#front man

the rain taps softly against the window of your small seoul apartment, a quiet rhythm that feels at odds with the storm in your heart.

you’ve just returned from a doctor’s appointment, your mind weighed down by routine checkups and the lingering shadow of your fiancé’s obsession.

for three years, you’ve stood by jun-ho...first as a colleague, then as a partner, and now as his fiancée...as he hunted for the truth about the mysterious island and its deadly games.

he also wanted to look for his brother.

jun-ho told you about it all.

he trusted you the most.

the squid games, as you’ve both come to call it, has consumed him since he first uncovered whispers of its existence as a detective.

now, with the island destroyed...blown to pieces in a fiery explosion just week ago...your lives are supposed to find peace.

you know better.

nothing about this case ever settles.

you fumble with your keys, the dampness of your blue cardigan clinging to your skin as you push open the apartment door. your boots squeak against the hardwood floor, and you’re about to call out for jun-ho when your breath catches in your throat.

there, right in the walkway, is something impossible.

a baby.

in a white baby carrier.

its a baby.

a tiny girl, no older than three months, lies nestled in a bundle on the floor.

she’s wrapped in a green jacket...number 222 emblazoned on the left side, the white digits marred by streaks of red.

blood, you realize with a jolt, your heart lurching.

the baby herself seems unharmed, her delicate features serene.

beneath the jacket, she wears a soft, colorful onesie, blues and greens swirling with delicate florals, and a knitted head cover keeps her tiny head warm.

the babies dark eyes, wide and curious, lock onto yours, and something inside you shifts...a fierce, primal protectiveness surges through you, sudden and overwhelming.

this child, this fragile little girl, is alone, and every instinct in your body screams to shield her from whatever brought her here.

“oh my goodness,” you whisper, your bag slipping from your shoulder to the floor with a soft thud.

your hands tremble as you kneel beside her, your heart pounding.

she’s so small, so vulnerable, and the sight of those bloodstains on the jacket makes your chest tighten with dread.

has she been fed?

is she hurt?

why is she here, in your apartment?

your mind races, but all you can think about is keeping her safe, wrapping her in warmth and love she might never have known.

you want to scoop her up, to hold her close, but you hesitate, afraid of startling her.

before you can decide, the door creaks open behind you.

jun-ho steps inside, his clothes seem dry for someone who came from the light drizzling rain.

he didn't say anything as he looked at you. you looked confused, so this confused him before his eyes land on the baby.

jun-ho's face pales, his dark eyes widening in shock.

“what… what is this?”

“i don’t know,” you say, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your hands still hovering over the baby.

“i just found her here.” your voice cracks, and you realize your protectiveness is already there, a maternal instinct you didn’t know you had flaring to life.

you want to shield this child from whatever horrors left her here, knowing that she must've came from that island.

jun-ho steps closer, his movements slow, cautious, as if the baby might vanish.

the babies gaze shifts to him, calm and unwavering, and the room feels impossibly still.

it was then that you noticed the small card laid against where her small belly would be.

jun-ho noticed it right away and reaches for it, his fingers brushing the fabric carefully, as if he’s afraid to disturb her.

he holds the card up, his brow furrowing as he reads it.

you lean closer, your shoulder brushing his, and read the words scrawled in neat, black ink:

player 222: winner.

“winner?” you read aloud, your voice barely above a whisper.

you look back at the baby, her tiny face serene despite the weight of those words.

“this… this baby won the game?” the idea is absurd, impossible, yet the evidence is right in front of you.

this was confirmation that gi-hun was dead.

your heart clenches, and that protective instinct for the baby surges again, fiercer now.

this child, barely three months old, has survived something unimaginable.

you won’t let her face another moment of pain.

jun-ho’s jaw tightens, and you see a flicker of grief in his eyes, maybe recognition.

you’ve been part of his investigation since the beginning, back when he was just a colleague you admired from afar, before your feelings deepened.

you know the toll this case has taken...the sleepless nights, the dead-end leads, the obsession with finding his brother, in-ho.

now, this baby, wrapped in a jacket marked 222, lies in your apartment like a gift for enduring so much.

maybe she is here to bring you and your fiancé peace.

jun-ho turns the card over, revealing a gold debit card tucked into a sleeve on the back.

your breath catches. you’ve seen cards like this in the files jun-ho pored over during late-night stakeouts. this is a card tied to the squid game winnings.

it is blood money.

you can’t wait any longer.

you carefully lift the baby into your arms, her small weight settling against your chest.

she’s warm, fragile, and as you cradle her, that maternal protectiveness floods you again, so intense it almost hurts.

“it’s okay, little girl,” you murmur, rocking her gently, “you’re safe now.” you peel the blood-stained jacket off her, careful not to jostle her, and your stomach churns at the sight of the red stains.

you won’t let her be tainted by whatever violence this jacket carries.

you drape your clean blue cardigan over her, tucking it around her tiny frame, and hold her closer, your heart swearing to protect her from the world that left her here.

jun-ho watches you, his eyes softening for a moment before he speaks.

