#player 007

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Help me get top surgery 🙏

kang dae-ho x f!reader

synopsis: the sensitive guy needed a stress reliever. fortunately, you needed the same.

warnings: 18+ smut with plot. MDNI! established relationship. semi-public. borderline somnophilia. oral (daeho receiving). p in v unprotected. voyeurism(??) vulgar dialogue. praise & degradation.

after the rebellion, your heart feels like it is racing a million miles per hour.

you survived the assault thanks to you following hyunju when she needed the bullets from daeho.

daeho, as cowardice as his actions were, didn't make you upset like it did with everyone else.

especially with yong-sik and gi-hun.

right now, you gave the sensitive player some space.

ten feet away, you stood beside hyunju and yong-sik looking down at geum-ja giving gi-hun sweet potatoes.

"look, I know. I know that you were trying to save us all," geum-ja sighs. gi-hun doesn't look at her, zoning out at the ground knowing that more lives were lost because of his failed act of heroism.

149 continued, "you were trying to punish the bad guys and put an end to all of this."

your hands got shaky, remembering the amount of gunshots that were fired during the rebellion. you remember the colorful staircase turning into grey through gunpowder and red from blood.

"I'm sorry," hyun-ju speaks up.

you look at her, confused, knowing that hyunju couldn't have handled it on her own.

"don't be-" you spoke up, nearly mumbling as you put your hand on hyunju's bicep.

daeho is munching on sweet potatoes in your peripheral vision, but you don't look at him.

again, you weren't as upset as everyone else. you hid your hands in your jacket sleeves as you looked back and forth between gi-hun, who's locked up to the bunk, and daeho in the corner of the room.

in your mind, you just wished that daeho would've stayed behind if he couldn't fight.

you continued, "you have nothing to apologize for hyunju. I should've been the one who grabbed the ammo." you swallowed.

yong-sik spoke up, "I agree. it was all dae-ho's fault," the man points his water bottle towards daeho's direction, "I saw it, my mom saw it, everyone else saw it. dae-ho came to pick up the magazines , but when he was about to leave, he just sank to the floor."

yes, he was right. however, to entirely blame daeho was unjustified.

"he sanked to the floor because he was traumatized." you kneeled down to the floor, on geum-ja's level while looking at gi-hun.

"its still his--"

"yong-sik, would you have been able to go upstairs and do what daeho did?" you snark.

"enough." geum-ja cuts you off.

yong-sik’s scowl deepened, his voice dripping with disdain, “defending your boyfriend won’t bring any of them back, y/n.”

you bristled, your hands clenching into fists.

“dae-ho didn’t think up this stupid rebellion in the first place, yong-sik!” you snapped, your words cutting through the tense air.

a heavy silence followed. your eyes flicked toward gi-hun, who was still locked on the bunk, his jaw tight and his gaze burning with anger. your heart sank as realization hit....you’d just thrown gi-hun under the bus as you yelled at yong-sik.

gi-hun was the one who’d come up with the rebellion, the plan that had crumbled and cost them so much.

your eyes widened, guilt creeping in as you confessed how you felt about the rebellion, but you pushed it down.

you glanced over at daeho, sitting alone in the corner, quietly eating his sweet potatoes. he looked small, hunched over, like the weight of everything was crushing him. you couldn’t leave him alone like that any longer.

scoffing at yong-sik, you turned and walked over to daeho, sitting close enough that your front brushed against his.

the small act of physical comfort felt like the least you could offer.

“how’re those sweet potatoes?” you asked softly, trying to pull him out of his head.

he nodded, his voice barely a whisper, “very sweet.”

you smiled lightly, but it faded as you sighed.

“dae-ho, i don’t blame you for anything,” you said, your tone gentle but firm.

he didn’t look up, just kept picking at the food. after a moment, he spoke, his voice low and shaky.

“i knew gi-hun’s plan was stupid. i… i regret even being part of it.” his eyes glistened, tears welling up as he continued, “but jungbae… upstairs…”

daeho's voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

you reached out, wrapping an arm around him, your fingers threading through his long, raven-colored locks. your man's warmth grounded you, even as your own stress about the next games ripped at your insides.

What they'd tweet if they had their phones.

synapse: its only day two of the games and hyun-ju and y/n both learn about each other a lot more

pairing: hyun-ju x female!reader

contains: harassment, objectification, transphobia, awakening of sexuality

a/n: i love that a lot of people are asking for a part two so here it is. i wrote it out quickly while listening to once more to see you by mitski.

PART THREE

. . .

The room was still, almost reverent in its silence.

