fanfic info // read it on Wattpad or AO3 // NEXT CHAPTER ā
TAGS: Crossing over with the plot of Scream contains mildly disturbing graphic content and psychological elements. That includes the following: profanity, violence, weapons, (major character) deaths, drinking/smoking/partying, trauma and survival.
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/Isla
It's great that your salon is 4-5 stars! You run a tight business.
/Anslie
Like the Navy.
/Isla
What's your go-to haircut?
/Anslie
Anything that suits me. What's yours?
/Isla
It's generic.
/Anslie
Well, when I see you, I'll be the judge of that.
IF ANYONE COULD SEE HER LAPTOP, they would understand Anslie's ground shaking hatred for Gumpy. Tristan was hers. She wasn't the one to cheat on, as what her friends would tell her. She wasn't the one to lose someone she loved and she wasn't gonna allow herself to be humiliated by a known rockstar in London.
Anslie glanced at her cosmetology license on the wall and took out the trash, washed her hands until her mind eased that nothing was left to spread onto her skin and finger combed her hair, something Tristan learned to do when she lays on his lap.
She came back inside, approached the front counter to double check the register and placed the card reader next to the telephone so all items on the surface looked realigned. The volume of bluetooth speaker strung on the wall was lowered down playing a random song shuffled on Anslie's playlist. When Anslie hopped to her music app, it was from Frankie Goes to Hollywood. It reminded her of Liverpool, so she kept the song on.
It made a slight echo in the empty salon, but earlier that day when she clocked in for her 10-17:00, they were fully staffed. The salon chairs were filled with booked and walk-in clients every few hours. Anslie felt proud of herself when she helped a regular who wanted to reclaim identity and ownership when her boyfriend dyed his hair blue, so hers was blue. Another girl shared a screenshot of Dakota Johnson's fringe for reference and Anslie adjusted it to suit their face shape. "So that you won't go out in public looking like Dora the Explorer. You'll thank me later."
Her phone chimed off the walls.
/Tristan
I had to call in some reinforcements.
Anslie chuckled and texted back with a small smile.
/Anslie
Is this about the retreat?
Anslie adjusts her top waiting for his reply.
/Tristan
No, I'm talking about ordering food tonight. I'm gonna shower to kill time.
Tristan adds another text.
Last time I went on a retreat, I didn't know cancelling the place due to bear sightings was common.
Another chime off the wall.
/Isla
I missed the tube! Just got off the station.
Anslie looked down and typed her reply, sighing at their tardiness.
/Anslie
You're fine. I was just closing up.
Anslie opened her laptop at the front desk and logged in. Every notification she received echoed off the salon bluetooth speakers. Anslie never kept her phone on silent, that way she could catch up with emails or text messages from clients while she would work on a different client in the chair in front of them.
No matter how loud it was, the ringtone chimed off the wall and Anslie would never jump.
/Isla
Do you have wifi inside your salon? I might need to log into my Reddit account.
Anslie typed.
/Anslie
Sorry. I was hoping you had your statement saved in a Google doc or your Notes.
Anslie planned to bring them in to the salon and Anslie would talk all of London the way she did with Louis. With a strong desire to tear the musician down, both Anslie and Louis agreed to do their side quest and then return to their normal lives. Anslie could go on the retreat with Tristan in peace, because she wins her boyfriend at the end of the day. With a deep connection she built with him, she was never gonna lose him like that, which explains why Anslie is not quite done with Gumpy just yet.
Structured, which was exactly what she expected. Another thing Anslie expected? For London to show some sun. The weatherman predicted today and it did. The sun disappeared quickly before Anslie could be patient enough to wait another hour forā
/Isla
You're not gonna offer your wifi? Maybe I might have missed something?
Anslie noted the time. 19:00. The sun was setting early tonight.
/Isla
I have so much to give you, Miss Anslie. I had no one else to talk about this with other than Louis.
Anslie took a sip of her water. She exited the chat with Isla and reverted back to Tristan.
/Anslie
You home now?
Tristan replied saying he was but he was just about to hop in the shower and the driver is still on their way to the restaurant.
/Tristan
Stuck around the live seafood and now I smell insane. How are we doing this?
/Anslie
If the food's there, start eating without me. I'm staying back a bit after work but I'll come to you. Keep those clothes off ;)
/Isla
Nice bardot top. Where's it from?
Her brows furrowed. Anslie's thumb hovered over the keyboard then looked down to what she wore. Tristan got her the baby pink bardot top from the mall when they were two months into dating. She loved wearing it because she accentuated her body the way she preferred and Tristan knew exactly how. The compliment would be nice to hear if she could see the person telling her that. Anslie responded back:
/Anslie
Thank you. How did you know I was wearing one?
The three dots indicated that Isla was typing a response. It held for at least three seconds before it disappeared.
The speakers chimed again.
/Isla
That's what you're wearing from where I am? I'm here.
Anslie turned and headed back toward the entrance, her heeled boots echoing sharply. The street outside was empty. No one waiting, no one approaching, no one to admire the bardot top.
Weird. She calls the number and it rang once.
"Hello, Anslie!" Isla's voice greeted. "I'm so sorry, the tube was packed!"
"That's alright. I was just re-reading the article," Anslie said, propping the salon door with her heel. "Which way did you come from?"
"Wembley, actually. I was catching up with Louis. He can get pretty intense keeping score," Isla says.
"Oh, awesome. But I meant which way are you heading right now? I'm at the front," Anslie scanned the street again. "Where are you?"
"Heading down," Isla spoke. Anslie listened for a bit. Very certain that she could hear Isla's voice, clear and feminine.
Anslie spotted a figure emerging from a smoke shop. Seeing the phone pressed against their ear Anslie waved. "I'm waving. Can you see me?ā
"I see you.ā
Anslie slowed her wave when the figure was a middle aged woman speaking to someone on the phone in a different language. The woman gave a confused, startled glance, then continued on her way. Anslie frowned. "I'm so confused, where are you?ā
"I'm on my way."
"Alright..." Anslie sighed a bit. "You said you were here because you saw my bardot top."
"Where's it from?" Isla asked.
Anslie tightened her lip a bit as she looked down. "Got it as a gift."
"Tristan must know your style."
Anslie furrowed her brow, chuckling. "How do you know..."
"You spoke about him on the emails..." Isla made an awkward chuckle.
Anslie sighs and rubbed her temples. Get your shit together. "Right... yeah. He got it for me."
"I will have to say that bardot top isn't really your colour."
Anslie scoffed lightly. "What are you, those colour analysts?"
"I have a good eye for colour."
"Okay," Anslie laughs. "I'll bite. What's wrong with pastels?"
"Nothing," Isla spoke. "You know who else I saw in pastels?"
"Please don't say Gumpy, I'll hang up."
"This girl I saw earlier was wearing a pastel dress. But the next time I saw her she changed looks."
"An outfit change?"
"Pretty much tonight she had a quick outfit change. It was the same design of dress but in red."
"A red dress. Classy and sexy," Anslie comments. "Maybe she was a model or an actress in between shoots."
"Man, it suited her perfectly. Inexplicably, reds can appear warm or cold and it just... sat right with her. It was an eye-opening colour analysis."
Anslie hums in amusement. "Science-y. I have some reds in my wardrobe. I have a red shade of lipstick, too."
"Well, isn't that something? I'd like to think you're a cool red," Isla comments.
"Or a warm red."
"Well, when I see you, I'll be the judge of that," Isla quotes Anslie's quip.
Anslie shivered, her bardot top wasn't thick enough to layer her skin in the springtime. London had a hell of a winter. "Where are you?"
"Where am I?"
"Are you lost? You can send me your location," Anslie suggests.
"I can manage from where I'm standing."
Anslie slowly spun around, waving her hand. "Isla, I don't see you."
"I see you."
"Where?" Anslie asks, silently cursing.
"Am I being a nuisance, Anslie?" Isla asks.
"I don't want to say that but I was waiting for over an hour. I have somewhere to be after this." Anslie could check the unread message left by Tristan, something cheeky or something about ordering food... anything. But he would be waiting for her for a while if Isla doesn't show up.
"That wasn't over an hour," Isla said. "Let's not be stingy and a liar."
Her brows furrowed. "Okay, how am I stingy?"
"No wifi in your salon unless we work for you?"
"To maintain social interaction and etiquette? So what makes me a liar, then?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"Please."
"Lying about Gumpy."
Anslie paused, letting the night breeze blow her strand of hair away. "What your brother and I disclosed about wasn't a lie. Just like what you have disclosed about Gumpy harassing people at the Lux wasn't a lie, either. Isn't that why we're meeting up?"
"Whoever said such a thing..."
Anslie paused, feeling a bit nervous. "You are the person that gave off the anonymous tip about them at the Lux club, right?"
