#circle guard

SPOILERRSS BELOWW‼️

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Frontman x Fem!Reader (Circle Guard)

Summary: On a winter night in Seoul, the Frontman sees a young woman who looks hauntingly like his late wife — and something inside him snaps. Drawn by grief, obsession, and desire, he pulls her into his world of blood and games, making her a guard instead of a player. Behind the mask, he promises her safety — but also claims her as his own.

Warnings: Dark themes/ obsession, possessiveness, grief. Squid Game canon setting (death games, violence, blood) Mature/explicit sexual content (non-vulgar language but intense) Power imbalance. Dubious consent undertones (obsession + control) Emotional manipulation / toxic relationship themes.

Author's Note: Based on this INTERESTING request. Tbh, I like shipping frontman with Fem!guards too. It's kinda sum!dom, yk 😭

Words Count: 3970

Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged in LBH fics.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp

It was a cold winter night in Seoul. The Frontman sat back in his limousine, sipping quietly on his drink. Dressed in all black, his mask lay forgotten beside him. He was on his way to the island, where the next games would begin in a week’s time.

The car slowed at a red light. His gaze flickered out of the tinted window—and froze.

There, on the sidewalk, stood a young woman, handing out pufflets to passersby. Her back was turned at first, nothing remarkable. But when she turned… his breath caught.

For a moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost. The same dark eyes. The same curve of her cheek. The same delicate grace that had once belonged to his late wife.

He blinked once, twice, making sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. No—she was real. Even dressed plainly in a sweater and jeans, her beauty pierced straight through him.

He knew she wasn’t his wife. But God, she looked like her. And something inside him—something long buried—stirred.

“Follow her” he ordered, his voice low, calm, but edged with something dangerous.

The girl disappeared into an old apartment building. The driver waited for further instructions, but the Frontman already knew what he wanted.

He would bring her to his world.

To his island.

To his hell.

And once she was there, he would never let her go.

---

The Frontman arrived at the island under a sky smeared with gray clouds, the waves crashing violently against the jagged shore as though echoing the turmoil inside him.

The first thing he did was summon his second-in-command — the masked officer — to his private chamber, the same room where he sat in silence during every game, watching life and death unfold like theatre.

“You called for me, sir?”

The Frontman leaned back on the couch, still masked. His posture radiated control, power, and indifference — the very image of a man untouchable.

But beneath the mask, his thoughts were tangled and restless. He could not shake the vision of the girl he had seen the night before.

Her face had carved itself into his memory with a blade’s precision, haunting him. He did not even know her name, yet the certainty was already rooted in him: she belongs to me. Whether it was her uncanny resemblance to his late wife or something darker pulling him, it didn’t matter. He had decided.

“I want someone brought to the next week’s games” he said, his voice cold, measured.

The officer straightened, attentive.

“Name? Address?”

The Frontman’s mind replayed the image — the girl on the dimly lit street, the pufflets in her hands, the way the weak light had softened her features until she looked almost ghostly. His voice dropped lower, dangerous with intent.

“Chungmuro-dong. An old apartment building with broken steps and rusted railings.”

The officer gave a sharp nod. “I’ll tell the recruiter. He’ll handle the rest.”

After a brief pause, he ventured, “Do you want her as a player—”

“No.” The Frontman’s tone cut through the air like a blade. “Guard. Definitely as a guard. As a player… it’s too risky. Too final.”

“Understood, sir.”

A wave of the hand dismissed him. The officer bowed and exited, leaving the chamber thick with silence again.

The Frontman slowly removed the mask, setting it down beside his drink. His expression was unreadable, his eyes colder than the sea outside — but deep within them burned an obsession that frightened even him.

He poured himself another glass, staring into the amber liquid as though it could steady him.

Then, almost in a whisper, his lips curved into something between a vow and a curse

“Fate stole her from me once… but perhaps it’s giving her back to me, in another form. This time, I won’t let her slip away.”

