cheeks betrays him.

You press a kiss just under his jaw. “You’re totally pouting. It’s adorable.”

Xavier sighs, dramatic and resigned. “You really are dangerous.”

You lift your head slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Because I noticed your pout?”

“No,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “Because you make me want things I’ve never let myself want before.”

Your heart skips. But before the moment can grow too heavy, you lean in and kiss the tip of his nose, giggling when he blinks at you.

“I want things too,” you whisper. “Like staying in bed with you all day. Like stealing all your blankets and making you chase me for them.”

“You’d freeze without me,” he says with a soft smirk, pulling you closer, your bodies now fully pressed together. “I’m the only heater you’re allowed to use.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Is that so?”

“It’s law now,” he says, nosing into your hair. “Punishable by more cuddles if you try to rebel.”

You pretend to consider that, then snuggle in even tighter, tucking your legs against his. “Mmm. I surrender.”

“Good,” he hums. “You’re safer here anyway.”

His fingers find yours under the blanket, gently lacing them together. He brings your joined hands up to his lips and places the softest kiss to your knuckles. Then another. Then one to your wrist. Lazy, tender, lingering kisses that make your breath hitch every time.

Xavier's fingers trace the soft lines of your hand, his touch gentle and languid as if he's trying to memorize every detail. You smile at the quiet affection, feeling your body settle deeper into his warmth. The world outside seems a million miles away, and here, under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, everything feels... still.

“You always know how to get your way, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice sleepy, trailing off as your eyelids grow heavy.

His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle, his breath warm against your hair. "Maybe," he says, his voice dropping low, affectionate. "But I don't mind being a little sneaky if it means getting to hold you like this."

You let out a contented sigh, turning your face so your cheek rests on his chest. His hand moves to the small of your back, the warmth of his palm grounding you. His thumb rubs small circles against your skin, soothing and calming.

"I could fall asleep like this forever," you whisper, barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Then do it," he replies, his voice barely above a murmur. "Stay here with me. Let’s just... be."

For a few moments, there's nothing but the sound of your combined breaths and the soft rustling of the sheets as you both settle into the cozy silence. Xavier's arm tightens around you slightly, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

You drift in and out of sleep, comforted by his presence, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful drowsiness. The city lights flicker softly outside, casting a warm glow across the room, but inside, there’s only the warmth of his embrace, the soft press of his lips against your skin, and the quiet contentment of being exactly where you are.

And as sleep finally begins to take over, you can’t help but smile, your last conscious thought filled with the quiet joy of this moment, knowing that for now, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Xavier’s gaze softens as he watches you sleep, the dim light from the lamp casting a warm glow across your face. His heart beats steadily, the calm rhythm of it matching the rise and fall of your chest. There’s something so peaceful about the way you’re tucked into his arms, and for a moment, he can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude that you’re here, in his space, in his life.

His thumb lightly strokes the back of your hand, a small but intimate gesture that makes him feel connected to you in the quietest of ways. But then, his thoughts shift—your soft, inviting lips, barely an inch from his, so close, so... tempting.

Xavier’s breath catches in his throat, and before he can second-guess himself, he leans down slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the serenity of the moment. His lips brush softly against yours, a delicate, feather-light kiss that lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

He pulls away just enough to look at you again, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, a barely contained smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You taste like everything I’ve been waiting for,” he whispers, though he knows you’re already half-asleep, lost in the comfort of his embrace.

His hand gently cups the back of your head, pulling you back toward him. This time, the kiss is deeper, a soft and lingering connection that leaves both of you breathless but with no rush to pull away. It’s a kiss that speaks of quiet longing, of love built on shared moments, even when words aren’t needed.

When he finally pulls back, he smiles softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Just one more,” he murmurs, sealing his words with another gentle kiss, this one more tender than before, the kind that says everything without speaking a single word.

And just like that, he feels at peace once more, knowing you’re here beside him, safe, warm, and completely his.

Xavier’s hands slide from your shoulders down to your waist, gently holding you closer as he deepens the kiss, the weight of your bodies pressed together more real than ever. His lips move with a softness that contrasts the intensity of the emotions swirling inside him, the warmth of your connection making everything else in the world fade into the background.

When he pulls away, it’s not out of need, but because he can’t help but smile at the sight of you in his arms. You’re still sleepy, your eyes half-lidded, but the way you look at him—so trusting, so open—makes his chest tighten with something he can’t quite name.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek in a lingering touch. “You’re too beautiful for your own good, you know that?” he whispers, his voice a quiet, tender murmur against the soft sound of your breathing.

You respond with a sleepy smile, shifting just slightly to nestle closer, your body fitting into his as if it was always meant to. Xavier lets out a soft sigh, contentment washing over him in waves. He loves this quiet, this softness. He’s been through so much, but moments like this make everything else feel like a distant memory, something less important compared to what’s right here with you.

His fingers trace the curve of your arm, so gentle, so slow, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He can’t resist the urge to place another kiss, this time on your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer, breathing you in.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than here with you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin.

You hum softly, clearly too comfortable to reply with anything more than a contented sigh. He chuckles lightly, leaning in to press another kiss to your temple, feeling the weight of your trust, your closeness, in every moment.

And despite the softness of the night and the quiet that surrounds you both, Xavier knows deep down that these moments are the ones he holds closest to his heart—simple, sweet, and filled with everything he never thought he would get. You.

His hand rests gently on your waist, and he closes his eyes, letting sleep take him, knowing that you’re there, perfectly safe and warm, within his embrace.

˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧₊⟡₊˚⊹˖⁺‧

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gotmyyass2marz · 7 months ago

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URL FROM MACHINE GIRL - ASS2MARS , BLOG THEME BASED ON MACHINE GIRL - SCHIZODIPSHIT

DIVIDERS COURTESY OF @/c1rcus-of-silliness

RONNIE / PAX

HE / IT / honestly whatever besides they

PREV URL WAS LABRATBOYGIRL

BIGENDER + OBJM + NONHUMAN (you dont like any of that then thas too dam bad)

not stating exact age but . minor☝️

i enjoy alphalore / alphastar716 , machine girl , look outside , twomp / ashur gharavi , gezebelle gaburgably , objectified (comic) , tj klune , ena / dbbq , miitopia , drive45 , cult of the lamb + others

i also enjoy my wife @br3akn3ck-br0adcast :3

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be aware that if u send me/tag me in dono requests i wont be able to contribute to them but i always share them around !!!!!!!!

MORE SOCIALS + FUN SHTUFF ON MY STRAWPAGE

@kinb0x <- BLOG WHERE I TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A CREATURE I AM

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HAVE FUN I SUPPOSE collect my images

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vacoomer · 6 months ago

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The Bindings

Setting: Two old acquaintances - the winner of the games from 2019 and the man who all started it - meet again after five years. They both know their potential connection is an explosive mix of danger, tension and possibly passion. They meet again, one fateful day, when the recruiter reminded her of another possible life changing offer.

Characters: The salesman/The recruiter (squid game); [Name] (your inserted character)

Warnings: Manipulation, Tension, small descriptions of death/blood

The flickering neon sign of a ramen shop cast a sickly yellow glow on the rain-slicked streets of Seoul’s Itaewon district. Inside a cramped, dilapidated apartment, [Name] stared blankly at the peeling, dark wallpaper.

Forty-five billion won. A sum that should have bought her paradise, instead it had bought her a cage of crippling anxiety and loneliness. Five years ago, she’d won the brutal games, a twisted lottery where the poor risked their lives for unimaginable wealth. She’d won, but at what cost?

The memories clawed at her, cold and sharp. The screams, the blood, the hollow eyes of those who hadn’t survived. Six days filled with hollow prays, begging the higher being of the world to let this all just be a bad trip, caused by the illegal substances and sick thoughts manifested through the things some had to endure.