Anslie hears Louis's sister sigh over the phone. "I might have to pitch in with another article, then..."
"What article?"
"An article about how a salon owner was having a bit of an... unhinged episode driven by ambition and congested ego."
A twinge of irritation flares somewhere in Anslie. "Okay. How rude of you to say something like that when I offered to speak to you in person?" Anslie says.
"I pity your man..."
"You think it's easy to have a boyfriend who got kissed by their best friend?! Do you expect the partner to be okay with it?!"
Isla mocks an innocent hum. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be."
"And maybe this meetup shouldn't have been planned!"
"You're so right..." Isla trails.
"Does it even matter if you're here anymore? Forget it, this was a waste of time."
"I was always here."
"Jesus Christ. Just tell me where?!" Anslie exasperates. "It's been more than an hour, my boyfriend is waiting for me at home."
"Maybe you are not looking in the right direction."
"Screw this. You're not making me walk around trying to find you," Anslie snapped.
"That's quite the game I'm willing to play, Miss Anslie."
"This is ridiculous. You're rude and you wasted my evening by pulling a no-show and trolling me."
"Here's the truth, Miss Anslie. I'm not a troll... and by no-show? That's absurd... because I'm exactly where I need to be and I can see right through you."
"And yet, you're not even here," Anslie sneers.
A distorted voice cracked through the line. A different voice. No longer feminine. It no longer belonged to Isla. "Yes I am.ā
Her stomach dropped. "...What the hell is this?"
"You should have stuck to cutting and bleaching hair," the voice said calmly.
Her jaw tightened. "Who is this?"
"The last person you're ever gonna see alive," the voice taunts.
Anslie froze and stared ahead, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. Now this was something she was not gonna take lightly.
"I-" Anslie cuts herself off. Was she even talking to Isla anymore? "I am so fucking confused and very pissed off. Where's Isla?"
"Isla's a pretty name to get by online."
"Gumpy?!" Anslie yells, guessing the worst but most obvious outcome. "Is this you prank calling, Gumpy?! You are SO done! Your career, your rep, everything! I will ruin you just like how you ruined my relationship!"
"How unsettling."
Anslie's breathing hitched. With a clenched jaw, she still had anger and confusion lingering. "Threatening me, Gumpy? Tristan's gonna love that..." Anslie steadied her breathing. "The police are gonna love that... and Louis... a-and your fans..."
"And I am gonna love giving you the biggest fright of your life!"
"Fuck you, Gumpy!"
"I'm not Gumpy, bitch."
"Well then whoever this is, you are a fucking creep and I'm gonna report you."
"How could you ever be so stingy about wifi use? You sound just as unstable as Gumpy."
"Unlike me, Gumpy is a homewrecker and a fucking drunk!" she snapped. "And maybe you should stop hiding behind a voice changer!"
"Might as well get it over with and slice you clean, Anslie."
That made her pause. Only for a second. Anslie scoffed, forcing confidence back into her tone. "Go to hell." Anslie hangs up. Still shaky, Anslie returned to the salon front. "Fucking weirdo," she muttered, turning and heading back inside, pulling the door shut behind her.
Her phone rang. "Isla" was calling back again.
She stared at it. She hits decline and calls Louis's cell. He picks up after 4 rings but the background noise and the reception was overwhelmingly bad. "Yes?"
"Uh, Houston, we got a fucked up problem here," Anslie said, stills scanning outside.
"Anslie, I can't talk, I'm underground."
"Which direction? I need you to come to the salon," Anslie says in an urgent tone.
"I'm fine with my buzzcut, madam."
"No, listen. Where are you?" Anslie gripped the handle of the door. "You're coming back from Wembley, right? Was Isla with you? She was supposed to meet up with me here to make another headline for FameTrain?"
"Because I'm getting on the tube, Anslie. What's going on?"
Anslie scanned around the street again. The sky was getting darker by the second. "I was supposed to interview someone and get FameTrain to read my submission about Gumpy again. Tristan was with them again, my God! Isla emailed me and said they were the anonymous person at the Lux."
"Uh..." Louis trails. "I didn't know anyone else was gonna talk about Gumpy but us and their manager. Maybe it's a fan of Gumpy. Maybe they did it to mess with you or maybe it's Gumpy themselves, I'm not sure how it traced back to you but I'm gonna call you tomorrow. Tube's here."
"Well, it was supposed to be Isla!" Anslie says into the phone.
Louis made a face as the tube began to close, then open again, letting in passengers. "Isla? Who the fuck is Isla?"
The blood in Anslie's body went cold.
"What are you talking about?" Louis bumped shoulders with an older man, muttering a "Sorry". The man side eyed him and turned his back.
"Louis? Where is your sister?" Anslie asks, hoping he was just drunk from the stadium. He could recollect his thoughts and finally recall his sibling.
Anslie could never be any more wrong.
"Anslie, I donāhāistā" his voice was static.
"Hello?" Anslie felt light. "Louis?"
"Can yāhār me? I sāIādon'āhave a siā" The tube takes Louis Henshaw and the dozens of passengers through the tunnel, disconnecting the call.Ā
Anslie was alone again. "Isla"'s contact shows up on her phone a split second later. Anslie's breathing quickens, her body started to go cold.
She didn't want to hear that voice, fake or not.
Hard decline.
For the first time, Anslie jumped at the loud chime off the salon speaker on the wall.
"Isla" texted: "ANSWER THE PHONE OR TRISTAN DIES."
With terror and confusion, Anslie's shaky hand answered the call. "G-go away!"
Silence.
Tears well up in Anslie's eyes. She shook as her eyes calculated every dot from the night outside. "What do you want?!"
Silence.
Anslie shook harder, full on crying, wishing she was at home with Tristan. "You said you're here?!" Anslie shakily tugged at the handle to make sure. "I locked you out, you fucking psychotic piece of shit! I'm blocking you!" More gasps and shaky sobs. "I'm calling the police!"
Final moment of silence, then:
"I never said I was outside."
Everything in her body went cold.
Anslie turned her head. The salon stretched out behind her. Welcome to the Pleasuredome shuffled long time ago into a different song Anslie once heard on the radio. Right now she wasn't enjoying it, especially not when she is being stalked by someone she unwillingly invited to her workplace after hours. Anslie's heart quickened thinking of where this person was... whoever that was...
With no time left to waste inside, Anslie ripped the lock with a click and tugged at the handle. If she opens the door, she will be greeted with the night breeze again and the street stretched out for her to run as fast as her legs could carry. The front door was covered with the flip open-and-closed sign and the salon's business hours, but left a gap to see through. The glass reflected her face, pale and tear-streaked.
And behind her? Something tall, something dark, something fast.
The gloved hand snatches Anslie by the throat, ripping her away from the door. At that second she didn't scream just yet, but when she finally did, it wasn't from the grab, but from something beyond painful than humiliation... and it plunged into her side.
Anslie sprung free and tumbled to the ground. She looked up behind her. It wasn't Gumpy, but gaping black holes to droop out the shape of mouth and eyes, the long black robe that swayed from movement.
This was not a prank... or was it? A prank gone wrong? Maybe this was or wasn't Gumpy stooping low to violence and threatening the life of their best friend's girlfriend. Whoever this was and whatever they were doing this for, they want Anslie sliced clean and she's already bleeding out. She sobbed, stumbling back on her feet to grab the fire extinguisher.
If she makes it out, she is not going to forget the white rubber mask to make out its lifeless face. Before whoever this was snatched Anslie again, she detached the fire extinguisher from the wall just in time with fight in her, Anslie landed the extinguisher, the heavy device meeting the temple. The attacker grunts. Anslie heard it right away.
Her sneakers slipped against the floor as she bolted past the salon chairs and the wall of mirrors, panic flooding her chest. Something crashed behind her, heavy boots coming straight at her.
She shoved through the side door, slamming it shut behind her and throwing her weight against it, locking it. A heavy impact hit the door. It shook violently and so did Anslie.
Another hit, off-white wood cracking.
Her breath came fast and uneven as she used the limited seconds to figure out her next steps. She races through the small, narrow corridor, zooming past the curtains of tiny spaces used for eyebrow or Brazilian waxes. The salon speakers played the next song, but the soft bass was overpowered by the constant, rough splintering of the side door being rammed and kicked into.
It bursts open. The same heavy boots gained up on her.
Anslie slipped again and she landed hard on her hip, applying the worst kind of pressure on the stab wound in her ribcage. Anslie cried out at the impact. Her eyes adjusted to the blockage of the back door from the outside, preventing her exit; the body of a girl she didn't know. She didn't recognize her as one of her past clients, regular or not, but this was a girl that the masked person, or rather killer, had fallen victim to before dialing Anslie under the voice of "Isla." Fresh blood pooled around the girl in pastel. This was new and planted.
