✦ Arranged marriage tropes
✦ Slow-burn romance
✦ Dark/angsty plots with eventual redemption or hope
✦ Character growth and development
✦ Complex relationships with moral gray areas
✦ 18+ Content (Smut)
✦ Fluff
✦ Squid Game-inspired themes
✦ All genders
What I won't write about?
✦ Non-Consensual Themes
✦ Extreme BDSM, Torture etc.
✦ Underage characters involved in romantic/adult situations
✦ Incest
✦ Unhealthy or abusive relationships without growth
Masterlists:
✦ Squid Game One Shots
✦ Squid Game Series
Pairings: Salesman x reader, Slight Jun-ho x reader, Slight Gi-hun x reader
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, psychological manipulation, trauma aftermath, stalking, references to death games, power dynamics, gun violence, obsession themes, dark themes
Word Count: 5,498
The door slid open, revealing the Saleman’s sleek, modern space of the penthouse. The walls are a flawless white, and the floors are shining with wood against the lighting. Everything was immaculate.
You stepped out of the elevator first, and each of your footsteps was quiet but heavy with the weight of dread. Your limbs were moving on autopilot as your mind looped with fragmented thoughts, still remembering what had happened earlier with the Front Man.
Behind you, the Salesman’s silhouette appeared, framed by the dim light, calm. The elevator doors closed behind him with a soft click, and the silence of the penthouse wrapped around you both like a wire.
He moved deliberately, slowly, as if he was savoring the moment. His footsteps were measured against the wooden floor. The loud thud of his keys hitting the marble countertop punctuated the air. They slipped off their suit jacket, hanging them on the stand by the door.
You were staring out the massive windows, barely registering what the Salesman was doing. But then, their voice came, cold, smooth, low.
“Tonight,” he said, “you’ll sleep in my bed.”
Glancing at them, shocked, not from surprise, but from the way he said it, like you had no choice, as if it was an order, sending an uneasy feeling through your veins.
Every muscle was tightening, eyes beginning to narrow. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
The Salesman didn’t blink. Instead, they smiled in a predatory manner. Thin lips curling just so. He took a step closer, and suddenly the space between you was closing in. The way his eyes told a different story. Possessive.
“I know you heard me, Y/N. I don’t like repeating things twice.”
Your jaw clenched, your voice as steady as you could possibly manage. “And if I want to be alone tonight?”
They did a dark, almost amused, chuckle. “Well, that was before.” Their hands sliding into his pant pockets as he circled you slowly, like you were his prey. “Before you pulled the trigger on the Front Man. Before your darkness came through.”
You swallowed hard. The way he was moving, so assured and confident, was maddening.
“You belong where I can watch you, Y/N. It is so I can see you change fully.”
A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something odd, strange. Something like acceptance, maybe defiance, buried beneath your layers of exhaustion.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said quietly.
The Salesman nodded slowly, as if pleased. “Good. But don’t take too long. I would hate to start the night without you.” His voice dropped, a low murmur only meant for your ears.
You turned sharply and stormed off, muscles taut. Their gaze followed, unblinking. You could feel the weight of it down your spine.
Down the hallway, you reached the linen closet. Your fingers shook slightly as you slid the door open, pulling out the softest, white towel you could find, afterwards, walking to a dresser and picking a thin nightgown. The fabric felt foreign in your hands, delicate, a stark contrast to the growing storm forming within.
Closing the dresser, you stopped, hesitated. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe in the silence, the subtle scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. You weren’t just a guest here. Not anymore. You were now something else. A possession, and tonight, the Salesman would be waiting. However, you knew you had to shower fast; he could get angry at the drop of a dime.
You stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you, locking it with a quiet click, just in case.
The movement of the latch slid into place, the way your body slumped slightly, like you had been holding yourself upright just long enough to escape their gaze. A part of you still knew that this place was never safe, not when you could still hear his footsteps echoing in your skull.
You turned the shower knob, the pipes hissed, and soon, warm water began to fall, steam spilling into the air. The bathroom transformed around you, the luxurious place now blurred at the edges with fog. Even in the light overhead, you seemed softer.
Steam kissed the surface of the mirror, slowly erasing your reflection. You didn’t mind, of course, you would rather not see yourself after what happened earlier that day.
You slipped out of your clothes, leaving them pooled on the floor. When you stepped into the shower, the heat struck you in an instant; it wasn’t a gentle warmth, no, it was a blistering pour that burned your skin, flooding your senses until nothing else could break through.
You pressed your palms to the cool tile wall, head bowed under the rush of the water. Back aching. Shoulders tight. And still it wasn’t enough. The water didn’t burn it away. Not the sound of the empty shell clattering on the marble floor. Not the echo when you pulled the trigger. Not even the look in the Front Man’s eyes, like he saw you. The real you. Still feeling the weight of the gun in your hands, the jolting through your arm.
You barely felt the water now, opening your mouth wanting to scream, however, just a rasped whisper, cracked through.
“What’s happening to me…”
Your voice died in the steam. You closed your eyes as tightly as you could, jaw clenched. You’d meant it as a question, but there was no answer.
Because, well, a part of you already knew. Something had awakened, changed. It was alive now.
The image of the Salesman’s smug grin flashed in your mind, the way he had looked at you earlier in the car, like this was a gift he had been waiting years for. Something he could mold.
He was way too eager, too excited. And yet, you stepped into the car willingly, not trying to sprint off to Gi-hun, not trying to fight them back, you just followed through with their orders.
That is what scared you the most: changing. Would Gi-hun still love this new side of you? What would Jun-ho think?
You stayed under the spray until your skin felt raw and turned red, until your legs threatened to give. Then, finally, slowly, you turned the water off. Carefully stepping out so you don’t end up slipping on the sleek marble floor, and grabbing the towel, pressing it against your body as if you could scrub all your worries away. Then, the nightgown, soft, like a second skin.
Only the faint outline of yourself was visible in the mirror now. You didn’t linger.
Padding across the tiles, the towel and old clothes gripped in one hand, you unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall. The cool air bit at your somewhat damp skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.
You made your way to the Salesman’s bedroom, not before throwing the clothes and towel into the washing machine.
The lights coming out of his bedroom were low, casting the hallway in amber shadows. Slowly, you opened the door and saw him, already lying on the bed.
The Salesman reclined against the plush headboard. His bare chest was on full view as his arms were lazily behind his head, their sharp eyes tracking you with something between hunger and amusement.
“Finally,” he said, voice smooth but with a hint of something dark beneath it. “I was beginning to think you’d drowned.”
“In a shower?”
He shrugged his shoulders while showing his teeth in a wicked grin. “Want to see if that is possible?”
You didn’t respond. Not really. Just padded toward the far side of the bed, keeping your movements quiet, careful. The silence between you stretched. You didn’t like the way their gaze lingered on you, not when you were wearing a thin piece of fabric.
You slipped under the blanket and turned your back to him, immediately placing some sheets between you.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, you felt it. The heat of his pressing closer, their hand reached across the space, fingers brushing softly along your waist before curling his fingers slightly. Testing to see how much he could do before you snapped.
You stiffened at his touch; however, he didn’t stop.
He leaned in, their breath warm and intimate against your neck. Then, he pressed his lips to your bare shoulder. Just once. A slow, controlling kiss. Like he thought he was entitled to do that.
That caused your fury to crack through.
Your elbow launched back hard, aiming straight for his ribs. However, he caught your wrist mid-swing.
“Ah, ah Y/N,” he snarled, voice close to your ear. “That’s no way to thank me for keeping you safe.”
You turned your head sharply towards him. “Don’t touch me like that.”
He froze for a second, then pulled back slightly, hands lifted like you were a wild animal he was trying not to spook. But the grin stayed. He was too entertained.
“Alright, darling. Didn’t know the shower would make you even… feistier,” he exclaimed, letting out a dry chuckle.
“I’m dead serious. I don’t want you near me. I don’t want your gross hands touching me.”
His smile didn’t drop. If anything, it deepened.
“Oh, I believe you,” he hummed. “But it’s cute pretending you don’t feel it, this connection bet-”
“Shut the hell up so I can sleep.”
He blinked once, then slowly backed off.
“Fine, fine. No heart-to-heart tonight. Sweet dreams, Y/N.”
You rolled away, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders, spine rigid. Behind you, the silence thickened, but not because the Salesman was respecting your space. It was the kind that meant he was still smiling in the dark, still watching you, still waiting.
And you hated that a small part wondered what he would’ve said next if you’d let him keep going.
The smell woke you before anything else.
Buttery. Warm. A hint of garlic and something smoky. It clung inside your nose before your eyes even opened, causing rumbling sounds from your stomach. You fluttered your eyes open to the soft light of the morning seeping in through the curtains. The space around you was quiet, apart from the distant clatter of pans being moved and the soft murmur of classical music playing from somewhere down the hall. The soft scent of something deliberate. Not just eggs and toast. Something thoughtful.
You drew the sheets away, then stood up, slipping on a nearby robe draped across the edge of the bed, and you went into the hallway barefoot.
Eventually, you made it into the kitchen doorway and froze.
There he was.
The Salesman, humming to the classical music playing in a low, slightly off-key tone, stood at the stove wearing a crisp white dress shirt rolled to their elbows. No blazer on. A tie laid out on the counter beside a steaming mug of what you guessed was coffee.
He stood at the stove, cooking.
Not ordering someone to make them food. Not ordering something in. But cooking. A skillet full of eggs, another with sautéed green onions and cherry tomatoes, was on the burner, and beside them was a plate with toast and sliced avocado, dusted with some seasoning.
He hadn’t noticed you yet. He almost looked…normal. Homey.
Until they turned and saw you. A wide grin stretched across his face in an instant, like he’d been waiting for your arrival.
“Good morning, darling,” he said brightly. “I hope you’re hungry.”
You blinked. “You’re…”
“Cooking? I know, I know. Shocking, right?” He flipped the eggs with expertise. “Believe it or not, Y/N, I’m a man of many talents. Just don’t expect me to do this every morning, I'm spoiling you.”
You refused to move, caught off guard. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Because I felt like it. Is that so suspicious of me?”
“Yes.”
The Salesman lightly laughed. “Well, you’re still here after all.”
You stepped inside slowly, the wooden floor slightly cool under your feet.
He slid the finished meal onto a plate and set it down at the marble counter, gesturing for you to sit. “Avocado toast. Sunny side up eggs. Tomatoes sautéed with green onions and rosemary.”
You took a seat, hesitantly, eyeing the food. Your stomach growled.
“Thanks,” you muttered, taking a bite.
He gave you a small, amused look, then picked up their black coffee, no milk, of course. “I’m heading to work soon,” he said casually, sipping. “Got some dull meetings to suffer through.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what those meetings are about, are you?”
He smiled, leaning closer across the counter. “Let’s just say it’s performance-based. Like yours yesterday.”
You stiffened, not taking another bite.
The Salesman reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, Y/N.”
Then, like it was normal, he kissed the top of your forehead. You could barely breathe. Stunned.
They placed their tie over their shirt, rolled down the sleeves of their dress shirt, then grabbed their blazer, slinging it over their shoulder. At the door, he turned back with a grin.
“Oh, by the way, we have got a special outing tomorrow,” he added. “You are going to love it.”
And with that, he disappeared out the door.
The moment the door shut behind the Salesman, the penthouse seemed to exhale. You finished eating while you heard the low ding of the elevator, confirming what you needed to hear. That he was gone.
For now, at least.
Your heart thudded in your throat as you scanned around the apartment. There. A plain door you’d passed a few times, tucked near the edge of the hallway between the guest bathroom and the wine rack. You had always assumed it was a utility closet. But not anymore.
You placed the plates into the dishwasher, turning it on, before moving quickly towards the door, toes brushing against the polished floor, being careful not to get any unwanted attention.
Your hand hesitated on the doorknob as you turned it slowly. It opened. No scanner. No alarm. No digital lock. Just a hidden passage hiding in plain sight.
The room was big enough for a desk and a few shelves, but it was pulsing through your body with tension. The walls were lined with a matte-black paneling. Thick curtains block out the natural light.
At first glance, it looked normal. Minimalist. Clean
But then your eyes adjusted, and the details began to emerge.
A wall full of surveillance monitors, all black, except one flickering in a loop of grainy footage. It looked like the lobby of this building. How did he get access to those cameras, you wondered? A table in the corner held maps of an island, notes, and a closed binder with a blood-red spine.
And mounted on one of the shelves was a safe. It was larger than you expected. Sleek black with a keypad glowing faintly.
Six digits.
You stared at it, heart pounding. There was no way you were cracking it without a code.
Unless…
You turned back to the room, eyes sharpening, running over everything with surgical precision. Nothing seemed out of place, except an old-fashioned record player in the corner. The Salesman was the type who preferred things that looked modern, new. So why on earth was there a vintage record player here? It looked more ornamental than functional.
Curiosity twisted your gut. You walked to it and gently lifted the lid. No vinyl inside, but something was wedged beneath the lip of the wooden interior, catching your eye. A thin, black notebook, barely visible, hidden behind the record player’s mechanism.
You gently eased it out.
Pages filled with scrawled notes, financial figures, but halfway through, a set of numbers stood out:
Office - 010034
Heart in your mouth, you turned back to the safe.
0 - 1 - 0 - 0 - 3 - 4
A soft beep, you pulled the safe back, and froze.
The first thing you saw was stacks of crisp banknotes, bound with thin white paper bands. It was too much to count, thousands and thousands of dollars. Blood money. Literal blood money.
Next, your eyes glanced at stacks of ddakji, paper squares in red or blue, folded with a clean precision. Their edges were slightly worn from use. A children’s game. Memories flooded back of Gi-hun informing you that the Salesman would recruit people this way.
Your breath caught as you uncovered a bundle of cards, just like the one the Front Man gave you, the same symbols on them, the same amount of numbers on the back. No names, no addresses attached.
They were all tools of their manipulation.
On the lower shelf of the safe, you found the real sickness.
Photos.
The first one made you stop.
Gi-hun. A surveillance shot, somewhere outside a convenience store. He looked weathered. A cigarette hanging from his fingers, his gaze turned away.
Then Jun-ho, caught mid-stride in their police uniform. The features were blurry, but unmistakably him.
Then…
You.
It was recent. You were walking out of the safe house you stayed at with Gi-hun & Jun-ho. The image had been taken without your knowledge, and you remembered the outfit. The angle suggested a camera was hidden somewhere near a bush.
Your fingers clenched.
But there was more. Files, each one stamped with red ink.
You flipped through the first one.
Participant #456: Seong Gi-hun
- Game behaviour logs. Psychological profiles. Notes on their emotional triggers.
The next:
Police Officer: Hwang Jun-ho
- A record of his movements. Even a report about his “disappearance” when he gained access to the island.
And then the last:
Potential Partnership: [Your Name]
- Pages upon pages of analysis. Your hospital records. Your childhood. Your relationships. Every detail of your life.
Rage twisted in your stomach, but you didn’t scream. You didn’t even breathe too loudly.
You moved on instinct.
Jun-ho’s burner phone they gave you.
You sprinted back to the laundry, flinging open the washing machine door, tearing through your old jeans. There. Still dry. Still working.
Afterwards, racing back to the room, closing the door behind you, and began documenting everything. One by one. You photographed the cash. The ddakji. The cards. The photos. Every page of the files.
Your hands were trembling so badly that you almost dropped the phone more than once.
Every flash made you flinch, the fear that the Salesman might return at any second.
After you managed to get all the photos, well over 40 of them, you placed everything back just the way you found it. The files were straightened out. The photos are stacked in the correct order. You closed the safe door, the keypad beeping softly as you reentered the code again: 010034, waiting for the click before pulling away.
Then back to the record player. Notebook in place. Laid down. Wiped clean. You paused at the door. Looking around one final time. No sign of your intrusion. Then you stepped out gently, closing the door behind you.
Only now did you dare open the messages app. You clicked send to Jun-ho, all the images selected, message typed.
➤ Y/N: From the Salesman’s safe. Be careful.
The loading screen spun, and spun. Your heart dropped when the message returned.
“Sending…may take 10 - 12 hours. Weak signal.”
You stared at it. No bars. Of course. You were in a penthouse rigged with jammers. Probably buried in encryption.
However, the message was trying. It just needed time. You slipped the phone into the pocket of your new robe. Now, all you could do was wait and pray it sent everything before he noticed.
The sky outside had turned a dusky amber, and the penthouse was bathed in a warm, late evening light. You sat on the couch, legs curled beneath you, pretending to read the same chapter for the fifth time. However, your mind wasn’t in the book. It was the items you found in the safe.
Then, your pocket buzzed, causing your chest to do a sudden sharp jolt. You slipped your hand and fished out the phone.
[Incoming Video Call – JUN-HO]
You didn’t hesitate, setting the book aside and making your way down the hall towards the guest bathroom.
You slipped inside and locked the door behind you. The water was turned on from the tap, creating a soft, gentle sound.
You accepted the call.
“Jun-ho?”
His face came into focus, dimly lit. Their brows slightly furrowed when he saw you. “You, okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I’m alone currently.”
Just then, in the background, Gi-hun went into the frame. “Y/N?”
“Hey,” you said softly, your heart aching at the sight of him.
“You look… tired,” he said. “But alive. Thank god, I was worried he did something to you.”
You gave a faint smile.
“Anyways, I’m heading to the store,” Gi-hun added, grabbing his keys. “Be safe, yeah?”
And then he was gone, leaving you and Jun-ho alone. He moved into the frame properly now. “Did you find anything?”
“Files and pictures of us mainly, there are also some items he uses to recruit people.”
His expression darkened. “Good. We’ll need it to stop the games.”
Your gaze flickered over his shoulder and caught something. A framed photo on the shelf. It was two men. Young, proud. Smiling.
“Hey, Jun-ho. Who’s the guy in that photo with you?”
He glanced back, then froze. His face went still.
“Oh, that’s… my brother,” he said quietly. “In-ho.”
Your stomach twisted.
“I met him. Do you know that he is the…”
“The Front Man,” he muttered, looking down, being silent for a moment. “Yeah, I know he is.”
You leaned closer to the screen.
“How did you find out?”
Jun-ho exhaled shakily. “Please promise me you won’t tell anyone, including Gi-hun.”
“I won’t, I promise, Jun-ho.”
He nodded. “When Gi-hun was in the games, I managed to infiltrate the island. I dressed as a guard. I needed answers on where to find my brother. I needed proof.”
You listened, refusing to speak.
“I slipped into the system. Eventually, they realized that a police officer was there. I tried to swim to another island to call for help…”
SLAM.
The front door to the penthouse crashed open. Sudden. Loud. You flinched so hard the phone nearly slipped from your fingers.
Jun-ho’s head jerked up on the screen. “Y/N?”
“Oh, sweetheart?” The Salesman’s voice echoed through the walls. “I’m home! I got us some takeout from a nice restaurant down the street.”
Panic surged. Your pulse quickened as you whispered. “He’s back. I have to go.”
“Wait,” Jun-ho said quickly. “The moment I got to that other island, I was…”
You pressed the end call button before he could finish. The screen went black. The running water is still going. You tried to calm your breathing as you switched the tap off, slowly unlocking the door, stepping into the hallway like nothing had happened.
But Jun-ho’s unfinished sentence was on your mind.
“I was…”
Captured? Saved?
You might never find out, not if the Salesman knew what you were doing.
You slipped the phone into your pocket as you moved into the kitchen/living area, the scent of warm food hit you. Takeout containers sat on the table, neatly arranged with precision.
He stood at the table, back to you, humming something under his breath as he unpacked the bags.
“There you are,” he said without turning, their voice was unreadable.
You lingered in the doorway. “You got food?”
He glanced over his shoulder with a casual smile. “Mmhm,” he responded. “I figured we should eat something together. I was meant to do more meetings, but they let me come home early.”
You strolled towards the table, letting your eyes scan over the boxes. “What is it?”
“Something you will enjoy,” he replied simply, organizing the dishes with an almost obsessive manner. “It would pair nicely with some red wine.”
He turned to face you fully now, his gaze dragging across your body.
“Could you grab a bottle, my dear?” he asked, pointing towards the wine rack. “Get a good vintage one.”
You moved, your footsteps quiet across the floor as you stepped to the rack and scanned the labels. Your fingers brushed a bottle of cabernet, and you reached to take it, only to realize he was suddenly behind you.
Too close.
You flinched, startled by his sudden presence. The wine bottle slipped from your grasp, but he caught it. Effortlessly. One hand around the neck of the bottle.
The glass didn’t break; however, something in the air certainly did.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice far too pleased with himself. “We wouldn’t want you making a mess.”
You stared at him, heart in your throat. Their eyes scanned your lips, then your eyes.
“You’re a bit jumpy tonight,” he added. “Is something wrong, Y/N?”
You reached out to take the bottle from the Salesman, but their grip lingered, fingers brushing against yours a second too long. He tilted his head slightly, his face studying you.
“It has been a long day.”
He finally released the bottle, causing you to clutch it tighter than necessary.
“I’ll get us some glasses. Could you place the wine on the table for me?” He said smoothly, walking towards the kitchen.
You walked to the table with the wine in hand, fingers still tingling from the near-slip earlier. You placed it beside the takeout containers, its dark glass catching the flicker of the candles he’d already lit.