The words lingered in the silence, mixing with the faint hum of the monitors — a promise born of grief and obsession.

---

A week had passed.

Y/N now stood in a dimly lit room, her reflection staring back at her from mirror. The pink uniform felt stiff against her skin, the black mask with a circle pressed heavy against her face.

She still wasn’t sure where exactly she was—or why this place felt so suffocating—but she remembered the man who had given her the card. His promise still echoed in her mind: a chance to escape debt… a chance to start over.

And so here she was.

She adjusted the mask, staring at her unfamiliar reflection, when a sharp knock jolted her. The door creaked open and a masked officer stepped inside.

“Frontman wants to see you.”

Her brows furrowed beneath the mask. The officer caught her hesitation and added, his voice low, almost reverent:

“He is our leader. And when he calls, you don’t keep him waiting.”

Her pulse quickened. Nodding quickly, she followed him out into the corridor.

The walls shifted from playful colors into sterile grays, and soon into an ominous black.

The air grew colder, heavier, the silence pressing down on her as they walked.

Finally, they stopped before a single door—sleek, dark, and unmarked.

The officer stepped aside, his gloved hand gesturing toward it.

Y/N swallowed hard, drew a shaky breath, and reached for the knob. The door gave way with a low groan as she stepped inside.

The moment y/n stepped inside, the air in the room shifted.

The Frontman sat motionless on the couch, eyes locked on the blank screen before him. He didn’t need to look to know she was there—he had felt her presence the moment she entered. Still, he remained composed, untouchable, a figure of control.

Her footsteps were hesitant, almost trembling, until she stopped in front of him.

The Frontman tilted his masked face upward, then, with deliberate calm, removed it and set it on the table beside him.

Y/n’s breath hitched as her eyes met his. Without the mask, he was… devastating.

A sharp jawline carved from stone, dark hair slicked back, eyes as black as midnight, heavy with something unreadable. Older, yes—but age hadn’t dulled him. It had only made him more dangerous, more magnetic.

“Y/n” he spoke her name slowly, savoring it as though tasting it for the first time. He had already memorized her file, every detail of her life.

Hearing her name on his lips sent a wave of goosebumps racing down her arms. What was this feeling? Fear? The suffocating intensity of the room? Or simply… him?

“Take off your mask.”

She froze. The order clawed at her nerves. She had been told never to reveal her face—but he was the leader. Disobedience was not an option.

Her hands shook as she lowered her hood, unclipped the mask, and finally pulled it away.

The Frontman inhaled sharply. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. God—she looked like her. Like his wife.

The urge to rise, to reach out, to touch her was unbearable. To trace the ghost of familiarity on her skin. But not yet. Not too soon.

“You know why you’re here, right?”

She only nodded.

He wanted to hear her voice, not silence.

“The masked officer must have told you all the rules.”

Another nod. His jaw flexed, irritation creeping through his composure.

“Use your words when you talk to me.” His voice was low, controlled, but edged with steel.

Her heart stuttered. The shift in his tone made her throat dry. “Y-yes, sir.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Her voice was different from his wife’s—softer, sweeter—but it curled through his chest like smoke. Addictive.

He wanted to keep her there, to watch her, study her, unravel her. But restraint was necessary—for now. He leaned back and gestured.

“You can go… for now.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten. For now—why did it sound like a promise?

Quickly, she replaced her mask, lowered her head, and left.

The door shut behind her with a sharp click.

The Frontman leaned back against the couch, one gloved hand covering his mouth as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. A dark, broken chuckle escaped him, low and bitter.

“Is she even real? How… how can she look like her?”

His smirk returned, but this time it was unhinged, twisted.

“If fate has given me another chance,” he whispered to the empty room, voice dripping with obsession, “then I’ll make sure I don’t lose her… not this time. Even if I have to shatter her into pieces to keep her.”