Taking its sweet time, the same pain entered her body in a different area. Her shoulder blade. Her back. Once. Twice. Her hands scraped uselessly as she tried to crawl. Anslie kept her eyes on the girl's corpse slumped against the door. The lifeless pair of eyes stared back. Multiple sharp pains shoot through her back until Anslie stopped crawling. Anslie was flipped onto her back, weak and wounded.
The black robe and white mask tower over her. Lifeless isn't the word to describe it anymore.
With a scream louder than she has ever let out, the blade thrashes down Anslie's way and sticks its landing, tie-dyeing her bardot top a rather cool red.
i was worried heād feel off about the idea but i woke up to this message and dang! itās happening yāall!!! my AU Saquverse x Scream fanfic debut!!!!
(side note iām not abandoning MARSTON. i am struggling with it to this day, but i refuse to give up)
Would you fancy writing a Jervis (gotham) fic? š If yes, I've got some pointers/prompts you can use, but you don't have to. Reader is oblivious and/or hesitant, Jervis is at first curious but gradually becomes enamoured, multi-part...? If you are up to it.
Also, any tips for writing?
Thanks for your time šš«Ŗā£ļø
That's okay! My tips for writing? I'm not the best consistent writer at all so my writing tips would be things I need to follow myself or even tips most people already follow anyway
Read more (obviously) I've been in a reading slump since December (I couldn't get past 2 chapters in different books I was excited to read in the first place and I blame social media). Merge fiction and non fiction, look up words you don't know. When I hear or read a catchy word or phrase that I know would look good in future writing, I add it in my Notes app. The list is long af.
Listening to ambient music relating to what you're writing makes it so fun. I recently published my AU Saquverse x Scream fic that I drafted and shelved in 2022 and finally brought to life, while listening to an ambience music of Stu Macher's party which is an hour long that I found on YouTube. Lofi/synthwave makes me wanna lie down so I had to choose music wisely.
Edit your work. It's so annoying and embarrassing to see a typo and it'll be too late to go back and fix it if someone already reblogged it.
Practicing random prompts every day helps. I abide by this because my creative writing prof would give us 3 prompts to write under a timer at the beginning of each lecture. I think each prompt would be 2mins or something and she would simply say, "Write without stopping." -- and then something about what to do if you get stumped etc. Just keep writing until the timer beeps.
Relating to number 4, joining writing communities online or in-person benefits your skills, support and audience engagement. Obviously you're already doing that by joining Tumblr. I discovered Quotev in 2012, then Tumblr in 2014, Wattpad in 2015... then finally arrived late to the party and still navigating AO3.
You're allowed to skip ahead and write any part of your work. Being stuck on the chapter in chronological order is gonna drain you and trigger writer's block. Just have your drafts ready.
I use Google docs to draft everything, but if anyone else uses something differently or better, please tell me!
Be open for feedback but don't let hate messages discourage you.
It sucks to have worked on something that took you a while only for it to gain like 5 likes, kudos, 1 reblog etc. It happens to everyone but there will be someone out there will be instantly hooked and look to you for more niche content.
fanfic info // read it on Wattpad or AO3 // NEXT CHAPTER ā
TAGS: Crossing over with the plot of Scream contains mildly disturbing graphic content and psychological elements. That includes the following: profanity, violence, weapons, (major character) deaths, drinking/smoking/partying, trauma and survival.
Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā· Ā·
/Isla
It's great that your salon is 4-5 stars! You run a tight business.
/Anslie
Like the Navy.
/Isla
What's your go-to haircut?
/Anslie
Anything that suits me. What's yours?
/Isla
It's generic.
/Anslie
Well, when I see you, I'll be the judge of that.
IF ANYONE COULD SEE HER LAPTOP, they would understand Anslie's ground shaking hatred for Gumpy. Tristan was hers. She wasn't the one to cheat on, as what her friends would tell her. She wasn't the one to lose someone she loved and she wasn't gonna allow herself to be humiliated by a known rockstar in London.
Anslie glanced at her cosmetology license on the wall and took out the trash, washed her hands until her mind eased that nothing was left to spread onto her skin and finger combed her hair, something Tristan learned to do when she lays on his lap.
She came back inside, approached the front counter to double check the register and placed the card reader next to the telephone so all items on the surface looked realigned. The volume of bluetooth speaker strung on the wall was lowered down playing a random song shuffled on Anslie's playlist. When Anslie hopped to her music app, it was from Frankie Goes to Hollywood. It reminded her of Liverpool, so she kept the song on.
It made a slight echo in the empty salon, but earlier that day when she clocked in for her 10-17:00, they were fully staffed. The salon chairs were filled with booked and walk-in clients every few hours. Anslie felt proud of herself when she helped a regular who wanted to reclaim identity and ownership when her boyfriend dyed his hair blue, so hers was blue. Another girl shared a screenshot of Dakota Johnson's fringe for reference and Anslie adjusted it to suit their face shape. "So that you won't go out in public looking like Dora the Explorer. You'll thank me later."
Her phone chimed off the walls.
/Tristan
I had to call in some reinforcements.
Anslie chuckled and texted back with a small smile.
/Anslie
Is this about the retreat?
Anslie adjusts her top waiting for his reply.
/Tristan
No, I'm talking about ordering food tonight. I'm gonna shower to kill time.
Tristan adds another text.
Last time I went on a retreat, I didn't know cancelling the place due to bear sightings was common.
Another chime off the wall.
/Isla
I missed the tube! Just got off the station.
Anslie looked down and typed her reply, sighing at their tardiness.
/Anslie
You're fine. I was just closing up.
Anslie opened her laptop at the front desk and logged in. Every notification she received echoed off the salon bluetooth speakers. Anslie never kept her phone on silent, that way she could catch up with emails or text messages from clients while she would work on a different client in the chair in front of them.
No matter how loud it was, the ringtone chimed off the wall and Anslie would never jump.
/Isla
Do you have wifi inside your salon? I might need to log into my Reddit account.
Anslie typed.
/Anslie
Sorry. I was hoping you had your statement saved in a Google doc or your Notes.
Anslie planned to bring them in to the salon and Anslie would talk all of London the way she did with Louis. With a strong desire to tear the musician down, both Anslie and Louis agreed to do their side quest and then return to their normal lives. Anslie could go on the retreat with Tristan in peace, because she wins her boyfriend at the end of the day. With a deep connection she built with him, she was never gonna lose him like that, which explains why Anslie is not quite done with Gumpy just yet.
Structured, which was exactly what she expected. Another thing Anslie expected? For London to show some sun. The weatherman predicted today and it did. The sun disappeared quickly before Anslie could be patient enough to wait another hour forā
/Isla
You're not gonna offer your wifi? Maybe I might have missed something?
Anslie noted the time. 19:00. The sun was setting early tonight.
/Isla
I have so much to give you, Miss Anslie. I had no one else to talk about this with other than Louis.
Anslie took a sip of her water. She exited the chat with Isla and reverted back to Tristan.
/Anslie
You home now?
Tristan replied saying he was but he was just about to hop in the shower and the driver is still on their way to the restaurant.
/Tristan
Stuck around the live seafood and now I smell insane. How are we doing this?
/Anslie
If the food's there, start eating without me. I'm staying back a bit after work but I'll come to you. Keep those clothes off ;)
/Isla
Nice bardot top. Where's it from?
Her brows furrowed. Anslie's thumb hovered over the keyboard then looked down to what she wore. Tristan got her the baby pink bardot top from the mall when they were two months into dating. She loved wearing it because she accentuated her body the way she preferred and Tristan knew exactly how. The compliment would be nice to hear if she could see the person telling her that. Anslie responded back:
/Anslie
Thank you. How did you know I was wearing one?
The three dots indicated that Isla was typing a response. It held for at least three seconds before it disappeared.
The speakers chimed again.
/Isla
That's what you're wearing from where I am? I'm here.
Anslie turned and headed back toward the entrance, her heeled boots echoing sharply. The street outside was empty. No one waiting, no one approaching, no one to admire the bardot top.
Weird. She calls the number and it rang once.
"Hello, Anslie!" Isla's voice greeted. "I'm so sorry, the tube was packed!"
"That's alright. I was just re-reading the article," Anslie said, propping the salon door with her heel. "Which way did you come from?"
"Wembley, actually. I was catching up with Louis. He can get pretty intense keeping score," Isla says.
"Oh, awesome. But I meant which way are you heading right now? I'm at the front," Anslie scanned the street again. "Where are you?"
"Heading down," Isla spoke. Anslie listened for a bit. Very certain that she could hear Isla's voice, clear and feminine.