Behind you, you could hear the soft clinking of glass. The Salesman came over carrying two glasses with careful precision.
“Let me, you can have a seat.”
You sat, causing him to smile.
He uncorked the wine without speaking this time, carefully, pouring your glass first, then his. You nodded with a mock gratitude, lifting your glass.
The wine caught the glow of the candlelight, almost black in the shadows. He sat down, raising his glass, not quite to toast, but to observe.
“It breathes better when you let it sit for a while,” he murmured, watching you instead of the drink in hand. “But I suppose we don’t have the luxury to do that tonight, do we?”
Dinner was silent. The candlelight flickered gently between the two of you, casting soft shadows, but it did little to warm the tension in the air. Every flicker of the flame seemed to catch in his eyes, casually cutting into their food with such grace.
You were refusing to eat. Moving the fork in lazy patterns, listening to the scrape of porcelain against silver. Meanwhile, the Salesman seemed perfectly at ease, savoring each bite.
He glanced up mid-bite, eyes glinting with interest.
“You have barely touched your food.”
“I’m not hungry,” you muttered softly.
Their lips curled in the corners. Not quite a smile. Just recognition. He knew exactly why. A few seconds passed by. Then your voice broke.
“Did you recruit anyone today?”
He didn’t look surprised by the question; they almost seemed like he was waiting for you to ask that.
“Of course I did. It’s what I do.”
“How many?”
He shrugged. “Enough.”
You let that sit for a moment. The idea that all it took was some money, a card, and a smirk to lead someone to their death. That they knew how to manipulate a person into throwing everything away, as long as he knew the right buttons to press. And he was a monster at pushing them.
“You enjoy recruiting,” you said, not a question.
His smile darkened. “Of course I do.”
“Well, do you ever think about what happens to them?”
His eyes didn’t flinch, slowly taking a sip of wine. “No.”
You stared at your plate. Then, slowly, you looked at the candle. The wax was running now, slow and steady, like blood.
“When, um, when do the games begin?” you asked, more quietly.
“One week.”
Nausea crept up through your body. He leaned forward slightly, voice softer but no less disturbing.
“Why did you want to watch them?”
You looked at him in shock. “No.”
He lightly hummed to himself.
You eventually managed to eat a few bites of the food on your plate while he was watching you, always watching.
The sound of your fork being set down on the table.
“I’m finished,” you said softly.
He rose smoothly from his chair. “I’ll help with the dishes.
The two of you moved to the sink. He dried while you washed. Their fingers were practiced, quick, like this wasn’t the first time he had slipped into the role of being a domestic partner. The silence between you was thick, broken only by the sound of occasional clinks of dishes being stacked and running water.
While you were washing the final dish, you felt a slight buzz in your pocket. The phone. Did Jun-ho get the images? Quickly, you placed the final dish on the rack, drying your hands on your sides, and quietly excused yourself.
“I just need to use the restroom. I’ll be back soon.”
All he did was nod. They didn’t follow, while you slipped down the hallway, trying not to look suspicious. Inside the bathroom, you slowly shut the door and locked it. The slight, faint hum of the fan covers your breathing. You pulled the phone out of your pocket, heart pounding.
It lit up.
➤ Jun-ho: Got the photos. You did a good job, Y/N. Stay safe. Message me if you need anything.
You sighed, relief blooming across your chest, while staring at the message for a moment longer, soaking in the confirmation. He had them. It was in their hands now.
Your fingers were about to type out a reply when-
Knock. Knock.
You jumped in the air, nearly dropping the phone into the sink.
Their voice followed, cheerful, way too cheerful, scaring you.
“Ohhhh, darling. Are you nearly done in there?”
Shoving the phone back into your pocket, then turning towards the door, trying to compose yourself.
“Yeah, why?”
“We’re going fishing tomorrow!”
You froze in shock. What did he say?
“Fishing?” You echoed, trying to sound as calm as possible.
“Mmhmm!” he sang. “It’ll be fun. Just a peaceful little getaway outside.”
With one last breath, you unlocked the door and stepped out, staring at him.
“I don’t have anything to wear to do that.”
His reply was immediate.
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow morning. Something cute. We can pick it together.”
He chuckled softly, walking towards the kitchen, like he was planning a honeymoon, not a random day trip with a sadist freak.
You stood there for a few seconds before following the Salesman. The scent of leftover soy sauce and candle wax lingered in the air, mixing with something else, their cologne.
He was in the kitchen, carefully putting away wine glasses like this was a normal evening. Their back were to you.
“Why are you so happy?” You asked, unable to hide the suspicion from your tone of voice.
He didn’t turn around immediately, gently closing the cabinet with a deliberate calm.
“Happy?” He echoed, finally turning to face you. Their smile was smug. “Why wouldn’t I be? We just had a lovely dinner.”
You didn’t smile back at him, crossing your arms across your chest.
“That’s not what I mean. You are giddy. Weirdly happy.”
He tilted his head, a slight, playful expression.
“I’m just… excited,” he said. “It’s not every day that I get to go outside with a beautiful woman. Tomorrow will be refreshing. We both need the fresh air, being cooped up for too long, don’t you think?”
“You mean I have.”
He didn’t deny it.
“And it’s not just us, of course,” they added.
Your stomach dropped slightly. “Someone else is coming?”
“Just an old-time friend. You’ll love him.”
“Well, who is it?”
He walked past you, shrugging, heading to the couch, flopping down like he didn’t just drop a bomb shell.
“As for who, that is a surprise.”
You walked towards him, placing your hands on your hips. “Why do I feel like I don’t have a say in this?”
He looked at you from the couch, eyes darkening.
“Because, my dear, Y/N,” he said sweetly, “you’re the guest and I’m the host.”
They didn’t reply, just patting the cushion beside him.
“Come sit.”
You didn’t move, glaring at him.
“Suit yourself,” he sighed, letting their head fall back against the cushions. “Big day tomorrow. I’ll see you bright and early.”
The room felt colder now, despite the thick heat of the evening, as you walked to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.
Fishing. A friend of his. He had friends? It was clear that you didn’t like any of this.
Slowly, you changed into some comfortable pyjamas before going under the covers, allowing sleep to take over you, hoping that you would wake up from this nightmare.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Pairings: Dae-ho x reader, Gi-hun x reader, Slight Nam-gyu x reader, Slight Myung-gi x reader
Summary: Caught in a deadly game of Hide & Seek, yourself and Dae-ho form a fragile bond as alliances fracture and trust unravels.
Warnings: Angst, Blood Mention, Mentions of Violence/Death, Emotional Breakdown, Moral Conflict, Physical Touch, Strong Language, Slight Fluff
A/N: I wrote this all in one sitting, so I am sorry, if I muck up it grammar wise, had to try and give our big tiger some justice as they butchered him in season 3.
Taglist: @inotaku-talkz @butterscotchdean
Word Count: 3,435
The stars above were painted lies.
They glowed against a blue ceiling, trees along the walls, their trunks crooked with fake childlike flair. It was all too colourful, like someone had built a maze of delusion.
With blood, lots and lots of blood.
Dae-ho and you raced past an open mural of a cartoon jungle, shoes slapping hard against the smooth cement. The whole arena echoed, slamming doors, panicked voices, footsteps. Somewhere above, a female screamed. Short. Sharp. Then utter silence.
You refused to stop.
“Down there,” you whispered, gently holding Dae-ho’s hand while running together down a descending staircase. Your triangle key bounced widely against your chest.
Reaching a lower level, pausing beside a cluster of green doors with a different-shaped keyhole in each. The deeper you went, the more the arena stopped feeling like a game. It felt more like a trap made by someone who missed childhood but never had one.
“There, Y/N,” Dae-ho murmured, nodding towards a door with a triangle key hole. “Try it.”
Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted the key to the lock. Just as you were placing it inside, the door to your right swung open, slamming on the wall, briefly shaking the room.
You spun instantly, reaching for Dae-ho again, but froze at the sight of who stepped through.
Nam-gyu stalked out first, blood spattered across his sleeves and across their jaw, chest heaving. His bare neck glistened with sweat, no necklace. His eyes, wild, hungry, and red-rimmed, locked on you like a targeting system.
A breath later, Myung-gi stepped into view, quiet as a shadow. His face was unreadable, but his stare could cut glass. Their muscles looked relaxed, calm; however, it was more deceptive. He was waiting, watching, coiled.
“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” Nam-gyu cheerfully muttered, a bitter, slow grin curling across his face. “Dae-ho and Y/N. You two must have the worst luck in the world.”
You instinctively stepped in front of Dae-ho, your body humming with dread.
“Did we interrupt your little escape attempt?” Myung-gi said mockingly, cocking his head. “You thought you could run, hide somewhere behind the colouring book walls and wait this out?”
Dae-ho tensed behind you, fists beginning to clench.
“We’re not trying to fight,” he said, voice low but steady.
Nam-gyu sneered. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Then his eyes flickered down to his bare chest, their grin dropping. “Where the hell is my necklace?”
You hesitated to speak, a pulse thudding in your ears. “I saw Min-su with it.”
Silence dropped like a hammer. Nam-gyu slowly looked at you. “What did you say?”
You met his gaze. “Thanos’s necklace. You must’ve dropped it when you were killing someone. I saw Min-su grabbing it and running off.”
Nam-gyu didn’t move for a second. His eyes narrowed, breath furious and slow.
“Shit. I did drop it when that bastard tackled me.”
Behind him, Myung-gi’s arms crossed silently.
“You expect us to really believe that?” they said flatly, his voice like the blade drawn in his hand. “that out of everyone, that timid boy just happened to grab it, and you just so happened to see it?”
“I’m telling the truth,” you insisted.
“Don’t believe her, she is only trying to buy time.”
Nam-gyu snapped. “I don’t care if she is bluffing. If she’s wrong, I’ll rip her fucking throat out.”
You barely had time to breathe before they lunged forward and grabbed your wrist, fingers digging into you hard. The skin pinched sharply under his grip, causing you to wince slightly.
“HEY!” Dae-ho shouted, stepping forward.
But Myung-gi moved like lightning, slamming his forearm across Dae-ho’s chest in one swift motion. On the other hand, he held a blade to his throat.
“Don’t,” they said in a low, lethal tone. “You want to find out how quickly I can snap your elbow backwards?”
Dae-ho froze, gritting his teeth as he stared at Myung-gi.
You could feel Nam-gyu’s breath hot against your face. He leaned in slightly, voice thick with threat.
“You’re both coming with us,” he said. “And if Min-su doesn’t have my necklace around his neck, I will paint this hallway with yours and Dae-ho’s blood. Got it?”
Your mouth was dry. “I got it.”
Their grip didn’t ease; it tightened.
“I don’t think you do,” he snarled. “You better fucking hope you’re right.”
Myung-gi gave a sharp tug on Dae-ho’s arm, dragging him closer. “No one’s sneaking off. No one’s getting clever.”
You glanced at Dae-ho, and he nodded once.
All four of you moved in a grim silence, forced into an odd alliance held together by violence, suspicion, and the thin hope of a necklace in the wrong hands.
As you marched down the hallway, the pastels on the walls seemed to twist and blur with each step, like they knew just how fast everything was unraveling.
It felt like you had been searching for hours, even if it was a matter of minutes.
Stairwell after stairwell, corridor after corridor, each one blending into the next with the same vibrant murals. Your legs ached, lungs burned. The walls whispered with screams, wails, cartoon suns staring down at you like they knew how hopeless this place was.
Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, casting warped shadows across the floor that twisted like underwater currents.
That’s when you saw him. Min-su.
He was slumped against a wall beneath a sprawling mural of the ocean. Their head lolled against it, chin tucked to their chest. Their eyes were unfocused and glassy, like he was lost in a fever dream. Wrapped around his neck, the necklace.
Nam-gyu froze mid-step, like he had just been slapped. His eyes locked onto the metal around Min-su’s neck.
He turned to you, rage ignited his face.
“You knew!” he snapped. “You fucking knew he had it!”
Before you could speak, move, they shoved you hard into a nearby wall. Your side slammed against the concrete. Pain exploded across your arm as you collapsed.
Then he faced Min-su. “THAT’S MINE, YOU USELESS FREAK!”
Min-su’s head jerked up lazily. “Didn’t steal…” he slurred. “You dropped it…”
“YOU BITCH, I’M GOING TO SNAP YOUR NECK!”
But Min-su, in a sudden burst of survival instinct, pushed off the wall and awkwardly sprinted down the corridor, necklace still wrapped around him, their legs were barely functioning.
“GET BACK HERE!” Nam-gyu roared, tearing after him at full speed.
Myung-gi lingered behind just long enough to glance down at your form, their expression didn’t shift, still calm, but there was a slight curl to their lips.
“Guess you both got lucky this time, see you at the next game.”
He turned and sprinted after them, footsteps fading into the corridors.
Dae-ho immediately dropped by your side. “Hey-hey, are you alright, Y/N?” he asked. “You tumbled into the wall pretty hard.”
You grimaced as pain lit up your shoulder. “I’m fine, just… a little bruised.”
He offered you his hand without hesitation. “Come on. I’ve got you.”
You took his hand, fingers slightly trembling in his grip as he helped you to your feet. Your shoulder throbbed, but the pain was a bit duller now, muted by adrenaline.
Dae-ho glanced at you, no words needed. Staying here meant being found again; you had to move. He gently pulled you towards a corridor, your shoes scuffing against the floor as you both moved forward, each step echoing through the screams.
“Do you think they’ll catch him?” Dae-ho asked quietly.
You refused to answer right away. “I don’t know. I just know that we can’t be in the open when they do catch them.”
You reached a door nearby with a red smudge near the bottom, like someone had dragged their fingers across it.
Dae-ho quickly grabbed the handle and turned. It creaked open, slight cold air spilling out towards you. He stepped in first, his shoe tapping on the ledge, suspended high above a yawning pit, leading to a star floor surrounded by doors.
Across the chasm, on a higher platform alone.
Gi-hun.
He stood perfectly still, washed in a cold light. In his hand, a blade. Sharp. Familiar. Small. But it wasn’t the weapon that made your stomach drop; it was their eyes. Gi-hun’s expression was pure rage, sorrow, and betrayal merged into one.
He didn’t speak.
Dae-ho spoke timidly. “Gi-hun?”
They didn’t answer. He just stared. The way someone stares at a wound they thought had healed.
A few seconds stretched, silent and heavy.
Then, you breathed the only words that made sense.
“We need to go…now.”
You grabbed Dae-ho’s wrist and turned, heart pounding into your ribs. Together, you fled back through the door.
The two of you didn’t stop running until the stairs blurred beneath your feet and your lungs burned like fire.
He used his key on a door, carefully helping you inside before closing it, causing both of you to breathe hard.
Dae-ho collapsed on the ground, his back to the wall, hands shaking in his lap. He didn’t speak at first; they just stared at the floor.
“Y/N, why does he hate us?”
You glanced towards him.
His voice cracked this time, a tear going down his right eye. “He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like he wanted to…to.”
Crouching down beside him, you shallowed the sudden tightness in your throat.
“Gi-hun doesn’t hate you,” you said softly, while lightly wiping a tear from his face. “He hates what the games have done. He dislikes himself for playing it.”
“But, he was our friend, Y/N, he helped us.”
“I know.”
You moved closer until your knees brushed. You let the silence breathe.
“He’s not himself anymore, none of us are, these games, the rebellion, it changed all of us.”
Dae-ho looked up at you. His eyes were glossy, open, raw. And then he moved. Hesitantly. Gently. His hand touched your cheek, their fingers brushing your skin.
You didn’t flinch, you leaned into his touch, causing him to exhale shakily. And then, in a motion full of caution, he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed. It was soft, like something pulled from a memory of a far better place than this, something sacred. His lips slightly shook against yours, unsure at first, but then deepening, warm and real.
When he finally pulled back, he pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on your head.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do, Y/N.”
Your fingers brushed against his arm.
“Don’t be sorry, we needed this.”
You both stayed curled into each other, tucked away from the nightmare that was clawing outside the door. Just kept cuddling, hoping the remainder of the time would go in time.
Then…a creak. The door.
You turned. Dae-ho did too, lifting his head, breath slightly hitching.
The door slowly pushed open, revealing Gi-hun. For a moment, it was like the world stopped moving.
They stood there, backlit by the starry lights above, his shadow spilling into the room ahead of him. Their clothes were sweat-drenched, crusted with blood that didn’t look like his. His shoulders were hunched as if he’d been walking for miles. The way the knife in his hand dripped blood. Who did he kill? You wondered.
You noticed his fingers twitching. But it was their eyes that made your stomach twist and turn. They were unblinking. Wide in a way you hadn’t seen before. The eyes flickered to Dae-ho. To where the two of you sat huddled together on the floor, the memory of the kiss barely faded.
Gi-hun took one step forward. Their voice came low. Bitter. Tired in a way that wasn’t just exhaustion.
“So that’s where you both decided to hide?”
Dae-ho immediately began to pull you closer to him, guilt flashing across their face, but you had other plans. You shifted in front of him, rising to your feet in a protective motion without thinking. You didn’t need to say anything. You knew you wanted to protect Dae-ho.
Gi-hun’s eyes tracked your movement, the air pulsing with a sense of danger.
He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh. So you get to be their shield now, Y/N? Get out of my way.”
You took a slow step forward, jaw clenched. “He’s not your enemy, Gi-hun. You already passed, I see the blood on your blade.”
“Not my enemy? Already passed?”
He took another step closer.
“Because the last time I trusted that little liar behind you, he got Jung-bae killed.”
Your throat started to tighten.
“Gi-hun?” you said in a whisper.
“Do you remember what he said, Y/N?” he hissed, their breath trembling in his chest. “He said he was a trained soldier. A marine. Said that we could trust him, that he knew what he was doing, especially with guns.”
His voice began to crack now, rising in rage.
“And Jung-bae believed him. I believed him. We all went into that ambush, thinking we had cover. Thinking we had backup. But it was a setup. That gun he carried-”
A tear went down his face.
“Gi-hun, everything will be-”
“HE’S DEAD Y/N!” Gi-hun screamed. Their voice bounced off the walls like a gunshot. “Jung-bae is dead because of that stupid lie he came up with.”
Gi-hun’s face twisted into a madness you haven’t seen from him.
“And now you’re here,” he spat. “Curled up with him like it mattered. Like all of those people’s lives didn’t matter.”
“It was your plan, Gi-hun, it wasn’t Dae-ho’s, you can’t blame him for that when we were doing a suicide mission. More people would have been alive for this game if we didn’t do the rebellion, you do realise that right?”
He stepped forward again, fast.
You moved to block him completely, your hand outstretched. “Don’t,” you warned.
“Don’t what? Don’t mourn the one person who didn’t lie to me?”
“Please, Gi-hun,” you tried. “He didn’t mean for Jung-bae to die.”
“BULLSHIT!”
He snapped, lunging towards Dae-ho.
“RUN, DAE-HO!” you screamed.
Your body went in front of them, colliding with Gi-hun as Dae-ho scrambled away, stumbling towards the exit. Gi-hun didn’t even flinch at the sound of his footsteps retreating; he didn’t turn around. His anger was locked on you.
You both hit the floor hard. The back of your head smacked the concrete, making you feel lightheaded. But you twisted, using your legs to push against his weight. His hands clawed, grabbing at your arm, your shoulder, trying to pin you down.
“YOU LET HIM LIVE!”
You slammed your elbow into his side as hard as you could, causing Gi-hun to yelp in pain. You both rolled across the floor. You didn’t feel the pain anymore. But you kept fighting.
Until you saw the knife. It was lying on the floor just inches away, the blade catching the edge of the light. You both froze for a few seconds, and then you both reacted.
Your fingers gripped the knife, but Gi-hun kicked your hand hard, causing you to scream in pain. The second your fingers lost their grip, Gi-hun’s weight came crashing down on you, knocking the air from your lungs. His hands, once gentle, found your throat.
You struggled beneath him, hands clawing at his wrists. His fingers dug deeper.
“Stop…Gi-hun, please,” your voice rasped in small gasps, but his eyes were wild-looking.
He didn’t hear you. You weren’t the person who tried to keep the team together. You weren’t the one who helped patch him up after the ambush. Not now. Not to him.
Now, you were another failure in his eyes, another betrayal.
“I trusted you, Y/N,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I needed to believe someone.”
Their grip tightened. You bucked beneath him, kicking as hard as you could, panicking. Your shoes are scraping against the floor. It didn’t matter what you did; he didn’t let go.
“You held Dae-ho when he lied. You trusted him more than me.”
You tried to speak, tried to tell him that Dae-ho had frozen, that he was trying to survive. But nothing came.
Your fingers began slipping, the pressure closing in, and slowly, everything began to fade into darkness. The sound of his voice dimmed as your body went still. No fight was left. No breath. Just utter stillness
Gi-hun didn’t move for a while. Their hands remained around your throat, even as the heat drained from your skin. Only when your eyes stopped moving, glossy, wide, did something inside him change.
He let go suddenly, like the contact burned.
Pulled back, chest rising and falling erratically, palms open.
He started at your body, at the red marks blooming across your neck, at the way your arm had landed, bent unnaturally at your side.
He reached out with shaking hands.
“Y/N, wake up,” he whispered. “Come on, just speak, say something.”
He gently shook your body.
“Please.”
Nothing. His throat tightened. His breath caught.
