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Warning: +18, smut, situationship, oral sex (m-receiving), high school setting (minors involved), mentions of bullying, rough language, hair pulling, praise.
The atmosphere at Hyosan High became unbearable whenever Myeong-hwan was in a foul mood… and today had been no exception.
As part of the group, you were used to the cruel laughter and the humiliations in the hallways, but the internal tensions were starting to get to you. Especially when it came to Gwi-nam.
There was a strange, invisible line between the two of you. You weren't the typical friends who shared secrets… instead, your bond was built on heavy silences and a constant provocation that neither of you dared to admit. You "stalked" each other with your eyes in the middle of the halls or while dragging some helpless student to the rooftop, but whenever your eyes met, you’d look away, pretending it was mere coincidence. However, the few times you managed to be alone, he broke the physical distance so abruptly it made your skin crawl.
Looking for him after one of his many disputes with Myeong-hwan, you walked toward the abandoned classroom in the old wing of the school, a place tucked away from the noise where the gang usually hid. As you pushed the wooden door, its creak shattered the silence of the room.
There he was.
Gwi-nam was sprawled on the old gray sofa, one hand covering his eyes. The rigidity of his shoulders and his heavy breathing betrayed the built-up stress, he hated being treated like the gang's lackey and that frustration was eating away at his pride.
Hearing your footsteps, he slowly moved his fingers from his face and pinned you with a look loaded with annoyance.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, shifting begrudgingly against the back of the sofa with that trademark surly attitude.
You swallowed hard, feeling the familiar flip in your stomach that his proximity always triggered. You walked forward with purpose and sat right next to him. The space between you vanished.
"You look fucking exhausted" you said, ignoring his defensive tone.
Breaking a barrier, you reached out and rested your palm on his right thigh, applying soft pressure in an attempt to ease the tension in his muscles. Gwi-nam let out a huff, but he didn't move your hand. Instead, he threw his head back, exposing his throat while keeping his eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling.
"What can I do for you?" you whispered, glancing at him.
Gwi-nam lowered his head slowly. His gaze met yours and you noticed his pupils dilating subtly in the dim light of the room and the sudden closeness. With that brazen nature that made him spit out whatever was on his mind without a care for his surroundings, his mouth curled into a tense line.
"Have you ever given a blowjob?" he blurted out inappropriately, his voice raspy and blunt.
The blush hit your cheeks instantly. You opened your mouth, completely thrown by the rawness of his question and pulled your hand back from his leg as if you’d been burned.
"I’m sorry... what?" you stammered, trying to process his words while your heart hammered against your ribs.
Gwi-nam’s expression soured, visibly irritated by your reaction or perhaps regretting showing even a flicker of desire. He covered his eyes with his arm again, sinking back into the sofa.
"Nothing, forget it" he spat coldly. "You can go. I want to be alone."
You sat frozen on the edge of the seat, the question replaying in your mind over and over. You did have experience, but the brutally honest way he’d asked had left you paralyzed with a racing pulse. You were part of his world, you knew how his impulsive mind worked. After a moment of hesitation, you nervously scratched your arm and slid off the sofa, landing on your knees on the dusty floor right in front of him.
Your hands moved toward his pants and Gwi-nam reacted quickly, intercepting your wrists with a firm and rough grip, stopping you before you could go any further. His dark eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and restrained lust.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his breathing shallow, the tension making it obvious how much he wanted to close the gap completely.
"I want to make you feel better" you replied, your voice steady to show him you weren't intimidated.
You wrenched your wrists from his grip with a quick movement and pulled his pants down.
"Let me make you feel good, Gwi-nam..."
You finished sliding the fabric away, pushing it aside along with his boxers and positioned yourself firmly between his spread legs. You leaned forward, dragging a wet lick over the fabric before fully releasing his erect dick. Feeling the heat of your tongue, Gwi-nam’s eyes widened in shock, losing his grip on the situation for a split second.
You brought a hand to your mouth, wetting your fingers with saliva to make the movement easier and wrapped your hand firmly around his length. You began to move up and down in a steady rhythm. A deep, muffled groan escaped the back of his throat, his head fell back against the sofa again, completely surrendering to the sensations your tongue and touch were triggering.
Before he could recover, you took the head between your lips and took him into your mouth. The heat of your throat made him groan loudly, arching his back slightly. Determined, you slid deeper, swallowing him almost entirely until you ran out of air, a small gag forcing your eyes to squeeze shut.
Gwi-nam’s reaction was immediate: his hand buried itself roughly in your hair, tangling his fingers in your strands to guide the rhythm to his liking, shoving you toward him with desperation.
"Fuck, faster..." he growled through gritted teeth, breaking the silence of the abandoned classroom as his hips moved uncontrollably, burying himself in your mouth. "I'm gonna come... any second now..."
Your ears rang with the sound of his breathing and his whimpers. You had no intention of stopping, you wanted him to empty himself completely inside you. You kept sucking, your tongue pressing at the base, maintaining the rhythm despite the effort. When Gwi-nam felt his limit approaching, he tried to pull your hair back to push you away out of pure instinct, but you anticipated the move. You caught his hand in mid-air, pinning it firmly against his own thigh while you stayed focused on the task.
With his mouth open in a silent gasp of surrender, Gwi-nam tensed up completely and came hard in the back of your throat. You gave a few last, long suctions, prolonging his orgasm until the very last second, tasting him before wiping the corners of your lips.
Only when the echo of his moans faded did you feel his body go limp, falling heavily against the old sofa… completely exhausted, his breathing broken.
In-ho knew. He wasn’t a fool, and he certainly wasn't blind. You had been drawing lines in the sand since the moment you—defying all logic and authority—crossed the organization’s threshold to become just another player.
You were supposed to be his shadow in the command center while he moved through the games. Yet, there you were: standing under the clinical, flickering lights of the voting hall. In-ho, hidden behind his mask and waiting his turn, watched you walk toward the panel with an infuriating confidence. Your eyes found his among the sea of red uniforms and, with a tiny, defiant smirk, you marked the circle.
From that moment on, the game wasn't just about the millions of won; it was a cold war between the two of you.
In-ho watched with a silent, simmering fury as you gained Gi-hun’s trust. He watched you "accidentally" brush against Gi-hun's hand while waiting in line, or drop double entendres that only he could decipher from behind his mask. It was slow torture. His patience, famously unbreakable, was eroding under the weight of your constant provocation. But in front of the players and the cameras, he was just another number, and you were a wild card.
Night finally fell over the dormitory. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the restless sighs of hundreds of broken souls. Once you were certain sleep had claimed the majority, you slipped out from under your blankets and, with the grace of a specter, slid into In-ho’s bed.
"What do you think you’re doing?" he asked without even opening his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. His voice was a thin wire of steel. "Go back to your place."
"You want this too, In-ho. Don't pretend self-control comes naturally to you," you whispered, straddling him. The brush of your body against his was like a match dropping onto a trail of gunpowder. "We both know you enjoy this as much as I do."
"[Name]..." His tone was a vibrating warning, that low note that usually precedes chaos. But we both knew the truth: he had never been able to say no to you.
You let out a triumphant little giggle and reached for his belt, but before you could move further, his hand clamped around your jaw with enough force to make you look him in the eye. His eyes, dark and dilated, flashed with a dangerous intensity.
"You don't get it, do you?" he whispered, the sound making your skin crawl. "Am I going to have to teach you how to behave the hard way?"
"You talk a big game, In-ho, but your hands are still still," you challenged, even as he squeezed your cheeks, slightly deforming your smirk.
He didn't answer with words. He stood up with predatory agility, straightened his clothes, and grabbed your arm in a grip that brooked no argument. He dragged you toward the double doors, where a guard—recognizing the silent authority emanating from the man despite the number on his chest—immediately stepped aside.
"No one leaves," In-ho commanded, his voice of authority returning effortlessly.
"Yes, sir," the guard replied, bowing his head. You, with an audacity bordering on madness, gave the guard a playful wave as In-ho hauled you down the hallway.
He shoved you into the bathrooms and slammed the door shut. The echo of metal against concrete underscored the gravity of the situation.
"You had clear orders to stay in charge. You disobeyed me, jeopardized the operation, and joined this slaughter just to see how much I could take," he said, pinning you against the cold wall. His hand closed around your throat, exerting a measured pressure—just enough to remind you who held the power. "You love playing with fire, don't you?"
"I get bored, In-ho. And this place is so... *grey* without you," you replied, holding his gaze.
"You think this is a game? You’re ruining years of planning."
"Then let them eliminate me," you challenged, your racing pulse thumping against his palm. "Oh, wait... you can't. You think I didn't notice? You gave orders not to shoot me under any circumstances."
"You should be thanking me on your knees."
"That was the plan, but you brought us to the bathroom instead," you shot back, the sexual tension between you becoming almost physical, a third guest in the room.
In-ho stared at you, torn between the urge to kiss you and the urge to discipline you. Your insolence irritated him, but it turned him on even more. He wanted to remind you that, inside these walls or out, he owned your will.
"I’m going to remind you who’s in charge here," he declared. He took you by the neck to guide you toward the stainless-steel sinks, spinning you around to face the mirror. He forced your hands onto the cold edge. "Count."
With one swift motion, he yanked your pants down. The first strike was a sharp, stinging slap that tore a gasp of surprise and pleasure from your lips. The pain was acute, but the wave of heat that followed was instant.
"I said count."
"O-one..." your voice wasn't so steady anymore.
"Not so brave now, are you?" he chuckled, a dark sound that made you shiver before he delivered another blow.
After marking your skin with the discipline he so desperately needed to impose, In-ho finally released his own urgency. He entered you in one go, finding you sinfully ready for him.
"You can't even hide it," he murmured, tangling his hand in your hair to pull your head back as he began to thrust with brutal force. "You enjoy this even more than I do."
Your hands white-knuckled the sink, your moans echoing off the tiles. In-ho could feel your walls clenching around him—a treacherous response that made him smirk. He gripped your chin, forcing you to look at your own reflection: hazy eyes, flushed lips, the beautiful mess of someone who has been broken.
"Don't do it," he ordered against your ear, his ragged breath burning your skin. "Don't you dare come until I tell you to. Understood?"
"Y-yes..."
"Yes, *what*?"
"Yes, sir," you corrected, your will finally snapping.
"Good girl."
In-ho gripped your hips, hitting against you with an implacable cadence. The sound of skin meeting skin and the echo of gasps created a thick, heavy atmosphere. His free hand reached down, finding the exact spot where pleasure turned into agony, massaging it with cruel precision. Tears of pure overstimulation ran down your cheeks as you struggled to obey him, to hold back the tide threatening to sweep you away.
"Now. Do it now," he finally allowed, yanking your hair to pull your back flush against his chest. He kissed you with possessive passion, claiming your mouth as your body collapsed into a violent orgasm.
You bit his lip, stifling a cry, while In-ho lost himself seconds later, emptying into you with a low, gravelly groan that betrayed how much he had needed this too.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by a dripping faucet. You slumped forward, exhausted, while In-ho still held you by the waist. Finally, he pulled away, leaving you on your knees on the floor, gasping for air.
In-ho adjusted his clothes with the calm of a man who had just solved an administrative issue. He let out a low chuckle and knelt to tilt your chin up.
"You love pushing me to the edge, don't you, darling?" he said, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. His expression was one of absolute satisfaction.
"And you love that I do," you shot back, finding a spark of your old fire. He laughed again and gave you a soft, almost tender kiss before standing up.
"We have to get back. We don't want to raise any unnecessary suspicion."