The last game had decided her future. She had to defend herself against the other remaining competitor. So who is to say she is at fault? At fault for his tearing scream, the sound of his ribs breaking, his last gasps for air as his lungs filled themselves with blood.

Self defense, the man clothed in black called it, yet she named it inhumanity.

The apartment stood as a testament to her deliberate seclusion, a physical embodiment of her choice to retreat from the world. Discarded ramen bowls were stacked haphazardly, their remnants a stark reminder of her solitary meals, while ashtrays brimmed with the remnants of countless cigarettes, each one a silent witness to her unraveling. The atmosphere was thick with the oppressive odor of old smoke, mingling with an undercurrent of hopelessness that seemed to seep into the very walls, creating a suffocating cocoon around her.

A sudden, forceful knock on her door broke the stillness that enveloped her home. [Name] recoiled slightly, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape the confines of her chest. Visitors had become a rarity in her life, a distant memory of a time long past. With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, she slowly pulled the door open just enough to peer outside. There, in the dim light of the hallway, stood a man she had not laid eyes on in five long years.

The sight of him sent a jolt through her, a rush of emotions flooding her mind. This was the same man who had approached her in the park on that unforgettable day, a moment etched in her memory like a photograph. His presence was both familiar and foreign, stirring up a whirlwind of feelings she thought she had buried. She could hardly believe he was standing there, as if time had folded in on itself, bringing the past crashing back into her present.

Back then, he had inquired about her well-being, his voice laced with concern. She had kept her head bowed, the weight of her sorrow evident in the way her shoulders slumped. Tears had already pooled in her eyes, a silent testament to the turmoil she felt long before he arrived. With a heavy sigh, she responded, the sound escaping her lips like a whisper of her pain. Time seemed to stretch as she remained lost in her thoughts, unaware of his lingering presence until curiosity nudged her to lift her gaze finally.

When she finally looked up, she was met with a warm, inviting smile radiating kindness. It was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. She attempted to brush off her tear-streaked face with a feeble laugh, a gesture that felt both awkward and desperate. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, yet his demeanour remained unfazed as if he understood the depths of her struggle. With a playful glint in his eyes, he proposed a game, a simple yet profound invitation that hinted at a distraction from her heartache.

That was what she believed at first.

Back then, she did not know that by accepting the card he offered her, her life would never be the same as it once was. She had only been twenty-three.

A steady knock pulls her out of her thoughts.

The man still stood in the dark hallway, waiting.

He was older now, [Name] noticed. The lines etched deeper into his face, but his eyes held the same chilling intensity.

“[Name],” he said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s been a while. ” His eyes flicked around the apartment, assessing the decay as if it was a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside without invitation, his movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to thicken with an unspoken menace. [Name] felt a cold dread wash over her, the memories of the games flooding back in a horrifying wave. She knew that he couldn't be here just to reminisce. This clandestine visit was a warning, a threat; or perhaps both?

“What do you want? ” The woman managed; Her voice barely a whisper.

"Such an ungracious reception," the man remarked, his eyes fixed intently on her. "Five years ago, you were given an opportunity that few are lucky enough to encounter." His fingers traced the contours of a timeworn oil painting, each stroke a reminder of the past. "Yet here we are, five years later, and you still refuse to accept it."

He offered no further explanation; it was unnecessary. The weight of his unspoken words lingered in the atmosphere, wrapping around her like a constricting serpent, instilling a deep-seated dread. The staggering sum of forty-five billion won was powerless to shield her from the clutches of an organization that wielded such formidable influence and control.

Her mind wandered to the players, the faces of those who had sacrificed everything. She recalled the man who had lost an eye yet possessed a heart so immense that it seemed to radiate warmth, a beacon of kindness in a world often shrouded in darkness. Then there was the woman, her tears a constant stream, her prayers rising to the heavens as she implored the deities for deliverance from her suffering. And the little boy, with his wide, innocent eyes filled with dreams and aspirations, who had looked up at her with unwavering hope, only to have that light extinguished in an instant by a single, devastating bullet.

Each memory struck her like a thunderclap, echoing the harsh reality of their fates. The vivid images of their struggles and aspirations haunted her, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life. The man’s resilience, the woman’s despair, and the boy’s fleeting joy painted a haunting tableau of loss and longing.

She could not shake those memories from her thoughts.

Suddenly, a loud rumbling jolted her out of her trance.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows of the ageing apartment. The impeccably dressed man remained still, his gaze fixed on her as she fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

In the dim light of the room, he meticulously studied her features, each line and curve illuminated by the flickering shadows. She stood just a few paces away, close enough for him to bridge the distance with a couple of quick strides. Her fingers drummed nervously against her thigh, betraying the tension that coiled within her. Her wide, apprehensive eyes reflected a deep-seated fear, one that had been nurtured over the years. He was acutely aware of the dread that enveloped her, for he was the architect of her unease—a man whose ominous reputation lingered in the air like a chilling breeze, a reminder of the power he wielded.

It was five years prior that he first laid eyes on her, a delicate silhouette perched on a park bench in his favourite spot. She seemed almost ethereal, her slight frame hunched over as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders. In mere moments, he scrutinized her, attempting to unravel the enigma that surrounded her. Unlike the countless individuals he had encountered and recruited over the past decade, she was a puzzle—immediately recognizable yet profoundly elusive. Despite the challenge she presented, he remained unfazed, his demeanour unwavering and calm as ever.

The memory of that day lingered vividly in his mind, a stark contrast to the bustling life around him. While others were easily categorized and understood, she defied all his expectations, leaving him with a sense of intrigue that was both unsettling and captivating. How was she able to win the games? Such a delicate individual experiencing death before her eyes, yet she did not cower from it.

He found himself drawn to her, yet, even as he observed her from a distance, he maintained his usual poise, a steady anchor amidst the swirling currents of curiosity and uncertainty that she inspired within him.

This evening, an unsettling change coursed through his determination, igniting a flicker of danger in his thoughts. Over the years, his intrigue had only intensified, drawing him deeper into the mystery that surrounded her. His thorough inquiries had unveiled a wealth of information about this captivating woman, yet she continued to elude his understanding. He learned that she spent her days in the local library, leading a life that was both serene and unremarkable. Her social circle was limited, each friend meticulously selected, as if she were guarding her heart against the world.

He ought to have respected her boundaries and refrained from delving into the intricacies of her personal life. His excessive curiosity about her was misplaced and intrusive. As a recruiter for the ruthless games, he was well aware that such involvement only invited peril, not just for her but for himself as well.

As he advanced deeper into the room, the sound of his footsteps made [Name] recoil slightly, a reflexive response to his presence. He raised a hand in a gesture intended to soothe, though it might have come across as intimidating in the dim light that surrounded them.

"[Name]," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant, reverberating in the stillness. The name felt foreign as it rolled off his lips, marking the first time he had spoken it aloud. She remained silent, her gaze locked onto him, wide with a blend of trepidation and something else—perhaps a hint of recognition or a distant memory stirring within her. The thought sent a thrill through him, igniting a spark of hope that there was more to their connection than mere chance.

“I… I remember you,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. He saw a flash of something – confusion, perhaps? Or a hint of something else, something far more intriguing. He leaned in, his shadow falling over her, and the room grew even colder.

He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a fleeting connection, yet it was quickly suppressed by her fear. He realized then that her fear was not entirely directed at him, it was a fear of everything she had to endure, just because she took the card he had offered her.

He walked past her, his presence radiating a chill that seeped into her very bones. He spoke in soft tones, words crafted to soothe, to disarm. He spoke of books, of poetry, of things he knew she loved. The man walked through the room, taking in her living condition all the while she began to tremble.

“You are the man from the park…”, she interrupted him. Her eyes searching for something to ground her, avoiding his form by any means.

“The man who gave me the card.”, she continued.

“The man who gave you a chance to live a better life.”, he abruptly turned around.