The second round of voting had arrived — the moment of truth. A decision that offered no true mercy: walk away with scraps and scars, or stay and gamble with death for the chance of something greater.

Across the dormitory, players stood scattered in uneven clusters, some whispering urgently to each other, others sitting in quiet contemplation. Eyes darted toward the black wall where the glowing podiums waited — one marked with a bright red X, the other with a glowing O.

Y/N stood near the back, heart beating like a slow drum in her ears.

Beside her, Player 149 — the older woman from their group — leaned toward Hyun-ju and Y/N with a hopeful smile.

“Listen, I think it’s more than a coincidence that we met here. If we get out, I’d like to invite you to our house for a meal. We’ll grill some pork belly.”

Hyun-ju offered a small smile in return, but Y/N saw it — that look. Not quite gratitude. Not quite hope. Torn. It sat in her eyes like a stone she couldn’t lift.

Y/N’s fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve.

Then the lights flickered, and the guards called them forward one by one.

One after another, players stepped up to the podium. Their votes lit the board in real time. X. X. O. O.

Tension built with every choice. And then, it was Hyun-ju’s turn. She walked slowly. Controlled. But Y/N could see it in her posture — the weight in her shoulders, the slight hesitation in her steps.

At the podium, she paused. A breath. A flicker of indecision. Then her hand moved.

O.

The button glowed bright as the platform registered her vote.

She had chosen to stay. To keep fighting. To keep bleeding for the money.

Y/N stood beneath the glowing X, on the opposite side of the room.

She felt her pulse spike as Hyun-ju turned, walking across the dividing line to the O side — eyes forward, expression composed.

But when their gazes met, everything else fell away.

They didn’t smile. They didn’t wave. They just looked. A silent, aching exchange across the chasm of choice.

Y/N swallowed hard.

She didn’t blame her. Not even for a second. But that didn’t stop the ache in her chest.

The vote had ended shortly.

The room sat in a heavy, restless hush. A final decision had been made — the majority chose to stay. The doors to freedom had shut without fanfare, but the sound of their closing echoed somewhere deep in Y/N’s chest.

She moved through the food line mechanically, grabbing one of the still-warm dou sha bao buns wrapped in plastic and a carton of white milk. Neither looked particularly appetizing, but her body needed fuel more than her mind needed comfort.

She returned to the bunk area, settling on the cold steel steps just beneath her bed. The light above buzzed faintly. The air carried the stale scent of cheap starch and sweat.

With slow fingers, she peeled back the plastic and took a small bite from the bun. Sweet red bean filled her mouth — bland, familiar, forgettable. She chewed slowly, her gaze drifting.

First to the oversized piggy bank suspended high above them, glowing with the obscene weight of other people’s deaths. Then to the digital board.

[Remaining Players: 255]

So many still standing. So many already gone. She took another bite.

The creak of footsteps on metal pulled her attention back. Someone was climbing the steps behind her — not quickly, not hesitantly, just… quietly. Measured. She didn’t need to turn around to know. Hyun-ju.

Y/N kept chewing.

The woman stopped a few steps behind her, close enough to feel but far enough to respect her space. Neither spoke right away.

Then, softly, Hyun-ju’s voice found her: “I… I understand if you’re upset with me. I just…”

Y/N didn’t look back. She bit into her bun again, swallowed, and replied with quiet finality: “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

A pause.

The sound of people whispering elsewhere, the hum of the air vents, the clatter of someone dropping their milk. Then—

“Yes, I do.” Hyun-ju’s voice was still low, but firmer now. Wounded, honest. “You’ve always looked at me with nothing but kindness in your eyes. Since the moment we met.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. She took a breath, still refusing to turn around.

“And I didn’t expect that,” Hyun-ju went on. “From anyone. Let alone… from you.”

Y/N’s fingers curled tighter around the soft dough of the bun. She stared forward, but she was listening. Every word sank into her ribs like slow rain soaking into dry earth.

“I didn’t stay because I wanted the money,” Hyun-ju admitted quietly. “Not entirely. I stayed because I was afraid that if I left…I’d never see someone look at me that way again.”

That made Y/N freeze. She turned her head slightly. Just enough to meet Hyun-ju’s eyes over her shoulder. And what she saw there wasn’t guilt or doubt. It was vulnerability. And it was real.

“I see…” Y/N said quietly, her voice nearly lost beneath the low hum of the dormitory.

Hyun-ju’s voice came softer now, cracking at the edges. “But it’s not the only reason.”

She shifted closer, scooting down from her step until she was seated right beside Y/N, thigh to thigh, warm through the fabric of their green uniforms. There was something hesitant in the way she moved — like she didn’t want to disturb the fragile quiet that had wrapped itself around them.