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t…” his voice cracked completely. “I didn’t mean to… I was just angry… I was…”
Still nothing. His hands pressed to your chest again and again, as if he could push life back into your body.
“Don’t leave me like this.”
And then-
The overhead speaker came to life, crackling. There was no jingle, just a cold voice floating through the stale air:
❝ Player 150: Eliminated. ❞
That was it. Your death, reduced to an announcement. No farewell. Just a number retired.
Gi-hu’s body crumpled beside yours. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, sobbing now, helplessly, quietly. Not the kind that begged forgiveness, the kind where he knew he’d crossed a line he could never come back from.
And for a long time, he stayed there, even when the masked guards came in with a coffin draped with a pink bow, he stayed.
He was just a man. Kneeling beside the person he just killed moments ago. Someone else who gave him hope. Gone.
Dae-ho ran until his lungs gave out. Until the lights above them blurred into streaks of blues and yellows. His shoes thudded hard against the floor, breath coming in ragged gasps, their mind echoing with the last words she’d screamed:
“RUN, DAE-HO!”
He had. But your voice chased him. Then the announcement came:
❝ Player 150: Eliminated. ❞
Everything inside him froze; his legs kept moving, however, their mind collapsed, folding under the weight of what those words meant. Your gone? You're really gone?
He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing against a wall, every breath shallow, torn.
Then, a shout.
“DAE-HO!”
Dae-ho turned just in time to see Jun-hee limping down a hallway, one arm slung around Geum-ja for support. Their ankle was swollen, red, and her mouth pressed into a grimace of pain.
“Don’t stop now,” she said through clenched teeth, “Keep moving.”
Next to her, Cho Hyun-Ju was carrying something in both arms, not weapons, not supplies, a baby. Jun-hee’s baby.
Wrapped tight in their jacket as a blanket, cradled close to Hyun-ju’s chest. The infant wasn’t crying. Just blinking.
“We need help,” she called, breathless. “Jun-hee can’t walk. Take her, I’ve got the baby.”
Dae-ho rushed forward. Hyun-ju carefully slung Jun-hee’s other arm over his shoulder.
“Just don’t drop me, please,” Jun-hee panted.
Hyun-ju is now running lighter. “Let’s go, hurry, the exit is this way.”
They all ran. Together. Through the maze-like corridors stained with bloody trails.
All of them burst through the exit door just as it slammed shut behind them, the sharp hiss of locking mechanisms and gunshots fading into the silence. Jun-hee leaned heavily on Dae-ho, pain clear in her eyes but relief shining brighter. Hyun-ju cradled the baby, lightly rocking it, breathing hard and steady.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Jun-hee’s gaze found Dae-ho’s, the weight of what had happened hanging heavy.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You did everything you could.”
Hyun-ju nodded, eyes warm. “We all lost someone we cared for in here. Don’t carry it alone.”
Geum-ja stepped closer, placing a hand on Dae-ho’s shoulder, grounding. “She was brave. So are you.”
Dae-ho swallowed hard; the ache inside was aching and raw.
A shaky breath escaped him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve…I.”
“No one could’ve saved her but her,” Jun-hee replied.
Hyun-ju squeezed the baby gently. “We keep going. For all of us, including her.”
Dae-ho blinked away the tears forming. For the first time after your death, he didn’t feel empty, together, broken, but still alive; they stepped forward.
The game wasn’t over. But this chapter had ended.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one-shot request. If you have any requests for one-shots or series feel free to ask me. They will always be open.
okey, I love this set so much, I’m so happy with it. I love all things space and stars and galaxy related. I have many colour sets coming so keep an eye out for those ! i really like what i did here ahahahah. 🤍🤍🤍
Pairings: Front Man x Reader, Hwang In-ho x Reader, Salesman x Reader
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, psychological torture/manipulation, strong language, power dynamics, graphic violence, obsession themes, dark themes
The sound shattered through the silence, the way the gunshot cracked through the air like a bomb detonating inside your skull. It didn’t just echo. No, it clung. To your skin, to the walls, to everything around you.
For a breathless moment, there was no room, no Front Man, no marble floor, only the crack of metal against gunpowder.
The gun jolted violently in your hand, kicking backwards. This caused you to misstep your footing, making your fingers spasm on impact, and forming a raw, painful ache to surge from your hand up through your shoulder.
Smoke coiled from the barrel. Light wisps of gray spiraling upward, elegant and slow, twisting in the air in a mock contrast to the chaos thundering around you.
Your breath started to hitch. Once. Twice. You couldn’t get enough air even if you tried, like your lungs were giving out.
The bound man flinched hard, yelped even. His body recoiled violently, a sound of heels scraping against the polished marble. Their eyes, once wide and red-rimmed, were slammed shut.
And the Front Man, he didn’t move an inch. Not even a muscle.
He remained perfectly seated in the stillness. One leg now crossed over the other. His gloved hand was still loosely wrapped around the stem of his wine glass. Their face gave away no emotions; you didn’t know what was going through their head. But you knew one thing.
He had known.
He knew that you would pull the trigger, like he was planning this all along.
Your hand was still frozen in midair, pointing at the Front Man. The pistol trembled in your grasp steadily. Like the adrenaline coursing through your veins couldn’t decide whether to drop it or keep shooting.
Slowly lowering it, not out of a feeling of regret, but because you felt your muscles starting to lock. The way your jaw clenched so tightly, you felt your molars grind together.
Tiny tremors buzzed through you, not out of fear, but something deeper. Something unfamiliar, like an ember of violence, had been touched inside you and was now burning in slow motion. The sensation didn’t fade.
Your gaze slid towards the man still tied to the chair. Their face looked at you in horror, eyes glassy with tears.
But…
You felt nothing.
No guilt. No sympathy. Not even a hint of sadness, which you once expected to feel in this moment, felt more distant.
That realization was far worse than the recoil. Worse than the sound of the shot.
Because if you didn’t feel anything during that moment, then what did that make you?
You had just tried to kill a man. Not the one in the chair begging for mercy with their eyes.
It was aimed at someone else. For the Front Man. Pulling the trigger with no hesitation.
The bound man might as well have been a piece of furniture. He was never the point of this. He never meant anything or mattered to you, not now, not in that moment.
All you saw was the Front Man.
The man who toyed with your mind, tricking you into shooting the gun. The man who held all the answers behind those dark, cold eyes, behind the sharp voice that had said everything and nothing simultaneously.
You had wanted to see his life flash before your eyes, wanting to see them fall. Trying to shake the thought loose, but it was already rooted inside you.
The truth has come up, and you knew that it wouldn’t go back down. You wanted to hurt him.
This wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t out of mercy. Not even out of fear.
But out of something that tasted like power. Something that felt good.
And that is what scared you the most.
The gun began to feel a lot heavier in your grasp from everything this now meant. It pulsed through your hand like it knew what you tried to do. What had you almost done? Your hand starts going white from holding it tightly, the tension beginning to travel up your arm.
Even though you wanted to release your grip on the weapon, the muscles refused to work, like they feared what would come next. Would it make it worse?
And then, you heard it.
A sharp scrape of a chair against marble. Deliberate, slow, final.
The Front Man rose.
He didn’t speak. But you saw him moving. Every single footstep echoed with that decisive rhythm. The polished floor gave him away before the weight of his presence closed in. Your breathing began to hitch, feeling your heart pounding in your chest as though it was about to burst through you. You didn’t dare move.
He stopped in front of you.
There was a stillness in him. The kind you only ever saw in predators just before they attacked. One of their gloved hands reached forward, unhurried, calm, and his fingers brushed yours. This contact jolted you like a small but violent static, causing the grip to give way. He didn’t rip the gun from you. He gently took it. Silently. Easily.
You could feel the absence instantly. The way the cool air hits your palm. The aftershock of a nightmare still lingers.
The Front Man lifted the pistol in front of his view, inspecting it like a teacher examining a test. His fingers slowly slid over the chamber. A whisper of movement, and then he popped it open.
You saw it.
A single blank slid from the chamber, dropped, and struck the marble floor.
Clink.
“It wasn’t real,” he said, voice certain and low. “But your choice was Y/N.”
You blinked at them in shock. Just once.
Your eyes fell to the shell casing on the floor. It wasn’t a bullet. It was a blank. All of it, every second of this, had been orchestrated. Designed. Planned. Built to trap you into something.
And it worked.
He began to move again, circling you now, slow as a ticking clock. The sound of his boots cutting through the silence. You felt his gaze, then you saw it, his gloved hand trailing the back of your neck, brushing your shoulder.
“You didn’t pull the trigger to save the man in the chair,” he said, words trapping you in. “You pulled it because you wanted to hurt me, kill me even.”
He stopped behind you.
“I could see it…” they added, quieter. “In the way you looked at me.”
You didn’t breathe.
He stepped around again until he stood in front of your view. Slowly, leaning in. His face hovered inches from yours, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheeks.
“That look Y/N…” he murmured, slow and cold, “That was your darkness coming through.”
A pause.
“And must I say it was beautiful to see?”
His voice wasn’t taunting you, no, he was worshipping what happened moments ago. And somehow, that was far worse. Because somewhere deep inside, somewhere you didn’t want to name, you felt something dangerous, something real, something that might not go back to sleep.
The words lodged in your throat like glass, fragile, sharp.
And then, as if none of this shocked him, the Front Man reached into the inside of his long, black coat.
Your shoulders stiffened.
But he didn’t draw a weapon. Instead, he was holding something sleek, a small, rectangular card.
In the center, printed in black were three unmistakable symbols: ●▲■
You stared at it in shock, not expecting this.
He held it out to you between two fingers.
“For you,” he said evenly, his voice measured. “There’s a number on the back.”
You refused to move at first, just staring at the card. Then, slowly, your hand lifted. Gently taking it from him. The edges were sharp. Flipping it over. A single phone number printed in clean, black font. No name attached. No explanation.
“If you want more information, give me a call.”
You swallowed hard. “Why are you giving me this?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Because you passed.”
“What…?”
“You passed,” he repeated simply. “You made the choice you needed to make to survive. Every other girl pointed the gun at the man tied up, and they all lost. You, however, pointed it at me; that is how you passed.”
Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. The word spun just slightly beneath your feet. Passed. As if this were all a twisted exam. It was as if the man tied to the chair never mattered at all.
He didn’t wait for another question.
Instead, with a practiced movement, he walked back to the table, reaching for his mask, fluid and smooth, pulling it back over his face.
“You can go now.”
Looking down at the card again, at the weight of the number and the symbols. Then, without another word, you turned around and walked.
Your footsteps echoed against the marble. The bound man was still crying softly, but you refused to look back.
You pushed through the doors into the corridor beyond, and even though the doors closed quietly behind you, sealing off the room and the man who changed something inside you, you knew this wasn’t over.
Not when the memory of the Front Man’s words is still in your mind. “Your darkness… it was beautiful.”
You didn’t feel beautiful. You feel wrecked.
Coming to the front door, placing a hand on it, breathing in and out, a guard pressed a button, and the final doors creaked open.
Outside.
The night air slapped against you, biting and crisp. You stepped forward, and the world met you with headlights. And him.
The Salesman stood against the side of the sleek black limo, hands in his suit pockets, ankles crossed casually like he was waiting. Their eyes widened when they saw you.
Slowly walking towards him, causing his body to tense.
“You…lived…how?” His voice said in a disbelieving tone.
Your voice came out measured, cool, like someone else was speaking. “I tried to shoot him.”
The words landed like a slap, but his came faster.
CRACK.
His palm collided with your face, hard enough to cause a sting, it was scorching and immediate. Your head jerked sideways, a gasp escaping, but you didn’t cry out.
You slowly turned your head back toward him.
There was something dangerous just behind your eyes, causing an unreadable expression.
He grabbed your wrist, possessive, angry, shoving you into the side of the car.
His fingers dig into you, causing a bruise to form, like he needed to prove that he owned you.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped, furious and low. His breath hit your cheek as he leaned in. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
You didn’t respond right away, looking down at his hand on your side, then slowly up into his face, meeting his fury with something... new.
Something different.
Your lips parted, and what slipped out surprised even you.
“Yeah, and for a second..I wanted to do it again.”
He froze.
Something flickering across their face. Unsettled.
“Don’t play that with me,” he growled, his voice rough. “You think you understand any of this, Y/N? You clearly don’t. You’re just a fucking pawn in something way bigger than you.”
You leaned forward slightly, lips curling not into a smile exactly, but something close to it.
“Maybe,” you said. “But pawns can still kill kings.”
The Salesman flung the car door open with one hand. You expected him to shove you in, but he paused long enough to look at you.
The rage remained, but it twisted. Curled at the edges into something else.
“You’re not the same Y/N,” voice dropping into something dangerous. “Something made you crack in there.. didn’t it?
You didn’t answer him, but you refused to look away.
Their lips curved upwards. Sinister. Slow. He enjoyed what he saw.
“Get in the car.”
You slid into the seat without a word, followed by the Salesman, before the car door slammed shut beside you both; however, it didn’t cause you to flinch.
Not this time.
The silence in the car crackled with tension. The Salesman’s hands were lightly drumming on his legs. He didn’t speak. Just stared ahead, as if trying to process what he had just witnessed. As if trying not to rage again.
“So let me get this straight, you tried to shoot him,” he said at last, giggling coldly. “You tried to kill the Front Man.”
You turned to look at him, the heat still on your cheek where he had slapped you moments ago. However, your eyes were cold now. Dead calm.
“I already told you I did. He let me know that I passed only because I tried to get rid of them. They even gave me a card.”
That made him move. Slowly turning, eyes dragging from the card to your eyes, and the look morphed into something darker. Hungrier. He stared at you like you were a new species he couldn’t want to dissect.
“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice suddenly quieter. Obsessed.
He placed one hand around the back of your seat, the other still on his lap.
“You tried so hard to play the part,” he murmured, eyes flicking to your eyes, your lips, your throat. “You acted so scared. So soft. But I saw it from the beginning. I always saw it.”
Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t look away.
“And now? Do you like what you see?”
He coldly smiled. Twisted. Slow. A predator’s grin blooming across his face like a reward he’d waited too long to wrap.
“I love it, Y/N.”
You didn’t expect him to answer like that, let alone hit you like that, but it did. The way he said it. Like he wanted this version of you, the one that had pulled the trigger and didn’t flinch.
“I always knew there was something dark somewhere up inside you,” he whispered, voice trembling with excitement now. “But I didn’t know it would come out this wonderfully.”
Your breath stilled. His fingers reached out, not for your face. But your wrist. Lightly tracing it.
“I could feel it in you when we did that lovely russian roulette game with Gi-hun,” he went on. “Something was just waiting to crack open.”
Your eyes narrowed at the mention of Gi-hun. “And what? You think you caused it?”
He leaned closer, lips inches from yours.
“No,” he said in a gleeful tone. “But I fed it. And now it’s growing, and I get to watch you change. It’s exciting.”
A beat passed. Then, suddenly, he shifted back into his seat, grinning.
The engine rumbled to life.
“You’re still not mine yet,” he added, eyes flickering to you with a dangerous smile. “But soon… You won’t even remember who you were before this.”
You didn’t need to reply this time.
But deep down, part of you hated how some of his words didn’t feel like threats. And that part of you? The part that had pulled the trigger without hesitation was still wide awake.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
As someone who has followed Squid Game from the very beginning, hooked by its emotional depth, social commentary, and psychological intensity, Season 3 was meant to be the payoff. The conclusion. The answers to all the lingering questions. But what we got instead was a rushed, disjointed, and ultimately disappointing chapter that didn’t honor the complexity or potential of the series.
Let’s start with the most glaring issue: the lack of real answers about the games. After three seasons, we’re still in the dark about how the organization came to be, how far-reaching its influence really is, and what drives the VIPs and masterminds behind it. The entire premise of the show hinges on the idea of a hidden, powerful system that thrives on exploitation and cruelty and yet, Season 3 felt uninterested in pulling back the curtain. Instead of delivering a satisfying unraveling of the truth, it danced around vague hints and distractions, leaving long-time viewers feeling strung along rather than rewarded.
Gi-hun’s journey, while emotionally consistent, lacked depth in its execution. His final decision wasn’t the problem if anything, it aligned with the arc he’s been on since Season 1. But the emotional groundwork wasn’t fully there. His motivations felt glossed over, and the tension that should’ve been building around his choices never quite landed.
And then there’s Jun-ho and In-ho, arguably the most underused storyline in the entire series. After the explosive reveal of their brotherhood and their painful ideological divide, fans expected a confrontation that would shake the foundations of the show. Instead, their dynamic was sidelined. Their reunion, if you can even call it that, lacked emotional tension, backstory, or closure. There was no reckoning. No true heart-to-heart. Just cold detachment and vague allusions to a relationship that we never got to truly explore. It was a massive missed opportunity, one that could’ve given the season the emotional core it so desperately needed.
On top of that, the deaths of several key characters were handled carelessly. Characters that had only just begun to grow, those who had emotional or narrative potential were written off too quickly. Their deaths didn’t feel earned, impactful, or even well-paced. Instead of sitting with the consequences and grief, the show moved on. Compare that to Season 1, where every death felt like a punch to the gut. In Season 3, they felt more like checkmarks on a plot outline.
In the end, Squid Game Season 3 didn’t just fall short of expectations it actively undermined the promise of the series. It teased answers without delivering them, introduced stakes without resolution, and left the most emotionally rich relationships (like Jun-ho and In-ho) undeveloped and unresolved. What could have been a groundbreaking finale became a hollow echo of the show’s former self.
As a fan, it’s frustrating. We weren’t asking for a neat, happy ending we were asking for meaning, resolution, and depth. Instead, we got silence where there should’ve been revelation.
I am going to have a break from writing fanfics for a bit. Something happened in my life which I won’t really get into but I need time to process it and heal.
Pairings: Front Man x Reader, Hwang In-ho x Reader
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, childhood trauma, psychological torture/manipulation, strong language, power dynamics, graphic violence/mention of death, blood and gore, dark themes
The hall in front of you was grand, yes, but also chilling in a way that transcended temperature. The walls extended upwards in endless columns draped in velvety black. On either side was adorned with candles, the flames flickering gently, spilling out golden light that never made the high, shadowing ceiling.
You were ushered by a few guards, men in pink jumpsuits and masks, and they didn’t have to tell you anything. Eventually, they paused, turned sideways, bowed slightly, and gently opened the doors while stepping aside.
Inside was the dining room, huge and deathly still. Light spilled over the edges of everything, on the cutlery, across the waxed dining table, and on the wine in glasses untouched. There were only three chairs at this table.
One of them was already occupied—the Front Man. Still masked. Yet, somehow, the most present thing in this room.
When you walked in, he rose from his chair. He was tall and composed. With a gloved hand, he indicated the seat opposite him.
“Please,” he murmured, his voice low. “Have a seat, Y/N.”
You didn’t answer him, slowly walking forward to sit down, every step increasing the beating of your heart. You refused to show nerves. Not in front of him. Not now. As you sat down, servants flickered to life, expressionless behind those lifeless masks. They offered food, succulent and rich. You couldn’t understand most of it. Not the scent of it, but why he wanted to see you of all people.
Your gaze went down to the sharp knife, thinking maybe if you were fast enough, you could injure him, but you decided against it. You just let the silence fill the room.
He didn’t eat. Neither did you. It was agonizing, the minutes were ticking by in slow motion, until you got the courage to finally look up. Right into the mask.
He was already watching you. Then he moved.
The Front Man’s hands went up behind his head, saying nothing. His fingertips stopped there for a moment, as if giving you a second to get ready. You didn’t blink.
CLICK.
He pulled the mask away.
And you saw him. It landed harder than you anticipated.
His face was refined and unsettling, his cheekbones were sharp, jaw was defined. Something about his beauty made his presence more uneasy. Your lips fell open a touch, it must have been a breath you couldn’t stop yourself.
He noticed. His mouth curved slightly.
“Surprised?” his voice was richer now, not as low without the mask. You met his gaze. Holding it.
“I thought you would look like a monster.”
He sat forward slightly in the chair, holding a wine glass. “Disappointed?”
You shook your head. “No, that would have made it too easy.”
The smile that spread across his face was slow, calculated, and lethal. “You are braver than a lot of people, Y/N,” he added. “Once I take the mask off, none of them look at me.”
They were telling the truth, you could feel it. And the threat of it. But still, you kept the gaze on him.
“Well, I thought,” you said. “If I’m going to look into the eyes of the devil. I might as well know what their face looks like.”
A pause.
He laughed. Not loudly, just a low, amused buzz that rumbled deep within him.
“Good, then let’s stop pretending this is simply a dinner.”
He raised his glass. “To honestly.”
Your grip tightened on the glass stem. You didn’t toast with him. But you took a sip.
Refusing to look away.
Not when you could feel the wine stinging your tongue. Not even when the Front Man looked at you like a puzzle he had already solved.
“You didn’t say cheers,” he said. “But you drank. Interesting.”
“I don’t believe in toasts.”
“What do you believe in then?”
You didn’t answer. There was something in the way he asked it that seemed like a trap. He appeared not to mind the quiet of the room, though. He relished in it, allowing it to consume you. At last, he placed his glass on the table with a soft clink. The noise was decisive, slight. His fingers lightly, drummed on the armrests.
“Tell me. What did the Salesman say?”
You blinked while cutting some steak with your knife. “About what?”