A grin spreads across his features, unmistakable and bold. It lacks the warmth of kindness or the softness of modesty; instead, it resembles the sly smirk of a trickster, hinting at mischief and hidden intentions. The corners of his mouth curl upward in a way that suggests he knows more than he lets on.

His gaze roams over her face once more, as if he is cataloguing every detail with a predatory focus. Each contour and shadow is scrutinized, revealing a fascination that borders on obsession. There’s an intensity in his stare, a mix of curiosity and something darker as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle that only he can see.

She hadn't changed much in those five years. Her jawline, her eye shape, her cheekbones and her lips looked like they did five years ago. Her eyes are different though. They are dull; one could describe them as lifeless, yet he liked seeing her that miserable.

Her eyes reminded him of his.

“You have changed. ", he finally says. His smile fell and his eyebrows raised.

“We’ve all changed, but some changes are necessary. ”, her gaze hardened, her hands forming into fists.

He shifts in place, putting more distance between his feet and interlocking his hands. “Necessary?”

[Name] chuckles at his disbelief. “You made sure I stayed in the place where people like me belong. You label us as creatures who have no value. A waste you have to get rid of.”

The young woman shifts in place, her gaze never faltering.

“You’re a storm; You take pride in diminishing our light just because you deem it as irritating. You destroy anything in your path which had not yet taken roots into the ground. ”

“And you’re a shadow,” he shot back, unfazed by her words. “You mirror the movements of the person you admire, the person you aspire to be; Yet you remain distant, elusive. You hide your emotions, yet they hover just beneath the surface, ready to be seen when someone shows just a breeze of interest in you; But even then they retreat as quickly as they came because if the sun doesn’t continue to shine, shadows can not appear either.” He purses his lips, taking in her furrowed eyebrows and scrunched-up nose. Her fingers fiddle with her sleeves.

“You mimic the sun’s every step, every gesture, twisting your own identity to match the light that shines before you. You bend and stretch, always following, always aligning yourself with the sun’s every move, whether it is to fit in or to conceal your own insecurities behind its blinding glow.”

The recruiter slides his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes fixated on [Name]

“You blend into the background, slipping into the sun’s shape, as though your existence is nothing more than an extension of that light. Yet, when things go wrong, you deflect the blame into the sun, as if their missteps were only a reflection of the light you were so desperately trying to follow.”

He stepped into her personal space, challenging her. “You can't blame me for your own choices.“

[Name] froze at his remarks, her expression shifting between shock and deep thought. The atmosphere crackled with tension, like static electricity dancing between them, weaving their conflicting emotions into an invisible web.

She held his gaze with fierce determination, defiance blazing in her eyes. The world beyond them dissolved, leaving just two souls locked in their silent duel, each pulse of their hearts marking the wordless challenge between them.

"I placed my faith in you because you witnessed my darkest moments. You offered what seemed like salvation, a gift from heaven itself. I believed it was a reward for my suffering—not this twisted curse!" Her voice trembled with fury, each word cutting like a blade, her teeth clenched in raw resentment.

He arched an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his gaze. "A shadow cannot break free from its master's chains. You'll always trail behind me, bound by gratitude for the life I granted you. Your debt to me is eternal."

"I'd choose the raw truth of my struggles over the facade of a fabricated joy any day," she declared with a fierce intensity that caught him off guard. The passion radiating from her gaze was a spark of vitality he hadn't encountered in ages, illuminating the shadows of his own existence.

"I'd rather embrace my own despair, burdened by debt, than wear a mask of happiness while envying those who seem to glide through life with laughter and no regrets," [Name] exclaimed, her finger jabbing assertively against the recruiter’s solid chest. "I owe you nothing—neither my joy nor my life!"

He knew he couldn’t possess her. Not in the way he craved. The darkness that resided in him would consume her. It was a predator’s instinct, a need to control and dominate, something that he desperately fought against. He watched her carefully, captivated by her resilience, her ability to survive despite the horrors she'd endured.

“You live with regrets, fear and guilt.”, his eyes soften.

“You have emerged from the depths of your struggles, a testament to your resilience and strength. You navigated those treacherous waters all on your own, without a single soul to guide you or lend a hand. It was a solitary journey, one filled with challenges that tested your very limits. Now, as I stand before you, I offer my assistance. You may insist that you don’t require it, and perhaps you believe that to be true. However, that doesn’t diminish the fact that everyone deserves support, especially when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear alone.”

“You assert that you owe me nothing, and while that may hold some truth, it doesn’t change the reality of your situation. Here you are, caught in a façade, striving to maintain an image that doesn’t reflect your true self. It is - as I have said before - as if you are a shadow, forever trailing the light, unable to break free from the constraints of your own making. The struggle to uphold this pretence only adds to your burden, and I see the toll it takes on you. It’s time to embrace authenticity and allow yourself the grace of vulnerability.”, The recruiter’s eyes darken.

“While you rot in this hole, I do know that you wish to forget all that has happened. Forget who you once were; disreputable, ignominious, cynical, embarrassing. I can assist you with that. I will help you become the person you always aspired to be; No longer a shadow in your own story.”

Those were his final words as he strode through the apartment towards the door.

Before he could walk out of the wooden door, he abruptly stood still, his head only tilting to the side for mere centimetres.

“The offer still stands.”

He watched as she processed his words, her eyes filled with a complex mixture of understanding and pity. He'd glimpsed something in her gaze, a recognition of the battle he fought within himself, a silent acknowledgement of his words.

As the rain finally subsided, and the first rays of dawn painted the sky, he left her standing in the cold apartment, a mere card slowly gliding to the floor.

Part 2

#salesman x reader #gong yoo x reader #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the recruiter #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game netflix #squid game x you #squid game spoilers #squid game season 2

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babyscottoncandy · 3 months ago

Text

Bad Things

Su-Bong "Thanos",, Squid Games

Summary: Su-Bong "Thanos" x Fem¡Reader,, Su-Bong was never the type to commit to any person until he met (Y/n), a genius who somehow ended up in a strip club as a stripper, who had him head over heels.

TW: SW,, Drugs/Substance Abuse,, Pregnancy,, Mentions o/Sex

Based off the song "Bad Things" by MGK and Camila C.

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The strip club was a chaotic haven, a world where smoke thickened the air, neon lights buzzed overhead, and the thumping bass of electronic music rattled the walls. Su-Bong “Thanos” leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of something half-empty, his eyes glazed over with that signature combination of too many substances and too little sleep. His hair was disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled, and his vibe… well, Thanos was never the type to blend in anywhere. A rapper, a wannabe genius, and a druggie all rolled into one package, Su-Bong was content with drifting through life in a haze of poorly thought-out decisions.

“Yo, bartender!” he shouted randomly, slapping the bar with a bit too much enthusiasm for someone in his state. “Another drink! And make it stronger than my future.”

The bartender didn’t even bother looking up, too used to Su-Bong’s antics by now. It was a regular scene. But tonight, something was different—something caught his eye, and it wasn’t the cheap whiskey.

Su-Bong sat at the bar, slouched in his chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a bottle of cheap liquor in his hand. He hadn’t been in the club long, but he’d been watching you since you stepped on stage. There was something about the way you carried yourself—flirtatious, confident, and so unbothered by the eyes that drank you in—that captivated him.

He was used to being the one to draw attention, used to having people beg for a glimpse of his charisma and arrogance. But tonight? Tonight, it was all about you. His gaze never left your form as you spun around the pole, your movements fluid and graceful. It was an art form. And for the first time in a long while, he felt something—something that wasn’t the typical numbness.

The crowd was loving it, but you weren’t here to please them. You were here for the thrill, for the fun of it. You loved teasing the men who couldn’t take their eyes off of you, knowing full well the power you held over them. Tonight, your eyes kept drifting toward Su-Bong, and each time, you shot him a knowing smile. It was like a game to you—one that you were winning effortlessly.