---

The stench of blood still clung to the cold air of the avenue. Guards in pink uniforms moved like clockwork, dragging limp bodies across the dirt, stacking them into black coffins stamped with pink ribbons. The echo of gunfire had faded, but the silence that followed carried a weight heavier than the sound itself.

From his point above, the Frontman stood at the wide window of the control room, hands clasped behind his back. The mask was off now, but his face was still cold and unreadable, his eyes scanned the floor with meticulous precision.

And then, he saw her.

Even among the sea of masked workers, she stood out to him instantly. The tremor in her gloved hands as she tried to lift a lifeless body, the hesitation in her steps when blood seeped onto her uniform, the way her chest rose and fell too quickly beneath the pink fabric. She was terrified. And yet… she obeyed.

A flicker stirred in his chest. Not weakness—never weakness—but something old, something buried deep.

The image of his wife’s face came unbidden, ghostly, overlapping with the trembling girl in the circle mask.

His fingers twitched slightly at his side before curling into a fist.

“Officer” he spoke at last, his voice calm yet cutting through the silence.

The masked officers at his side bowed. “Yes, Frontman?”

“Bring her to me.”

The officer hesitated. “Now, sir? She is still—”

“Now!” His voice sharpened, leaving no room for argument.

The officer lowered his head. “Understood.”

As the man left to fetch her, the Frontman turned back to the scene below. The bodies were almost cleared, the floor slowly returning to its artificial sterility. But his eyes stayed fixed on the girl until the doors shut before him.

Y/n entered his room, her shaky hands clasped tightly behind her back.

“You… called me, sir?”

The Frontman turned around slowly, his piercing gaze falling on her. Without answering her question, his deep voice commanded.

“Take off your mask.”

Y/n gave a quick nod and obeyed, pulling the mask from her face. The moment her features were revealed, something stirred in him again—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He took a step closer.

“And your gloves, too.”

Her brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but seeing his unreadable expression, she complied.

His eyes dropped to her bare hands—delicate, soft, and so out of place in this cruel world. He stepped even closer, his voice low but firm.

“Are you afraid of this place?”

Before she could answer, he added sharply:

“I want only the truth.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Y-yes.”

Another step closer.

“Are you afraid of the other guards?”

Of course she was. She was new—and the only woman among them. Her silent nod confirmed it.

His jaw tightened. He moved closer still, closing the space until only a few steps remained between them.

“And me?” His voice dropped lower. “Are you afraid of me too?”

Y/n froze, her thoughts spiraling. Should she lie? Should she tell him what he wanted to hear? Her chest rose and fell quickly as she gave a small, hesitant nod before lowering her gaze.

A faint smirk curved his lips. With a gloved hand, he lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You don’t have to be afraid of anyone,” he murmured.

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him.

“Not of me… and absolutely not of anyone else.”

His gaze flicked down to her lips, and her heart skipped a beat. Why was he looking at her like that?

Then his eyes returned to hers, dark and steady.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

It sounded less like reassurance and more like a vow.

His knuckles brushed against her cheek, and other hand brushing against hers, making her shiver at the touch. Every part of him screamed to close the distance and taste her lips—but instead, he stepped back.

Y/n felt an unexpected pang of disappointment. She hated herself for it.

“You can g,” he said curtly, turning away.

She quickly replaced her mask, nodded, and left.

---

The moment she entered her small room, she tore off the mask and lowered the zipper of her uniform, gasping for air. Her chest rose and fell as confusion flooded her.

Why was she feeling this way—disappointed, tempted, and terrified all at once?

Was she… hoping he would kiss her?

But why would he? He was the leader. And she? She was just another guard.

Or so she thought.

Because to him, she wasn’t just anyone.

She was the only calm he had felt in years.

---

The nights blurred together after the first game. The air reeked faintly of iron and bleach from the avenues, and yet each evening she found herself summoned—not to the silence of her dorm, but to his chamber.

Frontman never framed it as more than work.

Review the players files.

Go over the patterns.

Help me keep order.

