Such a small but lovely detail I’ve noticed about Sangwoo.
Sangwoo never spoke informally to Gihun.
He always referred to Gihun as “Hyung” no matter the circumstance, even if he was trying to avoid him, angry at him, frustrated, sad or on the verge of killing him, he always called him Hyung, his mouth naturally calling his name in respect, even if he tries to deny the attachment he has to Gihun, the person he grew with, the person who he considers family, a loved one, and someone he so deeply cares about that his body unconsciously cares for him, unable to detach from him. He can’t deny how much he truly cares for him, even if he is bloody, he knows just how deeply their relationship runs, and how much it affects him in turn. The boy infront of him was once a kid just like him, both playing games and laughing with each other, both now sharing mothers, and now sharing wounds.
He’ll always be that little boy that played squid game with his hyung and lost, the two little kids who would run to their mothers for food, but like he said. “Nobody is calling us anymore” the bitter truth of their twisted lives now, their childhood tainted with blood.
₊‧꒰ warnings ꒱ ‧₊˚ soft dom!sang-woo ۶ৎ age gap ۶ৎ s1 spoilers ۶ৎ nsfw 18+ . . . headcanons ˚₊˙⋆ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊. ˚₊‧꒰ note ꒱ ‧ i was trying to be realistic so…
PRE-GAME
۫ ꣑ৎ he takes you to meet his mother early on—this is huge, considering sang-woo is a private person, and his mother is the only family he has. so if you meet her, it means he sees a future with you. she adores you, treating you like the daughter she never had.
۫ ꣑ৎ your parents simply love him. they can’t believe their child is dating a graduate from seoul national university. it doesn’t even matter that he’s a few years older than you—they brag about him constantly. “he’s a genius,” they tell their friends. “successful, hardworking. polite, too.”
۫ ꣑ৎ if you don’t like him smoking, he promises to cut back. never smokes in your presence, doesn’t lets the scent cling to his clothes when he comes home to you. he’s careful about it, rinsing his mouth before kissing you. if you catch him sneaking a cigarette on a particularly bad day, he sighs and stubs it out before you even have to say anything.
۫ ꣑ৎ sang-woo thrives on intellectual conversations, especially enjoys debating with you, because he finds your mind fascinating.
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including your relationship. sang-woo holds himself to an impossibly high standard, and sometimes, that extends to you—he doesn’t mean to be critical, but he has expectations, and when they aren’t met, he gets frustrated. he learns, over time, to be gentler with you, to let go of the idea that everything needs to be perfect.
۫ ꣑ৎ chronic insomniac. but if you’re beside him, if your hand is resting on his chest or your leg is tangled with his, he sleeps a little easier. on nights when sleep won’t come, he watches you instead.
۫ ꣑ৎ occasionally gifts you with expensive jewellery, but nothing gaudy. real gold and diamonds—elegant in their simplicity. he prefers to see you in things with longevity that won’t lose their value. doubles as an investment piece, not just accessories.
۫ ꣑ৎ no matter how busy he is, sang-woo never forgets important dates. your birthday, your anniversary, even the day you first met. he never brings it up in advance, but he always has something special planned.
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s disciplined, wakes up at the same time every day, drinks his coffee black, works for hours without rest. but for you, he bends—just a little. if you want to sleep in, he lets you, only sighing fondly when you roll over and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. “five more minutes,” you moan, and against his better judgment, he stays.
۫ ꣑ৎ not outwardly possessive, but he is a bit controlling. he won’t tell straight up dictact who you can and can’t see, but he will casually criticise them if he thinks they’re a bad influence. he won’t demand your location either, but will insist that you check in with him, just so he “knows you’re safe.”
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s very reliable (until he isn’t) at first, he’s the perfect lover. calls when he says he will, never forgets your birthday or anniversary, handles things efficiently. but as his debts mounts and pressure builds, there’s a certain tightness in his jaw when money is mentioned. he won’t talk about it. he won’t let you in.