You slipped into your jacket and took a deep breath. The night was chilly, the cool air cutting through the alleyway as you stepped outside. The buzz of the city surrounded you as you walked towards your car, trying to ignore the slight buzz of discomfort that always seemed to cling to you when you were alone after hours.

That was when you heard it.

A voice, low and threatening, cut through the stillness. “Hey, sweetheart. Got a minute?”

You froze.

Turning slowly, your stomach twisted in on itself. The man was unkempt, his face half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes were wild, unblinking, and in his hand was a knife—shiny, too clean, and terrifying. It glinted in the dim light as he stepped forward, his hand shaking slightly, but his grip firm.

You instinctively took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. “W-what do you want?” you stammered, trying to sound calm, but your voice wavered.

“Your purse. Now,” he growled, his voice harsh, almost panicked. He waved the knife in the air, and your breath hitched.

You didn’t know what to do. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but the knife—that knife—kept you rooted to the spot. The last thing you needed was to make a move that would escalate things. The cold steel of it glinted as it hovered in the dim light, and your mind raced for any possible escape.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” you tried again, keeping your hands in view, not wanting to provoke him. “I’ll give you the purse, okay? Just… please, don’t hurt me.”

The man’s laugh was jagged, desperate. “I don’t want your purse, lady. I want something more.” His eyes flickered over you, and you could see the hunger in them, the desperation. It made your skin crawl.

Before the man could react, a figure appeared in the alleyway, silhouetted by the dim glow of the club’s lights. It was fast, and you didn’t even have time to process it before the man was flat on his back, groaning in pain.

You blinked, staring at the stranger who stood over the would-be mugger, his clothes unkempt and his posture… well, ridiculous. He had an aura of unpredictability around him, a weird mix of confidence and complete absurdity.

“You alright, lady?” the man asked, his voice sounding slightly slurred, but still strangely endearing. His hand was extended toward you, the other still hanging loosely by his side. You raised an eyebrow as you looked him over.

He had messy hair, a leather jacket that probably hadn’t seen a wash in weeks, and a pair of sunglasses that were clearly meant for the daytime. But there was something familiar about him. Then it clicked. His voice, his swagger—this was Su-Bong “Thanos,” the rapper and druggie who made the rounds in the local scene. You’d heard his name a million times in the clubs, but you’d never seen him in person before.

“Wait a minute,” you smirked, narrowing your eyes as you took in the sight of him. “You’re that rapper idiot, right? Thanos, isn’t it? The one who’s always high off his own ego?”

Su-Bong grinned, looking you up and down like he was sizing you up, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and charm. “Yo, yeah, that’s me. You… you’re the dancer from the club, right?” He paused, his grin growing wider. “Damn, girl, I swear I’ve seen you shake it on stage before. You’re fire.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His ridiculousness was contagious. “I’m flattered, but, uh, do you always save people by randomly throwing people around like that?” you asked, gesturing to the unconscious guy still twitching on the ground.

“Nah, just when it’s fun,” Su-Bong shrugged nonchalantly, then added with a cheeky grin, “And when they’re annoying me.”

“Uh-huh,” you smirked, feeling the heat rise in your chest. You didn’t usually let anyone get this close to you, especially not after hours when you just wanted to get home and crash, but there was something about his cocky attitude that made it hard to look away. “Well, thanks for the rescue, ‘Thanos.’ I guess I owe you one.”

He leaned in closer, clearly trying to be dramatic, his voice dropping to a more serious tone that somehow didn’t match his demeanor at all. “You don’t owe me anything, babe. I just couldn’t stand to see you get robbed. Not when you’re looking so… distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere. But I’m not about to sleep with you just because you knocked out some loser. Nice try though.”

Su-Bong let out a loud laugh, making the whole alleyway seem a little brighter. “Damn, you’re just as fire off-stage as you are on. I like you, (Y/n). I really do. You got that… confidence. I respect that.”

You shrugged, your hands tucked in your jacket pockets. “You don’t get very far without it. And clearly, you’ve got enough ego for the both of us.”

He chuckled, stepping closer and then abruptly taking a step back like he was having an internal debate. “Yeah, well… maybe one day, I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You scoffed playfully. “Don’t get cocky, ‘Thanos.’ You’ll scare me away.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of that.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “But maybe you should be scared of me next time someone tries to rob you. I’ve got your back now, whether you like it or not.”

You met his gaze, holding it for a second longer than you expected. There was something oddly magnetic about him, despite how ridiculous he was. Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was just the way he made everything seem so… effortless.

“Alright, you’re alright,” you said, finally cracking a smile. “But I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Su-Bong threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound echoing in the alley. “Damn, I’m just trying to be a gentleman! You’re tough, girl. I respect that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, already turning to leave. “Catch you later, Thanos. Try not to do anything too stupid, alright?”

“You know you like it,” he called after you, his voice full of laughter.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin spreading across your face as you walked off, the chaos of the night already slipping into the background. Somehow, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths with Su-Bong.

You had always been used to the crowd, the spotlight, and the occasional flirtatious encounter that came with your job. But after that night, things felt different. The alleyway, once just another mundane part of your routine, had become a place of tension. A place you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched.

It had been a week since Su-Bong—Thanos—had barged into your life, knocking out the mugger with his ridiculous swagger and grinning like he was some sort of hero. You tried to brush it off at first, laughing it off as just another weird encounter. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to stay out of your mind. His cocky grin, his obnoxious confidence, and the ridiculous way he carried himself—it was hard to forget.

And, as it turned out, Su-Bong wasn’t just a one-time thing.

Every night, without fail, you noticed him.

It started small. At first, he’d be leaning against the wall, tucked in the shadows near the back alley, his scruffy figure barely visible under the dim light. You tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was just a coincidence. He was probably there for something else, right?

But as the days went on, you realized it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Every night, after your last set, when you slipped out of the back door to make your way home, there he was—waiting for you.

At first, you just rolled your eyes and kept walking, pretending you hadn’t seen him. But it didn’t take long for him to break the silence with his usual over-the-top greeting.

“Yo, baby girl,” he’d call out with that cocky grin plastered on his face. “You missed me already?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, rolling your eyes. “You’re out here again, huh? What, you think I need an escort now?”

“Well, yeah,” he’d reply without skipping a beat, crossing his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, girl. Can’t have you out here by yourself, not after last time. You do remember last time, right?”

He was referring to the mugging attempt, of course, and while it had been terrifying in the moment, you couldn’t deny that his presence had given you a sense of security.

Still, you weren’t about to admit that. “I’m fine,” you’d respond, your voice laced with sarcasm. “I can take care of myself, Thanos.”

He’d just laugh, that obnoxious, carefree laugh that made everything seem less serious. “Yeah, sure you can. But, you know, it never hurts to have a little backup. Besides, you wouldn’t want to walk home alone in this city, would you?”

You’d sigh, knowing full well he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Fine, whatever. But don’t think you’re getting a thank-you out of me,” you’d tease, your voice softening despite yourself.

“Aw, c’mon, babe,” he’d say, stepping up alongside you as you began walking down the alley. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice here. Can’t blame a guy for lookin’ out for a pretty girl, right?”

You would chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t know how you’re always this confident, Thanos. You’ve got an ego the size of the moon.”

“Hey, when you’re as awesome as me, you gotta show it off,” he’d reply with that familiar grin, giving you a playful nudge.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, despite yourself. It was silly, but in a way, you’d gotten used to him showing up, even if it was a little strange. There was something oddly comforting about having him there, even if you didn’t want to admit it. Every night, it became a routine—Su-Bong, the oddball rapper with a messy past, would show up to walk you home, his loud, ridiculous presence acting as a buffer between you and the world.

One night, as you stepped out of the club after your shift, you found him leaning against the wall, as usual. But this time, there was something different in his posture. He wasn’t laughing or making a joke; he looked… serious. His eyes softened when he saw you, and for a second, it almost felt like he wasn’t the obnoxious mess you’d grown used to.

