#starose!writes

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➤ THE FIRST THING YOU FEEL IS COLD. It crawls up your body, waking you slowly. The surface beneath you is hard, and there’s a sterile scent in the air that pricks at your nose. Your head pounds, your limbs ache, and your body refuses to move.

Until your eyes suddenly flutter open.

They’re immediately greeted by the harsh fluorescent lights above you. You blink a couple of times, waiting for your vision to adjust before fully taking in your surroundings.

The ceiling is high… way too high. The walls are a blinding white, and the room you're in is huge. You’re lying on a thin cot—a blanket laid across your body. The walls are lined with beds, all stacked in massive towers that feel wrong. Some are empty, some still have sleeping strangers in them. You're all wearing matching outfits—teal jumpsuits with numbers printed on them. You glance down at yours:

Number 067.

You sit up slowly, your whole world spinning for a moment while you try to process where you are. This isn’t home. This isn’t your floor mattress, your flickering lights, the soft smell of cigarette smoke you could never get rid of, or your brother breathing softly in the other room. This is somewhere else. Somewhere you don’t recognize.

You shove your hands into the tracksuit pockets. Gone. No phone. No wallet. No ID. Fuck, you don’t even have socks on. The sound of metal scraping snaps you out of it. People are starting to stir—groaning, sitting up, climbing out of beds. You don’t recognize any of them.

Until you do.

Black hair tied in two pigtails, that familiar tattoo across his face, and those dark brown eyes that always softened when they looked at you.

Choso.

What the hell is he doing here? He looks older, more tired—drained. Those soft eyes seem sharper than ever now, and it breaks your heart. You used to tutor him in college. Back then, he was awkward but kind, asking questions he already knew the answers to just to spend more time with you. Now it’s hard to tell if he even recognizes you.

He’s standing near the bottom bunk, leaning against a frame with his arms crossed, silently watching the room.

You throw off your blanket. You have to talk to him. He’s not supposed to be here—he had such a promising future ahead of him. How the hell could he end up in a place like this?

But just as you take a step, a familiar voice speaks your name, sending a chill down your spine. You whip your head around and lock eyes with the last person you wanted to see here.

Sukuna.

He looks the same as the day you left him—that same shit-eating grin. His hair is still dyed a mess of pink and black, tattoos peeking out from under his tracksuit. His number: 218. This feels like some sick joke. You haven’t seen him since college—since everything blew up between you two. Sukuna is your ex—your toxic ex. He twisted your words, got pissed when you were upset about reasonable things, and turned everything you gave him into something to hold over your head.

“What the fuck do you want,” you spit. You’re not in the mood to deal with him. Not again. He chuckles at your tone.

“Jeez, cut the hostility, doll,” he says, shoving his rolled-up sleeves into his pockets. “Just surprised to see you here, of all people. What happened to that career of yours?”

You roll your eyes. The last fight you had with him, you told him you were going to make something of yourself. That he’d be the one begging for forgiveness someday.

Of course, that dream shattered the day your parents died. You were just about to accept a job in your field when it happened. Taking care of your brother and handling the funeral pushed everything back. Eventually, they gave your position to someone else. And when Hideki moved in with you, you needed a job fast.

That degree became a useless piece of paper.

“None of your business,” you snap, turning away and quickening your pace toward Choso. Your heart races, tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He still had such an effect on you.

As you get closer, Choso finally meets your gaze. His expression shifts from confusion to something softer—recognition.

And then he’s moving.

He pushes through the crowd to get to you. When he reaches you, he pulls you into a tight hug. That soft, familiar scent of his favorite cologne still lingers on him. You hug him back just as tightly, tears welling in your eyes. Why is he here? Why are you here? Where even is here?

Choso slowly pulls away, saying your name softly. He lifts your chin with his fingers so you’re looking into his eyes. God, he had such a crush on you back in college—but you were always dating that shitty stepbrother of his. Even now, after all these years, it’s clear he’s still head over heels. It feels so intimate. Your cheeks warm, and you gently pull away, placing your hands on his upper arms.

"Choso, what the hell are you doing here?" You asked, concerned.