“i need to check something,” he says quietly, “i’ll be right back.”

you nod, too overwhelmed to ask where he’s going.

the door clicks shut, and you’re alone with the baby.

you carry her to the couch, settling down with her in your lap.

she looks up at you, her dark eyes searching, and you feel a pang in your chest so deep it brings tears to your eyes. you’ve always wanted a family with jun-ho, but not like this....not with a child tied to the horrors you and jun-ho have chased for years.

yet, as you brush a finger across her cheek, you know you’d do anything for her.

she’s yours now, in a way you can’t explain, and you’ll fight to give her the life she deserves.

“who left you here, sweet girl?” you whisper, though you suspect the answer.

in-ho.

jun-ho’s brother.

you remember the pain in jun-ho’s voice when he spoke of in-ho’s disappearance, his desperation to find him.

you were there when jun-ho infiltrated the island just a week ago, when you both saw his brother holding a baby in those final, chaotic moments before he vanished.

this must be that baby.

the thought makes your heart ache, but it also strengthens your resolve.

if in-ho left her here, he trusts you and jun-ho to care for her.

you won’t let the baby down.

you check her over, your hands gentle but thorough, looking for signs of neglect or injury.

the girl's onesie is clean, her skin soft and unblemished.

someone cared for her, at least enough to dress her warmly and keep her safe. however, the blood on that jacket haunts you.

whose was it?

her parents’?

another player’s?

you push the thought away, focusing on her steady breathing, the way her tiny fingers curl against your chest.

“you’re so strong,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, “you made it through so much, didn’t you?”

your heart aches. a baby should never have to go through that much before it can even crawl.

the door opens, and jun-ho steps inside, his expression grim but resolute. he holds up the gold debit card, his voice low.

“forty-five point six billion won.”

your breath catches, and you look down at the baby in your arms. a tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away.

“forty-five…” you trail off, the number too staggering to grasp. this tiny girl, this survivor, carries a fortune stained with blood.

more than that, she’s yours. the protectiveness surges again, fierce and unyielding.

you’ll guard her, not just her money, but her heart, her future.

jun-ho sits beside you on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours.

he reaches out, his hand gentle as he cradles the baby’s head, his fingers brushing her soft peach fuzz which was her growing hair.

“she needs a name,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.

you’re her protector now, her mother in all but name, and you want her to have something pure, something untouched by the horrors of her past.

jun-ho nods, his eyes fixed on her.

“did the card say anything about her name?” you ask, though you know the answer.

“just the number,” he replies quietly, “player 222.”

you look down at her, your heart swelling with love and determination.

“hye-ji,” you murmur, the name slipping out like a promise.

it’s simple, free of meaning, a clean slate for a child whose first days were steeped in horror.

“hwang hye-ji,” you say again, tears filling your eyes as you look at jun-ho, seeking his approval.

he meets your gaze, and for a moment, you see the weight of everything he’s carried.

the loss of his brother, the years of chasing shadows, the guilt of surviving.

he nods, a small, tender smile breaking through.

“hye-ji,” he repeats with his voice soft, “it’s perfect.”

you lean into him, hye-ji nestled between you, and the apartment feels warm despite the rain outside.

you know the road ahead will be hard. there are questions you can’t ever answer...about her biological parents, about in-ho, about the blood on that jacket.

as you hold hye-ji, feeling her steady warmth against you, you make a silent vow.

your adoptive daughter's first days may have been hell, but you’ll make sure her life is filled with love.

you’ll protect her, no matter what.

“we’ll keep you safe, hye-ji,” you whisper, your lips brushing her forehead.

jun-ho’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining, and you know he’s making the same promise.

you’re a family now, bound by love and a shared vow to give this child the life she deserves.

masterlist

The games had taken their toll on everyone. The latest round had been especially brutal, dead bodies across the arena, screams still ringing in your ears even after hours. Everyone was on edge, fear settling deep into their bones as they huddled in their corners of the dormitory, too paranoid to sleep.

You sat in the dim light, knees drawn up to your chest, trying to quiet your breathing. You glanced over to the group you had managed to stick with, Gi-hun, Jung Bae, Dae-ho, the rest and—Young il.

Your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. He was older, quiet, and deliberate in his actions, his face lined with age and attractiveness. There was a steadiness to him, even in the chaos of the games, that drew you in despite your better judgment. You knew he had a wife, he had mentioned her being in the hospital when the group shared snippets of their lives. But the magnetic pull you felt toward him was undeniable.

The sleeping quarters was cold, the hum of fear in the air. You hesitated before shifting closer to him. “Young-il,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He turned to you, his expression calm but questioning. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard, feeling foolish for even asking. “Can you—can you stay beside me tonight? I just, um, I don’t feel safe.”

He regarded you for a moment, his dark eyes scanning your face. Then, after a beat of silence, he nodded. “Alright.”