Anslie spotted a figure emerging from a smoke shop. Seeing the phone pressed against their ear Anslie waved. "I'm waving. Can you see me?ā
"I see you.ā
Anslie slowed her wave when the figure was a middle aged woman speaking to someone on the phone in a different language. The woman gave a confused, startled glance, then continued on her way. Anslie frowned. "I'm so confused, where are you?ā
"I'm on my way."
"Alright..." Anslie sighed a bit. "You said you were here because you saw my bardot top."
"Where's it from?" Isla asked.
Anslie tightened her lip a bit as she looked down. "Got it as a gift."
"Tristan must know your style."
Anslie furrowed her brow, chuckling. "How do you know..."
"You spoke about him on the emails..." Isla made an awkward chuckle.
Anslie sighs and rubbed her temples. Get your shit together. "Right... yeah. He got it for me."
"I will have to say that bardot top isn't really your colour."
Anslie scoffed lightly. "What are you, those colour analysts?"
"I have a good eye for colour."
"Okay," Anslie laughs. "I'll bite. What's wrong with pastels?"
"Nothing," Isla spoke. "You know who else I saw in pastels?"
"Please don't say Gumpy, I'll hang up."
"This girl I saw earlier was wearing a pastel dress. But the next time I saw her she changed looks."
"An outfit change?"
"Pretty much tonight she had a quick outfit change. It was the same design of dress but in red."
"A red dress. Classy and sexy," Anslie comments. "Maybe she was a model or an actress in between shoots."
"Man, it suited her perfectly. Inexplicably, reds can appear warm or cold and it just... sat right with her. It was an eye-opening colour analysis."
Anslie hums in amusement. "Science-y. I have some reds in my wardrobe. I have a red shade of lipstick, too."
"Well, isn't that something? I'd like to think you're a cool red," Isla comments.
"Or a warm red."
"Well, when I see you, I'll be the judge of that," Isla quotes Anslie's quip.
Anslie shivered, her bardot top wasn't thick enough to layer her skin in the springtime. London had a hell of a winter. "Where are you?"
"Where am I?"
"Are you lost? You can send me your location," Anslie suggests.
"I can manage from where I'm standing."
Anslie slowly spun around, waving her hand. "Isla, I don't see you."
"I see you."
"Where?" Anslie asks, silently cursing.
"Am I being a nuisance, Anslie?" Isla asks.
"I don't want to say that but I was waiting for over an hour. I have somewhere to be after this." Anslie could check the unread message left by Tristan, something cheeky or something about ordering food... anything. But he would be waiting for her for a while if Isla doesn't show up.
"That wasn't over an hour," Isla said. "Let's not be stingy and a liar."
Her brows furrowed. "Okay, how am I stingy?"
"No wifi in your salon unless we work for you?"
"To maintain social interaction and etiquette? So what makes me a liar, then?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"Please."
"Lying about Gumpy."
Anslie paused, letting the night breeze blow her strand of hair away. "What your brother and I disclosed about wasn't a lie. Just like what you have disclosed about Gumpy harassing people at the Lux wasn't a lie, either. Isn't that why we're meeting up?"
"Whoever said such a thing..."
Anslie paused, feeling a bit nervous. "You are the person that gave off the anonymous tip about them at the Lux club, right?"
Anslie hears Louis's sister sigh over the phone. "I might have to pitch in with another article, then..."
"What article?"
"An article about how a salon owner was having a bit of an... unhinged episode driven by ambition and congested ego."
A twinge of irritation flares somewhere in Anslie. "Okay. How rude of you to say something like that when I offered to speak to you in person?" Anslie says.
"I pity your man..."
"You think it's easy to have a boyfriend who got kissed by their best friend?! Do you expect the partner to be okay with it?!"
Isla mocks an innocent hum. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be."
"And maybe this meetup shouldn't have been planned!"
"You're so right..." Isla trails.
"Does it even matter if you're here anymore? Forget it, this was a waste of time."
"I was always here."
"Jesus Christ. Just tell me where?!" Anslie exasperates. "It's been more than an hour, my boyfriend is waiting for me at home."
"Maybe you are not looking in the right direction."
"Screw this. You're not making me walk around trying to find you," Anslie snapped.
"That's quite the game I'm willing to play, Miss Anslie."
"This is ridiculous. You're rude and you wasted my evening by pulling a no-show and trolling me."
"Here's the truth, Miss Anslie. I'm not a troll... and by no-show? That's absurd... because I'm exactly where I need to be and I can see right through you."
"And yet, you're not even here," Anslie sneers.
A distorted voice cracked through the line. A different voice. No longer feminine. It no longer belonged to Isla. "Yes I am.ā
Her stomach dropped. "...What the hell is this?"
"You should have stuck to cutting and bleaching hair," the voice said calmly.
Her jaw tightened. "Who is this?"
"The last person you're ever gonna see alive," the voice taunts.
Anslie froze and stared ahead, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. Now this was something she was not gonna take lightly.
"I-" Anslie cuts herself off. Was she even talking to Isla anymore? "I am so fucking confused and very pissed off. Where's Isla?"
"Isla's a pretty name to get by online."
"Gumpy?!" Anslie yells, guessing the worst but most obvious outcome. "Is this you prank calling, Gumpy?! You are SO done! Your career, your rep, everything! I will ruin you just like how you ruined my relationship!"
"How unsettling."
Anslie's breathing hitched. With a clenched jaw, she still had anger and confusion lingering. "Threatening me, Gumpy? Tristan's gonna love that..." Anslie steadied her breathing. "The police are gonna love that... and Louis... a-and your fans..."
"And I am gonna love giving you the biggest fright of your life!"
"Fuck you, Gumpy!"
"I'm not Gumpy, bitch."
"Well then whoever this is, you are a fucking creep and I'm gonna report you."
"How could you ever be so stingy about wifi use? You sound just as unstable as Gumpy."
"Unlike me, Gumpy is a homewrecker and a fucking drunk!" she snapped. "And maybe you should stop hiding behind a voice changer!"
"Might as well get it over with and slice you clean, Anslie."
That made her pause. Only for a second. Anslie scoffed, forcing confidence back into her tone. "Go to hell." Anslie hangs up. Still shaky, Anslie returned to the salon front. "Fucking weirdo," she muttered, turning and heading back inside, pulling the door shut behind her.
Her phone rang. "Isla" was calling back again.
She stared at it. She hits decline and calls Louis's cell. He picks up after 4 rings but the background noise and the reception was overwhelmingly bad. "Yes?"
"Uh, Houston, we got a fucked up problem here," Anslie said, stills scanning outside.
"Anslie, I can't talk, I'm underground."
"Which direction? I need you to come to the salon," Anslie says in an urgent tone.
"I'm fine with my buzzcut, madam."
"No, listen. Where are you?" Anslie gripped the handle of the door. "You're coming back from Wembley, right? Was Isla with you? She was supposed to meet up with me here to make another headline for FameTrain?"
"Because I'm getting on the tube, Anslie. What's going on?"
Anslie scanned around the street again. The sky was getting darker by the second. "I was supposed to interview someone and get FameTrain to read my submission about Gumpy again. Tristan was with them again, my God! Isla emailed me and said they were the anonymous person at the Lux."
"Uh..." Louis trails. "I didn't know anyone else was gonna talk about Gumpy but us and their manager. Maybe it's a fan of Gumpy. Maybe they did it to mess with you or maybe it's Gumpy themselves, I'm not sure how it traced back to you but I'm gonna call you tomorrow. Tube's here."
"Well, it was supposed to be Isla!" Anslie says into the phone.
Louis made a face as the tube began to close, then open again, letting in passengers. "Isla? Who the fuck is Isla?"
The blood in Anslie's body went cold.
"What are you talking about?" Louis bumped shoulders with an older man, muttering a "Sorry". The man side eyed him and turned his back.
"Louis? Where is your sister?" Anslie asks, hoping he was just drunk from the stadium. He could recollect his thoughts and finally recall his sibling.
Anslie could never be any more wrong.
"Anslie, I donāhāistā" his voice was static.
"Hello?" Anslie felt light. "Louis?"
"Can yāhār me? I sāIādon'āhave a siā" The tube takes Louis Henshaw and the dozens of passengers through the tunnel, disconnecting the call.Ā
Anslie was alone again. "Isla"'s contact shows up on her phone a split second later. Anslie's breathing quickens, her body started to go cold.
She didn't want to hear that voice, fake or not.
Hard decline.
For the first time, Anslie jumped at the loud chime off the salon speaker on the wall.
"Isla" texted: "ANSWER THE PHONE OR TRISTAN DIES."
With terror and confusion, Anslie's shaky hand answered the call. "G-go away!"
Silence.
Tears well up in Anslie's eyes. She shook as her eyes calculated every dot from the night outside. "What do you want?!"