"I could ask you the same thing," He replied. Touché. You look away, not sure you want to get into the details.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” you murmur, trying to change the subject. Your eyes wander around the room, partly to ground yourself, partly to avoid his gaze. But Choso just watches you. His eyes scan your features, noticing how you’ve aged, how you’ve changed. He even sees a few stray grey hairs. His hand rises, thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

"You look tired," he finally responded. Your eyes dart back to his. His voice was just as soft as his expression was. He always looked at you like this.. you could never pin doen the reason why.

You let out a bitter laugh, brushing his hand away and crossing your arms across your chest. “Well… working two jobs does that to you.”

Choso’s jaw tightens, like he wants to say something else. But then his eyes shift past you, and his expression hardens.

"He's here too."

You follow his gaze. Sukuna, chatting with some other sketchy-looking people. His eyes meet yours across the room, that signature smirk spreading across his lips.

“I’m aware,” you mutter, turning your focus back to Choso. You glance at his number—052—before meeting his eyes again.

"You shouldn't be here," he says. You sigh.

"Neither should you."

And just like that you both fall into awkward silence, both unsure how much you want to unpack, if you even want to unpack.

A fight breaks out, drawing everyone’s attention. Your eyes widen when you see who’s involved.

Geto.

He looks exhausted. Older. His hair is long now, tied loosely behind him. He’s gripping someone by their jumpsuit—you can’t see who—and shouting, though the noise in the room drowns it out. Whatever it is, he’s pissed.

Geto was your childhood friend. You’d known each other since you were toddlers—your parents grew up in the same neighborhood, both families dirt poor. It was something you bonded over. Then one day in high school, his family moved away. You never saw him again.

He shoves the person he’s holding and storms off. You catch his number: 103. You sigh. You're not surprised to see him here, but it still hurts.

Then another voice says your name. You turn again and spot the mess of blond hair.

Nanami.

He used to come to your job at the café a lot. He was one of the few sweet people there. He would tip way too much and actually treated you like a person. It was always nice to see him walk through the door on a busy day. Then suddenly he stopped showing up. You always wondered what happened to him, now you could only guess as you saw him standing here...

“Nanami?” you ask, confused. He looks away, clearly embarrassed. “What are you doing here?” You glance down—Number 201.

"It's a...long story" He says softly. Choso grabs your wrist, and you turn your face to look at him.

"Who?" He asks confused, you then explain how you know Nanami. Choso's grip on your wrist tightens. What is up with him..? You give him a reassuring smile before looking around the room one last time to see if there is anyone you recognize. Now really searching.

And that's when you spot him. You don’t remember his name, but his face is familiar. He looks older—short black hair, a scar across his lips. He’s leaning against the wall, watching. His eyes meet yours, and a chill runs down your spine. You look at his number:

Number 367.

You'll remember that.

Then, a loud buzzer echoes through the room, and everyone looks toward the front. Two large metal doors open. The same masked men who took you step out, perfectly in sync. The room goes still as the one with a square on his mask steps forward.

"We would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all. Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize." He says. Someone from the crowd speaks up.

"How.. how can we believe you! You kidnapped us, took our things and put us to sleep to bring us here? How do we know you are actually going to pay us if we play a few games?" The female voice asks.

"We had to take all those measures to mantain confidentiality as we brought you here. Everything will be returned once the games are over." He responds.

"Why do you have masks?" Another voice asks.

"We cannot disclose faces or other personal information of the staff to the participants. Its a measure to maintain a fair games and confidentiality. Please understand." He replies

"I.. I don't believe you! You kidnapped us, and now your making up excuses to not show your faces. Give me a reason why we should trust anything you have to say?" That same female voice from before speaks up.

"Player 113, Utahime Iori." Hey says, before pressing a button. The room goes dark and a TV plays, showcasing a video of her playing Ddakji with that strange man.

"Former educator. You racked up ₩312 million in debt trying to save a private girls’ school. Took out illegal loans to rebuild after a fire. Enrollment dropped. Donations dried up. You kept paying the teachers out of your own pocket... until there was nothing left to give.”

He pauses.

“All that effort. And they still shut the doors on you.”

He then lists several players— numbers, names, debts, video clips of them playing. The room falls into stunned silence.