He helped you clean up and get to your feet. Your legs were shaking so badly you had to lean on his arm just to walk. When you reached the dormitory, the guard let you in with a curious look that In-ho annihilated with a single, icy glare.
Gi-hun was sitting on his bed, visibly anxious. Seeing you enter, he jumped up.
"I was worried, you were gone for so long," he said, scanning you both. "When I woke up and you were gone, I panicked. The guards wouldn't let me go look for you."
"[Name] needed the bathroom and wasn't feeling well," In-ho explained with terrifying calm, as if he hadn't been claiming you against a sink ten minutes ago. "I decided to go with her for safety. You never know what might happen in this place at night."
"Yeah... Young-il was very kind," you added, sitting on your bed and covering your trembling legs with the blanket. "I think dinner just didn't agree with me. My voice is a little raspy."
"You look pale, do you want some water? I saved some of my ration," Gi-hun offered—always the charitable soul—running to get his bottle.
In-ho let out an almost imperceptible chuckle. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he bent down to pretend he was checking his shoes.
"I hope the lesson was clear," he whispered in your ear. His warm breath sent a flush across your face that Gi-hun, upon returning, mistakenly attributed to a fever.
Summary: Your husband comes home very stressed from work, and to de-stress he asks if he can use you in bed.
Warning: +18, smut, p i v, unprotected, established, relationship, praise.
Your husband’s line of work wasn't for the faint of heart. It demanded precision, endurance, and a coldness that bordered on clinical. He spent his days tracking the desperate, gauging their weaknesses, and delivering blows that left his own knuckles throbbing by the end of the shift. Yet, no matter how much misery he witnessed or how much "dirty work" he had to sweep under the rug for the organization, he always crossed the threshold with a smile that was nothing short of professional.
Except for today.
The moment you heard the click of the lock and the heavy thud of the door closing—without the usual melodic greeting—you knew. The air in the foyer grew thick, charged with a static tension only he could command. He didn’t announce his arrival; he simply existed in the space like a coiled storm.
“Hey…” you murmured, approaching him cautiously as you watched him drop his leather briefcase onto the sofa with uncharacteristic disdain. “How was your day?”
“The same as always,” he replied, his voice a thread of silk pulled dangerously taut. He shed his grey blazer with sharp movements and began to yank at the knot of his tie, unravelling the polished image he maintained for the rest of the world.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm… come here.”
His hands—large and firm—clamped around your waist, crashing your body into his. He kissed you before you could utter another word. It was a starved kiss, stripped of his usual gentleness, fueled by an urgency that forced a small gasp of surprise from your lips. You tangled your fingers in his hair, yielding instantly. If this was what he needed to purge the venom of his day, you were more than willing to be his catharsis.
In one fluid motion, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to lock around his waist. Without breaking the kiss, he carried you toward the bedroom, moving with the unwavering confidence of a man who knew every inch of his territory.
Once there, he set you on your feet but kept your face captive between his palms. His dark eyes searched yours with a devouring intensity.
“Can I use you?” he asked in a husky whisper, his thumb grazing your bottom lip, still stung from his kiss. “Just for today… please?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.
“Thank you…” A small, almost angelic smile played on his lips, though it was heavy with intent. He kissed your forehead with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to his next request. “Take your clothes off. Get on all fours for me, alright? If you want to stop, just tell me.”
You nodded, stealing one last kiss before undressing under his analytical gaze. As you positioned yourself in the center of the bed, you felt the weight of his attention like a physical caress. He moved closer, forcing your face into the pillow as he tilted your hips up. Before you could react, you felt the brush of silk: he was using his tie to secure your wrists behind your back.
“You look so beautiful like this. So… compliant,” he murmured, pressing a searing kiss to your spine before pulling away to undress.
From your position, you could only hear the metallic clink of his belt and the rustle of fabric hitting the floor. The vulnerability of being bound and exposed sent waves of anticipation racing down your spine. Finally, the mattress groaned under his weight. You felt his heat against your skin and his erection pressing against you as his hands roamed your sides with feverish possessiveness.
“Remember,” he whispered against your ear, his breath scalding, “if you want me to stop, you only have to say my name.”
He squeezed your hip with one hand while the other drifted down to find your slick heat, teasing you with a dexterity that made you bite your lip to keep from screaming. Satisfied with your reaction, he lined himself up. With one hand tangled in your hair to keep you steady and the other anchored on your hip, he entered you in a single, deep thrust.
A loud moan tore from your throat. There was no soft prelude; he began to drive into you with a ruthless, rhythmic force, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the quiet room.
“You’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine. No one else’s. Just. Mine,” he grunted through gritted teeth, his jaw tight as he punctuated every word with a snap of his hips.
You buried your face in the pillow, feeling him hit marks that made the world around you blur. He pulled you flush against him, pinning your back to his chest. While he continued to move inside you with an almost violent insistence, his free hand reached down to work your clitoris with expert pressure—the kind of stimulation he knew would have you begging in seconds.
With his other hand, he forced your face back to capture your lips in a breathless kiss, his fingers gripping your breast with raw urgency.
“Do you feel how deep I am? Hm?” he gasped against your mouth. “You’re the only one who can have me like this. Fuck the rest of the world. All I care about is you. I only want you.”
You could barely form words. Your head fell back against his shoulder, letting out incoherent phrases and broken whimpers as pleasure clouded your senses. The headboard thudded rhythmically against the wall—a constant echo of his need for dominance.
Your legs began to shake uncontrollably as the climax hit you, racking your entire body while you bit down on the pillow to muffle your scream. He let out a dark, low chuckle, savoring your collapse before upping the pace to reach his own.
His thrusts turned feral, losing that perfect composure for just a moment. His fingers dug into your hips and, with a deep growl that vibrated through your chest, he came inside you, ensuring you felt every drop of his frustration turned into pleasure.
He stayed still for a long moment, breathing heavily against the nape of your neck, before withdrawing with a sigh. You let out a soft whimper of loss at the sudden emptiness.
“We just finished and you miss me already?” he teased, his voice raspy, as he untied your wrists with fingers that were now gentle.
You collapsed onto your side, exhausted. He settled in beside you, kissing the red marks the silk had left on your wrists before stroking your cheek.
“You did so well, my love. You were perfect. You always make me so proud,” he murmured, watching your dazed expression with an almost religious adoration.
“Do you feel better?” you asked, your voice a hoarse thread.
“Much better. You’re my only anchor,” he replied, kissing you with renewed tenderness before pulling you against his chest in a protective embrace. “Now rest… because I doubt this is the last time I’ll need you tonight.”
You curled into him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as sleep and satisfaction took hold, knowing that beneath that impeccable businessman facade, he belonged only to you.
Summary: On your way home from work, you’re hit by a car. Your neighbor and her son rush you back to the very hospital where you work to get checked out.
Note: Reader and Jack are married. Reader works the day shift (department unspecified).
When you left work that evening, you really didn't expect to be back so soon.
Your day shift had been relatively quiet compared to others. You managed to clock out on time, spent a few minutes with your husband as he arrived for the night shift to give him a hand-off on your patients, and then headed out to start the walk home.
Robby walked with you halfway before you had to split up to head to your respective houses.
As you reached the crosswalk to the house you shared with Jack, you looked both ways, made sure the coast was clear, and started to cross... when suddenly, a car slammed into you, sending you skidding across the asphalt for a few meters.
Honestly, it could have been much worse. You could have been knocked unconscious, broken something vital (though you weren't entirely sure about that yet), or worse. However, you were still awake and trying to sit up by the time a neighbor ran over to help. Her son was busy screaming at the driver to come back, but they sped off.
"Don't try to get up, dear! We're calling an ambulance" the woman said, sounding panicked.
"No... no ambulance" you grunted, forcing yourself into a sitting position.
"Then we are putting her in the car and taking her to the hospital ourselves. That guy hit her hard" the younger man said, helping his mother hoist you up and get you toward their car.
The young man grabbed your backpack while his mother slid into the driver's seat, racing back toward the workplace you had literally just stepped out of.
And that’s how, less than an hour after leaving work, you were back. But this time, as a patient.
"Are you sure you don't need help? I mean... fine, you didn't lose consciousness, but you're pretty banged up and you've got a gash on your head" insisted Shen, who was treating you, as he dropped a hospital gown onto the bed. "Do you at least want me to call Ellis to help you change? Or Abbot?"
"I’m fine. I’ll change and then you can come back. Besides, nothing feels broken, I’m okay," you told him, struggling to pull off your jacket. He stepped in to help you anyway.
"Y/N, do you realize that when Abbot finds out you're here and that nobody told him, someone is going to get hurt? And that someone is probably going to be me?" he insisted, setting the jacket aside.
"Just go and let me change in peace, will you? Besides, Jack was in Trauma One with a patient who's in much worse shape."
"And here I thought this would be a quiet shift..." Shen muttered, pulling the curtains shut before stepping out and closing the door behind him.
While nothing was broken (as far as you knew), you had a cut on your forehead that Shen had managed to clean and patch up for later treatment. You also had scrapes on your arms and legs, deep bruising along your sides, and a splitting headache.
You had to get the gown on so Shen could do a full exam and likely order X-rays just to rule out internal damage.
Getting your pants off was the easy part, you just let them drop to the floor since you couldn't bend down to pick them up. The scrub top was a bit trickier, but you managed.
Now, the only thing left was your bra, but reaching back was proving nearly impossible with how sore your shoulder was. Suddenly, the door swung open and the curtain was yanked back, making you jump.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were here?!" Jack barked, looking visibly upset and worried.
"Jack! What are you doing?! I’m naked!" you yelped, trying to shield yourself with the thin hospital blanket.
"I’m your husband, I’ve seen you without clothes a million times. Besides, you’re still in your underwear," Jack said, closing the curtain behind him and gently taking the blanket from your hands.
"Yeah, but the rest of the ER hasn't seen me like this…"
"Don't change the subject. Why did I have to find out from our neighbor, who is currently freaking out in the waiting room with her son, that you were involved in a hit-and-run?" he demanded, stepping closer to help you unhook your bra. He then stepped back to scan your body for injuries. "And why didn't you let them call an ambulance?! Look at the state of you!"
"It's not as bad as it looks…" You didn't even get to finish the sentence before Jack pressed a hand against your ribs, making you let out a sharp wince.
"You definitely have a cracked rib..." he murmured, letting out a heavy sigh through his nose. "Turn around."
You knew Jack was right. You should have come in an ambulance, and you definitely should have told him. You kept your mouth shut and did as he asked so he could finish his exam.
After checking you over to rule out any major wounds, he grabbed the hospital gown and helped you into it before helping you sit up on the gurney.
"Okay, are you read…" Shen started to say as he walked back in. When Jack pulled the curtain back, Shen froze mid-sentence. "Uh-oh..."
"Yeah, 'uh-oh' is right," Jack echoed, his tone matching Shen's but with a dangerous edge. "Did it not occur to you to tell me my wife was here because some damn car ran her over?"
"Technically, it didn't run me over, it just hit me and pushed me," you corrected him. Your husband shot you a look that immediately made you shut up. "Sorry..."
"In my defense, I told her I could go get you, but she insisted you were busy and…"
"She was just hit by a car! Do you really think her head is clear enough to be making medical decisions?" Jack snapped.
"I’m gonna go see if they’re ready for you in Radiology..." Shen muttered, taking a nervous sip of his coffee before making a quick exit.
"Jack..."
