⋆. 𐙚˚- Gyaru reader who struggled financially and mentally after her mom died because of cancer and her dad leaving her when she was still little. She worked in club Pentagon for money so she could pay off some rent and dept but ended up messing her and joined squid game.
⋆. 𐙚˚- A/n: I know squid game fandom ended but I don't care and I wrote this purely for me because I can't find a single nam-gyu x reader that satisfied me so that's why I made my own.
⋆. 𐙚˚-word count 2.8k,.. Part 1.
You used to be a bright kid. Loud, dramatic, borderline annoying—just the way your mom liked it. You’d dance around in your living room with sticker-covered notebooks and shiny lip gloss you definitely weren't supposed to be wearing in elementary school.
Back then, being called "fake" made you feel powerful.
Fake lashes? Better than yours.
Fake smile? At least you could still smile.
Your mom was your whole world. She never judged your style, never told you to "tone it down." She was the one who paid for your first bleach job, even helped tone it so it wouldn't go piss colored yellow.
You wanted to become a nail tech—open your own salon, do nails and makeup for other gyaru girls who just wanted to feel pretty in a world that told them they weren't "decent."
Then cancer hit like a freight train. No warning. No time.
She was gone by the time you turned 19.
Your dad had vanished long before that. Some old flame of a man who hated responsibility and left when the bills got heavy and your mom stopped smiling in pictures.
After the funeral, you tried to go back to beauty school. You tried to smile. You even tried skipping class one day just to be "normal" sad, not shattered.
But the bills piled up. Your part-time at the salon wasn't enough. So you dropped out.
That was your first real fall. It didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity.
At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Just until you saved up enough to re-enroll. You worked coat check, then moved to the floor, then started hostessing once you learned how to fake-laugh at men who didn't know your name but loved how short your skirt was.
That's when you met Nam-Gyu, one of the club's main promoters.
You didn't speak often. He wasn't the type. He had the quiet kind of confidence that didn't need to shout. He'd show up with a group of rich customers, flash his phone at the bouncers, and disappear into VIP like he owned the place.
You figured he saw a hundred girls like you. Loud. Flashy. Easy to replace.
But sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. And sometimes you weren’t sure who felt more exhausted—you, or him.
A year in, the nights started to blur.
You started drinking to stay awake.
Cigarettes to keep your hands from shaking.
Coke when a VIP offered it like gum.
You told yourself it was just part of the job. That everyone was doing it.
Eventually, When your ex scammed you out of your savings, you snapped.
You didn't cry. You just stared at your cracked phone screen, smoking outside the club on a Tuesday night, wondering if you had enough in your account to even afford the train ride home.
That's when he showed up—the Salesman.
Pressed suit. Briefcase. That sterile, unreadable smile.
“Would you like to play a game?”
You should've told him to screw off.
But you didn't have anything left to lose.
Every time he slapped you, something inside you cracked. And every time you slapped him back, it didn't make you feel better. It just reminded you how far you'd fallen.
He handed you a card when your cheeks were flushed and your throat burned with shame.
"You’re a good player," he said. "Here go to that location to play for money."
You woke up in a concrete room, still tasting regret.
And there, across the crowd of desperate strangers and broken faces—stood Nam-Gyu.
Same face. Same unreadable eyes.
Except now, you werent just coworkers.
The silence shattered when the heavy metal doors creaked open.
The man who entered wore a dark, geometric mask—cold and unreadable. Two pink-suited guards flanked him, stiff and wordless like props in a horror show.
"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you,"
he began, voice smooth but distant.
"Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."
Your brain barely registered it. It sounded rehearsed. Like someone reading out a party invite to a funeral.
a woman near the front barked, arms crossed under her shapeless tracksuit.
"You said I'd be playing games but you partically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?"
the masked man replied instantly. No effort, no care. Just protocol.
Yeah okay, you thought, side-eyeing the fluorescent lights. If this is a party, where's the fucking glitter?