“I…” she began.

Y/N turned to face her, fully this time, her body open and her gaze steady. The rest of the room faded into static.

“Everything was fine until I told people who I really am,” Hyun-ju said, her eyes distant — not avoiding, just reaching into something deeper. “People would look at me strangely, but I never had any big issues.” Her voice grew quieter. Raw. “But...once I told people I wanted to live as a woman...and started transitioning, everything changed.” Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, unfallen. “My mom cried a lot. And my father stopped talking to me. I got fired from my job, and lost all my friends. I wasn't done with the treatment and procedures, but I wasn't earning any money, so my debt kept piling up.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she listened — not with pity, but with something closer to reverence. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t flinch.

“Although I felt liberated,” Hyun-ju added, voice barely above a whisper. “My life...became so much harder.”

“I see…” Y/N murmured again, softer this time, as if afraid even breath might fracture the moment. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to tell me if it’s still painful to talk about…”

Hyun-ju finally turned her head, meeting her eyes. “I’m telling you because I trust you,” she said. “And because when I look at you…I don’t feel wrong. I don’t feel unfinished. I feel seen. Like I’m…enough.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She leaned back against the bunk railing and angled herself fully toward Hyun-ju, knees pulled up, hand resting on the cold metal. Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a murmur “Because you are enough.” The words weren’t dramatic. They weren’t delivered like some cinematic revelation. They were simple and real. Like truth spoken from bone to bone. “But if we do get out of here,” Y/N asked gently, “is that what you’ll do with the money? Finish the procedures?”

Hyun-ju nodded, a bittersweet curl at the corner of her lips. “I think I'm going to move to Thailand. I want to play just one more game. If I win the money, I'll finish my transition there and buy a small house. I want to start a new life there.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Why Thailand?”

“I hear there are people like me there. People who don’t have to fight just to exist. And I hear a lot of them…are beautiful.”

Y/N smiled softly, letting out a sigh. Then, without thinking too hard, she reached out and placed her hand over Hyun-ju’s. Her palm rested gently atop hers, grounding. “I don’t know if my opinion matters to you at all,” Y/N said, voice low, shaky with sincerity, “but you’re already beautiful. In fact, I think you might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widened just slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

Y/N’s voice grew steadier, even as her heart kicked hard against her ribs. “And not just beautiful. You’re strong. So strong. So… incredible that I…” She stopped. The words piled in her throat, tripping over themselves.

Their eyes met. Time slowed.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, her breath falter. She quickly withdrew her hand, fingers curling in on themselves like she’d revealed too much. “Sorry,” she muttered, her gaze falling. “I rambled.”

But Hyun-ju didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease.

She simply leaned in the slightest bit closer and whispered, “You didn’t.”

Y/N exhaled, a small, fragile sound barely audible over the noise of the dormitory.

Without thinking, she shifted closer and let her head rest gently against Hyun-ju’s arm, drawn to her like gravity. She didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care what it meant. She just wanted to feel close to her — to stay close.

To her quiet relief, Hyun-ju didn’t stiffen or pull away. Instead, she sighed softly too — like the tension finally loosened in her chest and tilted her head down, resting it atop Y/N’s as if it belonged there. As if they’d done this a thousand times before.

The warmth of her was grounding. Her shoulder solid. Steady.

For a moment, the chaos of the dormitory dulled into a blur. Y/N closed her eyes and let herself feel it — the nearness, the stillness, the strange, aching comfort of it all. Around them, metal creaked and low voices murmured and plastic food wrappers crinkled, but it all faded into static.

All she heard was Hyun-ju’s breathing.

All she felt was this.

She opened her eyes when she heard raised voices nearby.

Just a few bunks down, Player 149 and her son, 007, were in a quiet but heated argument. The older woman’s arms were folded tight across her chest, her son gesturing sharply with his hands, frustration etched across his face.

Y/N watched, recognizing the tension.

It wasn’t just about the vote — but it was about the vote. He had chosen to stay. Just like Hyun-ju.

A sigh escaped beside her. Hyun-ju slowly pulled away. “I owe them an explanation,” she said quietly, standing. Her voice held no self-pity — only responsibility. “It’s the least I can do.”

Y/N nodded. “Okay.”

She watched as Hyun-ju made her way down the steps, weaving through the narrow space between bunks with calm poise. She approached the mother and son carefully — not intruding, not defensive, just present.

The argument dulled slightly as she arrived. Her voice was low, composed, almost soothing.

Y/N remained where she was, one hand curling around the railing, her body still warm from where Hyun-ju had been sitting.