"No, Y/N," he said, still sounding annoyed, but you’d been with him long enough to know it wasn't anger, it was pure fear. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was when the neighbor told me you'd been hit? That they had to bring you in with your head split open and bruises all over?"
You didn't say a word, just looked down at your hands. Jack sat on the edge of the gurney in front of you and carefully took your hand in his, minding the scrapes on your palms.
"Please, never refuse an ambulance ride after an accident ever again. What happened was serious. You might not be as bad off as some of the patients we see... but still," he said, his voice softening. He reached up with his free hand to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He stroked your skin gently. "Don't ever scare me like that again. I don't care how busy I am, ask someone to come get me. Please."
"I'm sorry..." you whispered. He leaned in and pulled you into a hug, being as careful as possible not to hurt you.
"It's okay, babe. But please, don't say it's nothing, because this IS something… something serious" he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "You're going to stay home for a few days, and I'm staying with you."
"But who's going to cover your shifts?"
"Don't you worry about that. Plenty of people owe me favors" he said with a small smile, pulling back to look at you. "Now, let’s get you down to X-ray."
Jack gave you a lingering, tender kiss on the lips before moving to unlock the gurney and wheel you out to start your full work-up.
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Summary: Santos isn't exactly a "kid person", so when she finds out you have a son, she’s furious that you kept it from her.
Note: Reader has a 4-year-old son named John.
Whitaker was kicked back on the couch, eating and half-watching TV, when Santos stormed into the apartment. She slammed the front door, marched straight to her room, and kicked her own door shut, completely ignoring her phone as it buzzed incessantly.
Whitaker frowned, confused by the display, until his own phone lit up with your name. He picked up immediately.
"Hello?"
"Dennis! I’m so sorry to bug you, but is Trinity there? She left in such a rush and I really need to talk to her, but she’s not picking up..." your voice came through the line, shaky and thick with emotion.
"Uh... yeah, she just got in. Give me a sec" Whitaker stood up and walked over to her bedroom door, giving it a firm knock. "Hey, Y/N wants to…"
"TELL HER I DON'T WANT TO TALK!"
"Y/N, I'm sorry, bu…" Whitaker started, bringing the phone back to his ear, but you cut him off.
"Put me on speaker, please. I really need her to hear me" you pleaded.
"Okay... you're on" Whitaker said, pressing the phone against the bedroom door with the volume cranked to the max.
"Trinity, please just listen. I know you're mad, and I promise I was going to tell you. I just didn't know how because I was terrified of how you’d react. I know you aren't into kids, but…"
"Y/N, you've been lying to me for months!" Santos snapped, swinging the door open and snatching the phone from Whitaker. He took the hint and retreated back to the couch. "You had a thousand chances to tell me and you didn't! We’ve been together for three months! How was there not one moment in all that time to mention you have a son?!"
"I tried! Okay?! I really did try, so many times, but I just froze because I didn't know what you’d do. Please… can we just see each other? I can come over right now, let’s just talk in person"
"There’s nothing to talk about, alright? And please, stop calling" Santos hung up and tossed the phone onto the sofa before collapsing onto the cushions herself.
"Everything okay?" Whitaker asked cautiously, setting his own phone on the coffee table.
"No! Nothing is okay! Y/N has been lying to my face for months!" she complained, sitting bolt upright to face him. "Did you know she has a kid? A four-year-old. FOUR. We've been dating for three months and it never occurred to her to tell me?"
"Maybe she was just scared. And from what I just heard, she had every right to be" Whitaker countered, watching her reaction. "Look... I don't want to get in the middle of your fight, but I don't blame her. Just look at you right now."
"And how am I supposed to be?! She's been lying to me for…"
"Yeah, three months, you mentioned that. But are you sure she was actually lying? Did she ever tell you she *didn't* have kids?" he interrupted. Her silence was all the answer he needed. "Seems to me like she just left some info out, but she didn't lie. If she’d lied, she would have told you she didn't have a son, and she didn't do that. Maybe she kept it quiet because she knew you aren't a fan of kids, and she was trying to figure out a way to tell you without you hating her in the process."
Santos went quiet, crossing her arms and staring at the ceiling, still clearly annoyed but finally processing what he was saying.
"Whatever happens between you two isn't my business, but maybe you should actually listen to her before jumping to conclusions and deciding you hate her" he added, before standing up to wash his plate and head to his room.
The next day, Santos went to work as usual.
She’d had a miserable night, barely catching any sleep because she couldn't stop thinking about you and how she’d treated you. She hadn't received a single text or call from you, which stung, but she knew it was because she’d asked for space. You were just respecting her wishes.
Now that the initial heat of her anger had faded, she kept replaying everything she’d said. Whitaker’s words kept echoing in her head, maybe she had been too harsh. Maybe there was a reason you were so hesitant.
When her shift ended (miraculously on time for once), instead of heading home, Santos started walking toward your house. She didn't really have a script ready, but she knew she needed to apologize for how she’d acted the night before when she’d dropped by unannounced and found out about John.
She knew she’d said hurtful things. She probably made you cry. And she wanted to at least own up to that.
When she arrived, she took a deep breath before knocking. It took a few minutes before you opened the door, already in your pajamas and ready for bed.
"Trinity..." you said, eyes widening in surprise.
"Hi... are you busy?" she asked awkwardly, shifting her bag on her shoulder. "I was hoping we could talk."
"No, of course. Come in" you replied, stepping aside to let her through.
"Is your son sleeping?" she asked, setting her bag on the armchair. You approached her but kept a noticeable distance between you.
"He’s not with me; he’s with his dad tonight" you said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself. "Trinity, look... I am so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wanted to, I really did. but when you told me a while back that you didn't like kids, I got scared. I thought you’d judge me, or that you wouldn't want to see me anymore... though I guess I ruined things anyway."
"It's okay... and I'm sorry too. For how I talked to you yesterday and for everything I said," she apologized, taking a step toward you. "I crossed a line and you didn't deserve that. I just... why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you just talk to me? I know I said I didn't like kids, but I would have listened if you’d asked to talk."
"I know, but I was just so afraid you'd be angry or... look, when I got pregnant with John, you wouldn't believe the things people said. My parents, my friends… everyone turned their backs on me. They told me I’d made a mistake. Even his own father wasn't on board at first, though I guess he changed his mind eventually," you explained with a heavy sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. "After his dad and I broke up, I wasn't even looking for a relationship. But then I met you, and we started dating, and I realized I didn't want to mess things up. So when you said you weren't into kids... I don't know, I just panicked."
Santos swallowed hard, looking down for a moment before reaching out to take your hands in hers. She waited until you looked up at her.
"I’m sorry I made you feel like I wouldn't have your back. And I’m so sorry for how I reacted yesterday. I should have... I should have called first, and I should have listened when you tried to explain," she said, her voice dropping to a tender whisper.
You offered her a small, tearful smile, and both of you moved in for a tight, lingering hug. You stayed like that for a long time before pulling back… her hands resting on your hips, yours on her shoulders.
"Is it too late to ask if I can meet him?" she asked, sounding a bit unsure.
"You don't have to if you're not ready…"
"John is a huge part of your life, and I really want to be with you" she said with a soft smile.
"His dad is dropping him off tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you could come by then and meet him?"
"Or... maybe I could just stay here with you tonight, and that way I’m already here when he arrives" she suggested, leaning in closer.
"Or you could do that" you laughed softly, before leaning in to meet her for a sweet, lingering kiss.
Summary: When you notice Mel looking more tense than usual, you check in on her to see how she’s doing. She’s caught off guard when she realizes you’re actually staying to listen to her vent… even when others try to interrupt.
From the moment you clocked in that morning, you could tell Mel was wound tighter than usual, despite her best efforts to play it cool.
No one else really seemed to notice, they all just assumed it was because the ER was even more chaotic than usual. But how could they know for sure when no one ever stuck around long enough to actually listen to her?
"Hey Mel" you greeted her with a smile, pulling up a chair next to her while she sat at a computer, charting a patient's progress.
"Oh, hi, Dr. Y/N" she replied, looking up as you settled in beside her. "Can I help you with something?"
"Actually, I was coming over to ask you the same thing" you answered warmly, which made her knit her brows in confusion. "You look a little stressed today... is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, it’s nothing. Really, it’s not important."
"Maybe not to everyone else, but it’s clearly important enough to have you feeling like this" you said softly. "You can talk to me if you want. Or, if you’re not in the mood to talk, we could just go sit outside or find somewhere quiet for a bit. The ER can be a lot."
"I appreciate that, but it’s fine, it’s just... my sister apparently has a boyfriend I’ve never even heard of, and well... I guess that’s what’s got me on edge" she started, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I know she has every right to her own life, but still, I thought we were close enough to tell each other everything... and I guess it’s also because today’s been heavier than usual. There’ve been so many accidents and it’s just been non-stop, and it’s only noon…"
Mel started rambling, her words tumbling out until she suddenly stopped. She turned to look at you, her expression shifting to one of genuine surprise.
"Did something happen?" you asked, confused. You glanced behind you to see if she was looking at someone else, but seeing no one, you turned back to her. She was still staring. "Mel?"
"You're... you're still here."
"Of course I’m still here" you said with a light chuckle. "I’m not just going to walk away while you’re talking."
"Oh... uh... I don't know, I just…"
"Dr. Y/N" Ogilvie interrupted, jogging up to the two of you. "Can I present a case to you?"
"Not right now. Go find Langdon," you replied, gesturing toward the other doctor a few yards away.
"But…"
"Ogilvie, go to Langdon, okay?" you said firmly, giving him a look that brooked no argument.
The student let out a huff and headed off toward the other doctor. You turned your attention back to Mel.
"It’s been a rough day, and I'm sure the thing with your sister is overwhelming, but you don't have to carry it all on your own, you know?" you told her gently.
"Ah... yeah... I guess..." she murmured, still a bit stunned by how you’d brushed off Ogilvie. She looked back down at her hands. "We were supposed to go grab pizza tonight after my shift, but she said she already made plans with her boyfriend, so..."
"Well... if you want, the two of us could go get pizza instead," you offered. She looked up at you instantly. "We can go together, catch up, and forget all about the hospital for a while. What do you say?"
"Wait, seriously?"
"Totally!" you smiled. "Are you in?"
"O-of course! Yes, I’d love to," she said, a real smile finally starting to spread across her face.
"Alright, it's a date. I’ll meet you at the exit after our shift, okay? You can tell me more then, or we can just eat and relax. I have to go check on some patients now, but I’ll be counting down the minutes until we clock out," you said, standing up. "See you later."
"See you..." she said, her smile growing even wider. She turned back to the computer screen, looking noticeably brighter and more energized as she got back to work.
Summary: After the loss of a patient you’ve grown incredibly fond of, Al-Hashimi stays by your side, offering the comfort you need most in your darkest moment.
Warning: hurt & comfort, death of a patient.
For quite some time, you’d been treating a woman, not much older than yourself, who was a frequent face in the ER.
She was chronically ill, and her condition left her frail, leading to constant falls and injuries that brought her back to the emergency room time and time again. And every single time she appeared, she asked for you to be her doctor.
They say you shouldn't get attached to patients, but you couldn't help it. She treated you like a close confidante; you’d talk for hours while you treated her, and inevitably, that professional bond turned into a real friendship.
That’s why your world felt like it was crashing down the moment they brought her in today in critical condition. Her vitals were bottoming out, and her chances of survival were slim.
You tried everything in your power to bring her back, desperate to give her just a little more time, but the heart monitor eventually confirmed what you feared most. She was gone, and there was nothing left to do.