Silence.
Anslie shook harder, full on crying, wishing she was at home with Tristan. "You said you're here?!" Anslie shakily tugged at the handle to make sure. "I locked you out, you fucking psychotic piece of shit! I'm blocking you!" More gasps and shaky sobs. "I'm calling the police!"
Final moment of silence, then:
"I never said I was outside."
Everything in her body went cold.
Anslie turned her head. The salon stretched out behind her. Welcome to the Pleasuredome shuffled long time ago into a different song Anslie once heard on the radio. Right now she wasn't enjoying it, especially not when she is being stalked by someone she unwillingly invited to her workplace after hours. Anslie's heart quickened thinking of where this person was... whoever that was...
With no time left to waste inside, Anslie ripped the lock with a click and tugged at the handle. If she opens the door, she will be greeted with the night breeze again and the street stretched out for her to run as fast as her legs could carry. The front door was covered with the flip open-and-closed sign and the salon's business hours, but left a gap to see through. The glass reflected her face, pale and tear-streaked.
And behind her? Something tall, something dark, something fast.
The gloved hand snatches Anslie by the throat, ripping her away from the door. At that second she didn't scream just yet, but when she finally did, it wasn't from the grab, but from something beyond painful than humiliation... and it plunged into her side.
Anslie sprung free and tumbled to the ground. She looked up behind her. It wasn't Gumpy, but gaping black holes to droop out the shape of mouth and eyes, the long black robe that swayed from movement.
This was not a prank... or was it? A prank gone wrong? Maybe this was or wasn't Gumpy stooping low to violence and threatening the life of their best friend's girlfriend. Whoever this was and whatever they were doing this for, they want Anslie sliced clean and she's already bleeding out. She sobbed, stumbling back on her feet to grab the fire extinguisher.
If she makes it out, she is not going to forget the white rubber mask to make out its lifeless face. Before whoever this was snatched Anslie again, she detached the fire extinguisher from the wall just in time with fight in her, Anslie landed the extinguisher, the heavy device meeting the temple. The attacker grunts. Anslie heard it right away.
Her sneakers slipped against the floor as she bolted past the salon chairs and the wall of mirrors, panic flooding her chest. Something crashed behind her, heavy boots coming straight at her.
She shoved through the side door, slamming it shut behind her and throwing her weight against it, locking it. A heavy impact hit the door. It shook violently and so did Anslie.
Another hit, off-white wood cracking.
Her breath came fast and uneven as she used the limited seconds to figure out her next steps. She races through the small, narrow corridor, zooming past the curtains of tiny spaces used for eyebrow or Brazilian waxes. The salon speakers played the next song, but the soft bass was overpowered by the constant, rough splintering of the side door being rammed and kicked into.
It bursts open. The same heavy boots gained up on her.
Anslie slipped again and she landed hard on her hip, applying the worst kind of pressure on the stab wound in her ribcage. Anslie cried out at the impact. Her eyes adjusted to the blockage of the back door from the outside, preventing her exit; the body of a girl she didn't know. She didn't recognize her as one of her past clients, regular or not, but this was a girl that the masked person, or rather killer, had fallen victim to before dialing Anslie under the voice of "Isla." Fresh blood pooled around the girl in pastel. This was new and planted.
Taking its sweet time, the same pain entered her body in a different area. Her shoulder blade. Her back. Once. Twice. Her hands scraped uselessly as she tried to crawl. Anslie kept her eyes on the girl's corpse slumped against the door. The lifeless pair of eyes stared back. Multiple sharp pains shoot through her back until Anslie stopped crawling. Anslie was flipped onto her back, weak and wounded.
The black robe and white mask tower over her. Lifeless isn't the word to describe it anymore.
With a scream louder than she has ever let out, the blade thrashes down Anslie's way and sticks its landing, tie-dyeing her bardot top a rather cool red.
āAmbition, madam, is a great manās madness.ā
Former Professor Andrew Marston is at peace, officially moving on from a bad time in his life. He curates at the British museum, comes home to his partner, takes turns cooking for each other every night, greets his two pet fish Oscar and Wilde and yet, the professor in him never really left. But little did he know he would be lured back to lecture halls and old faces when a string of murders began to surface around London, now infesting the campus. The victims were current students, some alumni maters and some attended his Literature class years ago. There's no way he's the killer, but that's not what everyone can agree on. He and others are thinking alike right now; it's hard to trust anyone. This was no longer professional. This was personal.
THE SAQUVERSE CHARACTERS
Alex Burnham x Gremlin, Professor Andrew Marston x Darling, Isaac Rhoades x Pickle, Jonah Brookes x Bartender, Kayson Mayer x Prefect, Luca Pearce x Bon-Bon (BB), Matias Howard x Stormy, Tristan x Gumpy, Anslie, Louis Henshaw, Dean Claire
CHAPTERS
HELLO ANSLIE
BLOODY HELL, ANDY! [upcoming]
KAYSON MAYER, PRETTY BOY [upcoming]
DARLING, IS THAT YOU? [upcoming]
soundtrack ā āNOT MT GHOSTFACEā
DISCLAIMER
This fanfic, "DEADLINES", contains canon divergence or AU (alternate universe). Crossing over with the plot of Scream contains mildly disturbing graphic content and psychological elements. That includes the following: profanity, violence, weapons, (major character) deaths, drinking/smoking/partying, trauma and survival.
The author reserves the rights to the story idea but holds zero ownership to any Saquverse characters, audio RP series from ZSakuVA or the Scream franchise, nor does she own any songs used in this fanfic's playlist.
i was worried heād feel off about the idea but i woke up to this message and dang! itās happening yāall!!! my AU Saquverse x Scream fanfic debut!!!!
(side note iām not abandoning MARSTON. i am struggling with it to this day, but i refuse to give up)
SYNOPSIS ā Feeling like there was no way out, Sang-woo considers giving up on everything, until he opens his eyes in the bathtub, clothed, drunk and reeking of cigarette smoke, to a phone call that you had pardoned his debts. [ non - requested ]
PAIRING ā Cho Sang-woo x Fem!Reader
TAGS ā smoking, drinking, heavy debt, mental health, suggested nsfw (just a short intimate scene, no smut), no happy ending tbh it's not meant to be, my Korean/Hangul is not at all fluent.
WORD COUNT ā 2,763
A/N ā This took me a long time to write (I'm talking August 2025 because my fixation on Squid Game fizzled out at last) because I know nothing about futures etc.... and I needed to figure out how to make Y/N's "heroic" gesture accurate because Sang-woo is a wanted man and there has to be legal action taken even after Y/N saves his life. Ending is rushed and I'm not interested in fixing it honestly. Pls leave a like, reblog + feedback!!!
AO3 | QUOTEV | WATTPAD | COMMISSION ME
SANG-WOO GOT UP ON HIS FEET, putting his grey blazer back on and answering the Pakistani man who asked him where they were. "Yeouido."
"Where exactly is Yeouido?"
"In the center of Seoul," he answers with a weary sigh.
Sang-woo voted O. He voted O. Just like the rest of the other dozens of players who desperately needed the money that plopped into that giant transparent piggy bank in the ceiling. He voted O ā and he still parted with the strangers, tossed out into the street like litter.
"Sir? Sir, do you have a cell phone on you?"
Sang-woo glanced at the man. He recognized him as player 199. Sang-woo didn't even know if he had his phone anymore, if those cold-blooded, emotionally detached pink soldiers took all their stuff, leaving them with just their garments and hopelessness for their future.
"Would you let me borrow it, please?" Player 199 asks. "I'll be quick."
He checks his pockets and felt it. He presses the side button to unlock his phone; a black mirror reflecting back his face of guilt, exhaustion and more emotions Cho Sang-woo couldn't confront himself.
"That's 2000 won." Sang-woo hands the clerk the cash and walks to the side table, checking the incoming missed notifications trampling onto each other as soon as the battery hit 2%, all delivered and unread by authorities threatening to take legal action. It got worse and worse while he was gone. Sang-woo couldn't say it out loud, but he knew exactly what it was, and there was no escaping that. The pink soldier was right as was another player who begged for one more game; it was hell out there as it was inside.
Sang-woo sighed, placing the power bank towards player 199 then dug into his bowl of instant ramyeon. He lights a cigarette outside the store, receiving his phone back from the man and offering bus money. He walks away, indifferent but kind enough to help him go home to Ansan. He smokes as he treaded down Yeouido, nothing from that cigarette could make everything go away. The wind picked up the smoke and carried it into the skyāand Sang-woo wished it could carry him along, too.
Sang-woo didn't sleep. In fact, he didn't go home straight away. It was probably sometime in the afternoon where he hid behind another shop to watch his mother opening up hers from afar before Gi-Hun approached and talked about how Sang-woo could come up with money again, as if it was easy on Sang-woo's end.