"Everyone standing in this room is on the brink of finacial ruin. You all have debts you cant pay off. When we first went to see each of you, not a single one of you trusted us. But as you all know, we played a game, and as we promised, gave you money when you won. And suddenly, everyone here trusted us. You called and volunteered to participate in this game out of your own free will. So this is it. I'll give you one last chance to choose. Will you go back to living your old depressing lives or will you act and seize this last opportunirt we're offering you here?" Everyone in the room starts whispering amonst themselves.

“Hey, Pinky,” Sukuna calls out, “how much do we get if we win?”

The guard presses a button. A massive piggy bank descends from the ceiling.

"Your prize money will all be accumulated in ther after every game. We will disclose the amount to everyone after the first game is over. If you don't wish to participate then please let us know at this time."

No one says anything.

Everyone signs the contract. You’re led out in a single file line. The halls outside are unreal—colorful stairs in impossible patterns, guards stationed at every intersection.

"This is kinda cool.." You heard Choso mutter behind you. You nod your head, it feels unreal, like a dream.. but it was kinda cool. Eventually you all stop at one spot, in front of a camera. You saw as one by one everyone got their photos taken, it reminds you of school all over again. When it was your turn you stepped in front of the camera. A robotic voice comes from then machine.

"Please look at the camera." "SMILE :)"

You look into the camera and gave it a soft smile.

You were herded up and down staircases that seemed to defy all logic, like something out of a warped funhouse. Left, right, spiral, double back—it was impossible to keep track. Just how the hell did these guards know their way around?

Eventually, the group began to spill outside into a strange courtyard. Towering walls surrounded the space, lined with wallpaper that mimicked an open field and a painted blue sky. But when you looked up, the real sky was there, the sun bearing down hot and unforgiving. The ground beneath your feet was packed tan sand, and across the wide expanse stood a single tree, two guards, and a… doll?

“As contestants enter the area, please stand behind the white line,” a voice echoed across the courtyard.

“What the hell is that thing…” Nanami muttered, suddenly reappearing at your side with Choso.

You stared at the doll—frozen, smiling, too still to be safe.

“No idea,” Choso said, voice low. “But it feels like it’s staring straight through me.”

A shadow appeared beside you. Another player, tall, lean. You looked up—and froze. He was… beautiful, annoyingly so. Striking white hair, and eyes so vividly blue they looked unreal. You blinked. Something in his expression shifted when his gaze landed on you. Shock.

And then, as quickly as it came, he masked it. He leaned in slightly, close enough for only you to hear.

“Red Light, Green Light,” he murmured. “Whatever you do… don’t move a muscle when it’s Red Light.”

A chill tore through your body.

How the hell did he know that?

Was he messing with you? Or was that really the game?

A thousand questions raced through your mind, but one stuck harder than the rest.

Who the hell was this guy?

‎‎‎‎➤ YOU EYE DOWN THE CREAM CARD IN YOUR HAND, flipping it over and reading the number over and over. Hideki is already asleep, his head resting in your lap. You picked up a nice hot meal in celebration of the money you won from that strange guy. You could win more money by playing games…

You sigh. That has to be too good to be true. You slide the card into your pocket and grab the nearby pillow to lay down on. There’s no way you could really win more money like that. You’d probably get trafficked or kidnapped by calling that number. So you close your eyes and slowly drift to sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You slowly open your eyes to the alarm on your phone going off. Hideki is already awake and shuffling around the small one-bedroom apartment you share. Hideki is always good at waking up. He never complains, throws a fit, or whines. Honestly, most days, you’re surprised to have such a well-behaved little brother.

No—Hideki is more than just your brother. He’s your kid.

You smile softly at that thought. Hideki is basically your son at this point with how you've been raising him.

Once Hideki has his uniform on, he leaves the bathroom and gives you a soft smile. He quickly throws a jacket on and grabs his bag, slinging it over one of his shoulders. As he slips his shoes on, he says one thing before he leaves for school.

"Don't work too hard today."

Fuck. That hurt.

You drag yourself out of bed and grab your uniform that’s hung up nicely against the hook on the wall. You have to leave extra early today to help open the café at your first job. It gets you 30 more minutes of time on the clock, so it’s worth it. It’ll add up… eventually.