“You good?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You gave him a wary smile. “Yeah, just… tired. Long night.”

He nodded, pushing off the wall and walking up beside you. “Want me to grab you a ride home? I can get us a cab. Or, y’know, I could just give you a lift myself, if you trust me.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the offer. “You, give me a ride? In that… what, your glorious car that I’ve seen you driving around?” You couldn’t help but tease, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice.

He shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, it’s not that bad. And I don’t mind. Just… if I’m gonna keep making sure you’re safe, might as well go all the way, right?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling in. It wasn’t just about the knife-wielding mugger anymore. It felt like he actually cared.

“Alright,” you finally agreed, your voice softening. “You win. But I’m not sitting in the backseat, alright? You’ve gotta deal with my sarcasm front and center.”

He grinned, almost as if he’d won a small victory. “Deal. I’ll take all the sarcasm you can throw at me. You know I love a good challenge.”

As you both walked toward his beat-up car, the quiet between you was comfortable—something you hadn’t expected. It was strange, but somehow, having Su-Bong, the self-proclaimed hero, around every night after work felt a little less like a chore and a little more like a choice.

The ride to your apartment was nothing like you’d ever experienced before.

You’d expected the usual quiet, mundane car ride home—just a brief escape from the chaos of your night. But with Su-Bong behind the wheel, that was never going to be the case.

His car was a beat-up mess, an old thing that probably hadn’t seen a wash in years. The leather seats were cracked, the dashboard was littered with empty snack wrappers, and the air smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and something that you couldn’t quite place—maybe weed? Definitely a mix of chaos. But none of that mattered as he slammed the car into gear and sped off, making a sharp left turn that had you gripping the door handle instinctively.

“Woah—su-bong!” you shouted, leaning back in your seat as he swerved around another corner, the tires screeching in protest.

“What?” He grinned at you from the driver’s seat, the ridiculous confidence on his face never faltering. “You scared or something?”

“Scared?! I’m trying not to have a heart attack!” you shot back, trying to sound annoyed, but you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips. He was so ridiculous, so unpredictable, that it was hard to stay mad for long.

“Pfft, this is nothing,” Su-Bong said, swerving around another turn, his hand effortlessly shifting the gearstick. “If you’re gonna hang with me, you gotta be ready for a little adventure, ya know?” His voice was laced with a mix of cockiness and complete obliviousness to the danger he was putting both of you in.

You glanced at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Nah,” he replied, effortlessly breezing through the next intersection like he owned the road. “I’m just living life. No time for slow driving, babe.”

Before you could respond, the car blasted with the sudden boom of heavy bass as the speakers came to life, drowning out your thoughts. You jumped a little, caught off guard as the car’s old speakers rattled with the beat of the music.

“Yo, yo, yo!” Su-Bong shouted, his hand slapping the steering wheel in time with the rhythm. “This track’s fire! You gotta hear this!”

It was loud—ridiculously loud—and the music was straight-up rap, the kind that boomed with heavy bass and fast-paced verses. You weren’t usually the biggest fan of rap, but Su-Bong’s energy was contagious. Despite your initial surprise, you found yourself nodding along, the music rattling through your chest with every beat.

“Alright, alright, I get it!” you laughed, trying to be heard over the pounding bass. “But are you sure you can handle driving like this?”

“Can I handle it?” he shouted back, his face lit up with the thrill of the ride. “I live for this. Look at me go! No hands on the wheel, no problem!”

And just like that, he threw his hands up in the air, the car swerving again as he hummed along with the lyrics. Your eyes widened, heart racing, as you quickly grabbed the door handle, bracing yourself for the ride.

“Su-Bong!” you screeched, genuinely worried. “Keep your hands on the wheel!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m a professional!” he said nonchalantly, his eyes still on the road—barely. The music blared so loud that you could feel the vibrations in your seat, the sound almost deafening.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, trying to keep your cool despite the fact that you were moments away from either laughing or having a panic attack. There was no in-between when it came to Su-Bong.

He shot you a grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll take that as a compliment, babe. You know you like my style.”

You couldn’t deny it. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure you were seconds away from crashing, there was something about him that made it all feel… fun. Alive.

“Seriously though,” you said, shifting in your seat to look at him. “If we die tonight, I’m haunting you forever.”

Su-Bong tilted his head, his grin widening. “Deal. You can haunt me all you want, babe. But I promise we’ll be just fine. Look at that—flawless driving,” he said, swerving through another turn with ridiculous ease. The car’s tires screamed in protest, but somehow, he pulled it off.

You rolled your eyes, but the adrenaline was starting to get to you. It was like you were in some kind of action movie, and you were either the heroine or the idiot for getting into the car with him. Either way, you couldn’t stop the thrill running through your veins, and it wasn’t just from the speed of the car.

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips again.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Su-Bong grinned, his eyes flicking to you for a brief moment before turning back to the road. “You think you can keep up with me?”

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms, your expression turning teasing. “You think you’re the only one who can handle this? You’re not the only one who lives for the thrill, Su-Bong.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, glancing at you with that cocky look in his eyes. “But I’m definitely the one who knows how to show you a good time.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the laughter bubbled up from your chest. There was no getting rid of him, and frankly, you didn’t want to. Despite the chaos, the blaring rap music, and the almost terrifying driving, there was something undeniably magnetic about Su-Bong. Something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this reckless adventure wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

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A few days had passed since Su-Bong had gotten you home in one piece, despite his completely reckless driving and obnoxious sense of confidence. You hadn’t really expected to hear from him again after that—figured it was just another one of his impulsive acts of “heroism.” But, much to your surprise, he’d kept showing up like clockwork, always there in the alley after your shifts, escorting you home like it was some sort of routine.

You’d almost started to look forward to it.

But tonight was different.

As you walked out of the club, stretching your tired muscles after another long shift, you spotted Su-Bong standing against the brick wall—again, as usual—but this time, he was grinning like he had something up his sleeve.

“Yo!” he called out, practically bouncing on his feet. “I got something special for you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over toward him with a smirk. “Special? What, did you sign us up for a bungee jump or something?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, nah. But I am taking you somewhere a little more exciting tonight. You’re gonna love it.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of curiosity, but you tried to hide it. “You sure you’re not just dragging me to some back-alley karaoke bar again?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m not that predictable, am I?” He took a step closer, his tone suddenly more serious. “I’m taking you to my friend’s club tonight. Nam-Gyu’s place. It’s a bit more… private. You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Nam-Gyu. You’d heard of him—one of Su-Bong’s friends, another rapper in the local scene, but apparently with a bit of a reputation. If Su-Bong vouched for the place, though, you figured it couldn’t be that bad.

“Okay, fine. You can’t keep surprising me with random stuff forever,” you said, crossing your arms. “Lead the way.”

A wicked grin stretched across Su-Bong’s face as he reached for his keys. “That’s what I like to hear, baby girl. Let’s roll.”

You followed him to his car, and as usual, the music blasted through the speakers before you could even get the door closed. He slammed the gearshift into place, the car roaring to life as he revved the engine with his signature, reckless enthusiasm.

As you drove through the city, the streets flashing by, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous—this was a different kind of place. The fact that it was “private” sounded a little mysterious, but you trusted him (well, somewhat). And besides, you didn’t want to admit that you were kind of excited to see where Su-Bong was taking you.

When you finally pulled up to the club, you were surprised to see a sleek, black building tucked away behind a row of trees. It was way more low-key than you expected, with only a few cars parked outside. Su-Bong parked the car with that same reckless flair, jumping out without hesitation and opening the door for you.

“Welcome to the real underground, babe,” Su-Bong said with a wink, gesturing toward the entrance like it was some kind of VIP exclusive. “Nam-Gyu’s place. You won’t find anything like it around here.”

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help the curious grin that spread across your face. “Alright, Thanos. Let’s see what you got.”