"Time of death: five-thirty-five PM" you said, swallowing the thick lump in your throat.
The room fell into a heavy silence for a full minute. As soon as it broke, you hurried out as fast as your legs could carry you.
Al-Hashimi noticed your rushed exit from the trauma room, her brow furrowing as she stood by the nurses' station with Dana.
"Poor thing. Y/N had been her doctor for over a year," Dana remarked, watching the room where you’d just been.
"Was she important to her?" Al-Hashimi asked, turning her gaze toward the nurse.
"Incredibly. She always insisted on being seen by her. But she was sick; it was only a matter of time before this happened. Y/N is probably blaming herself right now, but there’s no use trying to talk her out of it yet. We just have to give her some space to breathe," Dana said, looking down at her tablet.
Al-Hashimi stood in thought for a moment before heading in the direction you’d gone.
She searched until she found you in a small supply closet. You were crying with your back to the door, and the second you heard someone enter, you swiped at your tears and started fumbling with the shelves, pretending to organize.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly, closing the door behind her.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" you replied, your voice tight as you tried to hold your ground.
"Dana told me about your patient... I'm so sorry."
"It's the circle of life. Besides, she was sick. Sooner or later, her illness was going to catch up with her," you said, clearing your throat and refusing to turn around.
"That's true... but it doesn't make it hurt any less" Al-Hashimi said. Her words hit home, and you felt your eyes well up all over again. "You have every right to feel this way, to mourn her. Doctors have feelings too, you know? We cry, and we hurt when we lose someone we care about."
"Did you know she was only three years older than me?" you asked, your voice trembling as you bit the inside of your cheek, desperate to keep what little composure you had left. "She always wanted to be a mom, but she never got the chance..."
"No... I didn't know that" Al-Hashimi said, stepping closer until she was at your side. She placed a gentle hand on your arm. "I am so incredibly sorry for your loss."
You swallowed hard and looked down, nodding slowly.
"Me too..." you whispered, finally meeting her eyes.
Al-Hashimi let out a faint sigh and pulled you into a deep hug. You collapsed into her immediately, finally letting the tears you’d been holding back fall freely.
The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, her offering silent comfort and you letting out all the grief you’d been carrying, until you finally pulled back, wiping your cheeks.
"I have to call her family and break the news" you said, rubbing your face with your hands.
"I can make the call for you, if you want," she offered, her hand still lingering on your arm.
"No, I’d rather do it myself. But thank you" you said with a weak smile.
"Alright... but let me know when they get here. I want to be with you when you have to take them to see her" she said warmly.
"Okay... and thank you for... for this" you said, your voice still a bit shaky.
"Don't thank me. Whenever you need me, I’ll be right here” she promised, her hand sliding down your arm to give your hand a supportive squeeze.
You gave her one last smile, not trusting your voice not to break again if you tried to speak. You stepped out of the room to wash your face before making the hardest phone call of the day.
Summary: You’re an ER attending, and Ogilvie is dead-set on asking you out. What he doesn’t know is that you’re married and your husband was right there in the room when he started bragging about his plans to make a move.
“Okay... great work, everyone. Whitaker, finish up the sutures. Show Ogilvie and Joy how it’s done and let them take a crack at it. Jesse, page me if their vitals shift” you said, peeling off your gloves before glancing at the nurse.
“You got it, Doc” Jesse replied with a grin, giving you a quick thumbs-up and a wink that went unnoticed by the others.
You offered him a small smile and stepped out of the trauma room, unaware of Ogilvie’s eyes following you.
“Do you guys think she’s single?” Ogilvie asked. Every head in the room snapped toward him, but the med student didn't look away from you as you stood at the nurses' station talking to Dana.
“I... think that’s a pretty inappropriate question, considering she’s an attending... which means she’s *way* above your pay grade” Whitaker said cautiously. He shot a look at Jesse, silently asking if he should spill what he knew or keep his mouth shut.
Jesse subtly signaled him to stay quiet. Honestly, he wanted to see exactly where this conversation was going.
“Let me translate that in case your tiny brain didn't catch it: she’s your boss” Joy added, giving him a look of pure judgment.
“I’m going to ask her out” Ogilvie declared.
“You’re going to ask her out?” Joy repeated, incredulous. “Are you actually an idiot? Do you really think SHE is going to look twice at a med student like you?”
“She doesn't seem to be seeing anyone” he replied with a shrug, looking down as he continued suturing the wound.
“Just because she isn't flaunting it doesn't mean she’s single” Whitaker said, stealing a glance at Jesse, who was currently biting back a laugh while charting the patient's vitals. “Besides, Joy’s right… she’s basically your boss.”
“The only thing you’re going to achieve is humiliating yourself” Joy muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Jesse, you must know if Dr. Y/N is seeing someone, right?” Ogilvie asked, looking at the nurse as if expecting him to just hand over your personal business.
“Call me if you need anything” Jesse said, ignoring the question entirely before walking out of the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
The rest of the shift went on as usual, except for the fact that Ogilvie seemed to be shadowing you everywhere, jumping on every case you handled.
Whitaker and Joy eventually gave up on trying to talk him out of his delusional plan. Joy was just waiting for the slow, glorious train wreck of his rejection, while Whitaker didn't even bother telling him that you were, in fact, taken by someone who worked right there in the hospital.
By the time the shift ended, you handed off your patient updates to Shen and Ellis. You headed out and leaned against the wall by the ER entrance, checking your phone while you waited.
“Dr. Y/N!” Ogilvie called out, jogging out of the hospital to catch up with you. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Do you need something, Ogilvie?” you asked, looking up from your screen.
“Yeah, I... well... the thing is... you’re such an incredible doctor, I really admire you, and I was wondering if…” He was cut off by a third voice.
“Ready to go?” Jesse asked, walking up with his bag over his shoulder and his jacket in hand.
“Yes, please... I’m starving and my feet are killing me” you complained, tucking your phone away. He took your bag from you, slinging it over his other shoulder, before draping his jacket over your shoulders.
“We can grab a pizza on the way, and I’ll give you a massage when we get home if you want” he said with a smile, zipping the jacket up for you before stealing a quick kiss.
“Y-you two...?” Ogilvie stammered, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. “You’re together?”
“Happily married for four years now” Jesse said with a proud little smirk, looping an arm around your shoulders. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“What was it you needed, Ogilvie?” you asked, tucking your hands into the pockets of your husband’s jacket, completely oblivious to the drama.
“Oh... n-no, it was nothing. Excuse me” the student scrambled to say, face turning a deep shade of red as he practically ran away.
“What’s up with him?” you asked, confused, watching him bolt.
“He wanted to ask you on a date” Jesse said, grinning.
“A what?!” you exclaimed, horrified, spinning around to look at your husband. “And how do you know that?!”
“Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on the way” he said, kissing your forehead and interlacing his fingers with yours as you started the walk home.
Summary: You’re always teasing Jack about being older, but when the hospital faces a potential cyber attack and you’re the one who don't know how to use a fax machine, the tables turn.
There was a significant age gap between you and Jack, but it wasn't something either of you lost sleep over. Honestly, neither of you cared what anyone else had to say; all that mattered was that you were happy.
That said, it’s also true that you loved giving Jack a hard time about his age. Whether it was when his back ached (even if you always ended up giving him a massage), when he didn't quite grasp something on the internet, or the fine lines that crinkled around his eyes… nothing was off-limits.
To be fair, even though he’d play along and act annoyed, Jack actually found it hilarious when you poked fun at him. Especially when he’d fire back that no one your age had the "experience" required to treat you the way you truly deserved, a line that never failed to make you blush and leave you completely speechless.
But Jack had never really found the perfect moment to get you back for the age gap. Until today.
The entire hospital system had been shut down due to a cyber-attack threat, and an old-school fax machine had been hauled out to send paperwork to the upper floors.
Jack looked way too pleased when he saw the machine, and he certainly didn't miss the chance to smirk when he caught your bewildered expression.
"Something wrong, gorgeous?" he asked with a little grin, leaning in to whisper in your ear.
"Nothing’s wrong..."
"Then why are you looking at that machine like it personally offended you?" he chuckled, laughing quietly when you rolled your eyes and reached for a patient file. "Let me know if you need a hand. You know, since people my age know these machines better than you youngsters who’ve probably never even seen one before."
With that, Jack planted a kiss on your cheek and walked away with a victorious smile. He knew damn well that at some point today, you’d end up asking for his help… though he also knew you’d try every possible way to avoid proving him right first.
You really hoped Jack would leave soon. He was supposed to get some sleep before his night shift, but for some reason, he’d stuck around, helping out wherever he could.
An hour had passed since chaos erupted in the ER, and to your ultimate misfortune, you needed to send some files to Cardiology upstairs. Which meant using the fax machine.
"Do you know how to use that thing?" Whitaker asked, walking up to where you stood in front of the machine.
"No... do you?"
"Nope. Maybe someone here can help us?" he said, looking around. Everyone was slammed with their own tasks, until his eyes landed on Jack, who was outside one of the rooms talking to a nurse. "Can't you just ask Dr. Abbot?"
"Absolutely not" you snapped, scanning the room for literally anyone else.
If you asked Jack how to use that machine, he’d never let you live it down.
"Dana! Can you…" you tried to flag her down as she hurried past, but she cut you off.
"Sorry, honey, I'm swamped. Find someone else," she said, dropping one file and grabbing another at the nurses' station before vanishing.
"You've got to be kidding me..." you muttered, rubbing your face with both hands. Finally, you grabbed the papers and started trudging toward Jack.
He caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips, but he waited for you to come to him.
"Dr. Abbot, do you have a second?" you asked as you reached him.
"Of course," he replied. The nurse said her goodbyes and headed off. "Is something up?"
"I need to send these," you said, holding the papers out to him.
"Oookay... then go ahead," he answered, his grin widening as he looked at the papers and then back at you.
"I can't."
"And why is that?"
"Because I don't know how..." you muttered under your breath, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
"You really don't know? I thought you 'tech-savvy' youths knew everything about technology," he teased, clearly savoring your misery.
"Jack, are you going to help me or not?" you complained, giving him an irritated look.
"It sounds like we might need to brush up on your manners, too, young lady," he shot back. You rolled your eyes, which only made him laugh as he took the papers from your hands. "Alright, alright... come on."
Jack led you to the fax machine where Whitaker was still trying to crack the code. In no time, Abbot had sent both your papers and the other doctor’s.
"See? Not that hard, was it?" he said with a smirk, turning back to you as Whitaker walked away.
"I seriously hate you."
"No 'thank you' for the help?"
"What, are you expecting a kiss?"
"Hmm... wouldn't be a bad start," Jack said, making you roll your eyes again. "Well, now that I’ve seen what I came to see, I’m headed out."
"Wait, are you serious?! Were you literally just waiting for me to ask for help with that stupid thing?" you asked, genuinely offended.
"I couldn't pass up such a beautiful opportunity. See you later," he said with a wink. He rested a hand on your hip to pull you close and kiss your cheek before breezing past you with a triumphant grin.
He definitely wasn't going to let you forget this moment for a loooong time.
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Include: Robby, Jack Abbot, Dana Evans, Frank Langdon, Samira Mohan, Trinity Santos, Cassie Mckay, Melissa King, Dennis Whitaker, Baran Al-hashimi, Parker Ellis, John Shen, Emma Nolan, Victoria Javadi.
Summary: What it’s like being in a relationship with them.
MICHAEL "ROBBY" ROBINAVITCH:
ᯓ★ At work, he always has his glasses in his pocket, but the second he steps foot in the house, he loses them.