POST-DEBT
۫ ꣑ৎ not emotionally available, prefers to keep things bottled up. when sang-woo is stressed, he withdraws into himself.
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s haunted; the investment failure eats him alive. gradually becomes distant, distracted, and hates when you ask questions about his finances. sang-woo lies—first to you, then to himself—because the truth is unbearable.
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s frustrated at himself, but it manifests in other ways—he snaps over small things, withdraws from conversations, goes through more cigarettes per day.
۫ ꣑ৎ still tries to take care of you. he won’t let you pay for things, even if he can’t afford them. he’ll miss meals before letting you notice that money is tight. his pride is too big to let you see how bad things have gotten.
۫ ꣑ৎ he hates that you don’t leave; he wants to tell you to go. you should be with someone who isn’t drowning in debt and in constant fear of the police. but he can’t bring himself to say it. instead, he avoids you, keeps you at arm’s length.
۫ ꣑ৎ if you ever found out about his debt, the man would break down—nobody is supposed to know. not his mother, especially not you. if you find out and don’t leave? he’ll be both relieved and devastated, because you should leave. and yet you don’t.
۫ ꣑ৎ he debates leaving you “for your own good.” he genuinely thinks you’d be better off without him. if you catch onto his self-destructive tendencies and reassure him that you want to be here, he just stares at you like he doesn’t understand why.
NSFW
۫ ꣑ৎ not the type to outright deny you, but when he’s teasing, it’s in an excruciatingly nonchalant manner. he’s busy, he says, without even looking up from his laptop. too much work, too little time—yadda yadda. he makes you wait, makes you impatient, until he finally shuts his laptop and pins you to the mattress as if he hadn’t been ignoring you for the past hour.
۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t experiment much, because he knows what works and doesn’t see a reason to change it. but if you want to try something, he won’t shut it down, either. he’ll simply raise an eyebrow, consider it for a second, and say, “if that’s what you want.”
۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t talk much in bed, but because he doesn’t see the point. he’s focused, too busy paying attention to you to bother with unnecessary words. at most, you’ll get quiet groans, maybe a low, approving hum if you’re particularly responsive.
۫ ꣑ৎ mostly vanilla sex. no elaborate kinks, except for the occasional bondage using ties (but it’s more for effect). he likes routine, and that applies to the bedroom too. sang-woo knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to get the reaction he wants out of you.
۫ ꣑ৎ when he’s stressed though, he gets rough; burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he’s trying to forget everything else.. not intentional, just a byproduct of the pressure he’s under. afterward, when he realises how rough he was, he’s gentle again—hands smoothing over your skin, lips pressing on your temple as an apology.
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a soft dom!!!! and you’re his pillow princess, whether you intended to be or not. he prefers to the one doing the work.
SQUID GAME
۫ ꣑ৎ he’s shocked to see you there. horrified, even. sang-woo was ready to do what it takes to win, but you weren’t supposed to be here.
۫ ꣑ৎ will not let you slow him down. sounds cruel, but sang-woo is in survival mode. he will help you, but only as long as it doesn’t jeopardise him.
۫ ꣑ৎ if it comes down to a split-second decision—you or him—sang-woo doesn’t want to think about what he’ll choose.
۫ ꣑ৎ tells himself he doesn’t afford to love you under the deadly circumstances. but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is you.
pic creds to AESTHCORE_276 on pinterest
fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
this piece was drawn for a zine. I love how much stuff I put into it. There are many different symbolic meanings - you can guess if you want. I could write them out, but I'm lazy, lol
pairing: perv!sang-woo x fem!reader
summary: it's the ones you least expect that will pray on you.
warnings: implied but undescribed smut, manipulation, sexual coercion, perversion, dark themes, age gap (legal! reader in early 20s), naïve reader, father figure as a manipulation tactic.