“About me. I know he spoke about me.”
You swallowed some of the steak, glancing down. Now there was something composed in his voice, but with a hint of darkness thrusting up beneath it. The kind that doesn’t want things in the open because they need to be open, but instead because the spectacle of someone else squirming is its gratification.
“He said that all the others were….dealt with.”
The Front Man slowly twitched his lips into a slight smile.
“That’s vague. You can do better than that.”
You inhaled slowly. Your pulse banging through your neck, visible and hot.
“He said that you made him kill all of them, apart from one. He told me they were not listening. That they thought they were too clever.”
“What else?”
The room felt colder.
“You killed one girl.”
“Do you know why, Y/N?”
You gulped, looking away from his gaze for a moment. “She made a joke about your…about your dead wife.”
He slowly nodded, eating some of the food, humming.
“Can I ask you something?”
The Front Man looks up at you, shocked for a split second, but masks it just as fast. “Go ahead.”
“What did she say that angered you so much?”
The fork stopped short of his mouth. The hum that he had been passing subsided. There was silence then, not awkward silence, not empty, but purposeful.
“She said that my wife was part of my imagination. That I was an unloveable monster.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose. “That’s…cruel.”
He locked eyes with you. Really looked. And when he talked, it wasn’t just a confession. You had already been sentenced.
“Now you understand why I shot her.”
The words sat between you, cold and heavy.
“She wasn’t stupid, you know. She wanted me to feel hurt, to sting.”
“Well….I’m sorry she said that to you.”
“You’re sorry,” he repeated. “That’s kind of you. But don’t waste your pity on me. What happened is over now.”
You shifted in your seat. “So, was the Salesman telling me the truth about what happened to the others?”
He took another sip of the wine. “Most of it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“He said they’d died because they were too clever. Because they didn’t listen. That part is wrong. They all died because of their pride.”
“Pride?”
“They seemed to think they were above me. That they could find a way out with the right loophole.”
“And the Salesman?” you whispered, your heart rate speeding up. “He did it? Killed most of them?”
“Correct.”
You gulped. “So you made him into a killer?”
“No,” he said. “The games made him into one. I just watched him become what he needed to be. But….there is something else you should know.”
“What?”
The Front man leans back in his chair, looking relaxed, but never once taking his eyes off of you. His eyes have a cold interest, like he is drinking in the confusion radiating from you.
His words glide through the air, every one a blow. “You know, Y/N, I’ve known you since you were a teenager. Every day you come back home from school, and every day you see your mum. Well, something eventually shifted, didn’t it?”
You shiver, and not from the cold. The recollections are deep and uneasy. The hazy memories from a teenager about how your mother used to be gone a lot during late October to early November, gone for days or weeks on end, repeating the same excuses every year. Business trips. Work, over and over again. You never once questioned it. You were still young after all, putting all your trust into her.
But now…
You gulp, trying to push the words stuck in your throat out. “Yes…I remember.”
“How she would disappear for weeks at a time in the same months?” The Front Man’s voice is near-derisive by the point, a dark undertone hiding in the smoothness of his voice. “She wasn’t going to a business meeting, she wasn’t even working, Y/N, she was going to the games.”
You can almost feel your breath being sucked out of you. The things coming from his mouth, about your mum, it didn’t go along with who you knew for so long. How could this be true? She was always so loving, so protective. That wonderful woman who helped you when you were frightened and told you it would be all right. She couldn’t be a part of something so inhumane, so terrible. Your hands are shaking, and you have to concentrate on keeping your voice even.
“No, she wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, she did,” he contradicts, his tone icy. “She was one of them. One of the VIPs we call them. Every year, she went. Saw the violence, the bloodshed. Watched people dying for her own pleasures. She didn’t even just watch Y/N, she became obsessed with it. It wasn’t just a game for her, it was a new way of life. And she was complicit with it for the most part.”
Your thoughts started to scramble, to find a way to reject this new truth, but you can’t deny it. You knew deep down that he probably wasn’t lying to you. Your mother was a part of something monstrous. Something that killed hundreds of people. You felt your throat constrict as the new news sank in.
“I don’t understand. Why? Why would my mum do that? She was always there for me. She cared about me.”
The Front Man pushes a photograph across the table, its shiny paper catching the dim light. It was a picture of your mother in a black dress with a golden mask in her hand. She looked happy in the picture, smiling widely, next to those sharply dressed people. The image cuts you deep. She seems so….. different. Almost cold. Unrecognizable. The woman who raised you, whom you knew, looks unfamiliar to you.
Your vision goes gray for a moment, and you blink fiercely, struggling to keep tears at bay. “I-I can’t believe it,” you whisper. “She never told me, she never said anything. Why didn’t she warn me or give me the truth?”
The Front Man fixes his narrowed eyes into something that could pass for a smile.
“She nearly did warn you though, thinking she could escape it all. Your mother thought she might be able to blow the games open, reveal the truth to the world. Make a change. But she was wrong.”
His voice lowers to an almost menacing level. “People like your mother, they don’t end up changing the system. They become a threat. A liability. When that happens, Y/N, when they’re a problem to the games, we take them out.”
He sounded so sure of himself. He’s not only talking about your mother, he is talking about her death. The way he talks about it so casually, like it was destined to happen. He ended up killing her. The discovery lands with a blow of a punch to the gut.
“You killed her before she could reveal the games?”
The Front Man leans forward, and now his eyes are trained on yours, hard and cold.
“In part, yes, but also because she ended up making a deal with me. A deal to protect your life. To ensure your safety.”
The words land like ice. A deal? Your head spins, trying to understand what kind of deal your mother would have done.
“What kind of deal?” you somehow manage to utter, your voice trembling with uncertainty. What sort of a bargain did she make to keep you alive? The Front Man does not respond at first, watching you.
And then at last he speaks. “I can’t tell you right now, Y/N. Not yet. But eventually you will find out.”
Your pulse races through you. The world as you believed you understood it, the truth, is slowly slipping away, leaving you to wrestle with questions that may never be answered.
“Why are you telling me all of this? Why not keep it a secret?”
His smile widened. “Because I have to see how you will react. What will you do with that information?”
Before you could ask him what he meant, the doors to the dining room were pushed open. You turned.
Two guards entered, with a third figure between them. The man was hunched over, held in place by leather straps, a black rag tied over his mouth. His garments were covered in dirt and blood. He looked terrified as the guards shoved him into a chair by the table.
You stood up without thinking. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
“Your next course,” the Front Man said casually. Your stomach flipped.
One of the guards then placed a velvet-lined tray in front of you. Within the velvet was a black pistol.
It gleamed under the light. Pristine. Waiting. “No,” you said. “What is this?”
“A simple decision.”
You didn’t move. “Well, what did he do? Why him?”
“That’s not the right question, Y/N.”
You looked at the Front Man. “What do you want from me?”
He leaned over and placed his hands on the edge of the table.
“I want to see what you will do.”
You looked at the man seated. His eyes were pleading. Wide. “So what, you want me to kill him because you won’t. This is cruelty.”
“No. This is the truth. Courage. It is about deciding how much of yourself you would be willing to trade to survive. Some scream. Some beg. Others never even laid a finger on the gun. But they all made a decision.”
The room felt still, but it also seemed as if something was shaking, as though it might all collapse at any given moment. You felt your heartbeat against your ribs, the vibration of it pushing into your ears. Louder than the muffled, ragged breathing of the man in the chair. The revolver shone on the tray of black velvet. Not heavy yet. But it felt very real.
“And if I refuse?” your voice said in a distant tone.
The Front man did not respond at first. He took his time, he always did, as if your dread was a fine wine he was savoring before responding. Then at last he turned his head back to you, the dead calm of him watching you gnawing into your insides.
“I think you are smart enough to figure that out,” he said. “But if you aren’t well… let’s just say I will get the Salesman to pop that pretty little head of yours open.”
You blinked slowly, a slight breath escaping you. There was something about how he said it, softly, almost gently, that made it a whole lot worse. Your eyes flew to the man in the chair.
One of his shoes was missing. His arms were jerking against the restraints, trying to escape, but they had no strength. His eyes, covered in tears, red, met yours. And at that moment, he didn’t seem like the type of person you could shoot. He just seemed human.
You tore your gaze away, focusing on the gun.
You trembled. “I’m not a killer.”
“And that’s what’s going to make this interesting,” he added. “Because if you were a monster already, then this would be nothing for you. You would have killed them by now.”
You felt your throat tighten. “This is wrong.”
He nodded once. “Well, most truth is.”
You glanced back at the man. He sucked in another breath with a hiccup in his chest. He couldn’t speak, but you could tell with his eyes that he was pleading for you not to shoot him. It made you feel sick.
The pistol hadn’t moved.
“I don’t even know who he is,” you said again, desperation creeping in your voice. “I need to know what he did.”
“You don’t need to know the reason. That’s the point, Y/N,” the Front Man answered as smoothly as ever. “I want to see what you do when you have the power to do it. When you have the power to take the life out of someone.”
Your mouth dried up a little. You tried to swallow, but it didn’t help. You wanted to scream, but nothing would come out.
And there, in front of you, was the gun. It was there, like a promise you can no longer make. It was taunting you. Refusing to move at first. The air became thick and clogged with silence. Every second had sweat coming down your skin. Then your hand moved.
Slow. Measured. As if you weren’t the one controlling what was about to happen. Your finger was on the grip, and it was cold. The icy metal seeped into your palm, up your wrist, sending threads of chills through your veins. When you clenched your hand around it, you noticed that the weight was deniable. Dense. There was no more pretending. No backing out now.
The Front Man sat motionless before you. Legs crossed neatly. One hand laying on the armrest of the chair, and the other held a wine glass. He didn’t speak. He was just watching you while occasionally sipping on the blood coloured liquid.
All the same, his silence was speaking volumes.
This wasn’t a matter of fairness. This wasn’t about some instructions. This was theater. And you were the final act.
There suddenly came a sound, a whimper, thin and low. It came from the man in the chair.
Still bound. Still gagged. His wide eyes rolling from you to the Front Man, and back again to you. His whole body was shaking violently. He knew what was coming.
Or so he thought. You turned in his direction and stepped towards him.
The gun suddenly felt familiar, somehow. Like it belonged to you. Or like you belonged to it. Your heels clicked against the marble floor. But the sound was too loud, a noise that echoed throughout the room.
You raised the weapon. Deliberately. Slowly. The man’s breath started to quicken. A high noise leaked from him while he was recoiling into the chair, as if he could vanish into it. However, you could end it right here.
He was the obvious choice. He wanted to live.
And then, you moved.
Not a tremble. Not even a slight twitch. A pivot.
It was fast. Clean. Controlled. The barrel reared away from the man’s forehead and swung over at the figure in the chair.
The Front Man. Now the gun was aimed at him instead.
You felt the room change now. Even the shadows froze.
For the first time, the wine in his glass stopped swirling. The liquid was hushed, deep red, and thick. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to lean away. He simply just cocked his head to the side, just a little, as if curious. As if he has been anticipating this exact moment. However, you saw something that shocked you.
He was grinning with slightly raised eyebrows.
Deep inside his stasis and control, he found this amusing, funny even. Or maybe proud. Whatever it was, your arm stayed steady with the gun.
It didn’t waver. Your breath was slightly slowing down. Vision narrowing on the Front Man. Your life was narrowed down to this one moment, a man, an action.
Your finger wrapped the trigger. Slowly going tighter with every second. You felt the pressure building up. You felt the air throbbing. Time fractured.
And then, you pulled it.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Sorry for the very late update with the Shattered Odds Series. I had been in the hospital for the past week due to getting a very bad bug. I feel a lot better now so I am aiming to post it either tomorrow or the day after.
Hi guys,
I just wanted to say a massive thank you for helping me reach over 50 followers. I am currently about to head on a 10 hour flight home, so during this time, I won't be able to post the next chapter of the Shattered Odds Series.
However, I will be writing some of it on the flight home so I can post it ASAP when I get back.
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, strong language, power dynamics, verbal threats, possessive behavior, graphic violence/mention of death, blood and gore, dark themes,
A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I have been very busy on my holiday as well as getting very ill in the middle of it.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Chapter Thirteen: Unveiling the mask
Word Count: 3,330
Your body was aching.
That was the very first thing you noticed. The low, throbbing ache that was radiating through your side.
Then the warmth. There was some heat behind you, something that was solid. Alive pressed tight against yourself.
You opened your heavy eyelids by blinking. Slightly wincing in pain.
Faint light was beginning to seep through the room’s sheer curtains. The air was very still, quiet, way too silent.
You felt a breath ghosting on your neck, slow and rhythmic. It wasn’t yours. Your eyes widened.
No, no, no, no.
You slowly turned your head around, just enough to see him.
The Salesman.
He was bare-chested. Caked in your blood, it was smeared across his skin. His arms were loosely laced around your waist. His face buried into the curve of your shoulder like he had every right to be there. His hair lightly tickling your skin.
Your stomach clenched, not with disgust. But with comfort.
How on earth did it still feel nice having him hold you like this when he just shot you moments ago?
Your breathing hitched.
He shot you. He fucking shot you.
Carefully, you moved, inching your way from beneath his arm. Inch by inch. Trying not to awaken him.
However, your arms and legs were too fragile, too rigid. That made you move wrong, causing you to tumble off the bed and fall.
THUD!
As you smacked into the ground hard, the IV in your arm ripped free, and you screamed. The pain stabbing, twisting through you was unbearable. Your vision began to blur.
“Y/N,” the Salesman’s voice was raspy, still waking up.
You began to scramble backwards on your hands and chest, heaving, fingers trembling. No more blood was spilling out. Thankfully. But the spot where the needle had been really burned, your nerves were screaming.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” you shouted, voice slightly breaking. You fumbled into your pocket, your hand closed around the small can of pepper spray.
“Y/N, wait-”
You sprayed. Right in his face.
He unleashed a guttural groan, loud, while stumbling backward, covering his eyes.
You didn’t want to stay around to see him heal from this, so you bolted for the front door, opening it. Your whole body was shaking and on fire.
Making it down the hallway, it started to spin. But you made it. You were getting out.
You started running down the hallway, barefoot, adrenaline helping to keep your body erect as your feet slapped against the old carpet. You didn’t care. You had to get away from him.
“FUCK!” he yelled behind you, loudly coughing. “Stop. Get back here, Y/N.”
Just as you were about to reach the end of the hallway, your legs buckled. Everything went sideways. You collided hard into the wall, bones thudding, as you fell to the ground.
All you could hear was the heavy footsteps thundering behind you.
You tried to crawl away, but you felt hands grabbing your arms.
“NO, LET GO OF ME!” you cried, flailing weakly against him. “GET THE HELL OFF ME!”
He caught you, holding you as you kicked and screamed.
“Calm down,” he told you, his voice was commanding and rough. “I’m not going to hurt you, love. You need to rest. Let me help.”
You tried to wiggle free violently. “AS IF I WOULD EVER TRUST YOU AFTER WHAT YOU DID!”
“I SHOT YOU BECAUSE YOU TAUNTED ME!” he roared, lifting you clear off your feet, holding onto you tightly. “You said I wouldn’t do it. That's all I cared about was wanting you as mine.”
“I DID!”
“Well, guess what, darling? You were so wrong,” he spat out, walking you back towards the room as you struggled to escape his grasp. “Or maybe you weren’t. But either way, you fucking pushed me.”
You scoffed, voice slightly breaking. “So you went through with it just to prove a fucking point?”
“I didn’t mean to hit a vital area,” he replied, a slight edge of guilt coming through in his voice. “I pulled the shot at the last second.”
“OH, CONGRATULATIONS! GOLD STAR FOR NOT KILLING ME!”
He didn’t respond, brushed off the jab, while pressing you lightly against his bare chest.
In the room, he tucked you into the bed, being careful. Gentle. His fingers made your entire body shake in response.
You refused to look at him while he got dressed.
You didn’t even have the strength to scream anymore.
Then-
Buzz. Buzz.
The Salesman’s phone went off. He reached into his suit jacket, pulling it out to check the screen.
You noticed his face shift when he realised who it was. The tightness of his jaw. The way he stiffened his posture. Sharp, serious, and dark. Who would be calling him?
He glanced down at you with pure rage in his eyes.
“You better be quiet,” he said, rough and low. “Got it, Y/N? Or, do I need to remind you what happens when you cross me?”
You glared back at him, still shaking. But you slowly nodded. “I’ll be quiet.”
He smiles, tapping your head. “Good girl.”
The Salesman held your gaze for a second longer before turning and stepping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Leaving you all alone.
Your body was aching. You were breathing heavily. Your heart is racing.
Slowly, stepping out of bed, you walked over to the door. You gently pressed your ear against it, listening to the conversation on the other side. It was muffled, but you could still hear the words coming through.
“You know what to do. Bring Y/N to me. Dinner tonight,” said a low voice on the other end. “Make sure she’s ready.”
Your stomach dropped. Dinner? With who? It was nearly impossible for you to contain your anger, but you needed more information. You cracked the door open a bit more, just enough to see the Salesman standing in front of the window with the phone pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, I’ll bring her. Don’t you worry,” The Salesman said, his voice was calm, but something about it made you shiver down your spine. “She won’t have a choice. We both know this.”
He then ended the call.
Those words made your blood boil, your hands turning into fists. So that’s what it was. The Salesman was merely this guy's lap dog, no more than a messenger.
“You’re his fucking errand boy,” you spat out, your voice louder than you realized. “Just doing his dirty work?”
The Salesman stiffened at your words, his demeanor sharpening into something more dangerous. He slowly turned, his gaze meeting yours with that familiar cold, predatory stare.
“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” he growled, moving closer to you. He roughly clenched your wrist in a vice-like hold, the pads of his long fingers just crushing into your skin.
“LET GO OF ME!”
“I’m done with your shit,” he growled, pulling you roughly towards the door. “We’re going now.”
“NO!” you screamed, digging your feet into the carpet, trying to resist, but that made him only tighten his grip.
He tugged you along the floor easily, his strides fast, forceful, and unforgiving. You weren’t even walking, you were being pulled out of the room at full speed, your feet barely having time to touch the ground when he was dragging you like that.
You attempted to defend yourself, trying to fight back, but all this did was anger him more. He roughly shoved you into the back of the waiting limo, slamming the door shut behind him after he got in. The limo began to drive off as you fled to the vehicle's other side, your heart pounding in your chest, as you glared at him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, between breaths.
The Salesman sat next to you, staring at you. He slowly smirked, drawing something out of his overcoat, an expensive black dress, soaking in a quiet glamour. You stared at him, wide-eyed.
“No way,” you said, shaking your head. “I am not going to wear that.”
His eyes narrowed with frustration.
“You’ll wear it,” he said flatly, his voice low and firm. “Or I’ll make you wear it.”
The breath came up in your throat, your mind racing. There was no choice here. You knew he was right. Gently, you reached out, taking the dress from his firm grasp. “Can, can you turn around, please?”
The Salesman scoffs. “So what you can try and escape. I will be watching you this time, love.”
“I swear to god, I’ll get you back for this,” you hissed, your tone dripping with venom, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world for your threat.
“You’re wasting time. We shouldn’t be late,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on you as you slowly began to undress.
You flung the clothes on the floor nearby before working the dress onto your body. The fabric felt cool against your skin, and the tightness of it only served to remind you just how trapped you were.
You could feel his eyes on you as you adjusted it. They were glued to you, making your skin crawl as you finally finished putting it on. You wanted to shout, wanted to slap him, but you also knew that it would only make things worse. Only make him angrier.
“You look beautiful in that Y/N. Maybe you could wear that for me sometime.”
You turned to face him, expecting to see that annoying, smug grin, but somehow, there was a flicker of something else. It was too sincere, like he cared about you.
“...Thanks,” you said warily, the word like glass on your teeth.
The Salesman tilted his head, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Well, now. I never thought I would hear that from you, darling.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, but I always prefer it when you say nice things about me.”
You rolled your eyes, fingers nervously yanking at the hem of the dress. The inside of the limo suddenly felt too hot.
You glanced up in his direction. And without meaning to your eyes landed on his lips. Just a glance. But long enough. He saw. Of course, he bloody saw it.
His grin sharpened. “Caught that.”
You stiffened.
He slowly moved towards you, his shoulder lightly brushing against yours, the smell of his crisp cologne hitting you hard.
“If you want me to kiss you, then just ask.”
You laughed, turning your head at a more stubborn angle. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t need to. You already do it for me. Your eyes were loud, love. Practically begging.”
“I was wondering how someone so smug learns to speak with a head that far up their fucking ass.”
The Salesman gently laughed. “Ah, there she is.”
You tried not to pay any attention to how he was affecting you. “You think everything is a game, don’t you?”
“Everything is a game,” he said with a shrug. “And you-” he slowly leaned over and swept your hair from your shoulder, fingers lightly grazing your neck. “- are my favorite player.”
You looked at him, jaw clenched. “You are gross.”
He leaned back against the seat, pleased with himself. “Maybe. But you didn’t look away.”
You turned your eyes towards the window, not wanting to give him anything else. The city lights were blurring past. You hated the silence that followed.
“You have that look again.”
“What look?”
“The what if I let him kiss me look.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice.
He watched you with a stillness. The mood shifted again. It was much heavier. Quieter.
Then finally, without looking at him, you asked, voice soft, unsure:
“Who was that on the phone?”