Your first job is at a small but popular café on the edge of the city’s business district. You’re supposed to just be a cashier, but you end up doing the work of just about every title there is. Including—but not limited to—taking orders, running drinks, cleaning spills, bussing tables, replacing napkins and other supplies, and even helping with prep in the back when the line gets too busy.

Which it always is.

There is no time to rest. You’re on your feet for 6+ hours every day. You barely eat and only survive on leftover coffee and pastries the baristas let you snatch before they’re tossed out.

Your manager is also awful. She watches everyone like a hawk. No phones, no leaning, no bathroom breaks over five minutes long. You wear the same sneakers you’ve had since graduating college three years ago, and the soles are so thin now they’re just one sharp rock away from tearing completely. Hell, even the uniform you wear is slightly too big since it’s a hand-me-down from a past worker. You couldn’t justify the 40,000 won they’d deduct from your first paycheck for one that actually fits.

Speaking of pay, it’s honestly awful. You get paid less than minimum wage because they claim you make most of your money through tips. But the tips are split evenly—even with your manager…

Lastly, the customers. They have to be the worst. You’ve never been so mistreated in your life before this job. You get office workers with no patience (they expect 10 different coffees to be made in under five minutes), college students who snap their fingers at you when you can’t hear them over all the noise, and rich old men who call you “sweetheart” in a way that makes your skin crawl.But you smile anyway… you have to.

Once 1 PM hits, you clock out of your first job and take the bus across town to the next one.

It’s a cramped family restaurant tucked between a music store and a pharmacy. The place always smells like fried chicken and garlic, and once you open the doors and enter, it feels like you’ve stepped into a sauna.

You're the dishwasher— the only dishwasher.

Every night, you wash a mountain of dishes. Greasy pots, sticky spoons, plates covered in who knows what. Your fingers are always pruned, and you’ve burnt yourself on the hot water more times than you can count. There’s never any air conditioning back by the sink, so you’re soaked in your own sweat by the end of the night. Especially in the summertime.

Your apron is stained with food and oil. Your back and feet hurt from bending over the sink for so long, and lastly, the dishes just seem to be neverending.

The owners are kind enough, but they never pay you extra. They’re struggling to keep the business afloat as the town keeps expanding. People are less and less interested in supporting local spots when they can walk two blocks and get fast food that’s “just as good.”

Then one of the head cooks—the owners’ son—brings you another mountain of dirty dishes. He sighs before speaking.

"Just a heads up, we're cutting hours next week. You're off the schedule." He speaks softly.

You freeze.

"Is it... permanent?" You ask.

"Dunno, just can't afford the labor costs right now, things have been rough. Hope you understand."

You nod your head slowly, "Yeah, right. I understand."

You don't understand, but what are you going to do? Cry in the back while you still have so many dishes to clean. The owners son looks at you with pity for just a moment before he walks away.

You finally clock out way past midnight. The fastest way home would be by train, but the last one’s already gone. The buses only run once an hour at this point. So the only real way home is walking, as always…

You used to jog home when you first started working here, but that’s no longer worth the energy. Your eyes wander from store to store, zoning out—it's the only way you survive the walk.

Then—sharp pain. You hiss and lift your foot. You tripped over your own feet and hit the ground hard.

"Ow..." You mutter. You check the bottom of your shoe. You’re lucky it was only a rock and not a nail that pierced through. You pull the rock out, revealing a fresh new hole.

Fucking, great.

You look up, brushing yourself off, and your eyes land on a small gacha capsule machine. The keychains inside are from various shows—one of them being your little brother’s favorite.

You glance at the price. 5,000 won.

You have the money… but if you want to eat for the next few days, you need to save it. Tears prick at your eyes. God, how you wish you could just give Hideki everything he’s ever wanted.

Eventually, you make it back home. You close the door behind you and toss your things to the floor next to the blankets—your “bed.” Hideki gets the apartment’s only real bedroom.

Just as you’re about to collapse after this soul-sucking day—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You groan, already having a guess who is at your door this late. You pad over to the door and open it to see your landlord there.

"Rents late again," He says with that same too-nice smile. Like this is just routine and not like your world is crumbling around you. You nod your head softly at his words.