That's when someone shouted—
"What's with these shoes? My shoes are limited fucking edition! They're hard to find!"
Purple hair. Tattoo. Angry.
Your stomach twisted a little. You'd seen him before. Back when you worked in that seedy club—the one with sticky floors and too many fake IDs. He came in once, belligerent and slurring something about "VIP crypto booths."
He didn't remember you. Good.
Then came another voice—this time a girl, probably around your age, eyeing her green jumpsuit like it was radioactive.
"These don't fit and the color sucks. Can I just have what you’re wearing instead? I like pink."
Me too, you thought, but I doubt they do cute sizes.
Behind the chaos, you spotted Nam-Gyu.
Hands in his pockets. Leaning against the wall. Watching.
Not panicking. Not talking. Just… sizing everything up.
You turned back to the masked man as he continued.
And you'd signed your name on the dotted line.The rules were laid out.
No one really asked more questions.
Too scared. Too broke. Too tired.
One by one, people lined up to sign their names on the contracts.
It felt official. It felt final.
You hesitated for a second before scribbling yours down—glossy nail clacking the pen.
A voice—way too loud for this sterile room.
"The amazing Myung-Gi from MG Coin? Is that you?"
Thanos. Purple hair. Already pissed.
A few steps away stood Myung-Gi, arms crossed and eyebrows raised like he was above it all.
Myung-Gi replied, all mock-confusion.
"You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin. I was subscribed to your channel. And I lost a shitload of money, asshole."
People paused mid-signature. You could feel the tension crackle in the air.
"So did I," Myung-Gi said coolly. "You've got the wrong person."
"I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams, motherfucker."
Your eyes flicked to the side as Thanos turned to someone next to him.
"What’s your name again? Namsu?"
"Nam-Gyu," came the calm reply. "From Club Pentagon."
Your heart skipped. You hadn't heard that name in months.
The club where it all spiraled.
Of course Nam-Gyu knew these two. Of course this was happening.
"Right," Thanos nodded darkly. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Nam-Gyu here. Because we share the same pain."
"I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money," Nam-Gyu said. His voice was low, neutral. But something sharp hid behind it. "So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?"
"What do you want from me?" Myung-Gi snapped.
So much testosterone, you muttered in your head. It's giving man-child meltdown.
"You’re responsible for the final decision on your investment," Myung-Gi added defensively. "Didn’t you hear me say that at the end? You said you watched every day."
"Hey, calm down," Nam-Gyu warned.
"You asshole!" Thanos barked, lunging.
"Alright now—" Nam-Gyu said holding back Thanos who grabbed myungi by the collar.
"Get off me! Let go of me!" Myung-Gi yelled, getting out of Thanos grip.
"People are watching," Nam-Gyu muttered, firm. "You don't want to be on the news."
"You better do well," Thanos spat, backing off, "because I’m coming to get my money back."
"Come on," Nam-Gyu said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him off before a pink guard got involved.
You sighed, loud and exaggerated.
Men. Always fighting over money they never had.
They were all locked in the same broke, desperate nightmare as you.
The stairs looked like a kid:s dream—or a gamer’s fever dream.
Candy-colored walls in pink and green. A maze of impossible angles.
It was like someone took a playground, melted a Rubik’s cube on it, and called it a hallway.
You didn't say anything, just followed the pink guards as they led everyone up, down, and around through the staircase purgatory.
Eventually, you were guided into a small booth area—each with a photo machine inside.
So we're taking passport pics before gambling now?
You scoffed to yourself, flipping your hair.
Then the screaming started.
"I'm Gyeongsu! Big fan! I've been to several of your concerts! Please take a picture with me!"
That voice came from a tall dude with starry eyes practically throwing himself at Thanos.
Here we go, you thought, crossing your arms.
Then it spread like a virus:
"Wait, Thanos, take one with me too!"
Phones or not, people were treating him like the main event.