ᯓ★ For some reason, he always spawns whenever something interesting is going down (he’s basically there for the tea).
ᯓ★ He’s constantly stretching at home because his back is always killing him.
ᯓ★ When you offer him a massage, he’ll play hard to get and say no at first, but once he finally gives in, he’s out cold within five minutes.
ᯓ★ When he’s in a mood, you don’t even give him the time of day; eventually, he’ll start drifting back to you on his own.
ᯓ★ If you work together, he’s always checking in.
"Have you eaten? Are you hydrated? Did you actually get to use the bathroom?
He knows how hard it is to find five minutes to pee in the ER). He’ll offer to cover your station so you can go because he "doesn't want your bladder to explode."
ᯓ★ If you’re on opposite shifts (you on nights, him on days), you’ll leave dinner ready for him, and he’ll have breakfast waiting for you in the morning.
JACK ABBOT:
ᯓ★ He’s super playful and a total flirt with you.
ᯓ★ He’s constantly sending you "POV" photos of what he’s doing or random selfies when you’re apart.
ᯓ★ He doesn't look like the type, but he is a huge gossip.
ᯓ★ After a particularly brutal shift, he won’t even bother changing… he’ll just face-plant onto the bed exactly as he is.
ᯓ★ Since you can’t get him up and he refuses to budge, you just take off his prosthetic leg to give the stump a quick massage, set it by the bed with his crutches, and let him crash. If you worked too, you just curl up right next to him.
ᯓ★ He always leaves dinner ready before heading to his night shift if you’re working days.
ᯓ★ He talks about you a lot to his therapist.
ᯓ★ He pretends he’s "not really into" the shows you watch, but then he’ll start asking what happened or you’ll catch him staring intensely at the screen.
ᯓ★ His backpack is a literal Mary Poppins bag; he has everything, including a change of clothes for you and emergency period supplies.
ᯓ★ He’s quite protective, but he always makes sure to give you your space.
ᯓ★ When you're on the same shift, he loves sneaking up behind you silently and just... talking. It never fails to make you jump, which always earns a little giggle from him.
DANA EVANS:
ᯓ★ With you, she finally lets her guard down and stops being the "Charge Nurse" for a while.
ᯓ★ Since she’s been trying to quit smoking, you always keep extra gum on you just in case she runs out.
ᯓ★ You both make sure the other has coffee, tea, or a snack during the shift if you're working together.
ᯓ★ On your days off, you both try to stay in bed and rot for as long as humanly possible.
ᯓ★ You are her ultimate confidant.
ᯓ★ Her kids absolutely adore you.
FRANK LANGDON:
ᯓ★ He’ll occasionally steal your bracelets and just wear them around.
ᯓ★ He’s a total food thief.
ᯓ★ But he’ll also bring you something if he notices you haven’t eaten or had anything to drink.
ᯓ★ He’s like your shadow; he’s always somewhere nearby.
ᯓ★ During slow moments at work, he’ll hover close to you while you finish up your patient charts.
ᯓ★ He always knows when something’s off or if you just need to step away for a minute.
SAMIRA MOHAN:
ᯓ★ She’s always trying to cheer you up the second she sees you looking down.
ᯓ★ Or she’ll just sit and listen if you need to vent.
ᯓ★ She loves sharing her clothes with you.
ᯓ★ She wears a necklace with your initial, and you have one with hers.
ᯓ★ You guys are always scouting for new shows to binge-watch together.
ᯓ★ She dreams about starting a family with you.
TRINITY SANTOS:
ᯓ★ Her love language is basically just being a nuisance and teasing you.
ᯓ★ But she’ll lose it if anyone else tries to mess with you.
ᯓ★ She kicks Whitaker out of the apartment whenever she’s trying to set up a surprise date, or she’ll force him to help her clean and then kick him out.
ᯓ★ She puts on a cool, confident, and sometimes defensive front, but she tries her best to drop the act with you, even if it’s hard for her.
ᯓ★ She teaches you words in her language and gets secretly hyped if you surprise her with a phrase or if she catches you practicing on your own.
ᯓ★ She’s constantly taking candid photos of you when you aren't looking.
ᯓ★ She steals your clothes whenever Dennis slacks on the laundry and she’s out of clean stuff.
CASSIE MCKAY:
ᯓ★ She loves it when you braid her hair.
ᯓ★ You, her, and Harrison do tons of outdoor activities together.
ᯓ★ And speaking of Harrison, he absolutely worships you.
ᯓ★ She has a sixth sense for knowing when something is bothering you.
ᯓ★ She won’t push if you aren't ready to talk, but she always makes sure you know she’s in your corner.
ᯓ★ You guys give each other massages after those back-breaking shifts.
MELISSA "MEL" KING:
ᯓ★ She struggles to let you take care of her because she’s so used to being the one looking out for everyone else.
ᯓ★ You guys make plans with Becca pretty often.
ᯓ★ You’re always there to listen when she’s feeling down or just starts rambling, even if she goes completely off-topic.
ᯓ★ You got her a lava lamp for her birthday once, and to Mel, it was the greatest gift in the world.
ᯓ★ Whenever she misses a sarcastic comment or a joke, you whisper the explanation in her ear so no one else notices.
ᯓ★ If you accidentally hurt yourself, Mel low-key panics, but she tries her best to keep a cool head.
DENNIS WHITAKER:
ᯓ★ He loves going to the farmer's market just to pick out fruits and veggies with you.
ᯓ★ Even when money is tight, he always tries to get you something sweet for special occasions.
ᯓ★ Or sometimes he’ll try his hand at DIY/handmade gifts (bless his heart, he tries).
ᯓ★ He’s the designated bug-catcher at home.
ᯓ★ He accidentally sends you random photos sometimes, usually just really blurry selfies.
ᯓ★ Santos was actually the one who nagged him into asking you out, and she even made an effort to talk him up to you (but that’s a secret between you and her).
BARAN AL-HASHIMI:
ᯓ★ She gets so excited whenever you give her AI program a chance.
ᯓ★ You both keep it 100% professional at work, to the point where some people don’t even know you're together.
ᯓ★ But the second you clock out, you're walking home hand-in-hand.
ᯓ★ It’s not a "secret" relationship, you aren't hiding; you just prefer to keep your private life out of the workplace.
ᯓ★ Regardless, if she notices you’re struggling during a shift, she’ll find a way to check on you.
ᯓ★ Her son gets along with you famously.
PARKER ELLIS:
ᯓ★ She’s always blowing you kisses from across the room.
ᯓ★ Her lock screen is a photo of the two of you.
ᯓ★ She is constantly posting you on her socials.
ᯓ★ She loves teasing you just to see you blush.
ᯓ★ If you struggle with anxiety, she always knows exactly how to handle it and ground you.
ᯓ★ If you're an overthinker, she will over-explain everything with the most infinite patience and calm in the world.
JOHN SHEN:
ᯓ★ He is obsessed with Dunkin', especially the coffee.
ᯓ★ He literally cannot help himself from teasing you.
ᯓ★ You are the only person he’ll share his coffee with, even if he groans and makes a huge scene about it first (he lives for the drama).
ᯓ★ He’s a massive gossip.
ᯓ★ He is always involved in whatever betting pool is going on in the ER.
ᯓ★ He is the definition of "chill"... it’s like nothing and no one can actually stress this man out.
EMMA NOLAN:
ᯓ★ She loves making you friendship bracelets and jewelry.
ᯓ★ If you have long hair, she’s always offering to style it for you.
ᯓ★ You guys have matching pajamas.
ᯓ★ She’s very active on social media and usually posts about you or "us" content.
ᯓ★ If you post a photo, she’s the first to like and comment.
ᯓ★ She’s the "prepared" one, she carries everything "just in case" in her bag.
VICTORIA JAVADI:
ᯓ★ She sometimes asks for your help filming her videos.
ᯓ★ She’s always venting to you about her mom.
ᯓ★ If you live alone and ask her to move in, she’ll say yes before you even finish the sentence… partly to get away from her parents, but mostly to be with you.
ᯓ★ Whenever she has a blowout fight with her mom, you’re the one she turns to for support, a listening ear, or just a shoulder to cry on.
Warnings: hurt&comfort, brief mention to transphobia and homophobia
a/n: i just wanna save my baby
Hyun-ju and you had built a sanctuary against the world long before she ever found the words to define herself. You had been walking hand-in-hand for years by the time the weight of her own skin became unbearable. She loved you with a devotion that sometimes made her chest ache, but she wasn't happy. She couldn't be—not as long as the mirror reflected an image she didn't recognize.
When she finally gathered the courage to come out to you and share her desire to transition, Hyun-ju was braced for impact. She expected rejection, looks of disgust, or the final slam of a door. What she never imagined was that your answer would be a hug and a silent promise to never let go of her hand. Her greatest fear was losing you; her greatest victory was discovering that your love didn't care about molds—it only cared about souls.
The road wasn't easy. Finding a surgeon willing to perform her gender-affirmation surgery was an odyssey that left you both in debt, but it was nothing you couldn't handle together. The hardest part, however, was the outside world. The judgmental stares and biting comments were constant, but for Hyun-ju, your acceptance was the only sun she needed. Her driving force was a shared dream: saving enough to move to Thailand, finishing her transition, and living a life where her existence wasn't up for debate.
You lived in a tiny studio where the bed shared space with the kitchen, but to you, it was a palace. Still, it broke Hyun-ju’s heart that she couldn't offer you something better, and it hurt even more that you were a target for criticism just for loving her.
That evening, the door opened and Hyun-ju walked in, nervously fiddling with a card between her fingers. Her face was a mix of awe and sheer exhaustion.
"Hyun-ju, finally!" you exclaimed, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel before throwing yourself into her arms. "I was so worried, you’re so late. Where were you?"
"I'm sorry, baby..." she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "I just needed to walk for a bit. To be alone with my thoughts."
As you pulled back, the light from the small lamp revealed a red welt on her cheek. Your heart skipped a beat. You took her face gently in your hands, inspecting the mark.
"What happened to you?" you asked, your voice jumping an octave in alarm. "Your face is so red, Hyun-ju. Did someone harass you? Did something happen on the street?"
"Hey, it's okay. I'm fine, I promise," she said, taking your hands to calm you. She led you to the bed—the only place to sit in the cramped space. "Listen, a man approached me in the subway today. He asked me to play *Ddakji*. If he won, he got to slap me..."
"He got to *what*?" You jumped up, indignation boiling in your blood. "How many times did you lose?! Look at your face! Tell me you at least hit him back, for God's sake..."
"Honey, sit down and look at me," she asked with a sad smile, gently tugging on your hands. "Yes, he hit me if he won... but if I won, he gave me money. I won five rounds."
Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief just as Hyun-ju pulled a roll of cash from her pocket. You were speechless, glancing back and forth between the money and her eyes.
"Hyun-ju... is this real? A stranger just walked up to you and that was it?" you asked, still processing the scene.
"Then he gave me this," she continued, handing you the card with the geometric symbols. "He said I could win much more. That they were just simple games and the prizes were astronomical. All I have to do is call this number."
A chill ran down your spine at the sight of the card's minimalist design. You looked up and saw a spark of hope in her eyes that terrified you.
"You aren't actually thinking of going, are you?" you said cautiously. When she remained silent, you felt a pang of anguish. "We don't know who these people are, or where that money comes from. Nobody gives away something for nothing, Hyun-ju."
"It wasn't a gift... I played for it. I earned it," she insisted, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.