He didn’t answer you.
You spat out in a sharp voice, slowly turning your head. “Who was it?”
Finally, his eyes met yours. Detached. Cold. But there was flickering behind them. Hesitation. Maybe even fear.
“It was my boss. The Front Man.”
Your stomach twisted.
“You mean the one calling all the shots?”
He cackled a bitter laugh. “Well, someone is above him, too, but did you genuinely believe that I was the mastermind in all this. That I was the big bad wolf?”
You didn’t respond. Your brain was still working through all of this. What did that mean for you, for him, for whatever the Front Man is?
“You know, if you don’t act right tonight. He will kill you.”
Your chest tightened. “What? He would kill me?”
“Do you really think I’m bringing you to him cause I want to? I was given a job. Bring you in. Make you look pretty. Keep you obedient. If you mess up, it is game over for you.”
You swallowed hard.
“Why me?”
He looked away, his jaw clenching. “I am not allowed to say. He could kill me.”
Your eyes widen. “He would kill you?”
“Yes. He is not someone who you should ever cross.”
“Wa-wait,” you stuttered. “How many….girls like me have there been?”
His jaw flexed, and you saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. “Too many.”
You stared at him. “How many of them ended up surviving?”
His mouth fell open, however, words didn’t come out immediately.
Finally, after a moment of silence, he said it:
“None.”
Your blood ran cold. “None?”
He slowly nodded. “It was the Front Man giving the order. I just carried them out.”
“You killed them all?”
“Most of them,” he admitted. “Some of them didn’t even get past the door. He doesn’t enjoy surprises.”
You could hardly understand or comprehend what you were hearing.
“...Why?”
“Because they didn’t listen to my advice. Didn’t play along. Said something stupid, or they got too proud. That was enough.”
He looked down.
“But this last girl..,” he said cautiously. “The Front Man personally ended up killing them.”
Your breath hitched. “He killed her?”
“Yeah. She was meant to be a… well, it doesn’t matter, but she ended up trying too hard to impress him.”
“What could she have said to anger him that badly?”
His gaze darkened, and he turned away, refusing to look at you.
“She made a joke about his dead wife.”
Your mouth went agape for a moment. “A joke? About his dead wife?”
He nodded. “She thought that she was being smart. Thought she could make him smile. It didn’t work out that way.”
You swallowed hard. “So… that means there is a high chance of me dying today, then.”
The Salesman sighed, his eyes meeting yours again.
“Yes,” he said in a gentle tone. “There is a chance you will die today, Y/N.”
Your heart dropped, and your surroundings seemed like a dream. This can’t be actually happening.
The car slowly pulled over as it reached its destination, but you had millions of thoughts rushing through your mind.
Your chance of surviving this, now, felt as thin as a thread.
The Salesman glanced at you one final time, his face was hiding something. Maybe regret. Maybe fear.
But before you could say a word, a guy swung open the door.
The Salesman lightly grabbed your hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. He hesitated and then hugged you tightly. It was nothing like the usual cold, calculating man you had gotten to know. His touch was protective, as if he were trying desperately to shield you from whatever nightmare laid ahead.
“I don’t want you to be next, Y/N. I don’t think I can kill you if he asks me to,” he whispered, his voice barely holding.
You closed your eyes for a second, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his warmth enveloping you.
“I’m not going to die,” you said softly, as if to persuade him more than yourself.
He looked into your eyes, trembling slightly. This side of him truly shocked you. “I will do everything I can to ensure you don’t die.”
You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his face, something was shifting inside you. A softness you never thought you could feel from him, of all people.
“Are you coming in with me?”
He stiffened, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, before responding with an almost affectionate smile.
“I’ll be waiting outside for you,” he said, his voice much gentler. “Waiting for you.”
There was a compassion in his words, causing all the tension between you both to melt for that brief moment. He was more than the Salesman, he was someone different, someone who cared, who wanted to protect you in whatever way he could.
“Be safe,” he murmured, and when you got out of the limo, you felt his eyes were on you.
You stepped forward, following the guy who opened the door. You paused at the double doors, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. The light pouring out from within was warm, but nothing felt inviting about this place. After all, this could be your last moments alive. And yet, behind you was him.
You turned a little, glancing at him from over your shoulder.
The Salesman now stood by the open car door, one hand braced against the edge of the door, the other deep inside his suit jacket pocket. His eyes had never left yours. Not for a second.
And when you looked up at him again, something in his face changed. Gone was that annoying as smug smirk. Gone was the mask. What remained was something human, not a monster.
“I wasn’t lying, Y/N,” he called out. “I’ll be right here. You can do this.”
Your throat slightly tightened.
You nodded, the smallest nod that you weren’t sure if he even saw it. But the way his shoulders softened, by the way he exhaled. It told you he did.
As you are about to push the door open, his voice rings out again, and this time, it is quieter. Not loud enough for the guards or the camera. Just for you.
“Don’t try to be clever in there.”
You turned around all the way to face him, blinking in surprise.
A flicker of that same old smile ghosted across his lips, but now it was different, it was calmer, more comforting. “Just be you, Y/N. That’s about the only thing that would work in this.”
You winced at the way he said it. Like he wanted it to work out. How is that one moment he is so kind and the next he wants to rip your head off?
You gave a shaky laugh. “And what if it isn’t enough?”
His eyelids dropped for a second, and with a slight flutter, he gently locked back onto your eyes.
“Then I’ll lie for you.”
“What?”
“I’ll do what I have to do to protect you. Even if that means I die instead.”
For a moment, you just stared at him, shocked. No words came out. Because what do you tell the man who previously bound you to a bed, now claims he’d die for you?
“You are full of contradictions.”
“I know,” he said, with a slight touch of affection in his tone. “And you’re the first person who has ever noticed.”
The space between you both was thick once again, but not with tension. With something else. Care. The way he promised to you. The way he is looking at you. That odd tenderness that had somehow made its way to your heart. You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. Heck, you are still with Gi-hun for fucks sake.
As you were about to speak, the door opened slowly behind you. You turned around, not looking back at the Salesman. You didn’t have to. You knew he was still there outside the car. Waiting. And somehow, through your fear of the unknown of the Front Man, that was enough for you.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, strong language, power dynamics, references to past trauma, verbal threats, possessive behavior, graphic violence, blood and gore, dark themes, angst
A/N: Please note that the future chapters will be delayed slightly, I am going on a holiday with my family for 2 weeks. Will still be able to post during that time, they just won't be as often.
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Chapter Twelve - The trigger and the aftermath
Word Count - 3,593
The sound of the gunshot was still ringing in your ears, you were frantically trying to stem the warm flow of blood that pumped between your fingers. Pain throbbed, you were hot too, but it was nothing next to that betrayal. The way he looked at you just before he pulled the trigger kept returning in your mind. Calm, collected, disappointed. But you also saw a tad of hurt in them.
Did he care about you?
No, he couldn’t. He was probably just trying to manipulate you more than they have already. However, you weren’t sure what hurt more, the laceration in your flesh or the one in your chest.
You slowly stood up, wobbling slightly, as you stepped towards the hallway, your vision was already swimming. Your knees began to buckle, not once, but twice, causing you to crash your shoulder into the wall, supporting you upright.
You couldn’t fall. Not yet.
Pushing off from the wall you stumbled on. Each step felt like you were carrying concrete blocks around your feet. The room was spinning violently, the lights above you were dancing, bleeding into the shadows.
Blood dripped out behind you now, a steady stream raining all over the carpet.
You didn’t dare look back. You knew how bad it was, just by the warmth seeping through your clothes, by the way your hands were beginning to go numb, by the way your body was swaying with each intake of breath.
And still, you managed to move.
In front of the bathroom door, one hand slick with blood as you stumbled for the knob. You were almost out of strength. The agony was deafening, screaming through you whenever you took a breath.
The last strength went into twisting the knob, shoving the door open, and dragging yourself inside. You immediately shut the door behind you, stumbling in motion, as you locked it with trembling hands.
You collapse, your back scraping slowly down the door with a thud. You smack into the tiles hard, your side crashing against the freezing ceramic. It startled your body but did not help wake you.
Everything around you was starting to fade.
Your heart was pounding, masking all the other sounds. You could partly hear your own gasping breaths.
“Get up,” muttering under your breath, tears pricking your eyelids. “We can’t fucking die, dammit.”
Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself forward, inch by inch. Blood was starting to streak across the tiles. Your whole body was in pain, but you refused to stop until you made it to the cabinet under the sink.
You fumbled with the door. On the second attempt, it swung open.
There you found some alcohol, some gauze, and some medical tape. You wrapped your shaky hands around all of them before a black pulse clouded your vision.
The pain was intolerable, but the cold of the room was far worse. It was the type of cold that begins at your fingertips, slowly working its way up to the rest of your body. The sort of cold that made your bones ache.
You attempted to straighten against the sink, catching your reflection in the mirror. You didn’t even know who you were anymore.
Your skin was pale, sickly even. The clothes were now stained in a deep crimson with blood, which was still spreading more and more. Your eyes widened, they looked haunted, shocked. You looked like a dying animal.
And maybe you were. Maybe you were dying.
You leaned forward and tried washing your hands before pressing the gauze into the wound. It burned. It hurt. Your whole body shook, tears streaming down your face, but you couldn’t stop now. You knew how it went. You weren’t going to die, not now at least.
Grunting, you reached for the bottle of alcohol and uncapped it with your teeth.
“You can do it,” you told yourself.
And you did.
Pouring some of it on your wound. The pain was the worst thing you have ever felt. It was unholy. You screamed, hearing it bounce off the tile walls. You started convulsing, eyes briefly rolling back in your head.
You tried to fasten the gauze in place with the tape, however, your fingers were too slick with blood. The tape slipped, landing on the ground and rolling out next to you.
Your arms gave out, then your body. Ending up falling to the tiles, your cheek on the ground. You blinked your eyes once. Twice. Three times.
Everything slowed in the bathroom.
The lights flickered, your sight tunneled, black bleeding in from the sides like it was spilled ink.
The blood wasn’t stopping, it was spreading from under you in a pool that was only going to become deeper. It was weirdly cozy against the cold of the floor, and you felt, for a moment, almost numb. Almost at peace.
So this was it.
You weren’t a player. Not a fighter. Just one more thing for the Salesman to shove out of the way once it stopped being convenient. Stopped being entertaining.
You stopped crying. You didn’t even try to call out for him. You just allowed the silence to consume you, because even then, even after everything. You refused to let him win.
The Salesman’s steps echoed, measured, and sharp. He had just gone out for a few minutes. A brief moment.
He had gone to take a call. To cool himself down, if only for a moment.
But when he entered the room again, he noticed you weren’t in front of the chair anymore. Only saw a pool of blood where you were sitting down against the wall.
His brows came together, confusion slightly pulling at the edge of his mouth. He couldn’t hear any footsteps, no sound. Just the slight noise of cars going about outside.
“Y/N?” He yelled, his tone smug, filled with amusement. “Where’d you go, huh? You’re not actually sulking after I shot you, are you?”
No answer came.
He scanned the room before his eyes turned toward the bathroom door.
Closed. The only door that was closed.
His steps slowed down. He noticed the blood on the handle before trying to twist the door open.
Locked.
That made him chuckle, a crooked grin forming.
“Seriously?”
The Salesman started tapping the door with his knuckles in a rhythm like he was trying to coax a child out of a hiding place. “Come on. Don’t be so dramatic. I understand that you’re upset, but this…locking yourself in the bathroom….this is not going to change anything. This is not going to fix anything.”
Still nothing. Pure silence.
It didn’t seem like your usual silence. It wasn’t the silence he was used to, the kind drenched in sass or fury, the kind that howled without saying a word. This one felt different, wrong. Too heavy. Too still.
He banged on the door hard.
“Y/N,” he said again, more anger showing this time. The edge of the amused look had been blunted. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR NOW.”
Still, no response.
Cold and biting, something crawled up his spine then as he sniffed the air.
There it was.
Blood.
He looked down at his feet, feeling something wet brushing them, noticing blood spilling out from under the door, glistening against the lights.
He became rigid, stood frozen.
“...Y/N?”
This time, his voice cracked slightly, and a single tear formed in his eyes.
A beat passed. Then he moved fast.
He rammed his shoulder against the door once, twice, three times. The sound of it echoed down the halls like a gunshot. His teeth started to clench, his breath becoming sharp and ragged.
“Y/N, OPEN THE DOOR!”
Still no answer. Nothing.
Panic made its way to his chest, violent and big, like a flower with thorns. He didn’t think about what happened to you. He couldn’t. He backed up slightly, grabbed the gun from the belt with a practiced flick, and without a moment’s pause.
BANG.
The lock exploded. He immediately kicked the door open, splitting some wood at the hinges, gun still raised, heart pounding. The lights were still flickering in the bathroom.
And then he noticed you.
Slumped over, half-curling on the floor. Blood was all over the ground below you. A roll of gauze had fallen at the side of your open hand, tape unwound and sticky with blood on the tiles. An alcohol bottle spilled, mixed with the blood in a horrific swirl.
You weren’t moving. It didn’t look like you were even breathing.
“Shit.”
The word came out in a whisper, horrified. Fragile.
He quickly knelt beside you, throwing the gun on the ground causing the tiles to rattle. He placed his hands on you gently. They were shaking when he turned you over to face him. You looked pale, your skin was ice-cold.
“No, no, no…”
He placed two fingers on your neck. There. A pulse. Very weak. But you were still alive.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “What the hell did I-”
His voice was breaking now, all that composed smugness was peeling off. This was not meant to happen. He always planned things. He was always, and I mean always in control.
But this-
This was chaos to him.
He slapped his hand hard over your wound, trying to stop the bleeding from worsening.
“Don’t die, Y/N. Don’t fucking die on me now.”
The Salesman was becoming desperate in his tone, which only made the air feel much heavier for him.
He fidgeted for his phone, your blood greasing the screen as he dialed. It only rang once before someone answered.
“Get to the Pink Motel. Now.”
A shocked, muffled voice replied. The Salesman didn’t care.
“She is bleeding out, gunshot. If she dies, you die. DO YOU HEAR ME?”
A stammered excuse. A pause.
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR DATE NIGHT WITH YOUR WIFE, YOUR ANNIVERSARY, ALRIGHT? You can apologize or make it up to her later. That is, if I let you live.”
Another distant murmur.
“Ten minutes. You have only ten fucking minutes. If you come late, you better pray to whatever gods you believe in that she is still breathing when you step through that door, or you will be wishing, begging you were the one bleeding out on this very floor.”
The voice on the other end spoke again.
The Salesman interrupted with a snarl. “Bullet went clean through, low right. She is very cold. Not talking. Her pulse is barely there.”
He continued.
“I HAVE DONE WHAT I FUCKING CAN. SHE NEEDS YOU NOW. NOT IN TWENTY. NOT IN TWELVE. TEN. OR LESS!”
A faint protest.
“No, you listen to me. You owe me. If you don’t come, if she dies, your body will be sliced up all across the city. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
A quiet acceptance, maybe. Silence.
He didn’t wait to hear it.
He threw the phone away, causing it to smash against the tiles. His hands were shaking. He leaned over you once more, bringing you to his torso. You slumped against his chest, your breath coming in and out weakly, but he could feel it.
He rested his head on the side of your neck, sobbing slightly.
“You stupid, stubborn thing,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You weren’t supposed to be hurt like this. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t mean to hurt you this badly.”
His bare chest was now smeared with your blood. His hands. His boxers.
And for the first time in a very long time.
He was terrified.
He didn’t even remember standing up.
Didn’t see the way your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck, how you buried your face into his bare chest, how his arms linked beneath your knees and shoulders, holding your body against him like you might break, that you were made of glass.
Your head moved into the nook of his neck. It was so light. Too light.
“Fuck, stay with me, Y/N,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He knew you probably couldn’t even hear him anyway. More blood was soaking all over his form but he didn’t care.
He never should have left you alone. He never should of pulled the damn trigger. He never should have let it go this far. The regret was eating at his insides.
The Salesman carefully placed you on the bed as if you were made of porcelain, terrified even his breath would shatter you more.
And almost immediately the sheets beneath you went dark with your blood.
“Fucking hell…”
He softly held the side of his hand against your cheek. Cold. It was still too cold. He brushed away some of your hair matted with blood from your face with their fingers that trembled.
Your lips were still parted. Breathing shallow. Barely breathing at all.
“Please…don’t do this,” his voice said in a cracked tone.
You didn’t answer.
He stood up so fast, causing him to almost trip as he stepped back from the bed. His hands clawed at his mouth, trailing down their jaw as if he could somehow hold himself together.
He turned his back to you. Beginning to pace. One step. Two. Where the hell was the doctor, though?
“I SAID TEN MINUTES,” He boomed, looking at his watch. “IT’S BEEN FIVE. FIVE.”
He moved to the window. Then the wall. Then the edge of the bed, again. His heart was now in his throat, guilt twisting around his spine like a vise, pacing like a madman. His power, his control had fallen apart completely.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his elbow on his knee, hand still covering his mouth. However, his gaze never left yours.
“I-I didn’t mean to hit you there,” he whispered, as if that mattered. “You just-you never listen Y/N.”
The silence that followed was deafening to him.
He buried his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes closed. And then the worst thought hit him like a truck.
What if you died thinking he meant to kill you?
His whole body collapsed on itself at the thought of it.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He stood again. Agitated. Restless. Filled with worry.
The Salesman began to grip the back of a nearby chair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Immediately flinging the chair at the wall, causing it to snap in two. His own reflection looked into the mirror staring back at him, wide eyed, covered in blood.
What has he done?
Then-
A knock at the door. Urgent. Quick. Loud.
The Salesman nearly stumbled over himself as he bolted towards the front door. Yanking it open.
The doctor was wide eyed at first, standing there with a briefcase in hand, trembling in fear upon the Salesman’s gaze.
“If she dies, you will be next. Get to work.”
The doctor rushed inside, tripping over his own feet as he fast walked to you. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the state you were in. Your body is still on the bed, half-curled, the sheet soaked with your blood. The bleeding did slow down but it hasn’t stopped. Not even close.
“Oh my god,” the doctor said, placing down his case, quickly putting gloves on his hands as he was eyeing the sight. “She could’ve lost consciousness way before this….How long has she been bleeding?”
The Salesman didn’t answer at first. He was hovering behind the doctor, stiff, his fists were balled so tight his nails bit into his palms.
“She was in the bathroom,” the Salesman said, his voice low. “I didn’t know that she tried to clean it herself.”
The doctor hissed. “So much alcohol in an open wound? It is a miracle that she didn’t go into shock from it.”
He didn’t mean it in a cruel way, but the words hit the Salesman like a ton of bricks.
In an agonizing silence, he watched as the doctor began to cut away your shirt, exposing the wound in your side, the bullet luckily had blown through muscle just beneath your ribs. Your skin was already darkening, blood dripping slowly.
“No fragments. That is good at least.”
The Doctor worked quickly, hands, intent.
First pressure. Then antiseptic. Then sutures.
Your body thrashed once the needle punctured your skin, even in your unconscious state, a soft cry came out of your lips.
The Salesman stepped forward.
“Is she-?”
“Stable. For now. But she’s not out of danger yet. She lost a lot of blood.”
The doctor quickly rummaged through his bag to find an IV, attaching it to a portable pole that he also brung with him, slowly slipping a needle into the contour of your arm. His gloved hands were slick with red already.
The Salesman loomed over you, unable to turn away.
“She is strong. Stubborn. Her body didn’t fail her sooner because she is fighting very hard to stay awake.”
The Salesman didn’t move. Didn’t want to speak. He simply gazed at your white face.
You struggled to survive, even after he pulled the trigger on you.
You fought for your life…in spite of him.
He should have protected you.
Not this.
Why did he do this?
“When she wakes up she’s going to be in pain. A lot of it,” the doctor stated slowly, finishing a bandage on your side.
The Salesman’s voice was low. “Good.”
“Sir?”
“She should be hurt. She should hate me for this. She should be furious.”
He kept his eyes on your face. He noticed a tear going down your eye, involuntary.
“I don’t think you meant to-”
“I PULLED THE TRIGGER. IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT I MEANT!”
He slowly returned to sit at the end of the bed, fingers grazing your leg, as if he needed to make sure you were still alive.
The doctor packed up what was left of his supplies, and gave the Salesman one last look.
“Call me right away if her fever goes up, or if she doesn’t wake up in the morning.”
The Salesman didn’t respond.
He just sat there, all silent as he heard the door shut the doctor. Just watching. Breathing shallowly.
His hand reached towards you, slow, and he carefully pushed aside a stand of hair from your damp forehead. You didn’t move.
“You weren’t meant to get hurt,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Not like this.”
The other arm hovered over the bandages, over the bullet wound he put there, before curling into a shaking fist.
“I should have never done this to you. I could’ve gone another route without harming you.”
He bent down and pressed his lips, softly brushing on your forehead. Then again, slower.
The kiss was a plea. A confession.
And then the tears began to fall.
The Salesman tried to stop them, tried to breathe through it, tried to blink them away, but they came nevertheless. At first they were quiet, then they hit harder. His chest choked with sobs his throat couldn’t swallow.
“I pulled the trigger,” he said, nearly choking on his own words. “I pulled it. Doesn’t matter why I did it. It doesn’t matter what I thought I was doing. I hurt you.”