"I can give you one more week, but after that, I can't anymore," he adds on

"Right.." You reply softly before closing the door.

You then collapse in front of the door, tears welling up in your eyes. A week? How the hell are you supposed to make this months rent up in a week..?

Your hands digs into your pocket, and something hard brushes your fingers. You pull it out.

That same cream-colored card.

“If you want to make real money… call the number. You’ll be invited to play more games.”

That strange mans voice echos in your head. You slowly flip the card over and look at the number. You then pull out your phone and dial the number on it. A few games couldn't hurt.. could it. You place the phone to your ear as it rings. When it picks up you speak,

"H-Hell–"

"Thank you for calling. To confirm your participation, please state your full name and date of birth." A voice cuts you off. You're caught off guard but give the voice said information.

There is a brief pause before the voice replies, "Thank you. A vehicle will arrive at your location within the hour. Please do not bring any personal belongings. This call never happened."

The call ends. You let out a shakey sigh before standing up. You make sure to leave a note out for Hideki and take the time to rest before leaving your apartment.

It's somehow even colder than it was before as you wait outside. You suddenly see a black car pull up in front of you. The car door opens, and you slowly crawl in. Everyone else in the car is asleep already. Your eyes look at the drivers, and your heart fills with dread.

They were dressed in pink hazmat suits, their faces hidden behind black masks marked with a white-outlined circle.

You were so fucked.

‎‎‎‎➤ YOU'RE BARELY SURVIVING. Everyday feels like you are running on fumes. You barely eat, work two part-time jobs that don't pay enough for one person to live, let alone two. You give up everything you have to make sure that your little brother Hideki can go to school and eat. Your parents are gone, died in a car accident, and all that left you with was your 12-year-old little brother and all the debt that they had accumulated.

You've tried everything you could think of. Applied to government programs, begged for extensions, sold off almost everything of value, and even called people you swore you never would again. None of it worked. So here you are, standing in the train station after a grueling shift at both of your jobs, honestly debating stepping in front of the next train that passes. Perhaps the insurance payout could give your brother a better shot than you could ever do.

"Would you like to play a game?"

Your eyes shot up to the man speaking to you. He's well-dressed, tall and a bit attractive. You roll your eyes. You're not looking to do sex work for money. You've certainly thought about it... but that's just not a path you wish to go down.

"I'm really not interested in sex work, sir." You reply, trying to sound polite, but you're just so tired your tone makes you come across snappy. The man looks a bit shocked that you assumed what he meant, but that expression quickly leaves his face as he shakes it and moves to open his suitcase.

"I promise It's nothing like that." He replies before pulling out two different colored sheets of folded paper and holds them up. You look at him confused.. what was this even about? "A game of Ddakji, do you know how to play?" He adds on. You shook your head no, a grin spreads across his lips.

He slaps his hand against his other, the sound echoing across the quiet station.

"You take one tile and try to flip mine over by throwing it at it. If it flips, you win. If not—"

SMACK

"I get to hit you. Like that, understood?" That same smile spread across his lips. Was this guy was fucking insane..? He then moves to pull something else out of his suitcase.

"But each win earns you on one hundred thousand won. Real money. Right here, right now.” He added on, pulling out said money. He then puts it away and holds the Ddakji tiles out again. "Are you sure, you're not interested?" You stare at the money, just a couple wins could feed you and your brother for a week..

"I am."

The man's smile grows wider, but it never reaches his eyes.

"Wonderful, pick a color."

Your cheek was bright red and stung with how much he smacked you. This guy really did never hold back. You lost count how many times you lost, but you kept track how many times you won. You won four times in total, each time paid one hundred thousand won. You stared at the money in your hands, was this a dream..? Did you really just win this money by just playing a game?

Who the hell was this man? You look up at him as he packs up the game back into his suitcase. He then turns to you, before pulling out a simple card. He holds it out to you before he speaks,

“If you want to make real money… call the number. You’ll be invited to play more games.”

You take the card and look over it, it's a cream color with three black shapes printed on it. A circle, a triangle and a square. When you flip it around, there is a phone number on it.

Your eyes quickly shoot up to look at the man.

But he is gone, like he was never there.

𖦹 CHAPTERS

1.