"I know, but... I have a bad feeling about this. I don't like it one bit," you sighed, crossing your arms.
"It’s an opportunity, my love. Look at us," she said, gesturing around the tiny room. "The bed is right next to the stove, we’re barely making ends meet, and you work yourself to the bone. With that money, we could move to Thailand tomorrow. I could finish my surgeries, we could buy a little house by the sea... we could just live."
"I know, love, I know. But I don't trust that man. I can find another job, maybe the cafe on the corner needs help..."
"You already have two jobs," she interrupted gently, caressing your cheek. "I can't let you kill yourself working for a dream that is, in large part, mine."
"It’s *our* dream," you corrected, taking her hands in yours. "And I’d rather work three jobs and take ten years to leave than let you expose yourself to something we don't understand. These games... something doesn't add up."
Hyun-ju looked down, sighing. She knew you were right, but the desperation to give you the life she felt you deserved was a powerful engine.
"I just want them to stop looking at you like that because you're with me," she whispered. "In Thailand, nobody would point at us."
"Hyun-ju, look at me." You forced her to look up, cradling her face with tenderness. "I don't give a damn what the people in Seoul or the rest of the world have to say. I fell in love with you, not them. I didn't fall in love with a body—I fell in love with your soul, the way you take care of me, your bravery. We’ll make it together, even if it’s one step at a time. We don't need dangerous shortcuts."
Hyun-ju held your gaze for a long silence. The tension in her shoulders began to give way, replaced by a deep gratitude that made her eyes shimmer. She leaned in and kissed you—a kiss that tasted like a promise and a relief.
"You're right," she admitted, hugging you tight. "Sometimes fear makes me lose my way. Thank you for not letting me fall."
"You have nothing to thank me for. I'm happy with you, whether it's in this studio, a mansion, or at the end of the world," you smiled, sealing the moment with one last kiss before standing up. "Now come on, dinner is ready and it's getting cold."
"Coming," she replied with a renewed smile. Before getting up, she picked up the card from the nightstand and, without a second thought, tossed it into the bottom of the trash can.
In that moment, the glitter of the money was nothing compared to the light in your little kitchen.
You were crying again. The tears felt like a betrayal, a hot and bitter admission that their words still had the power to cut you. You had spent so much energy trying to refine yourself, trying to be "better," but in a school where status was everything, your efforts were invisible.
To them, you were just the daughter of a chauffeur and a housewife. They called you a "welfie"... a welfare case, a label that acted like a glass ceiling, reminding you that no matter how hard you studied, you would never stand on the same level as them.
You looked up at the grey sky of the construction site, letting out a jagged sigh. You had promised yourself you wouldn't do this today, yet here you were, hiding among the concrete and rusted rebar.
"Found you."
A familiar voice cut through the silence. You closed your eyes tight, wishing for a moment that he hadn't found you, even though you knew better. Gwi-nam always found you. He had promised he would since the day you met in elementary school.
You quickly wiped your cheeks and looked up. Gwi-nam was towering over you, his silhouette framed against the sky. A small, uncharacteristically soft smile played on his lips.
"What are you doing here?" You rolled your eyes, turning your face away so he wouldn't see the redness in your eyes.
"That’s no way to treat your best friend," Gwi-nam pouted, his voice carrying that goofy edge he only used with you.
He stayed silent for a moment, the bravado fading as he took in your slumped shoulders. He sat down on the dusty ground next to you, not caring about his uniform. "Were you crying again?"
"No," you lied, your voice cracking just enough to give you away.
"You don’t have to lie to me," he whispered. He reached out, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over the back of your hand, a grounded warmth against your cold skin.
"They were talking about me again," you sniffed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "Calling me a welfie. Making sure I know exactly where I belong."
"I told you to stop listening to them," Gwi-nam said, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "They don't define who you are. They're nothing. You should just ignore them."
"I try," you muttered timidly. "I try my best, but they always know exactly where to hit."
"Yah, come here." Gwi-nam smiled, opening his arms wide in an invitation for a hug.
You hesitated for a second before a small smile finally broke through. You leaned in, snuggling close to him and resting your head against his chest. The world felt a little less heavy there. But then, a familiar scent hit you.
"Did you smoke again?" You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.
"No" Gwi-nam lied smoothly, though his eyes gave him away.
"Yah, Gwi-nam, stop lying to me!" You lightly swiped at his chest. He let out a low chuckle that you could feel vibrating through his ribs against your ear.
Silence fell over the construction site again, but it wasn't heavy anymore. Gwi-nam held you, his gaze lingering on your face. He thought about how you were always kind to him, even when he lost his temper or acted like the monster everyone else expected him to be. He was trying to be a better person... not for the school, and not for himself, but for you.
"Do you want to go out after school today?" he asked suddenly, shaking off his thoughts.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Do you want me to be?" Gwi-nam played along, a sly, daring grin spreading across his face.
You went quiet, thinking. Did you want to go out with Gwi-nam? Did you want to cross that line and be more than just the friends who hid in construction sites together?
You took a deep breath and sat up straight. Reaching for your own uniform, you unpinned your name tag. You reached out and placed the small plastic rectangle into Gwi-nam’s hand. His eyes widened in genuine shock as he looked down at it.
"Mr. Gwi-nam, would you like to go out with me?" you asked in a teasing, formal tone.
A genuine, bright laugh broke from his lips... a sound he rarely shared with anyone else.
"Yes," he grinned, clutching your name tag like it was made of solid gold. "I would love to."
As he pulled you back into his arms, he made a silent promise to himself. Tonight, he would tell you everything. He would tell you that you weren't just a "best friend," and that he never wanted to let go of the girl who made him want to be someone worth loving.
Warning: +18, smut, p i v, unprotected, obsession, yandere themes, dark romance, manipulation, possessiveness.
Summary: During the rebellion, you hear Young-il die over the radio, however not long after you come face to face with the leader of the games who reveals his identity, and makes you an offer that is hard to refuse when it comes to your safety.
From the very beginning, Gi-hun’s plan had felt like a suicide mission. Storming the guards, infiltrating the game’s inner workings, trying to reach the Leader... it was the desperate gambit of a man with nothing left to lose. Yet, there you were, heart hammering against your ribs and the metallic tang of fear sharp on your tongue, having agreed to be a part of the chaos.
The assault had been a bloodbath. Young-il and the others had been cut down in a hail of gunfire; Player 388 never returned with the ammo resupply, and while the rest were left behind in some blood-soaked corner of the facility, you had managed to slip through a side bulkhead.
You wandered through hallways of clinical, bone-chilling white. You had no idea where you were, but Young-il’s final words—the ones you’d overheard through the radio static during his last exchange with Gi-hun—played in your head like a requiem. You’d grown close to him during the games; his death stung with an intensity you couldn't quite label—was it love, or just the sheer desperation of not wanting to be alone?
“Y/N.”
The voice, deep and impossibly calm, made the hair on your arms stand up. You spun around, coming face-to-face with a towering figure: a man in a dark suit wearing a geometric, polyhedral mask. Behind him, a guard marked with a triangle raised his rifle in sync with your own weapon.
The masked man raised a gloved hand, giving a silent signal for the guard to lower his weapon and retreat. The subordinate obeyed without a second thought, leaving the two of you alone in the silence of the corridor.
“W-who are you? What do you want?” Your voice, though you tried to project strength, cracked at the end, betraying the mental and physical exhaustion consuming you.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, taking a step toward you. You recoiled instinctively, keeping your barrel leveled at his chest. “Lower the gun.”
“It’s you, isn’t it? The one Gi-hun is looking for,” you said, adrenaline battling the terror in your veins. “Are you going to kill me now? Use my body to teach the others a lesson about what happens when they break your rules?”
“I would never lay a hand on you,” he replied.
Slowly, he reached for his hood and then the edges of the mask. As the black metal piece slid away, revealing the face hidden beneath, your knees buckled. You had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.
“No... you... Young-il, you were...” Your mind refused to process the image of the man you’d watched "die" less than an hour ago.
“In-ho... my real name is Hwang In-ho,” he interrupted. His tone was soft, stripped of the Front Man's clinical coldness. He took a careful step toward you. Seeing you didn't fire, he took another. “Give me the gun, please. You’re safe now.”
“You’re the one behind all this horror?” you asked, the reality hitting you like a wave of ice water.
“Y/N...” He moved closer but stopped dead when you raised the barrel again.
“Don’t come any closer,” you warned, your hands trembling. “I don’t even know who you really are. The man I knew in the arena was a lie.”
“You know exactly who I am,” he insisted, his gaze locked onto yours with a possessive intensity. “And I want to help you. I want to get you out of here. Come with me; I can give you protection no one else here has.”
“How can I believe you? How do I know I’m not just another loose end you want to tie up in private?”
“Because you lost at *Mingle*,” he blurted out, and the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. “In the final round, when there were only two of you left and you entered the room with your partner, someone else joined you. The rules dictated you both had to die. I gave the order not to fire.” He stopped directly in front of you, letting the muzzle of your gun press into the center of his chest. “Is that not proof enough? I broke the logic of my own game for you. I risked the integrity of this entire operation just so you could keep breathing.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his confession. He reached out delicately, wrapping his fingers over yours on the gun and slowly lowering it until the steel pointed at the floor.
“Come with me. Stay by my side. You’ll be safe here, under my shadow,” he asked again, extending his hand.
You took a shaky breath, fighting back the tears. Finally, you let the gun drop and took his hand. In-ho let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, interlacing his fingers with yours before pulling you into a possessive embrace, burying his face in your hair.
“It’s over... you’re going to be okay, I promise,” he whispered against your ear, one hand stroking your back while the other cradled your head, as if you were the most precious prize in his private collection.
“What... what about the others? About Gi-hun?” you asked, clinging to his suit.
“They will keep playing. The fate of the others is no longer your concern,” he replied with a coldness that chilled your blood, even as his hands remained warm against you. He pulled back just enough to take your face in his hands, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “You are off the board now. Don’t worry about anything else.”
You nodded, trying to force a smile as you clung to the only safety left in that hellscape. In-ho kissed your forehead with reverence and, gripping your hand firmly, began to lead you through the secret corridors—away from the carnage, toward a room where only his rules, and you, existed.
In-ho’s quarters were a world unto themselves—a sanctuary of elegant shadows and silent technology that felt a lifetime away from the white tiles and blood of the arena. The air smelled of expensive leather and sandalwood, a scent that briefly made you forget the stench of sweat and fear clinging to your skin.
He didn't let go of your hand for a single second. He led you to a dark velvet sofa and, with a softness that was almost disturbing given his position, guided you to sit. In-ho knelt before you, shattering any sense of hierarchy, and began to untie the laces of your worn-out sneakers.
“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice vibrating in the stillness of the room. He looked up, his dark eyes roaming over you with a mix of adoration and a breath-taking possessiveness.
“I’m still waiting for this to be a hallucination brought on by exhaustion,” you whispered, watching his hands—the hands of a man who controlled the life and death of hundreds. “In-ho… what I saw out there…”
“‘Out there’ doesn’t exist for you anymore,” he interrupted, sliding his hands up your calves to your knees. His fingers gripped the fabric of your player uniform with a firmness that made you shiver. “In here, it’s only you and me. I’ve waited weeks to have you in this space, away from the cameras and the eyes of my subordinates.”
He stood up and walked to a bar cabinet, pouring two fingers of amber liquor into a crystal glass. He returned to your side and offered it to you. As you took it, your fingers brushed his, sending an electric spark through you. The alcohol burned your throat, but it helped steady the erratic thumping of your heart.