word count: 0.9k
sang-woo sat on the edge of your bunk bed. he followed you back into the hall after the end of the first game, red light green light, without realising, so focussed on your little frame that trembled at every bark of the guards. even now he was towering over your little frame as he sat beside you. he settled into the silence between you. normally he enjoyed silence, but he didn’t want it with the pretty stranger he’d just taken an interest in.
but he didn’t take it personally. you’d each witnessed so many bullets pierce over half of the bodies you’d woken up in the hall with earlier this morning, so it wasn’t surprising that you weren’t feeling chipper.
he glanced down at your lap. your fidgeting hands were trembling, and he wondered if the blood on your skin was yours. he didn’t really care either way, but he wanted you to think he did. so he took your discarded jacket from under your lap and wiped your hands as clean as he could get them.
he didn’t want to stain his own jacket with the blood of strangers.
when he finished doting on you, he hooked your jacket over the side of the bed and only then did he notice the blood on his own hands. it certainly wasn’t his, so he quickly checked your head was still hung before wiping his palms on your jacket, too.
sang-woo then leaned back beside you.
“hey,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t care if you heard him.
you glanced up at him and his heart nearly split in two just like that. your pupils were blown wide, eyebrows knitted together with your bottom lip pouted out. “yes, mister?” he barely caught the squeak of your frightened little voice.
he didn’t fight the urge to scooch closer and wrap an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. “it’s alright, it’s over now. you’re okay,” he cooed, heat rushing into your skin as he rubbed your arm comfortingly.
you immediately melted under his touch and clung onto his shirt, nestling impossibly closer. “i want to go home, sir. i want to see my mother,” you cried into his chest, and he held you tighter.
“you’ll see your mother soon.” he didn’t know why he promised you, only that he did. you relaxed into his touch further and he couldn’t help but add, “i’ve got you for now, til you get home to her safe.”
he worried why you pulled away from his embrace, but his nerves eased as you gazed into his eyes like he’d promised you the world. “really, sir? you’ll look after me?”
sang-woo swallowed the lump forming in his throat. he knew it was wrong, and he blinked and looked away to try to stop it, but all he could think about was you on your knees looking up at him like this. like your saviour. like your ticket out of this nightmare.
he steadied his breathing and glanced back at you. “i will,” he agreed, and wondered if you could sense the battle in his head. so he lied, and he didn’t know why, but he settled on easing any suspicion about his motives by telling you, “you remind me of my daughter.”
your eyes widened and you rested a hand on top of his. he looked down at your entwined fingers, his comically larger than yours.
“oh, sir,” you sighed sympathetically. “you must be really worried about her.”
sang woo nodded, a tight lipped smile forming to please your concern. “yes, i…” he sighed for effect, and continued. “i worry about her a lot,” he said, and glanced from your hands to your face. “if she were in these games, i’d want somebody to be looking out for her.”
the smile spread across your face slowly, lighting up your eyes and suddenly you were glowing. sang-woo thought you looked much more beautiful like this, like you weren’t traumatised.
“just like you’re looking out for me,” you finished his thought, squeezing his hands reassuringly, as if to say you’re such a good man.
but he wasn’t. sang-woo was anything but a good man. he knew it to be true because he didn’t even have a daughter, and if he did, he wouldn’t want her running into a man like him. a man who only wanted one thing.
sang-woo didn’t let himself dwell on what he was or wasn’t. he squeezed your hand and looked you in the eye, channeling all the warmth he could feign as he told you, “why don’t you share my bunk with me tonight? i worry what the men in the room might think to do to a young girl like you when it gets dark.”
if anyone else had said it, maybe you wouldn’t have agreed. maybe you wouldn’t have said, “that’s very kind of you, mister.” and maybe then you wouldn’t have been trapped under his body when the lights went out that night.
and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be walking funny when the lights came on in the morning.
in every girl’s life, there comes a day where she learns that men with honeyed words are the ones to trust the least. but not you. the sweet words roll off sang-woo’s tongue like a river, and you drank every drop he gave you.
and every night, when the lights went off, you followed him into his bunk and believed him when he told you he only wanted to keep you safe from the dirty men in the bunks around you. that he was only making sure no man got any sick ideas about you. that he was only slipping himself inside your hole to distract you from your worries of the next games.
that he was only looking after you, just like he’d hope another man would do for his daughter.
i would let this man manipulate me any day of the week with PLEASURE !!! like, comment, and reblog please. love <3
Summary: You had supported him through everything, but when you fell sick, he couldn't save you because of debt, so he participated in the games. The blood, the violence, it was all worth it because it was all for you, but he still couldn’t save you, even after winning.