His fingers caught yours, cold in his clutch. He closed his fingers around it, gently rubbing your hand.
“You should hate me. I know you will hate me. And I’ll deserve it. I just-”
His voice broke.
“I just need you to wake up Y/N.”
He laid down on the bed next to you, carefully, wrapping his arms around your body in a way that was almost fearful. He couldn’t stay away.
You didn’t stir when he started stroking your hair. Shaking fingers, lips against your lips. Whispering your name like a prayer he didn’t believe in.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
He curled into you, silent sobs filling the room, placing his face in the crook of your neck. His tears were seeping onto your skin. He refused to let you go.
Not even as exhaustion pulled him under, not even when the tears stopped and all that was left was shallow breathing. He just held you together. Rocked you gently. Tried to keep you grounded by the world with the sole thing remaining to him, his guilt, his grief, the one person he truly loved.
And that was when it hit him.
He froze as he looked at you again, your pale face, your battered body. Before he could stop himself, his arms tightened around you.
He loved you.
God, he truly loved you.
“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”
He felt it again, the panic, the fear.
He had never loved anyone until now. Not like this. Love has always been something for other people. People who the Salesman thought were weak. Trash.
And now there he was, shaking, crying, holding you close.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he choked out. “I have no idea how to love someone without hurting them.”
But still, he didn’t let you go.
Still, he stayed.
Because if you died, if you left him, he wasn’t sure that anything would be left of him to carry himself forward.
The silence thickened.
And in that stillness, with your body curling weakly against his, the Salesman did the only thing he could think of.
He held you even tighter, and waited for morning. Waited for you to hopefully wake up.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, strong language, power dynamics, references to past trauma, verbal threats, possessive behaviour, graphic violence, blood and gore, dark themes
The rain fell unrelentingly, pattering down in soft, steady patterns on the pavement. The air was humid and hot, broken by the sound—the echo of your footsteps in the silence, the low vibrating flow of the flickering neon sign. You entered the building, going up the stairs as quietly as possible. The heavy thud of your heart ripped through the hallway. Eventually, you stopped in front of a door.
Room 209.
The brass number seemed to taunt you, reminding you of everything that had happened in this room and everything you were trying to forget. The flashback washed over you, again and again.
The tension between the Salesman, Gi-hun, and you. His shaking hand when he hit the trigger. The Salesman, watching with that cruel, amused smile on his lips. You begging to take Gi-hun’s place.
Your chest tightened. But you shook it off, trying hard to push the memories from your mind. You couldn’t allow it to swallow you now. Not now. Not ever.
Placing your hand on the doorknob, turning it. The door was already unlocked.
It creaked when you opened it, carefully stepping inside the dimly lit room. The air inside was heavy with the scents of wine, cologne, and blood. Familiar. It made your stomach churn. You noticed that the bathroom light was on, a soft flow was spilling out, and a thin layer of steam escaped from inside the door.
When the door finally opened. He walked out of the bathroom.
Damp. Barefoot. Just out of the shower, a white towel was draped around low on his hips, clinging to him. He moved with that same confidence, his eyes locking straight onto yours, looking you up and down, wiping down every inch of your discomfort with his dark pleasure.
He just stood there for a while, not saying anything, staring, assessing you with that cold, calculated gaze.
“Well. Took you long enough,” He said smugly, finally filling the silence of the room.
Your throat got tight, causing you to swallow hard, you were trying hard not to react. “Put some clothes on,” You snapped, your voice had a sharpness in it that was still lingering, a bit of concern.
He smirked, unfazed, unbothered by this. He slowly took a step forward toward you. “And lose that look on your face? I live for your reactions.”
You ground your jaw. “I don’t care about….,” You wave your hand around. “Whatever this is.”
He leaned in, just a little. His breath was hot against your ear. “That is too bad, Y/N. Because you’re already too deep in it.”
He walked past you, his damp skin brushing against yours lightly. You immediately attempted to look away, but your gaze was drawn to the wall mirror nearby. And there the Salesman was, seen in the glass, unashamed, playing with his hair. Your eyes slowly looked him up and down, lightly biting your lip. When you gazed up, you noticed him watching you through the mirror.
Your breath snagged, and you tried to look away, but couldn’t. His smirk widened and widened into his satisfied grin. His eyebrow raised slightly.
The mirror betrayed you. It caught everything, the way your eyes lingered for too long, the way you bit your lip. It made you look vulnerable, like prey, and he knew it.
“You know you can look,” He said softly, in a teasing manner. “I really don’t mind.”
Your eyes showed pure rage. “You are fucking disgusting,” You muttered, filled with anger.
He laughed low in his throat. “Yet…you’re still standing there, watching me, aren’t you?” His voice was heavy with mockery.
You scoffed. Shaking your head.
And then, like he was taunting you, the towel slipped, then fell to the ground. No warning. Just a causal malfunction that left him completely bare in front of you. Your eyes flew to his through the mirror in shock. He just stood there smiling, making no effort to cover himself, slowly tilting his head.
You quickly looked away, your voice hot with outrage. “WHAT IS ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
His laughter echoed through the room. Amused. Low. Dark. “I think clothes are overrated,” He said, his tone far too casual. “Plus, you look adorable when you are flustered.”
You had fisted your hands on your sides, your body trembling with rage.
“You did that on bloody purpose. You wanted that towel to drop, and don’t you dare even pretend it was some mistake, some accident.”
He arched an eyebrow, mock-innocent. “Now, Y/N, why on earth would I do that?”
“BECAUSE YOU THRIVE OFF OF THIS. OFF THE POWER. YOU WOULDN’T EVEN EXIST UNLESS PEOPLE ARE SQUIRMING UNDER YOUR CONTROL.”
He blinked. “Not people,” He corrected. “You. There’s a massive difference in the way you squirm.”
You gasped at the sheer audacity of those words. “You’re gross.”
“And yet…you’re still here.”
“Not because of you. I’m here because you threatened to kill people I care about.”
That shut him up for a moment.
“Maybe,” He hummed. “But you are still reacting. Still mine to rile up.”
That word. “Mine”. Burned into your lungs.
“I’d rather die than ever belong to a sadistic prick like you.”
“Oh, a sadistic prick you say, don’t tempt me, Y/N.” The mockery in this voice was clear as day, but it was layered with something heavier. Something darker.
You snatched the closest pair of boxers from off the nearby chair and chucked them at him, with a quick movement. They fell at his feet with a soft thud.
“Put those on.”
His gaze slid down to the boxers and then back to your back. You were still not facing him. “Hmmmm…” He said, as though thinking about what to say next. “It seems that I have misplaced my boxers. Can you help me find them love?”
The use of “love” jolted you with anger. How fucking dare he? How dare he toy with you like this? In this manner, no less.
“THEY ARE RIGHT THERE!” You yelled, sharply pointing behind you at his feet. “PUT THEM ON!”
He didn’t move a muscle. Just remained exposed, you could feel their eyes roaming over you like you were the one exposed. Your body shivered.
“I SAID…PUT THEM ON!”
“It is laughable seeing you try to be in control. You aren’t that good at it.”
A beat passed. Then another.
You didn’t hear the rustle of the fabric at first, just the sharp, deafening silence. You could only feel his eyes on your back again.
At last, you heard him bending down, slow, lazy, teasing, as if he had ages of time to spare. You glanced at the mirror again, seeing the muscles of his back playing like a piano with each measured stretch. Quickly, you turned your gaze as he threw on the boxers; the motion was fluid, way too practiced.
And then you heard the floorboards creaking as he stepped closer.
You immediately tensed, but you didn’t move, you didn’t look behind you. Your spine is locked straight. Your eyes burning with defiance. His hand reached out, slowly grazing your arm. Just a gentle touch, as light as a feather, just enough to make your nerves spike like live wires. You jerked to the side, a breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face him.
The Salesman’s face was close to yours now, only inches apart, brushing your skin with the heat of his breath. And that annoying smirk never left his lips.
“Better?” He whispered, voice low, smooth, and mocking, as if this was another one of his games. You glanced down and saw the boxers sitting low on his hips, hugging in all the wrong places, or perhaps all the right ones.
His finger touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Your jaw clenched. Your heart was pounding fast, but not in some way you wanted to admit. You stayed still, standing your ground, eyes aflame with fury. For a moment, you didn’t answer. Simply stared into his eyes, really staring at him. The way that asshole kept invading your space. The way he was inhaling power with every twist and turn he took. How he looked at you, waiting for you to react so he could mold it, twist it in some way.
Then came the words. They were as cold as ice.
“You are a fucking creep. You know that?” Saying in pure disgust. The pain of what happened in this room was still too raw for you to forget.
His grin didn’t fade. If anything, it expanded, turning more dark, more horror-like. Like you talking back to him is just what he wanted.
“Just to you,” He said, almost gently, almost as if he was giving you some kind of compliment. “And you keep coming back for it, darling.”
You absolutely hated the way he said it to you. Like he knew you. Like he had everything figured out.
He turned, deliberate and slow, walking over to the small cabinet next to the television. From it, he took a bottle of red wine. It was already uncorked. Pouring the red liquid into two glasses with elegance, as if they were in a fancy restaurant or a penthouse lounge rather than a dimly lit room.
He sat down on the bed, patting the mattress next to him.
“Come, Y/N. Let’s make a toast,” He said, voice bright with a hint of a teasing manner.
You didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t blink.
“I didn’t come here to flirt with you. Say what you need to say. Say why the hell you wanted me to come here.”
He leaned back against the headboard, one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world. One hand was still wrapped around the stem of his wine glass. Your wine glass is lying on the bedside table.
“Fine,” He said finally, his tone fell lower. Darker. Way more dangerous. “So straight to the point then.”
The salesman took a sip of the red wine, humming to himself.
“I already told you, my dear, I am going to make you mine. I’m going to shape you in a way that all that darkness will come out of you. Every last bit of it. You will thank me for it someday, Y/N, they always do.”
“They?” You repeated, cautiously. “So you were what? Obsessed with others, as well? Making them yours?”
He laughed quietly, swirling the wine around in his glass. The red liquid reflected the spark in his eyes.
“No, Y/N,” The Salesman said slowly. “They were just objects. Playthings.”
“Playthings? Is that what you do? Collect people to snap like your toys?”
“I played with them. Bent them. Broke them. And when they stopped being fun-” he shrugged. “I simply moved on with my life.”
You stared, the room suddenly feeling icy cold.
“Where are they now?” A part of you didn’t want the answer.
He glanced at you.
“Dead.”
Silence.
“Please say you’re joking.”
He took another sip of wine without taking his eyes off you.
“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” He said lightly. “They were far too boring.”
You watch him, the words circling in your head. Dead. Boring.
Like they meant nothing. Like they were disposable.
“You’re sick.”
“Maybe, but I am someone who sees potential and then brings it out….but none of them were like you.”
You took a little step back, feeling uneasy. You had squeezed your hands into fists, causing your nails to dig into your palms.
“So what happens,” you whisper. “When I’m no longer entertaining to you?”
“You won’t. Because you were born for this life. For me. You just need to see it.”
You hated him. Every stupid, sadistic piece of him. How his voice laced itself around your thoughts like a noose.
Your lips parted, wanting to speak. However, he cut you off before the protest could leave your tongue.
“You know, I saw you kissing him by the way,” His voice slipped into something darker, laced with mockery. “Gi-hun. Cute.”
You froze.
“....How did you-?”
“Second safehouse. Bed. Midnight. Ring a bell?”
Your blood ran cold. He sipped the wine, then placed it down on the bedside table. “So tell me….” He tilted his head. “Who’s the better kisser?”
You were caught between disbelief and outrage.
But then you said it. Voice calm, but not gentle.
“Gi-hun.”
The Salesman stilled. The word landed like a slap across his face. The smirk didn’t disappear, it just dimmed. Softened at the corners. You saw something flashing behind his eyes, something that resembled hurt. But it vanished in a split second.
He stood.
“I’m afraid that was the wrong answer,” he spat out.
And then he moved fast.
He took hold of you, one sharp yank, then kissed you hard. Possessive. Brutal. As if he were trying to scrub any memory of Gi-hun’s mouth from your lips. You were pressed against a wall with a thud, his lips kissing harder, his hand pressing down on your jaw like a vice so you couldn’t escape it.
Your body stiffened, resisting, but then, if only for a moment, a heartbeat, you felt something else. Something that made you forget yourself, something that caught your breath, if only for a moment. Your pulse was racing. You hated it. You hated how he could still do this to you.
The kiss broke.
But he didn’t step back. No. He leaned in so his lips were near your ear. “There. How about now?”
You were frozen. Not entirely by fear.
His thumb lightly brushed the edge of your bottom lip, taunting. Intimate in the worst way.
“You’re not frozen because you hate it,” He said softly. “You’re frozen because you’ve felt it.”
No, no, no. This was wrong. You couldn’t catch feelings for him.
Your hand, still curled to the side, crept towards your pocket, slow and discreet, fingers grazing your phone.
“Ah-ah.”
His voice sliced through your focus. He was already moving, too fast. He reached out, grabbing your wrist tightly before you had time to grab the phone.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
“Seriously?” He said, almost sounding disappointed. “I kiss you, and you decide to grab your phone? Who were you going to text, your little boyfriend?”
“Let go of me.” Attempting to pull back from his grip.
His grip tightened, not enough to hurt you, just enough that you knew who was in control.
“No can do.” His hand goes into your pocket, pulling out the phone. It made you feel small. Violated. Exposed.
He presented it in front of your view, rotating it in the palm of his hand, humming to himself. “I don’t need you giving those trash any ideas. Especially not Gi-hun.”
“GIVE IT BACK!” Your voice, slightly breaking this time.
“Not until you admit it. What you truly want. Who you belong to.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, your mouth fell with each breaking breath.
“I don’t belong to you.”
The statement sliced through both of you like a knife, every word hitting harder and harder. You noticed his body frozen, stiff, unmoving, but his eyes were. His eyes were ablaze. Burning.
For a beat, he was still. Didn’t say a word. The only sound in the room was the slight hum of the overhead lights, the slight sound of the rain pouring down outside.
His expression had hardened from his usual amused and smug self to one of something more dark. Sinister. Untamed.
“What. Did. You. Say?” His voice whispered, low in a growl, sending the hairs on the back of your neck to stand.
“I said,” You repeated, tilting your chin higher, glaring into his eyes. “I don’t fucking belong to you.”
That was all it took.
He spun around and stormed to the bed, yanking a pillow, withdrawing the gun from under it, doing so with a smooth motion. His face remained as calculating and cold as ever. He waved it around, twirled it, and flipped it, as if it were anything but a weapon.
“Sit," he said, pointing the gun at the chair across the room. “Sit down. Now.”
You didn’t move. Your pulse was pounding in your chest, your brain was screaming at you to move, to do something, but your body strained in defiance.
“I said. SIT,” He repeated, the anger in his voice rising.
His fingers remained curled around the trigger, but he was in no hurry. He loved this, loved the power he had over you. The control of it. You still didn’t sit. Your legs felt like stone, but would not show even a hint of weakness.
“SIT. OR I’ll MAKE YOU!”
“Not. A. Chance.”
The gun never wavered. Neither of your stance. The air was thick with tension, each breath was heavy with the words they had not yet spoken. Your body shook, but you tried desperately to hold your ground, locking eyes with him.
The Salesman did not move either, his gun was now pointed at you. He wasn’t flinching, wasn’t budging. But you were not going to give up, either. Ignoring the burning in your belly, you took a step toward him, closing the distance.
“Pull the trigger. I doubt you’ll do it. After all you said you wanted me as yours,” Your voice was laced with defiance.
The words hung, a challenge, a dare, in the air between them. For a moment he didn’t react, didn’t even move, his eyes were still boring into yours with that weird calm. The tension crackled like electricity, each testing the other’s resolve.
Without a second thought, the Salesman pulled the trigger.
You heard the gunshot ring out and felt your body snap with the force of the bullet. The burning sensation of the pain was now coursing through you, but there was no time to process it. Your blood welled from your stomach, causing you to drop to the floor, falling to your knees, your fingers clawed at the wound, trying uselessly, desperately, to hold yourself together. To stop the bleeding.
You were gasping for air, pressing your back against the wall behind you, but even through the fog of pain, your eyes were glued to his. The Salesman leaned in closer, kneeling down beside you, his presence was chilling and uneasy. That same contorted smile crept on his lips as he felt his eyes rake over your fallen form. Clearly enjoying this.
“See, Y/N?” He said, his voice was dripping with amusement. “That wasn’t too hard, now was it?”
The words slapped you across the face, and though they hurt, you somehow were able to speak, your voice was hoarse, but full of rage. “Fuck you.”
He paused, narrowed his eyes, they became more predatory, more darker. “Oh, you want me to fuck you? Well, you should have said that before I shot you.” His tone was mocking you.
Immediately your gaze looked down to the blood pooling on the floor. He reached out, his finger brushing some of your face out of your face. The touch was cold, nearly clinical, as though he was admiring what he did to you. To see how you were reacting to this. He left his fingers a moment too long against your skin as he slowly stood up, relishing in how you looked in pain.
You heard a loud scraping sound, forcing you to look up, he got a chair and pulled it across the room, the sound of the legs were breaking the silence. He set it down opposite you and sat down in a relaxed posture, like he was just waiting for you to break. Ready for the next round of his so called games. He settled his hands on his knees, and tilted his head a bit.
“You’re not broken yet, but you will be,” He murmured, in a predatory low growl. “And when you are, you’ll thank me for that.”
With that, he relaxed into the chair more comfortably, keeping eye contact on you, his smile widening just a little more. You could hardly hold your own head up, the room was starting to spin.
“Is this what you wanted?” You spat out. “To break me? To make me beg?”
“No, I don’t need you to beg. Not yet at least. But you will. Oh, you will,” His voice lowered. “And when you finally do, you will realise just how much you belong to me.”
He shifted in the chair, creaking it forward. “But right now?” He continued, walking slowly over to you. “Right now, you’re mine in every sense but the obvious one.”
He casually took a hold of your chin, and made your face look into his. “And trust me, darling,” He hissed, his voice was filled with malice. “I’m going to make you remember that. Even if it means hurting you.”
Everything around you whirled, your vision was blurring again as the bloodloss worsened, making you feel light headed.
“Stay here I’ll be back."
He walks out the door and shuts it behind him, leaving you alone, surrounded by the cold, the pain and the echos of what he said.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Pairings: Gi-hun x reader, Jun-ho x reader, Salesman x reader
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
The new safehouse is small, dimly lit, and a thick kind of silence drapes over your flesh. Gi-hun closes the door behind you & Jun-ho. Your feet softly echo on the creaking floorboards as Jun-ho snaps into action. He works methodically, going around the rooms, checking every window, everything. His eyes dart to the streetlights outside, seeing shapes fanning and flickering with every passing breeze.
“This place isn’t the most secure,” Jun-ho mutters under his breath, however loud enough for you to hear. He sighs and says more emphatically. “I’ll take the first watch. Gi-hun, you rest. We’ll switch in a few hours.”
Gi-hun looks. The fatigue is evident in each slow blink. “Got it,” he says, before glancing at you. His tone softens, something gentle. “You should sleep to Y/N. You’ve been through a lot.”
Your fingers twitch at your sides. You were doing fine until the memory of the Salesman clouded your vision, those cruel, dark eyes, that smooth, snake-like voice hissing the threats you couldn’t forget. The motel room. The needle. Him claiming you as his.
You slowly nod. “Yeah…ok,” slowly rubbing Gi-hun's cheek. “Thanks.”
He nodded back at you. “Anytime.”
You slowly went into one of the bedrooms, gently shutting the door behind you, before you collapsed on the bed. It was slightly scratchy beneath you, a creaking of springs as you moved. Gi-hun opened the door and sat down on the floor near you with a grunt, pulling his jacket tighter around his body. You listened as his breaths slowed and evened out.
“You can come and lie with me if you want.” You softly say.
Gi-hun glances up at you, shaking his head slightly. “It is no problem, Y/N, I would rather be on the floor.”
Your hand gently rubs his shoulder. “Please….for me.”
He laughs, standing up, smiling at you. A genuine smile. “You won’t stop this, will you?”
You pat the spot next to you, smiling back. “What do you think?” you say in a teasing manner.
Gi-hun shakes his head before climbing onto the bed next to you. Immediately, you cuddle up to him, causing him to go tense for a moment. His arms gently rubbing circles on your back, making you drowsy.
“I miss this,” Gi-hun whispers. “I wish you were never a part of this life.”
“It isn’t your fault. You didn’t know that sadist prick would have had a crush on me,” You giggle, before gently giving Gi-hun a peck on his lips.
Gi-hun rubs a hand through your hair. “I know that, I just am scared of what he will do to you.”
“Please don’t worry about me. I want you, not him. I will always want you, Gi-hun.”
He gently cups your face in his before kissing you. It isn’t rough and dominant like the Salesman's. This time, it is soft, warm, and comforting.
He pulled back and smiled down at you. “Goodnight, my love.”
“Goodnight, Gi-hun.”
You turn your head and look at the ceiling. Trying to distract yourself. But it doesn’t work. Every time you blink, you risk being dragged back into the Salesman’s world. A chill runs down your spine. Knowing that he was waiting for you.
After a while, the fatigue takes over you, causing you to eventually fall asleep.