In-ho sat beside you, invading your personal space until his shoulder was pressed flush against yours. With one hand, he delicately tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, tracing your jawline with his thumb.
“You have no idea how hard it was,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Watching you go hungry, watching you get hurt, watching other men get close to you… I had to fight every instinct not to revolt and remind the world exactly who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to anyone, In-ho,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction as you lost yourself in the intensity of his stare.
“In this place, you belong to me,” he corrected with a cold, fascinated smile. He leaned in, closing the gap until his lips brushed your ear. “I saved you for a reason. It wasn't charity. It’s because I cannot allow the world to blow out the only light I have left.”
His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, tilting your head back slightly to expose your throat. You felt his warm breath against your skin before his lips found the hollow of your neck in a slow, possessive kiss. An involuntary gasp escaped you, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the strange security of his hold.
In-ho pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, searching for any sign of rejection, but finding only a shared need. He took your face in both hands, this time with an urgency he no longer tried to hide.
“Stay with me,” he pleaded—and this time it wasn’t an order from the Leader, but the plea of a man who was lonely at the top. “Not just tonight. Stay until the games are over. You will be my best-kept secret.”
“And after?” you asked, your hand reaching up to stroke the collar of his black suit.
“After, the world will be whatever we want it to be,” he replied, sealing the promise with a deep kiss—one that tasted of redemption and sin, marking the beginning of your new life in the golden cage of the man who controlled everything.
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, charged with an electricity that made the hair on your arms stand up. In-ho was not the man you had known in the arena; here, without the mask and the weight of his public deception, his desire was a palpable force—a gravity pulling you irremediably toward him.
“You’re so dirty, so covered in this place...” he whispered, his fingers tracing the contour of your neck before trailing down to the zipper of your green tracksuit. His gaze never left yours—a mixture of devotion and a hungry possessiveness that made you tremble. “Let me take all of this off you. I want to wipe every trace of the games off your skin.”
With agonizing slowness, he pulled the zipper down. His hands, firm and practiced, slid the fabric off your shoulders, revealing the skin he had coveted for so long from behind his monitors. As the uniform pooled on the floor, you felt vulnerable, but the heat radiating from In-ho enveloped you like a shield.
He took you by the waist and pulled you toward him, forcing you to straddle his lap while he remained on the sofa. The contrast between your bare skin and the expensive fabric of his suit was a delicious friction. In-ho let out a low growl—a vibration you felt in your very core—and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a desperation that was almost violent.
“You’re mine...” he Page growled against your skin, his hands squeezing your thighs with enough force to leave marks—marks he would claim with pride. “You have no idea how many times I closed my eyes and imagined you exactly like this, in my room, under my control.”
Your hands found the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as you pulled him into a searing kiss. It was a clash of tongues and need; In-ho kissed you as if he were trying to consume you, as if he wanted to fuse you to him so you could never leave. His hand came up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him as his eyes burned with a dark intensity.
“Say it,” he demanded, his voice an order laced with desire. “Say you’ll stay. Say you belong to me.”
“In-ho...” you gasped, your body arching against his as you felt his hardness pressing against you through his trousers. “I’ll stay. I’m yours.”
Those words were the breaking point. In-ho lifted you effortlessly and carried you toward the king-sized bed that dominated the center of the room. He laid you down on the dark silk sheets and began to strip out of his suit with an urgency you’d never seen in him. When he finally came over you, his skin against yours felt like returning home after a war.
He moved over you with a mix of dominance and almost religious adoration. His hands never stopped roaming over you, claiming every inch of your body, marking your skin with kisses and light bites that had you moaning his name over and over.
When he finally entered you, the world outside those walls ceased to exist. There were no games, no deaths, no Gi-hun, no debts. There was only the frantic rhythm of his hips, the sound of your hitched breaths, and the unblinking gaze of a man watching you as if you were the only real thing in his empire of shadows.
In-ho pinned your hands above your head, interlacing his fingers with yours, making sure you were present—making sure you felt every inch of him inside you. He came with a muffled cry against your shoulder, clinging to you like you were his only anchor in the middle of the storm.
Minutes later, as silence reclaimed the room, In-ho pulled you to his chest, covering you both with the sheets. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his possessiveness now softened into a protective calm.
“No one will ever touch you again,” he whispered against your temple, his voice heavy with an unbreakable promise. “You’re the only prize I ever cared about winning.”
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The rooftop was a graveyard of discarded school furniture, a skeletal monument to student neglect. Gwi-nam sat perched on one of the weathered benches, his gaze fixed on the hazy skyline in the distance. He leaned back against a precarious stack of chairs, the metal groaning under his weight, and fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
He flicked his lighter—a distinctive silver one—and took a long, slow drag. As he exhaled a plume of grey smoke into the afternoon air, a shadow fell over him. He started, nearly dropping the cherry, as Y/N materialized in his line of sight.
She looked like she was vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.
"You were the absolute last person I wanted to see today," she muttered, her face contorted in a mask of disgust.
"Woah, woah. Relax," Gwi-nam let out a sharp, hysterical laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Besides, students aren't even allowed up here. You’re breaking the rules, princess."
"Shut up. Just shut up. My head is killing me," Y/N snapped. She slumped onto a nearby bench, her shoulders dropping as if the weight of the entire school day had finally crushed her.
"What’s the drama now? Did your boyfriend ditch you for the debate team again?"
Y/N shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "I don’t know who you’re talking about."
"Oh, come on. The class president. Mr. Perfect."
"He’s a pervert. He makes my skin crawl," she said, scrunching her nose in genuine revulsion.
Gwi-nam leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Tough crowd. So, what’s actually wrong?"
"Somebody stole my lighter."
Gwi-nam erupted into a fit of deep, guttural laughter that echoed off the rooftop vents. Y/N just rolled her eyes, staring at the floor in silent fury.
"Here," he offered, a predatory smirk stretching across his lips as he held out a silver lighter. "You can use mine."
Y/N’s eyes darted from his smirk to the object in his hand. She froze. "Wait a minute…" She stood up, leaning in to inspect the engravings on the casing. "That’s *mine*!"
"I totally didn't steal it," he lied, his voice dripping with false innocence.
"What the fuck, Yoon Gwi-nam?" She snatched it from his hand, her brow furrowing. "Don't touch my things. Ever."
"I found it in the science lab. You probably dropped it in your rush to get away from me," Gwi-nam countered with a dismissive roll of his eyes.
God, why was she always so high-strung?
Y/N didn't dignify that with a response. She pocketed the lighter and turned on her heel, leaving him alone with his smoke. He was too annoying to deal with, she thought—a constant, buzzing fly in the periphery of her life.
(...)
Later that evening, Y/N was holed up in her room, the desk lamp casting long shadows over her half-finished calculus homework. A sudden commotion from downstairs shattered her concentration. Voices—loud, masculine, and obnoxious—filtered through the floorboards.
Curiosity won over her irritation. She trudged downstairs, only to stop dead at the sight of several boys sprawled across the living room furniture like they owned the place. Her brother’s friends.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She turned to retreat back to her sanctuary when her brother’s voice rang out. "Hey! Y/N! Come hang out."
"No, thank you," she declined with a smile so fake it felt like plastic, before bolting back to her room.
It was 9:00 PM. Her parents still weren't home. She checked her phone and found a text from her mother:
Mom: We’re going to be late, don’t wait up! One of the colleagues was in an accident, so we’re at the hospital. Order some food if you’re hungry.
Great. That explained why her brother felt bold enough to turn the living room into a frat house.
A sharp knock on her door made her groan. She threw her pen down and marched over, ripping the door open. "Not you... again."
Gwi-nam stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He offered a playful wink that made her want to scream. "Can I borrow your lighter?"
"No. Leave me alone."
"Hey, hey, hey!" Gwi-nam’s protests were cut short as Y/N slammed the door in his face.
The entire world was testing her patience today.
Five minutes later, the knocking returned. Y/N felt a vein throb in her temple. "What do you want, Oppa?" she shouted, assuming it was her brother.
"Hey, we’re playing spin the bottle. You in?"
"No."
"Okay, okay! Chill."
She put on her headphones, turning the volume up until the bass drowned out the existence of the boys downstairs. She tried to focus on her homework, but within ten minutes, she was just doodling nihilistic shapes in the margins of her notebook.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
She ripped the headphones off and stormed to the door. "Hi," Gwi-nam said, peering in.
"Hello?" Y/N frowned, blocking the entrance. "Why won't you go away?"
"Can I come in?" Gwi-nam forced his features into a polite, almost desperate smile, giving her his best version of puppy-dog eyes. It was a terrifyingly effective look on someone usually so menacing.
"Why?"
"Why not?" he pouted.
It was infuriating. He looked almost cute, which only made Y/N want to punch him more.
"Because I don’t want some random boy in my room while I’m trying to work," she reasoned through a tight-lipped smile.
"Yah! Y/N!" Gwi-nam gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "I’m your friend. Not some random boy."
"Correction: you are my brother’s friend."
"Same thing," he asserted, stepping closer.
"It really isn't."
"Oh, come on. Just let me in for five minutes."
"Do you have drugs hidden in here or something?" Y/N asked, her voice dripping with mock drama as she covered her mouth.
"Do I look like a drug dealer to you?" Gwi-nam chuckled, leaning his weight against the door so she couldn't close it.
"I think worse of you, actually, but let's keep that a secret," she smiled sweetly, attempting to shut the door. Gwi-nam’s hand shot out, stopping the wood in its tracks.
"Y/N, stop. Give me a second to actually speak. Please."
His tone had shifted. The snark was gone, replaced by something uncomfortably serious. Y/N paused, her eyebrows shooting up. She waited for the punchline, but he just stood there, staring at her with an intensity that made the air in the hallway feel thin.
"What?" she blinked.
"I like you."
Y/N blinked again. She seriously considered the possibility that she’d had a stroke or that the headphones had damaged her hearing. "Are you high?"
"No, I’m not high!" Gwi-nam insisted, his frustration bubbling up. "I’ve always liked you. Seriously, I thought I was being obvious. I’ve tried a thousand times."
She went quiet. She thought back to the "stolen" lighter, the way he always seemed to find her on the roof, the way he was currently standing in her doorway looking like his world depended on her answer. He *had* been extra clingy lately. Extra… something.
"But I don't like you," Y/N said, her voice blank.
The second the words left her mouth, she felt a pang of guilt. The cocky, arrogant mask Gwi-nam usually wore shattered instantly. He looked like she’d just kicked him in the ribs.
"Oh," was all he could say, his hand sliding off the door as he took a step back into the shadows of the hallway.
The silence that followed stretched, thick and suffocating. Y/N watched the raw, unguarded hurt flash across his face, a vulnerability he rarely, if ever, showed. The usual bravado, the teasing smirk, the arrogant tilt of his head—all gone. He just stood there, shoulders slumped, looking utterly deflated.
A strange knot formed in her stomach. Part of her, the cynical, self-preservatory part, felt a perverse satisfaction. He finally got what he deserved. But another, quieter part, the one that still remembered the boy who’d sometimes shared his snacks on the bus, twisted with an unexpected pang of regret. She had meant what she said, but the brutal honesty felt… unkind.
He turned to leave, his head bowed, the usual swagger absent from his retreating form. Y/N’s hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve before she could fully process the impulse.
"Wait," she blurted out, her voice softer than she intended.
Gwi-nam stopped, not turning, just pausing, like a wounded animal unsure whether to fight or flee.
"Just… come in," she sighed, stepping aside to fully open the door. "But don't make it weird."