Sang-woo sighed as he watches his mother. This was the woman Sang-woo feared he'd receive so much shame, humiliation and disappointment from. His own mother, who loved him deeply and believed in him, spoke about him to their neighborhood like he was Superman.
Gi-Hun is in the same boat and it sure as hell isn't easy on him at all, however he continues to praise his childhood friend. The prestigious SNU was what helped Sang-woo get to where he was; once successful, leading team two in Joy Investments until his social and financial status as the famous prodigy took its turn.
Is money really everything? To many people, yes. To Sang-woo, in his given circumstances, he'd do anything and he already has.
Siphoning money from clientsā balances, investing in derivatives and futures options ā all crumbled and led to a nearly unfixable financial ruin for Cho Sang-woo.
6 billion won.
āFile for personal bankruptcy, then,ā Gi-Hun suggests, a taking a drag from his cigarette. āOr whatever they call it. I heard you donāt have to pay your debts off if you do that.ā
āI used all of my Momās properties as collateral. Including our houseā¦ā Sang-woo spoke as smoke exhaled from his breath. āAnd her shop as well.ā
All of this ā and Mrs. Cho thinks her beloved son is in the States.
āYeah, Iāve been eating well, so donāt worry.ā Sang-woo spoke to her on the phone the next night.
āI doubt that greasy American food is doing all that much for you,ā she says. āTell me what youāre eating.ā
āItās okay, Mom.ā Sang-woo spoke calmly. āThere are a lot of Korean restaurants.ā
āSo, when are you coming back?ā she asks, eager and concerned over the phone.
Sang-woo couldnāt mind lying to his clients, but he felt like he was getting weaker and weaker spreading vague lies to his mother.
āItās taking longer than expected, so Iām not sure. It might take a while.ā
āAwe, really. It sure sounds like itās been tough there.ā
She could say that. āHey, Momā¦ā
āYes?ā
A long pause. Sang-woo was gonna miss his mother and the person he once was.
A customer calls for Mrs. Cho in the background, requesting three squids, prepped and cleaned. Mrs. Cho gently rushes on what would likely be her final words to her son over the phone, assuring him not to bring back anything from his so-called business trip. Sang-woo hears the motherly āI love youā before hanging up. He gets up and puts his grey blazer on, still in his same clothes when he entered the games.
The bathroom floor was wet from the bathtub water. The toxic fumes from the charcoal briquettes that emitted into the air, meant to free Sang-woo of debt and shame.
Sang-woo smoked a few cigarettes, downed another bottle of Soju and justā¦ waited.
Why couldn't I do it? He stares up at the ceiling, the Soju in his hands.
6 billion won, maybe even counting. The thought, the idea, the image of seeing himself appearing in court. He could turn his head and glance at who appeared in the gallery. In that moment, he wouldn't bear to look his mother in the eye as the judge read his charges, or loan sharks feeding off him in an alleyway, dragging him through the mud.
If only he could tell Gi-hun that coming up with 6 billion won was as easy as picking apples, that if he could be free of debt and guilt, passing this heavily illegal unprecedented scenario with flying colours, before his mother could ever get the idea that her son was, in fact, not doing well at all... she could simply worry about Sang-woo eating greasy American food.
Sang-woo's body gradually reacted and he could feel 6 billion won lift its gargantuan feet off his chest ā
A call. He lets it ring.
It goes on for two minutes. Then emails. Then text messages.
Sang-woo lifted his eyes and inaudibly sighed. He'd rather just let it ring while he laid in the tub, but the vibrations and the dings kept going off like a nursery rhyme on replay. He reached over the tub and clumsily falls out, water sloshing on the tiles while he landed poorly with a loud thud.
āģØė°!ā he groans in pain and exhaustion, slowly stretching his body. He carries himself out towards the nightstand where his phone rattled.
He checked the screen.
Banks. His banks and lenders.
Your account has been paid in full.
Creditors. Debt resolvedā¦
A third party paid on your behalf.
Weād like to speak to you regarding irregularities.
It all piled in while he sunk in the tub just five minutes ago.
Urgent: Fraud Cause Status Pending.
Transaction Logged By External Party.
Still incoming emails and missed calls from authorities.
Cyber Police: You are to attend at once.
The fumes left his system, so did his breath. Maybe he was already dead and what he was seeing is just an illusion. Water droplets fall from his soaked hair and clothes, pattering all over his floor as he began dissociating again. He returns to Earth to scroll up the notifications, then dissociates again. Again and again.
Sang-woo stopped at the final notification. A missed call. Y/N.
He didnāt tell Gi-hun. Heād rather not answer questions he himself didnāt know the answer to. His thought process? A mix of confusion, shock, maybe anger. Was it anger? Wasn't this what he longed for so desperately?
He stared at Y/N's contact in the missed call... then shuts his phone. Sang-woo barely checked his phone for at least the whole day after that. But even still, just like his insomnia and his depleting mental health, nothing could chase it all away. For now, the outstanding debt he owed to his clients was out of his hair, kind of.
The next few hours in the morning, after not even sleeping well as usual, Sang-woo logs onto his laptop while keeping his bank app open on his phone. Seoul police and their investigators would have already gone through the evidence and documented his failed investments. The notifications did not lie, Sang-woo was definitely not imagining it. 6 billion won was his outstanding total... and now... nothing.
Sang-woo knew you so well. No, you didn't work with him. You had a completely different job and you were loaded, but you were never flashy about it. No one knows everyone in this world, so no one would have guessed you had all this money on you.
The torrent of messages and the imagery of detectives tracking him down without tiring became a part of him like gum stuck on a shoe. Now that you just plopped a miracle on his lap, new imagery forms. Now you're at risk of being in debt, are you?
After a silent hour, Sang-woo clicked your name and pressed his phone to his ear. After two rings, you pick up.
"Are you okay?" you ask.
You pardoned my debts. Every single one... what the fuck is wrong with you?! Sang-woo could scream until his throat ripped open.
"What did you do, Y/N?"
A long silence.
"What did you do, Y/N?"
"Sang-woo... are you okay? I called you."
Sang-woo was quiet.
"Sang-woo-"
The line went dead. His work shoes he enjoyed polishing himself clamped against the wet road as he walked. He walked to your street that had to be kilometers away. Just like how he walked from Yeouido.
You buzzed him up and waited at the foot of your door. Something in your gut told you he stood on the other side without knocking, so you opened it and let him in.
"I don't even know if your mother likes me that much," you say, pouring the kettle of hot water in two mugs. "Or at all. It's hard to tell." Nothing in your tone made it seem like you were seeking reassurance or validation. You were just pointing out an observation that you clearly weren't certain about.
"I never seemed to notice."
"Well, of course. You wouldn't because your mother thinks you're working across the other side of the world." You steeped the tea and set his in front of his hands. You looked at his watch and stayed staring at it to avoid his gaze.
The two of you were quiet. You reached over with a shaky hand to touch his.
Sang-woo couldn't even look at you either. "Did you do this to seek validation from my mother?"
"My God, Sang-woo! No!"
"My validation?"
"Are you not..."
"Not what? Grateful?"
"I wanted to help. You needed help."
He turned red. "You're gonna talk down to me now, are you? Because of my financial ruin?"
"So many people go through this. You were going through it and I saw it in your face whenever we caught up and went out drinking!"
"You knew what I did!" Sang-woo needed to know how you found out what was really going on in his head. That probably didn't even matter anymore.
"Yes," you nod. "You needed help."
"You think money fixes this? Fixes me?!"
"Yes, Sang-woo! You would have done anything!" You yell.
Sang-woo exhales, rubbing his face with his hands that lifted his glasses above him. He roughly slammed his specs on the counter. "God!"
He hated that you were right He accepted a game of ddakji with that businessman. He bottled up humiliation in a public setting for a pathetic wad of cash. He climbed into a van driven by an anonymous source, survived Red Light, Green Light, learned the real motive of the games and voted O.
"What, do I owe you my life now?!"
"You. Needed. Help."
"What did you want, Y/N?"
"Excuse me?"
"What did you want?"
"I don't expect a thank you, Sang-woo! That's not the point of being a good Samaritan!"
"Yeah, of course, you fuckin' angel on Earth! You think thisā" He looked at you. How could he thank you? Dinner? A trip to Thailand? A brand new car? Sex?
Sang-woo considered. He wasnāt prioritizing women and his love life at all. Not even his sex life. Not one hookup. It was his financial ruin that he was desperate of saving, almost as if it was his marriage.
"Sang-woo, I wouldn't go through this much for something so transactional."
"Y/N... you are in debt. If you had that much to save my life, then there's no way you are gonna be okay."
You looked at him. His face had gone cold.