But beneath the weight of his mask, she began to notice it: the way his gloved hand would brush against hers when passing a folder, the pause of his shadowed gaze lingering too long when she looked up, the faint hum in his voice when he spoke her name as if he were tasting it for the first time in years.

He claimed efficiency. She felt something else.

Over time, his restraint frayed. Papers remained untouched longer than they should; discussions stretched into silence that pulsed heavy with something unspoken.

Sometimes his hand would linger against the small of her back as he leaned over to point at a detail.

Sometimes his gloved fingers would skim hers deliberately, like a secret he refused to voice.

And then one night, he stopped pretending.

Cornered against the desk, she felt his presence fill the space. His mask tilted downward, almost searching her face for permission. His voice, low and cracked around an old wound, confessed

“You remind me of her… of my wife.”

The words broke something inside her. For the first time, the air around him wasn’t only power and authority—it was grief.

Grief so raw it felt blasphemous to even breathe. Her heart clenched for him, for the loneliness in those words.

Her lips parted to speak, to soothe—she never had the chance. His mouth crashed against hers in a kiss both desperate and claiming, years of mourning igniting in one flame.

His gloved hand cradled her jaw as though she were both memory and salvation. When he pulled back, his voice rasped against her skin “You are only mine.”

---

A few days later, she learned what those words truly meant.

The corridors hummed with routine as she carried a bundle of files, but before she could turn a corner, a guard stepped into her path.

Too close. His masked face tilted, his hand reaching out as though he had a right to touch. The smell of his breath hit through the vents of his mask, and her pulse spiked with panic.

Before she could even cry out, a shadow descended.

Frontman appeared from the darkness like a phantom, hand clamping around the guard’s throat with lethal force.

He slammed him against the wall, the sound echoing through the hall like a warning bell. Rage rolled off him, thick, suffocating.

Her instinct betrayed her. She rushed forward, grabbing his arm, whispering “Please… stop.”

For a moment, his head tilted toward her, the black mask reflecting her trembling face. Then he released the guard, letting the man collapse to the floor like discarded trash and he quickly ran away.

In the same breath, frontman spun and pressed her back against the wall, his masked face close, his words searing into her soul.

“You are only mine. No one touches you. NO ONE!”

The declaration burned hotter than fear, deeper than protection. She should have been terrified—but her chest only heaved with something far more dangerous.

That night, in the quiet of his chamber, he sat alone. The mask rested on the desk, his face shadowed by dim light.

For the first time, he wondered if he was chasing a ghost. Was this need—the pull toward her—love?

Or was it just the cruel trick of fate, binding him to someone who bore the echo of what he’d lost?

He had no answers. Only the weight of his heartbeat, faster than it had been in years.

---

The next day, he saw her laughing softly with a guard. Just laughter. Just ease. But it sliced into him like betrayal.

His office was dim, shadows curling in the corners as though they too held their breath. She stood in front of his desk, tense, unsure why he had summoned her this late.

The Frontman said nothing at first, only watching her with that penetrating gaze that seemed to strip her down further than the mask ever could.

“You seemed… comfortable today” he finally said, his voice smooth but edged with something sharper. “Laughing with one of the guards.”

Her throat bobbed. “He was just trying to be nice. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more” he echoed slowly, as if tasting the words. Then he stood, deliberate, predatory, closing the distance between them until her back met the wall.

His gloved hand braced beside her head, the other sliding to her waist, fingers firm, possessive.

“Do you know what it does to me?” His breath ghosted against her ear. “Seeing someone else take what is mine—even for a second.”

Her pulse hammered. “I’m not—”

“You are” he cut her off, his voice low and commanding. “You are mine.”

The declaration shattered the air between them. He tilted her chin up, and when his lips finally crashed against hers, it was fierce, consuming.

Her resistance melted. She found herself clutching his coat, pulling him closer as his hands roamed—tracing her spine, her sides, lingering over curves as though memorizing every inch.