2.

3.

to be continued. . .

•❅───✧❅ Sukuna ❅✧───❅•

You met Sukuna recently at a college party he hosted. He doesn't even go to your college. He goes to the rival one across town, but his place his huge, and students and party goers from both schools know that when Ryomen Sukuna hosts a party... you best be there. So you were no different, putting on your best dress and dancing and getting drunk. It was your usual Saturday night.. but tonight you just so happened to catch the eye of the party host himself. After some chats and way too much grinding, you exchanged numbers. Sukuna was a well known fuck boy, never wanting anything too serious. That's just what you wanted.

So that leads you tonight. You're horny, alone, and your toys are just not cutting it the past few days. So you decide to text your new "friend" a picture of yourself in your cutest lingerie. Perhaps sexting will help.. or maybe you can convince him to come running over.

•❅───✧❅ Nanami ❅✧───❅•

You meet Nanami though work, but not directly. Maybe you're a freelancer for another firm, or maybe you're in marketing or publishing, and he is the finance guy who shows up once a month to fix everyone's spreadsheets. Either way, the two of you eventually run into each other and start chatting. He is the opposite of everything you'll ever be, and yet others notice how his stern expression softens when he is around you. He'll even go out of his way to buy your favorite pastries or snack while he gets his usual black coffee.

You two flirt, well, more like you flirt with him. Just to see his expression flicker and the ever so soft reddish hue that dusts his cheeks and ears when you do. But tonight, you're over it. You finished work and left early, but Nanami was still there. So you think of him, while dressed in something sinful. You snap a picture and send it, because you know it'll rattle him.

•❅───✧❅ Geto ❅✧───❅•

You and Geto met during your second year at university. It was honestly a bit of a shock how close you two got, but having a shared class, plus teaming up for a group assignment, does that. You two were complete opposites. You were loud, crazy, and always dragging Geto out to one place or another just for "the experience." So that leads you to dragging him out once again to a party your mutual friend invited you to. You two got there, drank a bit, all in all, it was your usual experience. But for some reason, you just didn't feel like going out that night. Geto caught onto this, and you both left early.

As you left, though, you couldn't help but notice how long his hand lingered on your waist as he guided you out of the party. He always teases you and calls you his troublemaker. But you two aren't official. So when you got home, you put on your cutest lingerie and send Geto the picture. Because you're way too tired of pretending the tension isn't thick enough to choke on.

•❅───✧❅ Gojo ❅✧───❅•

It started out casual, that's all it was supposed to be. Gojo was a walking disaster after all. But he had this annoying habit of constantly looking after you. Texting you good morning and good night, walking you to class even when he had none, and slipping his hoodie or jacket over you when he noticed you were even slightly cold. So somewhere between the 3 A.M face times and holding hands under the restaurant tables, it stopped feeling casual.

So you started dating and have been for a couple of months now. Things didn't change much, other than his protectiveness of you upped like crazy, and he would go and show you off and around to anyone who would listen. This weekend, you didn’t see him. He had some event for his job (he was a part-time model) in which he told you he would be "very busy looking hot professionally." You missed him. So you got a little bold. You were trying on a new lingerie set you bought on a whim and damn.. you looked good. Stupid good. Gojo had been blowing up your phone that morning, so you decided to send him a picture.. just to tease him.

•❅───✧❅ Toji ❅✧───❅•

You met Toji during the worst time in your life. During your "I'm done with men phase." You worked at a small boxing gym downtown. Something to just help pay the bills and to do while finishing school. You worked at the front desk. Toji walked in one day like he owned the place, tall, broad, and sweat drenched from a run. He already knew you were staring as he approached you, asking about a membership. You handed him the clipboard. He signed it, then looked up and said, “You always look this good when you’re bored?” You didn’t even respond. You just raised a brow and went back to your screen.

Toji started showing up more and more, sometimes at the end of your shift, other times when you're alone, always cocky but never pushy. So you asked him, "You come here to work out or flirt?" and he simply replied, "Who says I can't multitask?" So that lead to a couple dates, light night drives, etc. Nothing serious though. After one night of teasing, you decided to try and get back at him. So you put on your new lingerie set you bought for yourself and snapped a picture for him.

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