Warnings: angst, illness, death, grief/loss, mentions of violence, guilt/sacrifice, emotional distress, Sang-woo won the games in this au, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!
Word count: ~ 1.9k
The first time you met Sang-woo, it was in the bustling hallways of Seoul National University, your books pressed against your chest as he nearly toppled over you in his haste. Apologies poured out of him, flustered but composed, but it was the soft smile that followed that made you pause. You didn’t know it then, but that clumsy encounter would change both of your lives forever.
From that moment, he had become everything to you. And soon enough, you realized you were everything to him too. Sang-woo was the kind of man who always seemed in control of himself. But with you, that cool demeanor softened. He would laugh more, touch your hand absentmindedly, watch you as if you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
You supported each other through the tough years at university. His mind was brilliant—quick, sharp, and endlessly determined. It wasn’t hard to see why he was the pride of his family, the hope of his mother. He was going to do great things, you always believed that, and you reminded him every chance you got.
Sang-woo always spoke of a future where he’d be successful, where his mother would never have to work a day in her life again. And somewhere in that future—he said with a tentative smile—was you.
Years passed, and the challenges of adulthood crept in. Sang-woo’s ambitions, once so pure and noble, became entangled in desperation as he fell into debt. It started small—a few bad investments, a loan here and there, promises that he’d make it all back soon. But soon, the debts piled into something worse, a mess that loomed over both of your lives.
He had so much promise, so much potential, and you wanted to see him succeed. So when he started to falter—when the world wasn’t as kind, when the debts began to gather up, and his once-unshakable confidence began to fracture—you did what you thought any partner would do. You helped him.
You saw the way the guilt ate away at him. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well.
“I’ll pay off this part for now,” you’d told him gently, holding the bank statement in your hand. He had stared at you, his expression tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.
“No,” he had said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”
But you didn’t care about that. You knew he felt ashamed, that his pride was bleeding, but you loved him too much to let him drown. “Sang-woo,” you whispered, reaching out to place your hand over his. “I’m doing this because I want to. Because I believe in you.”
He looked at you like you were his lifeline, the only light in his darkening world. He kissed your hand and said nothing more, but no matter how much you reassured him, the guilt lingered. He began to withdraw, the weight of his mistakes crushed him.
Then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you fell ill. It started with fatigue and a persistent ache in your chest. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself that it was just stress, but when the symptoms worsened, you finally went to the hospital.
The diagnosis was a gut punch. The doctors spoke in clinical terms, but all Sang-woo heard at the moment was that it was serious. You needed treatment, the treatment was possible, but expensive.
The hospital bills mounted quickly. You had always lived sparingly, but this was different. The treatment you needed was far beyond what either of you could afford, especially with Sang-woo already drowning in debt. You had tried to remain strong, tried to reassure him even when your body weakened and the days became harder to endure.
But Sang-woo wasn’t strong. At least not in the way you were. He didn't want to put up the pretense of having a "perfect" reputation anymore, he just wanted you.
One night, as you lay in your hospital bed, pale and shivering despite the blankets covering you, he dropped to his knees beside you. He gripped your hand so tightly it hurt, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.
“I’ll get the money,” he said, his voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the man you loved falling apart. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, guilt and desperation consuming him.
“Sang-woo,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him. For both of you. “I’ll be okay... don’t do anything reckless.”
But he shook his head, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to know so well. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a lingering, desperate kiss.
“I’ll come back,” he said. “With the money. Just hold on for me.”