The kiss deepened, rough but desperate, his teeth grazing her lower lip until she gasped. That sound undid him.

He lifted her easily, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as her back pressed harder to the wall. Their mouths moved frantically, tongues brushing, breaths heavy, both of them drowning in the reckless pull.

“You think you can smile at one of my guards like that?” His voice was low, gravelly, a storm breaking just for her. He pinned her back against the wall, his body looming over hers, their breaths colliding. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, seeing you act so freely with anyone else?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. His gloved hand slid along her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. His thumb dragged slowly across her bottom lip, lingering there as his gaze darkened.

“You belong to me” he rasped, pressing his forehead to hers. “Every look, every word, every breath—you give those to me. Do you understand?”

She swallowed, her pulse racing. “Yes… Frontman.”

The way she said it only fueled him. A deep, guttural chuckle escaped his throat as he dragged his hand down her throat, feeling the frantic beat beneath his palm.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his lips grazing her ear. “Say whose you are.”

“Yours” she whispered, trembling. “Only yours.”

That broke the last thread of restraint. His mouth crushed against hers again, fierce and hungry, his kiss tasting of obsession and hunger long denied. His hands roamed—lowering the zipper of her uniform, fingertips leaving trails of fire on her skin. His coat fell from his shoulders, hers from hers, until the world blurred into heat and skin. She gasped when he bit her lip, his voice growling against her mouth.

“You drive me insane… do you know that? You remind me of everything I lost, and yet here you are, flesh and blood, mine to claim.”

He kissed her again and carried her to the bed, never breaking the kiss. Laying her down, his body caged hers, his hand gripping the sheets beside her head, the other dragging slowly down her thigh.

“You think I’ll ever let another man touch you? Look at you?” His words were sharp, filthy promises wrapped in reverence.

“No. I’ll mark you so deep you’ll forget what it’s like to breathe without me.”

Her whimper made him smirk, and he kissed down her neck, leaving possessive bites and bruises.

“I want you trembling under me” he murmured, his lips brushing over her skin. “Begging me to ruin you, to remind you who owns you.”

She arched against him, her voice breaking. “Please…”

That was all he needed. He devoured her, every touch and kiss a mixture of violence and devotion. The sound of his groans mixed with her soft cries filled the room as he claimed her over and over, his words echoing in her ear like a vow.

“Mine. Always mine.”

He leaned down, lips grazing her ear. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…” The confession slipped out of her like a prayer.

“That’s right,” he growled, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. “Only mine. No guard, no man, no ghost from past… just me.”

His touch grew bolder, peeling away the last piece of cloth from her body, his eyes burning with a hunger that seemed impossible to satisfy.

“Look at you” he rasped, dragging his thumb along her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“So beautiful… so scared… and yet you let me do this. You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched as he pressed against her, all control stripped from her hands.

“I’ll mark you,” he whispered against her neck, biting softly, possessively. “I’ll make sure you feel me tomorrow, the day after… every time you move, you’ll remember who put you there.”

She whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, and his smirk deepened.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick, velvet laced with gravel. “You learn fast.”

Their bodies tangled, the rhythm of his dominance crashing over her like waves. His mouth claimed hers again and again, each kiss tasting of obsession, of need that bordered on madness.

At one point, he pulled back, forehead pressed to hers, breaths mingling. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His voice was ragged now, stripped raw. “You’ve infected me. You’ve turned me into a man who can’t think straight unless he has you under him.”

---

When it was over, they lay tangled in sweat-slick sheets, his arm heavy around her waist, keeping her there as though he feared she might vanish.

Her head rested against his chest, his arms caging her protectively. She traced slow patterns over the scarred skin she found there, hesitant.

“Tell me…” her voice was a murmur in the dark. “Do you love me for who I am… or because I remind you of her?”

He froze. The question hit him hard.

After a long, heavy silence, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, pulling her even tighter against his chest.

But he said nothing.

Because deep down, even he didn't know.