Inside, the club was darker than the ones you were used to, with neon lights flashing in hypnotic patterns across the walls. The atmosphere felt electric, a mix of sleek design and gritty underworld energy. It wasn’t as flashy as the places you performed at, but the music was just as loud, and the crowd? Rowdy, to say the least.

Su-Bong led you through the crowd, nodding at a few familiar faces as he made his way toward the back. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to know him, giving him the kind of respect that made it clear he wasn’t just another rapper here for a good time. He was someone who ran in the deeper circles.

“Yo, Nam!” Su-Bong called out as they reached the back area, where a man with a buzz cut and a leather jacket was lounging on a couch, surrounded by a few other shady-looking individuals.

Nam-Gyu looked up, his expression unreadable at first, but when he saw Su-Bong, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanos,” he greeted with a nod, as though this was just another casual meeting between old friends. “You bring me someone new?”

You smiled, trying to look as confident as you could. “Not just anyone, Nam-Gyu. This is the one and only Y/N.”

Su-Bong shot you a sideways glance and then grinned even wider. “She’s got talent. You’ll see what I mean.”

Nam-Gyu stood up, his eyes sweeping over you with mild interest. “She looks like she can handle herself,” he said, offering you a handshake. “Welcome to my place.”

You took his hand, nodding politely but still feeling a little out of place. “Thanks for having me.”

“Of course,” Nam-Gyu replied, his gaze flicking back to Su-Bong. “Thanos talks a lot, but when he says something, it usually means something.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a hint that this place was more than just a club.

Su-Bong stepped forward with a playful grin. “Well, I’m the one who says she’s got talent, so… Nam, don’t make me look bad, alright?”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, turning toward the DJ booth and waving toward the back. “Relax. You know how we do things around here.” He turned to you with a wink. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

As Su-Bong pulled you into the crowd, the music pulsed around you in a way that made your body buzz. It was harder, faster, and rawer than anything you’d experienced before. Su-Bong was practically bouncing on his heels, nodding along to the beat with exaggerated confidence.

“See? I told you it’d be fire,” he said, grinning like a proud kid showing off his favorite toy.

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you looked around, the feeling of the place settling in. It was gritty and real, and maybe just a little dangerous—but you’d gotten used to that with Su-Bong. And as the bass reverberated through your chest, you couldn’t help but admit that maybe this was a kind of thrill you hadn’t experienced before. A different kind of world, one you didn’t quite understand yet—but with him by your side, you weren’t as scared as you thought you’d be.

You gave Su-Bong a sideways glance, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, alright. This might actually be kind of fun.”

Su-Bong winked at you, his usual cocky grin back in full force. “I knew you’d come around, babe. Stick with me, and you’ll never have a boring night again.”

The night after Su-Bong took you to Nam-Gyu’s club, everything seemed to blend into one chaotic mix. The sounds of the city, the pulsing beat of the music, and Su-Bong’s larger-than-life energy had you feeling like you were in a whirlwind. You weren’t used to his world, not really, but something about the unpredictability of it all kept pulling you in.

Tonight, though, there was something different in the air.

Su-Bong had invited you out again. This time, you found yourself in his car, the familiar scent of weed and cologne surrounding you as he navigated the streets with his usual reckless abandon.

“So,” Su-Bong said, glancing at you as the music blasted through the car. “You’ve been hanging around a while. You ever think about… loosening up a little?” He was grinning, but his tone was serious, like he was trying to gauge something.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Loosening up?” you repeated, leaning back in your seat. “You mean, like… not stressing over everything?”

“Exactly,” he said with a casual shrug. “You’ve been working hard. Living life in the fast lane, like I do, but it’s easy to get stuck in your own head. Sometimes, you gotta let go. Trust me, I know how to take the edge off.”

You could see where this was going, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to follow him down that road. Su-Bong had a way of making things sound so effortless, like it was no big deal. But you’d heard the rumors—about the substances people used in the circles he ran in. You didn’t want to be just another person caught up in it, not really.

“What do you mean, ‘take the edge off’?” you asked cautiously, trying to keep your tone light.

Su-Bong shot you a sideways glance, his grin widening. “Come on, you’ve got to know how it is. Everyone does it. Just a little something to take the weight off your shoulders.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, the contents hidden inside. His fingers moved deftly, almost too casually, as he pulled out a small white pill.

Your stomach dropped. You’d seen people like him before—always talking about the “high” and the “rush,” but you never thought you’d be in this situation. You’d heard about the risks, the people who got lost in it, and the way it could take control of someone’s life. And yet, here Su-Bong was, offering you a glimpse into that world.

“Don’t do it,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t come here for that, Su-Bong.”

He seemed to pause, the playful look on his face shifting into something softer for just a moment. “Look, I’m not gonna force you,” he said, his tone changing slightly. “But you’re overthinking it. One time, and it’s just… it’s just something to help you forget for a bit. No harm in that.”

You hesitated, looking at the pill in his hand, your heart pounding in your chest. The pull of curiosity was strong, but the fear of what could happen if you went down that road kept you rooted where you were. “I’m not you, Su-Bong. I don’t want to get caught up in all that.”

For a moment, there was a quiet understanding between you two. Su-Bong didn’t try to push it, just watching you with those intense eyes that seemed to always be reading you. Finally, he slipped the pill back into his pocket, sighing.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly, looking away from you for a moment as the car slowed to a stop at a red light. “I get it. Some things, you can’t just dive into without thinking about the consequences.”

You appreciated the fact that he wasn’t pushing you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. It wasn’t just about the substances. It was about Su-Bong himself. The easy way he lived, always rushing into things without thinking—sometimes you worried he didn’t realize how much he was losing control of.

As the light turned green, you felt the weight of the moment shift. You weren’t ready to dive into his world of substance use, but you weren’t ready to walk away from him either. Maybe, in time, you could help him find balance, just like you were trying to do for yourself. But for now, you just wanted to enjoy being you—free of the chaos he seemed to embrace so easily.

“I’m good,” you said, breaking the silence.

Su-Bong gave a small nod, his grin returning, though it seemed less playful now, more reflective. “Yeah, I get you. But, you know, I’ll always be here if you change your mind.”

You didn’t reply, but there was something in the way he said it that made you think maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as carefree as he liked to make it seem.

The drive continued in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You both knew where the other stood. In a world full of fast decisions, maybe it was nice to slow down every once in a while.

He looked at you with that familiar grin, his eyes glinting. “One time, Y/N. Just once. You’re not gonna regret it.”

Your hands felt clammy, but you found yourself nodding, unable to look away from the pill in his hand. There was something in his voice that made you believe him, even if you knew better. The need for relief, the escape from the endless cycle of work, the constant pressure, it all mixed with the thrill of being here, with him, in this moment.

You reached for the pill, your fingers brushing his as you took it. Su-Bong’s smile widened. “Trust me, babe. You’ll feel like a new person.”

The pill felt small in your mouth, barely noticeable as you swallowed it down with a gulp of air. The seconds ticked by in silence. Su-Bong kept glancing over at you, a nervous anticipation settling over him.

At first, nothing happened. Your heart raced, but it could’ve just been the adrenaline of the moment. Then, slowly, the world around you began to blur. The sharpness of your thoughts softened, and a warm, familiar rush settled over you.

Everything felt a little easier, like the weight you had been carrying on your shoulders had been lifted just enough for you to breathe.

You exhaled, your body relaxing into the seat. It felt… good. Too good. A sense of calm washed over you, as if the noise and chaos of life were just distant echoes. The anxiety you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto faded into the background.

Su-Bong’s voice cut through the haze. “How do you feel?”

You looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Different. In a good way.”

He nodded, a satisfied look crossing his face. But even as he smiled, something in his eyes flickered, almost as if he were waiting for something—waiting for you to say the words he wanted to hear, to say you were hooked.

And that’s when the reality of it all hit you.