Warmth. A familiar, enticing aroma seeps into the air, penetrating your sleepy haze and slowly coaxing you. It’s comforting. Your fingertips twitch against the fabric of the bed as your mind tries to wake up. For a brief moment, you forgot where you were.
Then you hear it-
A quiet clatter of dishes, the soft sizzle of something frying.
You sit up abruptly, wiping the dry sleep from your eyes. Dim morning light pours in through the blinds, illuminating the safehouse. The air was heavy with the rich, savory smell of eggs cooking.
You get out of bed and settle your gaze on the small kitchenette, where Gi-hun stands at the stove with his back to you. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms sprinkled with slight scars. He moves with an ease that surprises you, flipping eggs in a frying pan like he’s done it a hundred times before. The sight is almost homey, domestic, a strange thing to think about with the chaos of your life.
“You…know how to cook?” Your voice is slightly hoarse with sleep, still flavoured with disbelief.
Gi-hun glances over his shoulder, and a smile breaks across his face. “What, surprised?”
You walk towards him, stretching your arms. “A little, to be honest, yeah.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he plates the food. “I had to learn, y’know. After the games, after my mother….after everything. Cooking was one of the few small ways to help me feel sane.”
You sit down at the small, rickety table, pick up the fork, and take a bite. You look up at him in real surprise. “Wow. This is… very good. Thanks, Gi-hun.”
“You're welcome,” He pulls out a chair next to you and sits down, gently rubbing circles on your hand.
“Where is Jun-ho?”
“Oh, he went out on the street to see if he could notice anyone watching us.”
You nod. “Fair enough.”
There is a moment of silence.
Gi-hun looks at you with an unreadable expression. “Do you remember the time we first met?” His voice is softer now.
You stop, the fork in your hand, as the memories wake at the back of your mind. “Yeah,” you mutter, recalling. “You looked like hell, even if you were in that suit and sexy red hair.”
He briefly laughs while shaking his head. “I felt like hell Y/N.” He drums his fingers lightly on the table. “I had just returned from when I won the games. I was confused, I didn’t know what to do with my life. Then I met you when I was-”
“When you were what?”
“When I….was chasing after him.”
You glance at Gi-hun. “Him, you mean the Salesman?”
He nodded. “Of course he got away in that goddam subway though.”
You gulp, the memories of those events flooding back to you. “Gi-hun?”
“Yes, Y/N.”
“When he…kidnapped me, he said that he watched me for a while. Do you think he saw me in the subway, you know when-”
“When I turned around to go after him, and crashed into you.”
You both laugh.
Gi-hun continued. “I mean, that would make sense.”
“Yeah, it would,” you muttered.
“I also remember after he left, you came to me.”
You smile faintly. “Well, you did drop your phone, first of all,” Saying in a teasing manner. “However, you seemed so….broken. Yet kind. Have to admit, though. I didn’t think we would end up here.”
His grin fades a little. He lets out a breath, running a hand down his face, and then goes to put that smirk back on. “Well, you know, life’s amusing like that.”
There is a pause between you both, not an awkward one. The type of silence that speaks more than words ever could.
After you finish the meal, you push your empty plate away and get to your feet. “We are going to need more food. This was good, but it won’t last us long.”
“I can go, Y/N,” Gi-hun says at once, standing up next to you.
“No,” You say quickly. “You and Jun-ho need time to rest. I’ll be fast. I’m just going to the store down the-”
Jun-ho walks in from outside. He shoots his sharp gaze between the two of you, instantly understanding what is going on. “You will need to be quick, Y/N,” he says, with a level but firm voice. “Please be careful. He could be watching.”
The gravity of his words lands in your gut.
You hesitate, then nod. “I will.”
As you walk towards the door, Gi-hun follows, halting just before stepping outside. His presence remains just behind you, warm and steady. “Remember, don’t talk to strangers,” he jokes, managing a smirk.
You manage a half-smile. “Then how would I pay for the food?”
Everyone laughs.
“I’ll be back before you know I’m even gone,” you cheerfully spoke, before lightly kissing G-hun’s cheek.
He nods, but you can see the slight flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the way his hand twitches as though he wants to stop you.
But, he doesn’t.
Instead, he stands watching you leave, and when the door finally shuts behind you, you swear you heard the slightest exhale.
The sun shines, but it doesn’t warm you. The air has a sharp bite, despite the golden light that spills on the street. You keep your hood up while walking, your pulse steady. You can keep hearing footsteps behind you, causing you to glance back, however, no one is there.
He wouldn’t come here. Not now.
Yet your eyes dart around at everyone’s passing faces, checking, waiting.
In the store, a hum of the fluorescent lights overhead cast an artificial glow on everything. The murmuring exchange of customers in the aisles is almost soothing, almost normal. You shake yourself back to the task at hand, snatching whatever you can. Vegetables, rice, and canned soup. Nothing fancy, just something to make dinner seem real, to make this whole mess feel less like a nightmare.
You pause in front of the instant coffee packets but shake your head and keep moving.
When you finally reach the counter, the cashier doesn’t even speak to you. The register beeps steadily when each item is scanned. You shuffle your feet, the weight in your chest heavier now. You don’t want to linger longer than you have to. The very second that the receipt prints, you start walking out the door, bags in hand.
The street is quieter now than it was previously.
You let out a breath and shift your grip on the bags. The weight’s awkward, however manageable, and for a moment, your mind wanders back to Gi-hun, to the way he looked at you during breakfast. The way Jun-ho was acting protective over you, like you were his little sister. The realization strikes you harder than you might anticipate.
Then-
CRASH.
You hit a solid object and fall onto your knees from the force. The bags slip from your hands, groceries cascading onto the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry,” You yelp out.
The man crouches down, deliberate and methodical. He picks up a can of soup, spinning it lazily in his fingers before handing it to you. “Well, aren’t you clumsy today…. darling.”
You stop. That voice. Smooth. Amused. That voice that has stalked your thoughts like a whispered threat.
Your breath caught in the back of your throat as your eyes shot up to meet his. The Salesman.
He helps you stand up before brushing his hands off, as if this were a casual encounter. His suit is still crisp, his tie knot perfectly aligned, not a hair out of place. That grin that makes your stomach twist is spread all over his face. His smile screams mischief, yet underneath it, something else resides, something very cold. More obsessive. Predatory.
“I didn't expect to see you here,” he says smugly, offering your bag back into your arms with gentleness. “But, I’m glad we found each other.”
You hold the bag tight against your body, fingers pushing into the brown paper bag, as if it might hold in place. Your heart pounds.
“How…how did you know where I was?” Your voice said timidly.
He shrugs his shoulders, his smirk growing even wider. “Lucky guess,” He then tilted his head. “But, did you think running away would stop me from finding you?” He lightly caresses your cheek with his finger, his eyes focusing on your lips for a moment.
“Leave me alone.”
His smile immediately disappears. Not entirely, but enough for something crueler to creep in. He yanks you towards him quickly, gripping hard on your wrist, causing you to yelp in pain.
“That is not how this works,” His voice drops, the humor gone. “You better come see me at the motel soon. I would hate to have to….”
“HATE TO WHAT?”
He puts a finger to your lips. “Shhh. There is no need to yell at me, Y/N. I am just trying to talk after all.”
“Then talk.”
“As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me,” he spat out.
The Salesman continued, leaning into your ear, whispering. “I would hate to have to kill your precious Gi-hun in front of you, you know I would. The clock is ticking.”
You swallow. Slightly shaking.
“Aw. Don’t be scared of me now.” He gently nibbles your earlobe before slowly backing up.
He turned around and hopped into a black limo. He shut the door, not before rolling the window down, causing it to hiss smoothly.
He put a finger in the air, slowly curling it.
You felt something twist in your gut. You didn’t want to obey. But something, fear, worry, made your feet keep moving until you were standing right there beside the open window.
“I almost forgot to ask,” He said, looking you up and down. “Could you do me a favor? Before you run back to that trash?”
You stiffened. Slowly, nodding.
He smirked. “Use your words, please.”
You swallowed hard. “Yes. What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just hit his cheek slowly with two fingers. “Kiss me, right here.”
You blinked at him. A jolt of disgust flickered through your body. You locked your jaw so tight that your teeth hurt.
“I won't bite,” He said lightly. “Well….unless you are into that sort of thing.”
You stepped closer, glaring into the Salesman’s eyes.
Then your voice became a dangerous whisper.
“If you turn your head, so I kiss your lips instead,” You threatened, eyes piercing. “I swear to fuck I will break that jaw of yours.”
He blinked, startled, then laughed low. You could tell he loved this, the way he leaned back in the leather chair, all relaxed. The way he put one leg over the other, humming slightly.
“There she is. That is the girl I know and love.”
You didn’t give him the courtesy of a reply.
Instead, you bent down and kissed his cheek quickly. There was no emotion. Distant. Calculated.
You withdrew without saying anything else, already starting to walk away when his voice followed after you.
“You only have one day left. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The moment those words reached your ears, your breath stalled.
You sprinted.
Running along the sidewalk, bags in hand, lungs on fire, the city spinning around you as your shoes slammed against the pavement. Not once did you look back.
His voice lingered with you as you finally made it to the safehouse. You stumbled into the house, slamming the door behind you, locking it with trembling hands, your chest rising and falling quickly.
Jun-ho is already on the move, his gun is half-drawn before he even registers that it is you. Gi-hun leaps to his feet, causing a chair to topple over.
“Y/N, what happened?” Gi-hun’s voice is frantic, his gaze darts over to your grazed knees.
You attempt to speak, but your breath comes too quickly. Then-
BZZZT.
A notification vibrated in your pocket.
You know who it is. Your fingers shaking, you drop the grocery bags before taking out the phone and looking at the screen.
Unknown Number: You looked stunning at the store. Can’t wait to see you again. Missing you already.
You can feel the bile rise in your throat as your fingers tightly grip the device.
Jun-ho moves closer. “What is it?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you turn the screen around to face them.
Gi-hun stares. His face goes white. Jun-ho’s face is, of course, unreadable, but his fingers twitch slightly.
“He was there,” You manage finally. “He saw me. He knew I’d be there.”
Jun-ho breathes out sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair, walking to the window, looking out into the street. “We need to leave. This place is not safe anymore.”
Gi-hun shakes his head. “And then what, Jun-ho? Run forever? He will find us again.”
Your hands clench into fists. “Then what should we do?”
A silence fills the room for a moment.
“For now, we act normal. We don’t freak out, panic. If he is watching us, we don’t show him that he got under our skin,” Jun-ho mutters.
Gi-hun nods. “Yeah. I agree. We should eat, then rest. We can figure out what to do next in the morning.”
Dinner is quiet. You eat, forcing the food down your throat. Jun-ho’s nerves are getting the better of him, he keeps glancing at the windows every few minutes. Gi-hun, normally warm, doesn’t eat at all. All he does is stare at the food.
As the plates are cleared, you don’t say anything, you just walk to the bed, pulling the blanket over you as you curl up. You clench your eyes, and eventually you manage to sleep.
You wake up suddenly, the cold sweat of a nightmare still clinging to your skin. Your heart thumped in your ears, the Salesman’s laughter echoing in your mind. It’s too much. You can’t stay here any longer, hidden away like this. You need to go. You need to face him.
You carefully sneak off the bed quietly, trying not to awaken Gi-hun or Jun-ho. You know that they will try and stop you, try and fight alongside you, but you can’t stay. Not anymore.
You get to the front door and go for the handle, then-
Gi-hun’s voice. Full of concern. “Where are you going?”
You freeze. Slowly, you turn around. Gi-hun is leaning against the bedroom door, rubbing his eyes, his face has confusion written all over it. You take a deep breath, attempting to calm your nerves.
“I’m going to the motel,” You say, your voice slightly quivering a bit. “I can’t keep hiding. I need to face him.”
Gi-hun’s brow furrowed. He starts heading your way with an urgency that only heightens the panic building. “No, you’re not going. You can’t go there alone. It is far too dangerous. We don’t even know what he’ll do.”
“I can’t keep running, he will only find me again,” Your voice more desperate now. “I can’t have you or Jun-ho die because of this. I am the one he truly wants.”
Gi-hun leans in closer, grabbing your wrist, and as soon as his hand connects, panic washes over you like a tidal wave. You know the grip all too well, all too mindful of how the Salesman would hold you.
“No…no, please…….” You start to whisper as panic begins rising. Tears are going down your cheeks.
“Y/N, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Gi-hun says, his voice shaking, but it’s too late.
Your breath comes in quick bursts as the world around you rotates. You stumble, collapsing onto the ground, everything is a swirl of movement and noise. Gi-hun is calling your name, trying to reach you, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.
Without warning, the bathroom door swings open with a long bang, startling you both. Jun-ho bursts in, alarm in his wide eyes. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?”
Gi-hun jumps, pulling his hand back from your wrist, you are still trying to catch your breath from having just had the panic attack of the century. Jun-ho’s eyes fly to you, and he doesn’t think twice before rushing to your side.
“Focus on me, okay?” His voice was low, firm. Gently placing a hand on your shoulder, steadying you. “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.”
You sense his steady presence, and bit by bit you begin to settle down, your breath evening out. Gradually, the panic leaves, making you weak and exposed but also relieved.
Gi-hun steps back and watches you worriedly. He gazes at Jun-ho, clearly conflicted. “She…she can’t be left alone. She can’t go to the motel.”
Jun-ho shakes his head, his expression hardening. “Y/N needs to face this.” He turns to you, and his tone grows softer. “You do not need to go through this alone. We can come with you.”
You hesitate, doubt creeping in once more, but deep down, you know there is no place to stop. You still need to confront the Salesman. You can’t go on like this.
“I am going alone,” You insist, firm this time.
Gi-hun sighs, running a hand over his face. “Okay. But promise me you’ll be safe.”
“I promise.”
Jun-ho shoves something small into your hands, pepper spray. “If something happens, do not be shy about using it. Understand?”
You accept it from him, nodding. “Thanks, Jun-ho.”
There’s a long pause as you slowly stand up, and the silence settles over all three of you. And at last, with one last look at Gi-hun and Jun-ho, you open the door, the cold air from outside seeping in as you step into the night.
Shutting it behind you, you breathe. It was now time for you to face him.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
Summary: After not seeing the love of your life for a few weeks, you decide to surprise him, only to find out who he truly is.
Warnings: Angst, Blood Mention, Mentions of Violence/Death, Emotional Breakdown, Moral Conflict, Physical Touch, Strong Language, Slight Smut, Fluff.
Requested by: Anon
Request link: Here
Word Count: 2,626
You’re not supposed to be here.
You have left work early, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to see him again, to do no more but feel their presence, to lift your spirits. It has been weeks of surging emptiness, far too long since you’d really laid eyes on him, too long since date nights, too long since he touched you. You missed him, you truly missed him.
Walking into the elevator with his favorite coffee in hand, patiently looking at the numbers changing as you go up the floors. You felt nervous. Did he even want to see you again? Did he lie about having a work trip that lasted several weeks? Only time will tell.
Yet, when you entered the penthouse, his penthouse, everything changed.
The air was heavy, and you couldn’t help but feel it in your chest and stomach. There was probably a reason. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.
Then you saw it.
The blood.
A dark, glistening pool, as though someone has overpainted some ink onto the pristine marble floor, spreading and spreading outwards, threatening to seep into every crack and crevice in its path.
The body.
Sprawled forward, lifeless, still twitching, like a broken puppet. His wide, glossy eyes looked out into emptiness. You could hear the running, the choking snort of a suffering man trying, failing, to draw a breath from around the deeply plunged knife, from the blood choking him out.
And then-
You saw him.
The Salesman. The love of your life.
Above the corpse, his hand still holding the hilt of the knife, his face unreadable. So controlled. Much too controlled. He was not shaken up by this even in the least. He was as steady as if what had happened were no big deal. It was almost normal for him.
You broke out into a cold sweat, trembling all over. Your legs felt as weak as jelly, but you could not look away from the sight in front of you.
You slowly lost your grip on the coffee cup, having it tumble onto the floor quite involuntarily, it made a massive crash, the contents of the dark liquid merging with the man’s blood.
That was when the Salemsan saw you.
His head snapped up, and his eyes met yours. For a moment, a split second, neither of you moved, just frozen in place.
Then-
His grin wavered. His lips couldn’t quite close, as if he was about to say something, but for once, he couldn’t find the words.
Because how on earth could he explain this?
How could he make a soothing lie, conceal the truth, or even charm his way out of such a mess?
There was no clever excuse. No smooth words. No tricks.
“Y/N,” He said, carefully, as though he was testing the waters.
You staggered back at these words. A tightening choked your chest, and panic pounded in your brain. “What the fuck?” Your voice came out trembling, shaking. “What the hell did you just do?”
The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. The sound echoed in the still silence that filled the room. He didn’t move away from the body yet. He didn’t even glance down at the mess he made. He was focused on you.
His voice had once again dropped a volume, a little more pleading this time as he repeated your name. “Y/N.”
“Don’t say my name like that.” The words came out of you, tearful, hoarse.
Like he cared about how you felt. This probably wasn’t his first time taking someone’s life.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” He mumbled. His voice was calm. Too calm.
Something inside you snapped.
“Are you kidding me?” Laughter echoed dry and bitter from deep within you. “That’s it? That I wasn’t supposed to be here?”
He breathed out gently, as though it would not be difficult to talk about this misunderstanding. “You’re in shock. I need you to breathe.”
“OH, GO FUCK YOURSELF!.” You yelled. “WHO HAVE I BEEN WITH ALL THIS TIME?”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He slowly stood up.
“No, no, no, no,” You whispered, putting your hands over your face, looking down, breath coming in short gasps, panic started to drown you. “You killed someone.”
He took a step toward you, but you shook your head, stepping back. “DON’T COME NEAR ME.”
Something moved across his face, a crack in his mask. He was bordering on desperation. The Salesman reached out for you, his fingers extended. “Y/N, listen to me -”
“No!” Your voice cracked. “Stay away from me!”
His eyes narrowed, and his tone turned cold. “I need you to calm down.”
“CALM DOWN?” Your heart was pounding. “YOU JUST KILLED SOMEONE IN FRONT OF ME! HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT ME TO CALM DOWN?”
“It’s just that I need you to understand -”
“Understand what?” Your voice was shaking, scared, and disgusted. “That the man I loved was a murderer?”
He gritted his teeth, and you felt a flicker of something float onto his face.
“You need to tell me the truth right now,” You said, your voice quivering with emotion. “Tell me what you really do for work.”
He didn’t reply for a few moments. But when he did, his voice was in the same flat tone as before.
“I find people, recruit them for these games,” He stated as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I persuade them to take part in it. If they object… I see that they don’t object for long.”
You were frozen in shock.
“And when it comes,” He continued, his eyes never once leaving yours. “I watch. I watch them play those games. Fight. Die. And once we have a victor of the games, I start all over again.”
Tears started going down your face. “That is why you were away for weeks? To watch people die in those games?”
“Yes.”
You choked out a breath, feeling the room starting to spin. “And you feel you are worthy enough to stand here now and ask me to stay?”
The answer came out immediately. “Yes.”
The finality of those words sent chills down your spine.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” You said, on the verge of tears.
At that moment. The words broke something deep inside him.
His hands clenched into fists by his sides, and his chest rose and fell. His eyes grew heavy. You saw that he was breaking.
But in the blink of an eye, that vulnerable side of him was gone. His voice became harsh. “You think you can run away from me, Y/N?”
“I have to get out of here.”
He took a step towards you, slowly. You didn't move this time.
“I love you,” He said, his voice starting to break. “I love you so much, Y/N. I haven’t changed.”
You could barely get out the words. “If you haven’t changed, that is the problem.”
A pause.
One second later, he was there in front of you. His hands gripping your wrists, clinging urgently. “You think you can leave me?”
“LET GO OF ME.”
Then he tightened his grip, his voice quieter but firm. “No.”
Tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “I can not stay with you.”
His hands trembled, just a hint of weakness. “Yes, you can Y/N.”
“I don’t want to live like this.” You begged, still trying to pull away from his iron grip. “I don’t want you anymore.”
“Then I’ll change,” He softly spoke. His hands slightly loosened on your wrists. That flash of vulnerability came back.
It made you realise that he wasn’t afraid of losing you-
He was terrified. Scared to death.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, don’t do this.”
His breath was warm against your skin. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t take this.
“I don’t… I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,” You said, your voice breaking.
A sudden shiver went through him. He pulled back enough to look into your eyes. “I won’t let you go.”
His words were clear. A warning. A promise.
You closed your eyes. “Please, let me go.”
He didn’t say anything; he gently let you go, looking down at the ground. His body was shaking violently.
Before he could grab you again, you ran.
You didn’t care what you left behind, didn’t care what chaos you just caused.
You just ran to the elevator.
“Y/N COME BACK.” His voice calling your name trailed back to your ears, quickly swallowed by the doors closing.
You had already disappeared.
The night air was so cold that it seemed to slice through you. You sprinted down the city streets in the pouring rain, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your heart was pounding, not from exhaustion, but from what you just witnessed.
You have left. You were gone.
The world whizzed by you, neon lights, laughter, and life going on as if you hadn’t just walked away from the only person who had ever made you feel complete.
Your limbs felt numb as you arrived home, but home no longer seemed to belong to you. By the time you reached inside, your knee gave way, and you fell upon the couch, hiding your face in your hands.