"I-"
"Don't reassure me that you will be okay, Y/N. You are not! This is not going to turn out well for you." He can face the legal dispute, but Sang-woo can't take back those words, just like how you can't take back all that money. If that van returns, he could come back, win the money inside that giant piggy bank and return the favour, could he? He's practical enough to know the other players were saving themselves, but maybe someone sleeping on those bunks joined to help someone they loved and cared for and the money will go to them.
But he thought of how many more people will die. Flawed people. He voted O, accepting the chances of killing and surviving... God, he can't imagine you in a green tracksuit.
A long, long silence...
"What I did was reckless," you say quietly. "We're both reckless."
"I'm not a good person..."
"You didn't make good decisions."
"I betrayed my team." Sang-woo sank on your couch, his suit pants had dried from the rain, but the smell of rain on him lingered. "I was trying to... prove something to myself, that I have a place in this world... that I have pride." He looked at you. "Y/N, there's more to it. You did it to help me. If I had any partner... they would have done the same, but 6 billion won? How do you even come up with that?"
"I can't disclose that, Sang-woo. I'm privileged and I'm careful. Was careful. But you deserve a chance."
"My career... my reputation... will be far than stellar. I can't... ė“ ģė§... I can't."
You stepped closer and met him at the couch. "What are you gonna do now? You still need to face it."
Sang-woo looked up at you and took your offering hand. You were certain that this wasn't transactional, maybe it was to Sang-woo, maybe he was just gonna use you to let out every inexplicable feeling he felt in his gut for months on end. Maybe you two were just going to accept it tonight so he could face it tomorrow. Then it would be your turn.
Sang-woo thinks of his mother, then Gi-Hun, then you.
His mind goes blank. He canāt think about Gi-Hun. Or player 199 that saved Gi-Hun. Not even the giant doll that killed 259 players in Red Light, Green Light.
Instead, his mind shrinks to you as his body leaned over yours in your bed, drawing sounds of intimacy and closeness.
Your hands find his.
Sang-woo left your apartment the next morning. No breakfast or coffee was offered, no taxi. No food, coffee or money was offered that morning. He walked back the same way he came.
It was a new day and you were on your way to your local bank. The nearest ATM under maintenance. You stood at the bus stop where a homeless man slept by the lamppost. You set a large water bottle and a sandwich by his makeshift bed and waited for the next bus arriving in ten minutes. The sky was dull in Korea.
You fixated massaging your hip to ease the soreness Sang-woo left after you two were done but you felt a presence behind you.
You glanced over your shoulder at the bright voice.
The homeless man you tended to ate the sandwich and washed it down with the water, watching the sharp-looking man in a grey suit, smiling at you as he held out a brown card between his fingers.
SYNOPSIS ā Feeling like there was no way out, Sang-woo considers giving up on everything, until he opens his eyes in the bathtub, clothed, drunk and reeking of cigarette smoke, to a phone call that you had pardoned his debts. [ non - requested ]
PAIRING ā Cho Sang-woo x Fem!Reader
TAGS ā smoking, drinking, heavy debt, mental health, suggested nsfw (just a short intimate scene, no smut), no happy ending tbh it's not meant to be, my Korean/Hangul is not at all fluent.
WORD COUNT ā 2,763
A/N ā This took me a long time to write (I'm talking August 2025 because my fixation on Squid Game fizzled out at last) because I know nothing about futures etc.... and I needed to figure out how to make Y/N's "heroic" gesture accurate because Sang-woo is a wanted man and there has to be legal action taken even after Y/N saves his life. Ending is rushed and I'm not interested in fixing it honestly. Pls leave a like, reblog + feedback!!!
AO3 | QUOTEV | WATTPAD | COMMISSION ME
SANG-WOO GOT UP ON HIS FEET, putting his grey blazer back on and answering the Pakistani man who asked him where they were. "Yeouido."
"Where exactly is Yeouido?"
"In the center of Seoul," he answers with a weary sigh.
Sang-woo voted O. He voted O. Just like the rest of the other dozens of players who desperately needed the money that plopped into that giant transparent piggy bank in the ceiling. He voted O ā and he still parted with the strangers, tossed out into the street like litter.
"Sir? Sir, do you have a cell phone on you?"
Sang-woo glanced at the man. He recognized him as player 199. Sang-woo didn't even know if he had his phone anymore, if those cold-blooded, emotionally detached pink soldiers took all their stuff, leaving them with just their garments and hopelessness for their future.
"Would you let me borrow it, please?" Player 199 asks. "I'll be quick."
He checks his pockets and felt it. He presses the side button to unlock his phone; a black mirror reflecting back his face of guilt, exhaustion and more emotions Cho Sang-woo couldn't confront himself.
"That's 2000 won." Sang-woo hands the clerk the cash and walks to the side table, checking the incoming missed notifications trampling onto each other as soon as the battery hit 2%, all delivered and unread by authorities threatening to take legal action. It got worse and worse while he was gone. Sang-woo couldn't say it out loud, but he knew exactly what it was, and there was no escaping that. The pink soldier was right as was another player who begged for one more game; it was hell out there as it was inside.
Sang-woo sighed, placing the power bank towards player 199 then dug into his bowl of instant ramyeon. He lights a cigarette outside the store, receiving his phone back from the man and offering bus money. He walks away, indifferent but kind enough to help him go home to Ansan. He smokes as he treaded down Yeouido, nothing from that cigarette could make everything go away. The wind picked up the smoke and carried it into the skyāand Sang-woo wished it could carry him along, too.
Sang-woo didn't sleep. In fact, he didn't go home straight away. It was probably sometime in the afternoon where he hid behind another shop to watch his mother opening up hers from afar before Gi-Hun approached and talked about how Sang-woo could come up with money again, as if it was easy on Sang-woo's end.
Sang-woo sighed as he watches his mother. This was the woman Sang-woo feared he'd receive so much shame, humiliation and disappointment from. His own mother, who loved him deeply and believed in him, spoke about him to their neighborhood like he was Superman.
Gi-Hun is in the same boat and it sure as hell isn't easy on him at all, however he continues to praise his childhood friend. The prestigious SNU was what helped Sang-woo get to where he was; once successful, leading team two in Joy Investments until his social and financial status as the famous prodigy took its turn.
Is money really everything? To many people, yes. To Sang-woo, in his given circumstances, he'd do anything and he already has.
Siphoning money from clientsā balances, investing in derivatives and futures options ā all crumbled and led to a nearly unfixable financial ruin for Cho Sang-woo.
6 billion won.
āFile for personal bankruptcy, then,ā Gi-Hun suggests, a taking a drag from his cigarette. āOr whatever they call it. I heard you donāt have to pay your debts off if you do that.ā
āI used all of my Momās properties as collateral. Including our houseā¦ā Sang-woo spoke as smoke exhaled from his breath. āAnd her shop as well.ā
All of this ā and Mrs. Cho thinks her beloved son is in the States.
āYeah, Iāve been eating well, so donāt worry.ā Sang-woo spoke to her on the phone the next night.
āI doubt that greasy American food is doing all that much for you,ā she says. āTell me what youāre eating.ā
āItās okay, Mom.ā Sang-woo spoke calmly. āThere are a lot of Korean restaurants.ā
āSo, when are you coming back?ā she asks, eager and concerned over the phone.
Sang-woo couldnāt mind lying to his clients, but he felt like he was getting weaker and weaker spreading vague lies to his mother.
āItās taking longer than expected, so Iām not sure. It might take a while.ā
āAwe, really. It sure sounds like itās been tough there.ā
She could say that. āHey, Momā¦ā
āYes?ā
A long pause. Sang-woo was gonna miss his mother and the person he once was.
A customer calls for Mrs. Cho in the background, requesting three squids, prepped and cleaned. Mrs. Cho gently rushes on what would likely be her final words to her son over the phone, assuring him not to bring back anything from his so-called business trip. Sang-woo hears the motherly āI love youā before hanging up. He gets up and puts his grey blazer on, still in his same clothes when he entered the games.
The bathroom floor was wet from the bathtub water. The toxic fumes from the charcoal briquettes that emitted into the air, meant to free Sang-woo of debt and shame.
Sang-woo smoked a few cigarettes, downed another bottle of Soju and justā¦ waited.
Why couldn't I do it? He stares up at the ceiling, the Soju in his hands.
6 billion won, maybe even counting. The thought, the idea, the image of seeing himself appearing in court. He could turn his head and glance at who appeared in the gallery. In that moment, he wouldn't bear to look his mother in the eye as the judge read his charges, or loan sharks feeding off him in an alleyway, dragging him through the mud.