This wasn’t just about feeling good for a moment. It was about the slippery slope you were now standing on. The world around you felt soft, but you knew this feeling was temporary. The sense of ease would fade, and then what? Would you keep going back to that escape? Would it always be this easy to forget?

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city lights blur past as Su-Bong drove. The high was nice, yes, but a gnawing feeling in your gut told you that this moment was something more than just a little escape. It was a door opening, and you had no idea where it would lead.

As Su-Bong reached for the radio, changing the song to something upbeat and loud, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were on the edge of something dangerous.

The music blared through the car, the beat pulsing in your chest. But now, it was hard to ignore the fact that you’d crossed a line. The question was: would you ever go back?

Su-Bong didn’t seem to notice the shift in your mood. He was too busy jamming along to the music, lost in his own world. You tried to focus on the rhythm, but the weight of your decision hung in the air like a fog you couldn’t escape.

For now, you were caught between two worlds—the one you knew and the one you were just beginning to understand. But one thing was for sure; nothing would ever be the same again.

The lights inside the club had always been bright, always flashing in rhythm to the music. But tonight, they felt harsher, too bright, like they were highlighting everything you were trying to ignore. The constant pressure, the constant need to perform, to be perfect—every night felt like a cycle you couldn’t break.

Su-Bong had been there, waiting in the shadows, just like always. But this time, he wasn’t just a distraction or a carefree joke. This time, he was the one handing you a way out.

At first, you resisted. The pills, the escape, the numbing sensation that came with it all—it wasn’t something you thought you’d need. You weren’t like those people, the ones who lost themselves in the high. But with each passing day, with each stressful night at the club, it became harder to resist.

It wasn’t long before Su-Bong noticed. He always noticed.

He was there after every show, leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for you like a predator who knew exactly when to strike. His smile was always a little too knowing, a little too confident. It was a charm you couldn’t ignore, not even when you tried.

“You don’t need to keep pretending like you’re fine, Y/N,” he’d say, his voice low and teasing, as if he was talking about something no one else could understand. He’d pull out a small pill, gliding it across the counter to you, that signature grin never leaving his face.

At first, you hesitated, telling yourself it was just one time. You could control it. But with Su-Bong there, telling you it was okay, telling you it would make everything easier—it became so much harder to say no.

And so, you didn’t.

One pill turned into two. Then, three. And with every hit, the pain, the pressure, the nagging thoughts—everything seemed to drift away. It felt good. It felt like freedom, even if it was just for a moment.

“You see?” Su-Bong would say, his voice slick with reassurance. “This is what you’ve been looking for. No more stress. No more worrying about what’s next. Just feel it. Let it go.”

It wasn’t just the pills. It was the way he made it sound so harmless, the way he painted it like an escape, something you deserved, something to help you get through the night. The high was a temporary fix, but the way he made it seem like a reward for all the hard work—you couldn’t help but fall deeper.

By now, your relationship with Su-Bong was more than just the occasional offer. It became routine. You would go through the night, dancing and smiling, your body moving to the beat, but the only thing keeping you afloat was the buzz, the pills tucked into your bag, always there waiting for the next round.

“How’re you feeling?” Su-Bong would ask, his voice always low, as he handed you more, his grin never faltering.

“I’m good,” you’d say, though you could feel it deep in your chest. The high was starting to fade too quickly now. You were chasing it, but it was slipping away faster than you could catch it. But with Su-Bong around, it never felt too bad.

You never realized how much you had come to rely on him until one night, when you didn’t have the strength to ask for it yourself. The club had emptied out, and the workers were packing up. The glow of the neon lights reflected off the glass, casting long shadows across the alley.

You stood there, your hands trembling, trying to find the energy to leave. The pressure of the night, the exhaustion, the constant strain of needing to be perfect—it was all too much. You couldn’t face the world without another pill.

Su-Bong was there, waiting, as always. But this time, he didn’t say anything. He just pulled the bag from his pocket and handed it to you without hesitation. You knew you didn’t need to ask. He was always there to give you what you needed, even when you didn’t want to admit you needed it.

“Just one more, Y/N. I’ve got you,” Su-Bong murmured, his tone soft, almost coaxing. He knew exactly what you were thinking, knew exactly what you wanted. And somehow, the way he said it—so sure, so confident—it made you feel like it was the only thing that would make everything okay.

You took the pill from his hand, swallowing it down without a second thought. The world began to blur again, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

It wasn’t the first time you had taken it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But every time you fell back into it, you realized just how much control he had over you. Su-Bong didn’t just offer you an escape—he made sure you needed it. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of living without it, without him, seemed impossible now.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice like a soft, dangerous hum. You nodded, smiling the kind of smile you didn’t feel, but it was enough to keep him satisfied.

“I’m fine,” you lied, knowing that deep down, things were slipping out of control.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. The cycle was spinning faster now. And you had no idea how long you could keep up with it before everything came crashing down.

The music in the club was louder tonight, the bass thumping through the floor, but it felt like it was miles away. Everything was distant, as if the noise, the flashing lights, and the crowd weren’t real at all. Your thoughts were clouded, like a fog that never really cleared. You’d been here too long—performing, pretending, and with every passing minute, it felt more like you were living someone else’s life.

Su-Bong was there, as always. He was waiting in the back alley, his usual spot, where the world outside felt far removed from everything that weighed on you. You hadn’t even noticed him approach until he was standing beside you, close enough that his presence filled your every breath.

“Tonight was rough, huh?” Su-Bong’s voice broke through the silence. His words weren’t full of the usual jokes or sarcasm. They were softer, almost concerned, like he was seeing through the mask you wore.

You didn’t answer right away. The high from earlier was wearing off, but it wasn’t enough to clear your mind. You were tired. So tired. “I just need a minute,” you muttered, leaning against the wall of the alley, your hands trembling.

He watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. The heat from his skin sent a jolt through you, a strange mix of comfort and unease. You looked up at him, but you couldn’t read his eyes. They were too dark, too intense.

“You can come to my place, if you want,” Su-Bong said, his voice low, almost like a question. “Get away from all this.”

You didn’t know why, but something in the way he said it made you nod. It was as if you had no control over your own decisions anymore, as if you were caught in some sort of web, tangled in his words and the pull of his presence.

The drive to his place was quiet, save for the occasional beat of the rap music that blasted from his car’s speakers. You stared out the window, letting the cold air from the cracked window cool your flushed skin. The world outside was blurry, the streets lighting up in quick flashes as he sped through them recklessly.

When you finally reached his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you with a finality that echoed in the silence. Su-Bong didn’t waste time. He motioned for you to sit on the couch, but you didn’t follow his instructions. Instead, you moved towards the window, pulling the curtain back slightly to glance at the city lights below.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Su-Bong’s voice cut through the quiet room. It wasn’t an accusation, but more of a gentle reminder. Like he was giving you a way out, even though you knew deep down you wouldn’t take it.

You turned to look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you confessed softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, and for a moment, there was a stillness between you. His hand brushed against yours again, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His fingers wrapped around yours gently, and the contact sent a strange warmth through you, grounding you in that moment.

“I know,” Su-Bong murmured, his voice low and soothing. He reached up, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a little longer than it should have. “But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. We can just… be here. Together.”

The air between you seemed to crackle, and without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you in close as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge how much you needed it. But as it deepened, it became something else—something raw, something real. The chaos of the night, the pressure of your life, the confusion of everything that had been building up inside you—it all seemed to vanish as you kissed him.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an unraveling. A surrender.

You pulled away for a moment, your breath shallow as you looked up at him. His eyes were darker now, filled with something more than just lust. There was an understanding there, a quiet acceptance.

“I’m not good for you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Su-Bong’s thumb traced your jawline, his touch tender. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be real.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything made sense. But that was the thing about moments like this—they never lasted long enough.

You leaned in again, this time with more urgency, more desperation. The walls you had built around yourself were crumbling, piece by piece, and the only thing that seemed to fill the void was him. His touch. The connection that had started with a shared glance, a shared high, and now… something deeper.