Her eyes never left her.

She watched the way Hyun-ju held herself — respectful but firm. The way her hands moved as she spoke, explaining, clarifying, softening the blow. 149 seemed to deflate, her posture slumping slightly as she listened. 007 still looked tense, jaw tight, but he wasn’t arguing anymore.

And Y/N just sat there, taking her in. Every line of her. Every quiet strength. It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It wasn’t even just admiration.

It was that slow, inevitable pull. The kind you feel in your chest when you realize someone sees the world the way you do — or, even more dangerous, the way you wish you could.

She didn’t know where this was going. But she knew one thing: She wasn’t looking away.

Y/N didn’t realize how long she’d been staring until her food grew cold in her hands.

Hyun-ju stood just a few feet away, still speaking with 149 and 007. Her voice was low, soothing but honest, the way it always was — not trying to convince, just trying to be understood. Y/N admired that about her. She never tried to perform. She just was.

And yet, it wasn’t the conversation itself that held Y/N’s attention anymore. It was the soft way Hyun-ju placed a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. The patient eye contact. The gentle tilt of her head.

Then someone else joined them.

A girl — Player 095 — small, anxious-looking, eyes always darting like a rabbit ready to bolt. Y/N had seen her before, hovering near the food lines or talking nervously to herself in corners. She remembered her now — she and Hyun-ju had exchanged a few words earlier. Nothing intense. Just kind.

But now… 095 touched Hyun-ju’s arm lightly, her voice soft but visibly emotional.

Hyun-ju turned to her immediately. Warm. Attentive. Familiar.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

She wasn’t proud of it. The feeling hit low in her gut, quick and hot and irrational.

Jealousy.

Not the petty kind; the kind that creeps in when someone you care about gives someone else a little too much of the softness you thought was yours. The kind that makes your ribs feel too tight.

Y/N turned away, took a bite of her now-cold bun, chewing without tasting it. She finished it in two bites, swallowed the milk like water, and stood abruptly.

Her legs were unsteady. Her stomach knotted.

Get it together.

She moved through the maze of bunks, ignoring the looks, the whispers, the people who still stared like she was prey or decoration or both.

She walked through to the far side door, walking to the bathrooms that were in the far back, dimly lit, grimy even by this place’s standards. Just before she reached the entrance, a voice spoke from her left.

“Hey, pretty thing.”

Y/N froze. Two men stood by the wall — Player 172 and Player 311. One leaned lazily against the wall, the other grinning too wide.

“You in a hurry?” Player 172 asked, stepping in front of her, blocking the narrow hallway.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” said the other. “Unless you ask real nice.”

Y/N’s spine went rigid. Her heartbeat spiked in her throat. She tried to step around, but one of them shifted with her, deliberately staying in her path.

“Thought you were one of the friendlier ones,” 311 added. “The way you hang around that trans bitch? Thought you liked breaking the rules.”

Y/N didn’t think. She shoved him. Not hard — not enough to drop him — but enough to make her point. “Move.”

His grin faded. Something ugly flickered behind his eyes. “That’s not how you ask.”

She turned to go back the way she came, but a hand clamped around her wrist. Before she could scream, fight, or run—

A voice behind them rang out. Low. Calm. Dangerous. “Let her go.”

The voice was unmistakable — calm, steady, commanding — and it froze Y/N as much as it did the two men.

Hyun-ju.

She stood a few paces away, eyes locked on the man gripping Y/N’s wrist. Her arms hung relaxed at her sides, but her shoulders were squared. Her tone wasn’t loud, but it didn’t have to be.

It was the kind of voice that came from someone who’d given orders before — and had them followed.

Player 311 scoffed. “Oh look. Here comes the trainee,” he sneered, not even turning fully toward her. “Shouldn’t you be using the other bathroom?”

Player 172 grinned. “Maybe she just wants to join us. You wanna play hero, sweetie? You’re not even a real woman.”

Hyun-ju didn’t move for a moment. She let the words hang.

Then her expression shifted — just slightly — as if something old and cold flicked on inside her. “I told you once,” she said, stepping forward, her voice like steel behind velvet. “Let. Her. Go.”

This time, she didn’t wait. Her hand struck fast — a sharp, efficient shove to Player 311’s chest. He stumbled back into the wall, hard enough for the metal to rattle. Player 172 lunged toward her, but Hyun-ju pivoted, sidestepping and landing a quick, brutal elbow to his gut. He doubled over with a choked wheeze.

Y/N watched wide-eyed as both men scrambled up, suddenly less cocky, now sizing Hyun-ju not as a curiosity — but as a threat.