You should feel free.
But instead, all you felt was a hollow, empty weight pressing in upon you.
Hours passed, or maybe even more. You weren’t sure. Sleep would not come. Your brain wouldn’t stop thinking about him.
Then-
Knock!
You sat up, glancing at the door.
Knock!
No. It couldn’t be him. You stayed still, trying hard not to make any noise. Hoping whoever was knocking would soon leave. But shortly afterward-
Knock.
This one was softer than before.
You exhaled a breath, slowly, slid from the couch toward the door. Your fingers brushed against the handle.
You should not have opened it.
But you did.
And there he was.
You gripped the doorframe so forcefully that your knuckles ached. Every single muscle in your body was telling you to shut the door, to end this.
The Salesman, who was always so nicely dressed and held himself together at all times, now stood before you like a man who had lost everything.
His suit was soaking wet from the rain. His hair, generally neatly combed back, was now disheaveled. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen, begging for mercy.
Clutching roses in his hands. So many it was impossible to count. It was like he’d been to a florist and walked out with every rose in the store.
“Please, His voice broken. “I don’t know what else I can try.”
You swallowed hard. “Go home.”
He flinched at those words.
“Y/N-”
“I mean it,” Your voice wobbled, however your conviction was still there. “I don’t want this anymore.”
His fingers shook lightly around the bouquet. “Please, don’t say that.”
“Why not? Because it’s not what you wish to hear?”
“Because it isn’t true.”
When he said that, it felt like your heart got pierced with a knife.
You shook your head and backed up enough that you could close the door.
But as you did so-
His hand shot out, catching the door.
“Please,” His voice became desperate now. “Don’t shut me out.”
You clenched your jaw. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I love you Y/N.”
You closed your eyes, your breath catching in your throat.
He swallowed hard, gripping the doorframe tighter. “Because I don’t know how to live without you.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Your voice was trembling. “You’re good at pretty much everything.”
“Not this.” His voice breaking. “Not when it involves you.”
He did not try to force his way inside your home. He just stood there, drenched, weighed down with too many roses and too many regrets.
“I know that I don’t deserve someone like you,” His lips parted. “But I can’t- I can’t do this without you.”
Your heart clenched.
But stil, you shook your head. “Love isn’t enough.”
“It must be.”
“It isn’t.”
You pushed the door again, this time with more force-
But before you could, his grip on the frame only got tighter, his whole body shaking.
“Tell me you don’t love me,” He spoke in a whisper. “Tell me, and I’ll leave you alone. You won’t ever see me again.”
You wanted to say it. It would be simple. But you couldn’t get your lips to shape the words.
And that silence answered him.
A strangled sound escaped him, and suddenly he fell to his knees.
The roses made a mess on the floor, his forehead pressed to the wood, hands clutching the frame.
Then-
He sobbed.
Not just a quiet one. Not just a tremble.
A gut-wrenching wail.
The force of it shook his whole body. Hiis breath split apart. His shoulders shaking as he fell apart in front of you.
You stood frozen. You had never seen him like this. Not even close. He never even cried near you before.
Your heart twisted painfully.
You still had enough room to shut the door. You should. He did murder someone only a few hours ago.
But instead, your body took over. You stepped forward. Slowly.
And then, without saying a word, you sat down beside him.
He sucked in a breath when you touched him, fingers lightly touching his back.
His eyes met yours, then in one motion he clung to you.
His arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush into his shaking form, his cries ripped from him. His face was in your shoulder, all you could feel was his tears going down your back.
“I-I tried-” His voice broke. “I tried to forget about you- but I can’t- I can’t-”
You couldn’t push him away. You should. But instead, you held him closer.
Your hands clasped around the back of his neck, fingers going through his hair as you whispered. “Shh. I know. I know.”
His hold on you slightly loosened but his tears still flowed the same.
“I don’t know how to do this,” He gasped.
“It’s ok. We will figure it out. Alright.” Your voice was gentle.
The rain continued to fall outside. The roses dropped, at your feet.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, his sobs calmed down. He didn’t stop clinging to you though, if anything he tightened it.
His fingers slid up your back in a way that made heat bloom in your chest. His mouth lightly grazed your collarbone.
“I love you,” He said softly.
You leaned back, just enough to look into his eyes. His eyes werre still full of pain, still bloodshot. But now you could something else, something warmer.
“I love you too.”
His breath stuttered. Before you could say another word, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss wasn’t the usual rough, dominating kiss you remembered. No this one was soft, warm, giving you comfort.
You lightly tugged on his hair, causing a low groan to escape from deep in his chest. Their hands framed your face, thumbs gliding over your cheeks.
At last, when he slowly pulled away, his forehead remained against yours.
A shaky laugh escaped him, “I must look terrible.”
You brushed a lingering tear from his cheek. “Oh trust me, you do.” You giggle back.
He huffed. “And you still love me?”
“Hmmm, somehow,” You teased.
He rolled his eyes, smiling, “Lucky me.”
You stood up, gently helping him get back on his feet.
“Please don’t lie to me again.”
His smile faded. A flash of guilt crossed his face.
Then, he nodded.
“No more lies,” he whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I promise.”
And this time, you truly believed him.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one-shot request, it took me ages to write it out, so I apologise if it wasn't perfect. If you have any requests for one-shots or series feel free to ask me. My requests will be open for the time being.
Pairings: Gi-hun x reader, Jun-ho x reader, Salesman x reader
Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?
Warnings: Blood & Gore, Mention of Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, Strong Language, Dark Flirting/Mind Games, Dubious Consent (Dubcon), Obsession, Stalking
Jun-ho slowed down the car, switching it off. He got out of the car and rushed to your side, gently helping you out as you winced in pain. The pain only worsened out of the vehicle, bruises forming all over your skin.
You both wandered down an alleyway, your pulse in your eardrums, and all you could hear was the breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The weight of what had just happened hung heavily around you. Still being able to feel the fingers of the Salesman trailing over your skin, remembering his dark voice, which further proved how much control he truly had.
Beside you, Jun-ho was holding onto your arm tightly but not unkind, urging you to push as well as embodying a protectiveness over you. Though fatigue and fear weighed on you strongly, a slight sense of relief grew. You weren’t alone; you felt safe, comforted. You haven’t felt like this for a while. Not since you were with him. The Salesman.
After what felt like an eternity, Jun-ho stopped at a building, a nondescript safehouse nestled between warehouses. It was very well hidden. Jun-ho knocked three times, sharp and quick, before pausing to add another two knocks.
The door opened slowly, seeing Gi-hun sticking his head out. His eyes captured surprise, he looked almost relieved.
“Y/N?”
Hearing his voice made your heart skip a beat. You haven’t seen him in days, and hearing his voice again, seeing his face again, took away all of your nerves.
Without time to think, you are prepared to move forward; the pull toward Gi-hun was too urgent to try and resist. But before you could take a step closer, Gi-hun had already swept forward, catching you in his warm embrace.
“Y/N!” His voice broke with a soft, vulnerable tremor. “Are you okay? Please, I need to know if you are alright.”
You tried to answer, but instead a ragged sob came out. It has been hours, hours of feeling nothing other than fear, anger, that built everything up within you until finally breaking through. Your knees gave way, and you felt yourself pulled closer, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you to hold you as close as possible, as if Gi-hun was afraid you might slip away if he let you go.
For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
His embrace engulfed you, his sturdy body pressed against yours, and you were soaked in his warmth and succumbed subconsciously. The familiar scent of him spread through you, it was healing. It made you feel safe. Completely makes you forget about the looming man trying to find you.
You felt his hands trembling, not knowing if this was actually real. It felt too good to be real.
“I’ll be fine.” Your voice was a mere whisper. “I’m here now.”
That only made Gi-hun pull you tighter into his chest, his face now buried in your hair so he could absorb every little bit of you. You could feel the way his body shook from his head to foot, how you could feel a slight dampness to your hair from his tears.
“I am sorry- I will never let him do this to you again,” he whispered, his voice husky and low.
You could hear the fear that mingled through his words, the brute, uncensored emotion that he used. Gi-hun, who had lost so much and had to fight so hard for survival. To live. But you were finally back. Here in his arms. The realization of what he had almost lost crushed him.
“I thought he- thought he would of-,” he grieved, a sob breaking in his voice.
“Shhh…” you murmured softly, patting his back, your voice soothing him. “We won’t let that happen, Gi-hun.”
His body shivered, still quaking with emotion that had long been suppressed. He slowly brought you inside while Jun-ho locked the door behind you both. You brought your thumbs up to his eyes, gently wiping the tears from his eyes. You noticed that his eyes were glossy, and his voice, barely a whisper, spoke again.
“I truly appreciate having heard that from you,” he replied softly, resting his head on your shoulder.
Both of you remained frozen, for countless moments, there was nothing but the sound of breathing as you clung to each other.
Then with a jolt, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, brushing his fingers on your face with affection that made your heart wince.
“I’m glad we found you,” he said, his voice filled with relief. “We are here for you now.”
The words soothed you like nothing else, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself in the moment.
“Thanks for never giving up on-”
RING.
The phone in your pocket rang, causing you to jump. A sudden reminder that this nightmare was far from over.
Gi-hun’s face shifted abruptly, his gaze hardening as soon as he saw that it was an unknown caller on the screen. Their attention went back to you, rubbing your hand to make sure you are ok, while Jun-ho carefully took the phone from you.
Jun-ho accepted the call and then switched it to speakerphone. At once, the all too familiar, dark, mocking voice came through the line.
“Hello, darling. How has my girl been?” The Salesman's voice made you freeze to the bone.
Gi-hun clenched his fists, his body tensing at the sound of the voice that had haunted not only his life, but yours too. He looked at the phone as if he was ready to attack.
You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the bile of nausea that rose in your throat. “What do you have to say?” you demand, your voice sharp and fierce even if fear made its way to your chest.
His laugh filled the room, it was low and ominous. “You know exactly what I want, Y/N. You have always known,” there was a slight pause. “Why don’t you be a good girl and come back to me. You know I can make it worth your while.”
“Not fucking happening,” you struck back. “I am not playing your stupid games anymore. Find another victim to pleasure yourself with.”
“Aw, come on, you most certainly are,” he cooed. “You always play, whether you want to admit it or not. Otherwise….why do I still taste you on my lips?”
Everything in the room seemed to come to a standstill.
You noticed Gi-hun’s face contorted with anger. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, however, the Salesman’s voice interrupted him.
“She never told you, Gi-hun, did she?” The tone in which the Salesman spoke was almost too casual. “In that case, I guess I’ll let you into our little secret. Lucky guy you are though, those lips feel-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Gi-hun yelled.
“Aw, am I hitting a nerve? I wouldn’t want to ruin a lovely couple’s relationship,” he said in a teasing manner.
Gi-hun’s eyes immediately locked onto yours. You were shaking from the grief of what just happened, you couldn’t lose Gi-hun. You truly loved him. He was good for you. He was your rock.
“Y/N? Is this true? Did you kiss him?” Gi-hun said softly.
You broke out in a small sob, looking down. “Yes.”
The room was silent apart from the Salesman chuckling in the background. Clearly enjoying this.
“I had to do it, Gi-hun, otherwise he would of-”
“OTHERWISE WHAT Y/N?”
Jun-ho narrowed his eyes. Before you could say anything else, he intervened. “Otherwise, he would have seen me,” Jun-ho said. “Remember when I called you at the restaurant, he nearly saw me, so Y/N kissed him. It gave me enough time to leave unharmed.”
“I’m sorry, Gi-hun.” You start to sob out.
“I forgive you, my love,” Gi-hun whispered while gently kissing your forehead.
You heard the Salesman sigh. “If only that stupid detective wasn’t there. No matter. I’m on my way, darling. I’ll see you soon.”
The call abruptly ended with the faintest click.
“Damn,” Gi-hun said hoarsely, his face getting more angry by every second.
“Y/N,” Jun-ho murmured. He gently took hold of your hand. “He’s tracking you.”
“WHAT, HOW?” you yelled in fright.
“He said that he is on his way. Think Y/N, was there ever a time when he could have placed a tracker on you?”
Both Gi-hun and Jun-ho looked at you. Think, Y/N think. Then, like a flood, it came to you. “He drugged me, he put a needle in my neck after he-”
“Let me have a look. Alright,” Jun-ho gently interrupted. He pushed some of your hair away from your neck. His eyes flickered down to a tiny device beeping a red light beneath your skin. “I see it.”
Automatically, you raised your hand to touch your neck, and then froze, feeling a slight bump.
With dawning horror, Gi-hun’s eyes widened. “That fucking bastard,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Jun-ho stormed to the kitchen, coming back with a knife. “This is going to be very painful. I’m sorry, Y/N,” he cautioned you, yet his hands were very steady.
Bracing yourself, you cuddled into Gi-hun’s side, tightly holding his hand.
“It’s fine. Just get it over and done with,” you muttered.
Jun-ho carved a precise line into your neck, the sharp sting making you gasp as the skin opened. Your whole body shook with discomfort.
After a tense moment, he held out a tiny flashing tracker up for Gi-hun and you to see, Jun-ho pulled it from your neck.
Without hesitation, Gi-hun slammed it on the ground before crushing the device under his heel.
Jun-ho gave you a plush towel. “Here, use this to help with the bleeding.”
You carefully put the towel around your neck. “Thanks.”
After a nod, he said in an urgent voice. “We need to go. Now," walking to the door, making sure the Salesman wasn’t already outside. “It is clear.”
Gi-hun reaches out to gently have your hand in his. You both stood up and followed.
Once you all got outside, the cool night air hit you. For a moment you were thrown back into the urgency of this situation, racing down the narrow alleys towards a parked car. It was an old sedan that blended in well with the night. Jun-ho was already getting in the front seat, scanning through the street with deep concentration.
He rolled down the window.
“Get in,” Jun-ho told Gi-hun and you, in his flat tone of voice.
Gi-hun helped you get in the backseat before climbing in after you, shutting the door after himself. The car started up as soon as he did, the engine roaring to life. He glanced over at you, hands tightening on the steering wheel. The tires screeched as Jun-ho floored it, sending them speeding through the dark streets.
Your pulse was like a hammer against your ribs, the nerves were getting the better of you. Every time you passed a shadow, your heart skipped a beat, making you brace for something. Him. The Salesman. It felt like he was still watching you.
No one spoke for a long time. The only thing that was heard in the car was the sound of its motor, and everyone’s attempt to steady their breathing.
“We’re going to another safehouse,” Jun-ho finally broke the silence, his grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles turning white. “One that shouldn’t be compromised.”
Gi-hun gave your hand a little squeeze. His touch was warm, helping you focus amidst all this chaos. “You’re ok, right?” He was gentle but full of concern.
You nodded, although the weight of everything still sat on you. “I’ll be alright. Let’s just get to the next location.”
Gi-hun gently rubbed circles on your hand, all of his focus was on you. Ensuring you feel safe. But then Jun-ho’s phone vibrated.
Jun-ho glanced at the phone. “Shit,” he cursed before snatching it from the dashboard. His expression immediately darkened.
“What?” Gi-hun demanded, leaning forward.
Instead of an answer, he gave the phone to you.
Your stomach turned as you saw the words flashing across the screen:
Movement detected
You tapped the message, pulling up the live CCTV feed.
The screen flickered. For a moment, everything looked normal, exactly how you left it.
Then, motion.
In the background you noticed a shadow darken.
You inhaled sharply, knowing full well who it was.
The Salesman stepped on screen, his walk was unrushed. He was not searching, He knew you were gone. He was enjoying what he was doing.
Your blood ran cold as his dark eyes turned on you, his attention diverted to the camera, where Gi-hun and you were watching.
That slow smile flickered across his lips. Before he raised a hand-
And waved.
The movement was casual, as if this was some kind of game, as if he knew you were watching.
You recoiled, sharply breathing.
But he wasn’t finished, not even close.
The Salesman’s hand lowered slowly and he crouched slightly; when he straightened, something gleamed in his grip. It was a knife. Not just any knife. The knife Jun-ho used to remove the tracker.
The blood was still there, partly dried in dark streaks along the steel.
And then-
You gasped as he slowly brought the blade to his mouth.
Time seemed to slow down as he ran his tongue along the edge, licking away the blood. Your blood. You noticed his eyes closed as he did it, savouring every moment.
Shivering, you shoved the phone into Gi-hun’s hand and backed up against the seat.
Gi-hun shook, his whole body showed anger.
The Salesman smiled again, placing the knife in his suit pocket. Then, without breaking eye contact with the camera, he reached into his jacket again, took out a gun-
And fired.
The screen went to black.
“He….” Your voice was barely audible. “He kept the knife.”
Jun-ho placed the phone back on the dashboard, a thunderous look on his face. “He’s playing with us.”
Gi-hun sank his face into his hands. “That creep.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” you whispered in a faint voice, hugging yourself.
You saw the way his eyes had followed that knife, the way he tasted it, the way he had cherished it.
It was more than an obsession. This was ownership.
Suddenly, you have never felt so hunted in your entire life.
As Jun-ho made it on a highway, your phone rang again, deafening the tense silence of the car.
All three of you stiffened, you fished the phone out and glanced at the screen. Your face was tense.
It was him.
“Guys, it is him,” your voice was shaking.
Gi-hun clicked accept on the phone. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU-”
But he couldn’t say more.
“Aww..,” The Salesman’s voice was like silk. “I just missed you.”
Your breath hitched.
“Although, I guess that should be reserved for Y/N instead.”
His voice went even lower, even more upfront and intimate.
Gi-hun’s fists clenched. “You-”
But you made yourself answer before he could. “What do you want?”
The response was a chuckle, drawn out as if savouring your distress.
“So fierce,” he observed. “No hello? No how have you been? You are hurting my feelings, love.”
You bit your lips so hard that they turned white.
“But then,” he sighed. “I guess you’re still a little traumatized from the…. tracker.”
He continued. “Let me guess, that trash detective, Jun-ho, found it. But I almost forgot- I should thank you.”
Your pulse hammered in your throat.
“Thank me for what?” You asked.
A pleased sound came from him. “Why for the gift, of course.”
“....What gift? I never gave you a gift.”
Silence.
“The knife darling,” he cooed. “The one with the delicate drops of blood belonging to you. You taste nearly as sweet as you look.”
Your stomach turned.
Gi-hun flew into a fury. “You’re a sick-”
The Salesman interrupted. “Now, now; don’t make this ugly Gi-hun.”
Jun-ho’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. “What do you want?”
A quiet hum is heard.
“I want to see her.”
Gi-hun’s grip tightened on your fingers. “No chance.”
“Jealous?” The Salesman teased.
Gi-hun fumed with trembling breaths.
“We’ll meet at the same motel where that first game was played.”
You froze.
First game. Russian Roulette.
The night Gi-hun played against him, desperate and sweating under the dim motel lights. The night you had stepped in, changing everything.
“Pretty fitting, huh?” The Salesman sounded pleased with himself.
You swallowed hard. “And if I don’t come?”
There was a pause.
Then the most cruel detached answer-
“Then I will ensure Gi-hun and Jun-ho die in front of you.”
The air froze. Gi-hun took a long, shaking gasp. Jun-ho’s teeth clashed together.
“How can I be sure that you won’t set a trap for me?”
“Oh, darling.”
Gentle. He sounded too gentle.
“If I’d had it in my mind to take you again…”
A shiver ran down your spine.
“... I would have already done it.”
Your stomach sank.
“You’ve got two days,” he continued as if it was nothing. “If you come during that time, I won’t harm you, my dear.”
You knew he was probably lying.
He thought his next words over a bit, then gently said, “However, it was my plan to make you suffer for escaping me…”
Your hands shook in fright.
“But, hmmm, I think Jun-ho more fits that title.”
Jun-ho tensed up, speeding up.
The Salesman heaved a very long breath. “After all, he slowed me down. Can’t have that now can we?”
Your pulse was now thundering in your ears.
The Salesman was not finished.
“And maybe if I'm lucky you can lie on my chest again.”
That was enough to make Gi-hun go crazy.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH-” The Salesman was just chuckling in the background.
“Does that bother you Gi-hun? Knowing how much your precious Y/N wants me.”
Gi-hun dropped his head and concentrated on the floor before him. His jaw clenched.
You had to make yourself breathe. “Why are you doing this?”
“I thought that was obvious Y/N.”
You curled your fingers into the hem of your shirt. “Just say it.”
Nothing but silence.
Then-
“Because I like you.”
You were trembling.
“You now belong to me,” he said decisively. “I’m just trying to help you reach your full potential.”
Gi-hun gives you a worried look, tears forming in your eyes.
“You don’t even know what you’re capable of. I want to help.”
Your teeth grinded together. “I’ll never belong to you.”
Another laugh.
“Oh, honey.” he said in a teasing manner. “We’ll see about that.”
You couldn’t breathe.
“You know what you need to do.” His voice sounded way too sweet, kind. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
The line went dead.
“I must go,” you whispered.
Gi-hun turned to you, his eyes filled with fear. “No. No you don’t-”
Tears burned your vision. “I don’t want to die,” you spat out. “And there is no fucking way that I am letting you or Jun-ho get hurt because of my actions.”
Gi-hun’s face fell in agony.
In the suffocating quiet of the car, one thing was certain.
The Salesman was waiting.
A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.