"Hang on, guys," came Nam-Gyu’s voice—low but sharp. "Let's make this easier for Thanos and take one picture together."
And of course, people started agreeing.
"Yeah, one big group photo!"
They're acting like we’re at KCON.
Still, you adjusted your jumpsuit a little and tilted your chin.
At least I look hot today, like usual.
Just as Thanos raised his arm to strike a pose—
A voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You are not allowed to do this,"
a masked man said as he stepped forward, hands clasped calmly behind his back.
> “You wanna be in the picture? Come on.”
"You must take your picture one by one,"
the masked man replied, tone absolute.
"You guys took our phones!"
"No exceptions," the masked man snapped.
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost gave yourself a migraine.
You lost count of how many damn stairs there were.
Bright, twisting staircase that led to more staircase. The place looked like a Candyland prison designed by an evil toddler.
Finally, you spilled out with the others into a blindingly open space that looked like a child's sandbox on steroids.
A massive doll stood far away. Creepy. Motionless. Watching.
Then a smooth, monotone voice echoed overhead:
"Welcome to the first game. Please wait a moment in the field."
The group spread out in a mix of curiosity and confusion.
"My knees are about to give out."
"A whole stairway to hell just to stand here?"
People were already whining, and you were about to tune them out—until you heard a familiar voice again.
Thanos, guess he really is the main event.
"Hey, Señorita. Don't you know who I am?"
It was him again, talking to the same girl who'd whined about the pink tracksuit earlier. She raised a brow.
"No, you don't," he grinned. "We can get to know each other. Tell me about yourself."
"Are you hitting on me?" she asked, clearly over it.
Then he struck a pose and launched into something… horrifying.
"In the sea of faces, you caught my eye…"
"My beauty, my flower, blooming among weeds…"
"Red, orange, yellow, green—I'm legend, Thanos…"
"Look at us in this blue-green… now give me the green light."
You winced so hard your lip gloss cracked.
Secondhand embarrassment. Terminal stage.
You turned around, needing to get away from whatever mating ritual that was—and ended up bumping straight into someone.
He blinked down at you lazily, hands still in his pockets.
"What," he asked, "did you walk into me just to get away from that?"
His chin subtly nodded toward Thanos's little concert.
He smirked slightly. Just for a second.
Then the loudspeaker buzzed again.
"Players, the first game is about to begin."Everyone was already standing in the field. Confused. Chatting. Joking around.
"The next game is probably tag or some baby game."
"They said we’d play six? This’ll be easy."
"Can we get water first? My mouth dry as hell."
No one was taking it seriously.
You stood still beside Nam-Gyu, arms crossed, eyes on the creepy oversized doll in the distance. The silence made your skin itch.
The doll's head turned with a loud click.
People around you started walking.
Except one guy near the front—tall, loud, and way too enthusiastic.
"STAND STILL!! DON'T MOVE!! SHE'S LOOKING!!"
It was some dude screaming like it was life or death.
"Oh my god is that player 456?" someone muttered.
You rolled your eyes. Why's he yelling like we're in a cartoon?
Next to you, Nam-Gyu didn't move a muscle, his hands still buried in his jumpsuit pockets.
Everyone froze—not from the game, but the sound.
You turned your head slowly.
One of the players had collapsed. The girl from earlier—the one who’d complained about her jumpsuit, the one Thanos was hitting on.
She lay there—blood soaking into the sandy ground.
"She moved," someone whispered.
"A bee landed on her neck."
Panic cracked through the crowd like lightning.
One after another—bodies dropped, people screamed, the doll spun its head like some nightmare music box.
You didn't scream. You didn't move.
Your heart was pounding out of your chest, but your feet stayed planted.
Nam-Gyu was still beside you.
Round after round passed, and somehow—you made it. Your foot hit the line.
Beside you, Nam-Gyu's breathing was shaky, hands now visibly trembling.
You just stood next to him, quietly.
Because what could you say after watching a girl die of a stupid bee?
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