As you moved towards his bed, your heart was racing. It wasn’t just about the sex, though. It was about the closeness, the way his presence filled the empty spaces in your soul. The things you had been hiding from, the parts of yourself you had locked away—they were spilling out, unfiltered, raw. And somehow, Su-Bong was the only one who seemed to see it.

When the moment finally came to a halt, when the exhaustion and emotions settled, you found yourself lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet of his room. The air was thick with unspoken words, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the silence.

Su-Bong was the first to speak, his voice soft and almost uncertain. “You know, Y/N, I never thought I’d say this, but… I don’t want you to keep running. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You turned your head to look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something sincere in his gaze, something that made you question everything you had believed about him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… I want to try. I want to stop pretending.”

Su-Bong smiled, a small, soft grin that made your heart skip a beat. “We’ll figure it out, together. One day at a time.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

You had known something was off for weeks, but you kept pushing it down, ignoring the signs. The late-night cravings, the nausea that came and went, the dizziness that seemed to follow you everywhere. It wasn’t until you missed your period that the weight of the situation hit you. The reality settled in with an almost suffocating force, and no matter how hard you tried to dismiss it, you couldn’t escape the thought: What if I’m pregnant?

So here you were, sitting in the bathroom of your apartment, the harsh fluorescent light above casting a sterile glow on the cold tiles. You held the pregnancy test in your shaking hands, staring at it as though it could somehow change if you stared long enough. Your mind raced. You had never wanted this. You weren’t ready for a child. You couldn’t even keep your own life together, let alone bring a new life into it.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and finally, you peeled open the box. There was a small, almost cruel silence in the room as you followed the instructions, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the test to process. The minutes felt like hours. It was hard to focus on anything except the heavy weight of what you knew could change everything.

When the time finally passed, you looked down. The two lines stared up at you, stark and undeniable. Your heart stopped. Positive.

You sat there, frozen, as the world seemed to stop around you. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess—fear, confusion, anger, guilt. You had no idea what to do next. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that this could happen. You were used to running from things, ignoring them, hiding away in the high you chased. But this was different. This wasn’t something you could run from.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stared at the test in disbelief. The bathroom felt too small, too confining, and yet the outside world felt miles away. You couldn’t make sense of anything. You couldn’t even make sense of yourself anymore.

You leaned your forehead against the cool tile, trying to breathe through the panic rising in your chest. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to fix this. You couldn’t even fix yourself.

The party was a blur of flashing lights, loud music, and the heavy thrum of bass that made the walls of the house vibrate. You barely noticed the people around you, the laughter, the chaotic fun. All you could focus on was the gnawing feeling in your gut, a pit of dread you couldn’t shake. The flashing images of your life in the last few weeks had become a montage you couldn’t turn off. The pregnancy test, the growing fear, the moments of trying to escape into the noise of the club scene, hoping it would all somehow disappear.

But it hadn’t disappeared. The truth was a constant weight on your shoulders, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You knew you had to face it, even if you weren’t sure what to do.

Su-Bong was nowhere in sight at first. You wandered through the party, half-heartedly sipping on a drink, trying to pretend you were fine, trying to forget the reality that had been clawing at you from the inside. Every time you looked at him in the crowd, your stomach twisted more. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, his usual confident smirk always on display, surrounded by people who adored him. He seemed untouchable in a way, like he could do whatever he wanted and never have to answer for it.

But tonight, everything felt different. You felt like you were sinking into yourself, standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified to fall.

Finally, you spotted him—Su-Bong, in the middle of a conversation, his laugh echoing through the room. He caught sight of you and, with that typical swagger, made his way over, a grin already spreading across his face.

“Y/N! You look way too serious for this crowd. What’s up?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently before stepping back, his eyes scanning you with a playful gleam. “You good? Or are you just trying to play it cool?”

You didn’t want to ruin his night. You didn’t want to make it harder than it already was. But the anxiety gnawing at you was unbearable, and there was no hiding it anymore.

“I’m fine, just… tired,” you lied, trying to offer him a half-hearted smile.

He raised an eyebrow. “Tired? You’re acting like you’ve been through a marathon. Come on, let’s get you out of your head. You’re here to have fun.” He gestured toward the table where drugs were being passed around like candy. The smell of smoke hung in the air, mixing with the sweet, sickly scent of alcohol. It wasn’t a surprise, but tonight it made you sick.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I’m not doing that, Su-Bong. I’m done with it.”

His grin faltered for just a moment before his usual cocky demeanor returned. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “What do you mean, you’re done with it? You’ve been doing it for months.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to anymore,” you said quietly, but the words felt weak. “I don’t need it. I’m done pretending everything’s fine.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not fully understanding what was going on. “You don’t need it? What, you think you’re better than all this now?” His voice had a sharp edge to it, the irritation slowly creeping in. “You think walking away from it’s just gonna fix everything, huh?”

You looked at him, frustrated and hurt. “No. It’s not about being better, Su-Bong. It’s about… it’s about everything spiraling out of control. I’m not just acting like I’m too good for this. I’m saying it’s not working anymore. None of it is. And I’m trying to get my life back, to figure out what’s real.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you pressed on. “But that’s hard when I’m stuck in a cycle of—of crap I can’t get out of.”

He stepped closer, now eyeing you more carefully, but there was still a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “You’re acting all serious and distant tonight. Is it about me?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’re not talking to me.”

“I’ve been trying to keep everything together. Trying to keep up appearances. Pretend I’m not breaking down inside.” You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your racing heart. “But it’s not just the partying. It’s everything. It’s all falling apart.”

He tilted his head, his smirk finally fading. “What do you mean by that? What do you think you’re falling apart from?”

You bit your lip, debating whether to tell him. You’d been avoiding it for weeks now, terrified of the consequences, afraid of his reaction. But the truth had nowhere else to go. You couldn’t keep hiding it.

“I’m pregnant, Su-Bong. With your kid.” The words left your mouth before you could even process them, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

The shock on his face was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He blinked several times, as if trying to make sense of what you had just said. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at first. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side as though he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re… pregnant?” He repeated, voice thick with disbelief.

You nodded, your heart racing as the reality of it all came crashing down on you. “Yeah. With your kid.”

Su-Bong stared at you, his face unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in his mind, the panic flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression faltering as he processed the words. The music from inside the party seemed distant now, the noise too sharp. The whole world seemed to shrink down to the two of you standing there in the cold, quiet night.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Shit, Y/N… I don’t… I don’t even know what to say to this. This is… this is too much.” His voice was low and strained.

You flinched, your chest tightening as his words hit harder than you expected. “Su-Bong…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I just need you to know. I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m scared, okay? I don’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with confusion and frustration. “Scared? Of course, you’re scared! But I’m scared, too!” His voice raised slightly, raw with emotion. “What do you expect me to do? I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a dad. I’m not!”

The words stung, and your heart sank into your stomach. You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “I never asked you to be ready, Su-Bong. I didn’t expect you to have all the answers. But I need you to understand. I don’t know what to do alone.”

He ran a hand over his face, frustration and panic clear in his expression. “I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want this to happen. I’m not ready for any of this. I’m just—fuck.” He kicked the ground lightly, trying to find something in the air to focus on.

You took a shaky breath, trying to control the lump in your throat. “I know you’re not ready. I know it’s a lot, but I—”

“Stop, Y/N,” Su-Bong cut you off, shaking his head. “I can’t just turn around and pretend this is gonna be fine. You think I’m ready to just—just jump into this? I can barely keep my own shit together, let alone deal with a kid. I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to be a dad!”

You stepped back, feeling the sharp sting of his words, the weight of it all crashing down. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for, Su-Bong,” you whispered. “But I’m scared of doing this alone.”

His expression faltered, his frustration giving way to something else—regret, maybe? But before he could speak, you turned and walked away from him, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks, the sounds of the party fading behind you as the night swallowed you whole.

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