He slowly turned, his eyes, still a little wide and vulnerable, searching hers. A flicker of hope ignited in their depths. He didn't say anything, just nodded stiffly and walked past her, his presence instantly making her small room feel even smaller. He went straight for her bed, sitting on the edge, hands clasped between his knees.
Y/N closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, trying to regain her composure. The confession had rattled her more than she cared to admit. She walked over to her desk, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, pretending to resume her homework.
"So," she began, not looking at him. "What exactly were you trying to 'make obvious'?"
Gwi-nam let out a shaky breath, a half-laugh that died in his throat. "Everything. I don't know. Always ending up where you were, bothering you about your lighter, making those stupid jokes… wanting to walk you home sometimes, even when you told me to get lost."
"Right," she drawled, sketching a furious doodle of a monster eating a textbook. "Because that’s a clear sign of affection. Harassing me."
"It was my way," he mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I thought you knew. I thought… maybe you felt something too, sometimes."
The honesty was disarming. Y/N put down her pen. She turned to face him, crossing her arms. "Look, Gwi-nam. I appreciate the… sentiment. But I’m not really in a place for that. And honestly, you’re… a lot."
He finally met her gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk returning to his lips. "I know. And you’re just as much 'a lot.' That’s why we’d be perfect."
"You’re delusional."
A comfortable, yet charged, silence settled between them. The sounds of her brother’s friends downstairs faded into a distant murmur. The rain outside had softened to a gentle patter.
Suddenly, Gwi-nam reached into his pocket. "Got another one?" he asked, holding up his own lighter.
Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She pulled out her silver lighter, twirling it between her fingers. "Only if we go back up to the roof. I don’t want my room smelling like an ash tray."
He grinned, a genuine, easy smile that made him look less like a menace and more like the boy she sometimes remembered. "Deal."
They ascended the stairs in comfortable silence, the tension from minutes ago replaced by a fragile truce. On the rooftop, the air was cool and damp, the city lights shimmering through a thin veil of mist. Gwi-nam took a seat on the same bench, and Y/N sat beside him, a little closer this time.
He lit his cigarette, the tip glowing red in the dim light, and inhaled deeply. Then, he offered the pack to her. Y/N hesitated for only a second, then pulled one out. Gwi-nam leaned in, lighting hers with his own, their fingers brushing. The small spark was more than just fire.
She took a drag, the harsh smoke burning her throat, a familiar discomfort. She blew it out, watching it dissolve into the night. Gwi-nam did the same, his gaze fixed on her.
"You really don't like me?" he asked again, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable in the quiet of the rooftop.
Y/N took another drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs. She turned her head, meeting his eyes. The city sprawled beneath them, indifferent to their small, complicated world. This was Gwi-nam. Annoying, infuriating, but undeniably… *him*. And somehow, in this messed-up life, his chaotic presence felt like a constant.
She leaned in, the cigarette still between her fingers, and pressed her lips against his. The taste of nicotine and something uniquely Gwi-nam filled her mouth. It was a kiss that felt as cynical as it was desperate, a silent acknowledgment of the messy, undeniable pull between them.
When she pulled away, their cigarettes were still burning, casting tiny, orange halos in the darkness.
"Maybe I do," she whispered, exhaling a plume of smoke. "A little."
Gwi-nam just smirked, a real, full-blown, triumphant smirk, and took another drag from his cigarette. The city hummed below, and for a moment, everything felt exactly as it should be.
Warning: angst, argument, jealousy, possessiveness, established relationship, emotional dependence, Salesman x wife!reader
Summary: The salesman hides his emotional dependence on you with a jealous outburst when he learns you're going out with some friends and that one of their brothers will be there.
The Salesman walked toward the apartment complex you shared, leaving the bustle of the subway station behind. It had been a productive day, every card had been placed into the right hands, and the subtle satisfaction of a job well done allowed him to return home earlier than expected.
He had even allowed himself a romantic gesture: a bouquet of fresh peonies and a box of artisan chocolates. He had the entire evening mapped out in his mind: they would order from your favorite restaurant, uncork an expensive vintage, and he would spend the hours watching the lamplight dance across your skin.
When he opened the door, his smile was genuine. He set down his briefcase and shoes with the methodical precision that defined him, shutting the outside world away.
“Sweetheart?” he called out, frowning when he didn’t find you in your usual spot on the sofa.
“You’re home! I was just about to call you,” you replied, appearing in the hallway with a radiant smile. You stepped closer to give him a quick kiss, but he went rigid when he realized you weren’t in your loungewear. You were wearing that dress—the one he loved, the one that accentuated your curves in a way he preferred to save for his eyes alone.
“Are you headed out?” he asked, his tone losing its warmth. He handed you the flowers and chocolates almost out of habit. “I didn’t realize we had plans.”
“Oh, we didn’t. A friend texted me out of the blue; a group of us are going out for girls' night,” you explained, heading to the kitchen to find a vase. He followed you, his footsteps silent and heavy.
“And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was just about to. My friend just confirmed that she and her brother are picking me up in a few minutes,” you said casually, brushing past him to head back to the bedroom to finish getting ready.
The Salesman felt a bitter knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you through the bathroom mirror. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the mention of that man at all. Why did he have to go? What right did he have to spend the evening sitting at your table, breathing your air?
“And why does the brother need to be there?” he asked, his voice turning dangerously flat.
“Because he’s part of the group, Yoo. Don’t be like that,” you answered from the bathroom, touching up your lipstick. “It’s just dinner. There will be plenty of people there.”
“Plenty of people? Do I know all of them?”
You paused and peeked out from the bathroom door, narrowing your eyes. “Are you interrogating me?”
“No,” he lied, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. His gaze swept over you from head to toe with a possessiveness he couldn't hide. “But I don’t like that guy. I don’t like him, and I don’t like any of your ‘male’ friends.”
He took a step toward you, invading your personal space with that predatory elegance he used to intimidate marks on the subway. “Let me go with you.”
“Gong Yoo, it’s a dinner with friends,” you sighed, setting the lipstick on the counter. “No one is bringing partners. You know perfectly well you can’t come.”
He swallowed hard, feeling the control he fought so hard to maintain slipping through his fingers. Hearing his real name from your lips used to be his greatest pleasure, but now it sounded like a barrier.
“Why not? Or is it that you want to be alone with him?” he snapped, his cynicism surfacing. “Maybe this ‘group dinner’ is just an excuse for you to see that man without me in the way.”
The mere thought of another man touching you, or even looking at you the way he did, made his blood boil. He wanted to lock you in this apartment, keep you safe and hidden from the world. Just for him.
“Are you calling me a liar? And accusing me of cheating?” You turned around, your annoyance flaring into legitimate anger. “When have I ever given you a single reason to doubt me? If I tell you I’m going with my friends, it’s because it’s the truth. I can’t control who brings who, and I’m not going to stop living my life just because my boyfriend is too insecure to handle other men being in the same room as me.”
“It’s not insecurity,” he replied, his jaw tightening so hard it ached.
“Oh, really? Then what is it?” you challenged, stepping forward and holding his gaze.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t admit out loud that it was a raw, possessive obsession—a claim of ownership that accepted no competition. At that moment, the vibration of your phone on the bed shattered the silence.
“They’re downstairs,” you said, walking past him to grab your purse and jacket. You didn't look at him. “I hope this time alone gives you something to think about. I’m not staying locked up here just because you can’t control your jealousy.”
The Salesman didn’t move. He stood there in the center of the room, listening to the echo of your heels in the hallway and the sharp thud of the front door closing.
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair, ruining the perfect style he usually kept so meticulously. His heart hammered with a dull fury against his ribs. He hated this. He hated the uncertainty, and he hated not being the absolute center of your universe every second of the day.
He walked to the kitchen and saw the bouquet of flowers on the counter, still waiting to be arranged. He let out a heavy, bitter sigh. He knew you’d come back, but the idea that at this very moment you were laughing with someone else, under the gaze of another man, was a torture he didn't know how to turn off.
“Mine,” he whispered to the empty room, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. “Only mine.”
The hours had stretched like endless shadows. The Salesman hadn't turned on a single light. He sat in the armchair facing the door, back straight, hands clasped over his lap, letting the darkness of the living room consume him.
The bouquet he’d brought sat forgotten on the table, slowly wilting in the gloom. In his mind, every minute was agony; he imagined strange hands brushing your arm, shared laughter with that man, looks that stripped you bare.
When he finally heard the click of the key at two in the morning, his body went taut, like a violin string about to snap.
You entered quietly, dropping your keys on the entryway table, but you stopped dead when you saw his silhouette framed against the window.
“Babe?” you asked, your voice tinged with a defensive weariness. “What are you doing in the dark?”
“You had fun, didn't you?” His voice emerged from the shadows, cold and stripped of its usual velvet modulation.
“I’m not doing this again,” you sighed, trying to walk past him, but he stood up with feline agility, blocking your path.
“Look at me,” he ordered. He didn't wait for you to comply; he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you toward him with a roughness that knocked the air out of your lungs.
Before you could protest, you felt his face bury itself in the crook of your neck. It wasn't a kiss; it was a deep, almost violent inhalation.
He was scenting you.
He was hunting for the trace of a stranger’s perfume, the smell of another man’s tobacco, or the stale odor of alcohol from some cheap bar. His hands slid down your arms, squeezing with a firmness that bordered on pain.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” You tried to push him away, but he was a wall of pure muscle and will.
“He touched you,” he hissed, his eyes vacant as he began to fumble with the buttons of your jacket with frantic hands. “I saw you leave here looking so beautiful... you can't tell me no man tried to touch what belongs to me.”
You froze, paralyzed by shock. He had never acted like this. With erratic movements, he began to pull the strap of your dress down, exposing your skin to the pale moonlight filtering through the window. His fingers, usually so precise, searched desperately for a smudge, a bruise, a bite mark—any scrap of evidence to confirm his own madness.
He turned you around, checking your back, your shoulders, your chest. His breathing was erratic—a primal sound that made your blood run cold. When he finished his "inspection" and found nothing but your pristine skin, the silence that followed was almost worse than his shouting.
The tension left his body all at once. His hands dropped to his sides, and his shoulders slumped. In the shadows, you saw his mask of the unflappable man finally crumble.
“There’s nothing...” he whispered, his voice breaking. “There’s nothing.”
Suddenly, he collapsed against you, hiding his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug so tight you could barely breathe. You felt the dampness of his tears soaking into the fabric of your dress.
“Forgive me... please, forgive me,” he sobbed, his body trembling violently. “I lost my mind. The moment you closed that door, I felt like I was losing you forever. Every second that passed, my head created images... I saw him touching you, I saw you forgetting me. I couldn’t breathe. I’m going crazy, darling. These hours without you... they destroyed me.”
You stood static, hands hovering in the air, not knowing whether to wrap them around him or push him away. The man in front of you, weeping and pleading like a frightened child, wasn't the sophisticated, calculating husband you’d fallen in love with. He was someone dangerous—someone whose devotion had crossed a line you weren't sure you could ever forgive.
“Babe...” you started, but the words caught in your throat.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, clinging to you with absolute desperation. “Do whatever you want with me, punish me, but don’t ever go out like that again. I feel like I’m dying if you aren’t in my sight. I love you so much it hurts my very blood. I’m sorry... please, I’m sorry.”
You stared into the darkness of the living room, a shiver running down your spine. For the first time, you realized that his love wasn't a sanctuary—it was a cage, and the bars were beginning to close with a terrifying force.
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