“Fucking freak,” one of them muttered before both of them retreated, muttering curses under their breath as they disappeared down the corridor.

The moment they were gone, Hyun-ju turned to her. “Y/N.” Her voice lost its edge instantly, still serious, but gentler now. Concern flickered across her face as she stepped closer.

Y/N hadn’t realized how hard she was shaking until Hyun-ju was in front of her. The adrenaline was fading now, and in its place was nausea, shame, and a deep ache blooming in her wrist.

Hyun-ju’s eyes scanned her, then landed on the darkening mark on her arm. “He hurt you.”

Y/N looked down. A purplish bruise was already blooming across the bone. She hadn’t even noticed it happen. “It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“It’s not.” Hyun-ju reached for her gently—no sudden movements and Y/N didn’t pull away.

Together, they slipped into the women’s bathroom, which was blessedly empty. The flickering light above buzzed softly as the door creaked shut behind them.

Y/N sat on the edge of one of the sinks, her feet barely touching the ground. Hyun-ju moved with quiet purpose, tearing a paper towel from the wall dispenser and folding it with precision. “It’s not much,” she murmured, wrapping it gently around Y/N’s wrist, “but it’ll help with the swelling if you keep it cool.” Her hands were steady — firm, but careful.

Y/N watched her. Watched the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the way her jaw tensed at the sight of the bruise. Not because she was angry at Y/N. Because she was angry for her.

“I’m okay now,” Y/N whispered, voice barely audible.

Hyun-ju looked up at her, her hands still on her wrist.

“You shouldn’t have to be ‘okay now.’ You should’ve been safe the whole time.”

Y/N swallowed, her chest tightening. “I’ve…never had anyone protect me like that,” she said. “Not really. Not the way you just did.”

“You shouldn’t need protecting,” Hyun-ju said softly. “But since we’re here…I’ll do it. Every time.” She finished wrapping the makeshift bandage and rested her hand lightly over Y/N’s for a moment.

No one spoke. The room was quiet except for the dripping sink and the steady beat of two hearts caught in something fragile, something unspoken.

Y/N didn’t say thank you. She didn’t need to. The way she looked at Hyun-ju —wide-eyed, vulnerable, aching, said enough.

The paper towel wrap sat lightly on her wrist, but it was Hyun-ju’s hands that made her feel held — grounded.

Y/N glanced down at them. Long fingers, a touch of care behind every movement. She hadn’t meant to speak. The words slipped out on their own, raw and trembled. “I’ve never really felt comfortable around men. Not fully. Not even the ones I dated. I thought it was just me — like I was broken or cold or doing something wrong. They always made me feel like… like an object. Something to win. To use.” She looked up at Hyun-ju then, her eyes glassy. “But around you… I don’t feel like that. I don’t feel small or decorative or like I’m waiting to be taken apart.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Around you, I feel like I’m human. Like I’m okay.”

Hyun-ju’s expression softened. She didn’t rush to fill the silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, steady. “You’re not broken, Y/N. And you’re not wrong for feeling that way. Some people never make space for others to just exist. But it’s not your fault they didn’t see you clearly.”

Y/N blinked quickly, trying to hold it together.

Hyun-ju reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve to be seen. Just as you are. You don’t have to explain or shrink or—”

She didn’t get to finish. Y/N leaned forward and kissed her.

The kiss was sudden, almost clumsy in its urgency — not practiced, not polished, but full of truth. She pressed her lips to Hyun-ju’s in a burst of emotion she didn’t know how else to say.

It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t confusion. It was release. The weight of days, of years, of everything she hadn’t let herself feel until this moment.

When she pulled back, she gasped softly, realizing what she’d done. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” she began.

But Hyun-ju leaned forward and kissed her again before she could finish. This kiss was slower. Surer. Her hand brushed lightly against Y/N’s jaw, grounding her, asking nothing but offering everything.

Time melted.

Y/N’s eyes closed. Her fingers curled lightly into Hyun-ju’s sleeve. Her bruised wrist forgotten. Her heartbeat thundered, not in fear — but in feeling.

They stayed like that — lost in each other — until the door creaked open. A gasp. A sharp intake of breath.

They broke apart instantly, both turning.

A woman —wide-eyed and awkward — froze in the doorway.

Y/N’s breath caught. Hyun-ju only blinked, her expression unreadable but calm.

After a long second, the woman said nothing and stepped inside quickly, pretending not to notice.

Hyun-ju turned to Y/N with a half-smile, resting her head against hers briefly. “We should go.”

Y/N nodded, heart still pounding in her chest. They left the bathroom together, quiet but undeniably changed.

i’m creating content here guys.