You wanted to believe him, but as you watched him walk away, a part of you knew that he was heading down a dangerous path.
At first, you tried to think light. You thought he had simply left to clear his head. Maybe he was meeting someone to talk about loans or some other last-ditch effort to save you. But then the days turned into weeks, and Sang-woo didn’t return.
You tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. You asked the nurses, his mother, even some of his old university friends, but no one had seen him. You didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or heartbroken. All you knew was that he wasn’t here, and you were running out of time.
The nurses came and went, offering kind smiles and gentle reassurances, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed—what you wanted—was him, by your side.
You missed his voice, his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand and promise you that everything would be okay. You told yourself that he was out there fighting for you, but as the days stretched on, doubt began to creep in.
In your quieter moments, you wondered if he’d given up on you. If the burden had become too much and he just left without a trace. But deep down, you knew Sang-woo. You knew how much he loved you, how determined he could be. He’d find a way back to you. He had to.
In your final days, you thought about him often. You tried to convince yourself that he had a plan, that he would come rushing through the hospital doors at any moment with that look on his face, telling you everything was going to be okay, that you could heal properly now. But he didn’t.
Instead, you were left with an empty chair by your bedside, your heart aching with the absence of the man you loved more than anything in the world.
On the last night, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. You whispered into the quiet room—“I just wish you were here.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. You dreamed of him one last time—of the way he smiled when you first met, of his hand in yours, of the warmth that had once filled your life.
What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was what Sang-woo was enduring.
He had entered the games through a salesman with a suitcase and a card with a number on the back. The games were a deadly competition where the stakes were higher than anything he’d ever faced. Life and death were decided in brutal, messed up versions of childhood games.
At first, he told himself he was doing it for you, for the money that could save your life. But as the games progressed, as blood stained his hands and the faces of those he’d sacrificed haunted his dreams, the lines began to blur.
How much of himself was he willing to lose to save you?
Every decision, every betrayal he made, weighed on him. He thought of you constantly, your smile a light in the darkness. When he felt the weight of his actions crushing him, he clung to the hope that he could still save you. That he could win, come back to you, and make everything right, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how much pain he had to endure, it was all for you. Because how could he call himself a man—your man—if he couldn't even keep you by his side? If he couldn't even get the money to save you and have you in his arms again, healthy and full of life?
When Sang-woo finally emerged from the games, clutching the blood money that was counted from each of the lifeless bodies of the other players, he felt hollow. His actions, the lives he’d taken, the people he’d betrayed—all of it threatened to suffocate him. But he pushed it aside. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was you.
He rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door, how you’d smile and tell him that he’d always been your hero. And for the first time since the games, he smiled. He smiled.
But when he reached your room, he froze, and everything inside him seemed to shatter.
You were still, too still. Your chest didn't rise or fall, your lips were pale, and your eyes—those eyes he had loved so much—were closed forever.
The nurse had pity in her eyes as she approached him. "I'm sorry... she passed away a few hours prior. We... we tried calling you, but..."
“No,” he choked out, he staggered to your bedside, falling to his knees onto the mattress of the bed, his hands reaching for you. “No, no, no… please, no…”
He pulled you into his arms, cradling your lifeless body as tears streamed down his face. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up. I have the money now. I did it. I got it for you. You can get better now. Please, just… open your eyes.”
But you didn't. You couldn't.
“I got the money,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I have it. We can pay for your treatment now. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay…”
Sang-woo's hand trembled as he cupped your face. Your skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. He pressed his forehead to yours, the card that contained all the prize money laid forgotten on the floor, a cruel reminder of what he had to sacrifice to save you—of the blood, the death, and the lives he had destroyed in those games. He had told himself it was all for you, that he could endure anything if it meant seeing you smile again. But now, as he held your cold body in his arms, he realized it had all been for nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with you. I thought… I thought I could save you.”
He had done everything he could to save you, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. And now, he was left with nothing, because you had been his everything.