If only he could tell Gi-hun that coming up with 6 billion won was as easy as picking apples, that if he could be free of debt and guilt, passing this heavily illegal unprecedented scenario with flying colours, before his mother could ever get the idea that her son was, in fact, not doing well at all... she could simply worry about Sang-woo eating greasy American food.
Sang-woo's body gradually reacted and he could feel 6 billion won lift its gargantuan feet off his chest ā
A call. He lets it ring.
It goes on for two minutes. Then emails. Then text messages.
Sang-woo lifted his eyes and inaudibly sighed. He'd rather just let it ring while he laid in the tub, but the vibrations and the dings kept going off like a nursery rhyme on replay. He reached over the tub and clumsily falls out, water sloshing on the tiles while he landed poorly with a loud thud.
āģØė°!ā he groans in pain and exhaustion, slowly stretching his body. He carries himself out towards the nightstand where his phone rattled.
He checked the screen.
Banks. His banks and lenders.
Your account has been paid in full.
Creditors. Debt resolvedā¦
A third party paid on your behalf.
Weād like to speak to you regarding irregularities.
It all piled in while he sunk in the tub just five minutes ago.
Urgent: Fraud Cause Status Pending.
Transaction Logged By External Party.
Still incoming emails and missed calls from authorities.
Cyber Police: You are to attend at once.
The fumes left his system, so did his breath. Maybe he was already dead and what he was seeing is just an illusion. Water droplets fall from his soaked hair and clothes, pattering all over his floor as he began dissociating again. He returns to Earth to scroll up the notifications, then dissociates again. Again and again.
Sang-woo stopped at the final notification. A missed call. Y/N.
He didnāt tell Gi-hun. Heād rather not answer questions he himself didnāt know the answer to. His thought process? A mix of confusion, shock, maybe anger. Was it anger? Wasn't this what he longed for so desperately?
He stared at Y/N's contact in the missed call... then shuts his phone. Sang-woo barely checked his phone for at least the whole day after that. But even still, just like his insomnia and his depleting mental health, nothing could chase it all away. For now, the outstanding debt he owed to his clients was out of his hair, kind of.
The next few hours in the morning, after not even sleeping well as usual, Sang-woo logs onto his laptop while keeping his bank app open on his phone. Seoul police and their investigators would have already gone through the evidence and documented his failed investments. The notifications did not lie, Sang-woo was definitely not imagining it. 6 billion won was his outstanding total... and now... nothing.
Sang-woo knew you so well. No, you didn't work with him. You had a completely different job and you were loaded, but you were never flashy about it. No one knows everyone in this world, so no one would have guessed you had all this money on you.
The torrent of messages and the imagery of detectives tracking him down without tiring became a part of him like gum stuck on a shoe. Now that you just plopped a miracle on his lap, new imagery forms. Now you're at risk of being in debt, are you?
After a silent hour, Sang-woo clicked your name and pressed his phone to his ear. After two rings, you pick up.
"Are you okay?" you ask.
You pardoned my debts. Every single one... what the fuck is wrong with you?! Sang-woo could scream until his throat ripped open.
"What did you do, Y/N?"
A long silence.
"What did you do, Y/N?"
"Sang-woo... are you okay? I called you."
Sang-woo was quiet.
"Sang-woo-"
The line went dead. His work shoes he enjoyed polishing himself clamped against the wet road as he walked. He walked to your street that had to be kilometers away. Just like how he walked from Yeouido.
You buzzed him up and waited at the foot of your door. Something in your gut told you he stood on the other side without knocking, so you opened it and let him in.
"I don't even know if your mother likes me that much," you say, pouring the kettle of hot water in two mugs. "Or at all. It's hard to tell." Nothing in your tone made it seem like you were seeking reassurance or validation. You were just pointing out an observation that you clearly weren't certain about.
"I never seemed to notice."
"Well, of course. You wouldn't because your mother thinks you're working across the other side of the world." You steeped the tea and set his in front of his hands. You looked at his watch and stayed staring at it to avoid his gaze.
The two of you were quiet. You reached over with a shaky hand to touch his.
Sang-woo couldn't even look at you either. "Did you do this to seek validation from my mother?"
"My God, Sang-woo! No!"
"My validation?"
"Are you not..."
"Not what? Grateful?"
"I wanted to help. You needed help."
He turned red. "You're gonna talk down to me now, are you? Because of my financial ruin?"
"So many people go through this. You were going through it and I saw it in your face whenever we caught up and went out drinking!"
"You knew what I did!" Sang-woo needed to know how you found out what was really going on in his head. That probably didn't even matter anymore.
"Yes," you nod. "You needed help."
"You think money fixes this? Fixes me?!"
"Yes, Sang-woo! You would have done anything!" You yell.
Sang-woo exhales, rubbing his face with his hands that lifted his glasses above him. He roughly slammed his specs on the counter. "God!"
He hated that you were right He accepted a game of ddakji with that businessman. He bottled up humiliation in a public setting for a pathetic wad of cash. He climbed into a van driven by an anonymous source, survived Red Light, Green Light, learned the real motive of the games and voted O.
"What, do I owe you my life now?!"
"You. Needed. Help."
"What did you want, Y/N?"
"Excuse me?"
"What did you want?"
"I don't expect a thank you, Sang-woo! That's not the point of being a good Samaritan!"
"Yeah, of course, you fuckin' angel on Earth! You think thisā" He looked at you. How could he thank you? Dinner? A trip to Thailand? A brand new car? Sex?
Sang-woo considered. He wasnāt prioritizing women and his love life at all. Not even his sex life. Not one hookup. It was his financial ruin that he was desperate of saving, almost as if it was his marriage.
"Sang-woo, I wouldn't go through this much for something so transactional."
"Y/N... you are in debt. If you had that much to save my life, then there's no way you are gonna be okay."
You looked at him. His face had gone cold.
"I-"
"Don't reassure me that you will be okay, Y/N. You are not! This is not going to turn out well for you." He can face the legal dispute, but Sang-woo can't take back those words, just like how you can't take back all that money. If that van returns, he could come back, win the money inside that giant piggy bank and return the favour, could he? He's practical enough to know the other players were saving themselves, but maybe someone sleeping on those bunks joined to help someone they loved and cared for and the money will go to them.
But he thought of how many more people will die. Flawed people. He voted O, accepting the chances of killing and surviving... God, he can't imagine you in a green tracksuit.
A long, long silence...
"What I did was reckless," you say quietly. "We're both reckless."
"I'm not a good person..."
"You didn't make good decisions."
"I betrayed my team." Sang-woo sank on your couch, his suit pants had dried from the rain, but the smell of rain on him lingered. "I was trying to... prove something to myself, that I have a place in this world... that I have pride." He looked at you. "Y/N, there's more to it. You did it to help me. If I had any partner... they would have done the same, but 6 billion won? How do you even come up with that?"
"I can't disclose that, Sang-woo. I'm privileged and I'm careful. Was careful. But you deserve a chance."
"My career... my reputation... will be far than stellar. I can't... ė“ ģė§... I can't."
You stepped closer and met him at the couch. "What are you gonna do now? You still need to face it."
Sang-woo looked up at you and took your offering hand. You were certain that this wasn't transactional, maybe it was to Sang-woo, maybe he was just gonna use you to let out every inexplicable feeling he felt in his gut for months on end. Maybe you two were just going to accept it tonight so he could face it tomorrow. Then it would be your turn.
Sang-woo thinks of his mother, then Gi-Hun, then you.
His mind goes blank. He canāt think about Gi-Hun. Or player 199 that saved Gi-Hun. Not even the giant doll that killed 259 players in Red Light, Green Light.
Instead, his mind shrinks to you as his body leaned over yours in your bed, drawing sounds of intimacy and closeness.
Your hands find his.
Sang-woo left your apartment the next morning. No breakfast or coffee was offered, no taxi. No food, coffee or money was offered that morning. He walked back the same way he came.
It was a new day and you were on your way to your local bank. The nearest ATM under maintenance. You stood at the bus stop where a homeless man slept by the lamppost. You set a large water bottle and a sandwich by his makeshift bed and waited for the next bus arriving in ten minutes. The sky was dull in Korea.
You fixated massaging your hip to ease the soreness Sang-woo left after you two were done but you felt a presence behind you.
You glanced over your shoulder at the bright voice.
The homeless man you tended to ate the sandwich and washed it down with the water, watching the sharp-looking man in a grey suit, smiling at you as he held out a brown card between his fingers.
my laptop's old guys :( the mouse is fucked so it's hard to write on it without it glitching and lagging and i would lose my mind writing fics on my phone.... i'm doing everything i can to find motivation to keep writing. i don't wanna stop.
my laptop's old guys :( the mouse is fucked so it's hard to write on it without it glitching and lagging and i would lose my mind writing fics on my phone.... i'm doing everything i can to find motivation to keep writing. i don't wanna stop.