Relief washed over you as he moved closer, sitting beside you on the thin mattress. The proximity made your heart race, but you told yourself it was just the stress of the situation.

Hours passed, and the room slowly quieted as people succumbed to exhaustion. You and Young-Il lay on your sides, facing each other. The dim light cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the lines etched into his skin.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You blinked, startled. “Like what?”

“Like I’m the answer to whatever you’re feeling right now,” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

You flushed, breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I know you’re married. I shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours. “Let’s just forget everything for a moment.”

Your breath hitched as he moved closer, his face inches from yours. His lips brushed yours, hesitating at first, testing the waters. The kiss was soft, but the weight of everything unsaid between you made it feel electric.

You pulled back suddenly, guilt flooding you. “I can’t. This isn’t right. You have a wife—”

“Don’t think about that right now,” he interrupted, his voice a low murmur. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Just stay with me.”

His lips captured yours again, this time more insistent. The kiss deepened, a hunger building between you as the world outside faded away. His hands roamed down your body and you couldn’t stop yourself from melting into his touch.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth. Your breath came in shallow gasps as he moved lower, his hands gripping your hips firmly. When he reached the waistband of your sweatpants, he paused, looking up at you for permission.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with both desire and restraint.

You nodded, unable to form words, your heart pounding in your chest.

With deliberate care, he tugged down your sweats and underwear, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your thighs as he did. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with awe.

With his eyes locked on yours, his head lowered between your legs. His lips captured your bundle of nerves, sucking softly as a soft gasp left your lips. You pressed them together, not wanting to wake anyone to see what was taking place. His tongue flicked your clit sending more pleasure than you had ever felt throughout your body, making you shiver.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured between your legs.

You nodded frantically, fingers lacing in his silky hair as he continued feasting on your pussy. His tongue glided from your hole back up to your clit then down again. He circled your hole, letting his tongue slip inside as he collected your juices on his tongue. Your free hand clamped over your mouth, desperately trying to keep quiet as he slipped a finger inside your pussy.

Your back arched from the bed as his skilled finger curled and his tongue sucked on your clit with ferocity.

“You’re doing so well, cum for me, cum on my tongue and my fingers,” he whispered.

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket beneath you as he continued, each flick of his tongue and thrust of his finger sending shivers down your spine. His movements became overwhelming and you pressed your lips together tightly as an intense orgasm washed over you making your back arch from the small bed.

“That’s it, good girl, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

In that moment, the fear and chaos of the games melted away, leaving you wanting more. You trembled beneath him, breathless and aching, your skin tingling from the intensity of his tongue. “Young-il,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the dormitory. “I need more. Please.”

He stilled, his dark eyes meeting yours, searching for something. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes,” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear as your fingers gripped his shoulders.

His lips curved into a soft smirk, his hands sliding up your sides. “Then beg for it,” he said, his voice low and commanding, with dominance you hadn’t expected.

Your cheeks burned, but the desperation in your chest won out. “Please,” you murmured, your voice soft but trembling with need. “Please, Young-il, I need you. I need you to fuck me.”

“As you wish,” he interrupted. He shifted to sit back on his knees, his hands deftly tugging his sweats and boxers down. He watched your reaction as he freed his hard cock, his gaze heavy.

“Look at you,” he murmured, one hand stroking over your hip as his other lined himself up at your leaking entrance. “So perfect, so beautiful. I don’t deserve this, but, God, I’m going to make you feel so good.”

You gasped as he pressed his cock into you slowly, his whispered praises filling the space between you. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his hand braced beside your head. “You’re doing so well. So tight, so perfect for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he began to move, his thrusts measured and deliberate. The quiet around you made every sound amplified, the soft rustle of sheets, skin slapping, the hitch in your breath, and his murmured words of adoration. “Cum for me,” he whispered into your ear, his voice cracking with need. “Do it, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You cried out softly, your hands clutching him as you surrendered, your body shuddering against his as your pussy gushed on his raw cock. He held you through it, his touch firm and grounding.

Moments later, he shifted, his body warm and solid beside you. “I’m not done with you,” he murmured, lifting your leg over his hip as he slid into your throbbing cunt.

The angle made you gasp, your hand flying to his arm as he held you close. “You’re f-fucking me so good,” you managed, your voice breathless.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Stay with me. Feel everything, just like this. You’re perfect, you hear me? Perfect.”

Your breaths mingled as he began pounding into you harder and the rhythm grew more intense, both of you trying to hold back the sounds that threatened to escape. His lips pressed against your ear. “Cum with me,” he urged, his voice a broken whisper. “Cum on my cock as I cum inside you, sweetheart.”

You clung to him as your orgasm took ahold of you once more, the world fading away as waves of warmth washed over you. His grip tightened, and his soft groan against your skin coupled with the feeling of his cum filling your pussy were the only confirmation you needed that he’d joined you.

When the high ended, he rolled onto his back, pulling you against his chest. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your hairline, your forehead, your cheeks. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and tender. “You’re going to get out of here. I promise.”