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delicrieux · 3 years

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I just might die mad about Sae-byeok’s imo UNFAIR ending, so my request!: the reader is a staff member in love with Sae-byeok (either they actually knew her before the games, or they gained a crush while watching over). As she’s removing the glass shards and struggling to change into her suit before dinner, the reader comes in to treat her injuries by themself, with their excuse being “all finalists must be in equal condition” or some bullshit like that. but really they only want to see her live lmao. I feel like this is already long enough but if you’re fine with writing more, I wanna leave extra: a long time after the game, the reader and Sae-byeok somehow ended up in a relationship, all while Sae-byeok has no clue they used to be one of the staff members. At some point (for example when they’re preparing to sleep), the reader traces over her scars, especially the one left by the glass, and swear to keep her and her brother safe and happy. I’m sorry if I was overly specific here, please feel free to change up whatever you want! Thank you so so much in advance!!

THEORY OF COLOURS | endless drabble series (halloween special)

summary: the game has no favourites. but you do. pairing: sae-byeok x nb!reader a/n: i made this halloween related because i wanted to. prompt: full moon & antique <3 but overall stellar request, i want to read it from five diff authors

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open for the halloween prompt list.

The dashing stranger at the station requested to play a game, the price of which had seemed so lovely upon first glance and in your measly condition. In a pick of red and blue you had chosen the color of spite, of survival, of anger - possibly because it had always brought you luck in the betting lounge, possibly because he had caught you frustrated. Melancholy is sweet, and October days are always bleak and blue, but even you, standing by the doorstep of ruin, refused inaction. Red, pretty scarlet, somewhat washed out in the cold white lights. It’s just a game, you reasoned, how bad could it truly be?

In the following days, you will get acquainted with the color red better. Your relationship will become more intimate, it will devour you because red always devours, it will become your second skin. A skin shared by numerous others, a skin indistinguishable from the mass of robed workers, honey bees building their wonderful hive, soulless cog-beings in the corporate machine.

Red’s a killer instinct. The first few times firing a gun made your hands quiver. Its so loud, that terrifying machinery, and you have nothing to muffle your ears but a semi-uncomfortable mask that only serves to hide your horrified expression. Yes, the first times were the roughest - what was worse than the shot itself was the aftermath, the lying body, the sleepless nights that followed after. You’ve only seen such violence in movies, heard about it on the news. You have never imagined you’d be a catalyst for it; never imagined you’d grow used to it, too. What else could you do for money? Your hands don’t quiver anymore. It’s as low as anyone can get.

Those steely hands don’t tremble when pressing the barrel of a gun to someone’s forehead, but they tremble as you kneel before her. Bleak lights, quiet space, only Sae-Byeok’s harsh breaths lashing you like a whip. Red pours out of her now leaving blotches of crushed plum on her blue uniform. It doesn’t make a difference splashed onto you, blends in quite seamlessly. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

She’s holding onto the bathrooms sink, knuckles pale and face twisted into a frown. Cold sweat washes her in waves, and you, through tinted vision, stare at the large piece of glass jutting out her lower stomach. It’s covered in red paint. Reminds you of kindergarten and the panes of glass you’d cover in gouache before carefully flipping the glass and gently pressing it down onto a blank piece of paper. In this funhouse, that piece of glass is as much of a relic of your childhood as it is a relic of the many horrors that took place here. A timeless antique that collects memories by association. Strange how one becomes so philosophical when faced with death.

You know Sae-Byeok. You’ve talked to her outside these walls, shared a room, shared a history, even if it was brief. She’s a refugee swept into this game because she’s trying to build a life for her brother. You’re here because there is no place left for you to be. Your aspirations seem so small compared to hers, so pathetic. That’s why, watching the live feed and noticing her being hit by exploding glass, you took it upon yourself to fish it out. Fix her up. Red’s a killer instinct, but it’s also blood, it’s also life. This mission of yours is an apology to her and everyone else that died by your hands.

You can’t talk. There’s a circle on you instead of the face. You had been nullified; stripped of the ability to speak, to express, to feel. Perhaps that’s for the better. You’d start crying if you didn’t draw your lips into a tight line. This is gonna hurt, you want to warn her, but she knows this already. She’s looking down at you and there is a glimmer of hate in her eyes. You’ve never felt such scrutiny.

“...Does...” Her whole body shakes with each syllable. She exhales harshly once your gloved hand draws closer to the glass, “...Do...You need me...alive?”

You nod. You need her alive, the hosts, though, don’t care. It was your idea to help her and no one will think twice about it. Players are more valuable than workers, but not valuable enough to receive medical care.

As you dig into that glass and hear her muffled cries you briefly wonder if you’re doing her a disservice. What games lie ahead can’t be worth the suffering. Maybe it’ll be worse than dying from a wound like this. But maybe it won’t.

The glass tinks to the tiles and skitters away, leaving a trail of red. More pours out; she can’t stand; it all happens so quickly you hardly have time to catch up. One moment she’s responsive and the other’s she’s not, and you’re elbows deep in your favourite colour operating her on the spotless floor. She can’t hear you now, and maybe that’s why, sewing her up, you say, quietly, “It’s gonna be alright.”

...

Pale moonlight streams through shallow curtains. The city never sleeps. These past weeks you don’t, either. There is something comforting about that noise, those honking cars and chattering strangers. It’s all so monotone and gray and dark - nothing is colouful in the city, only the twinkling lights - and even at night, you wish to stay in it, in all those comfortably mute colours. Anything is better than remembering that pastel nightmare.

The bed is big but your bodies are drawn close - too much time going without human contact brings about strange fears to the mind - and she, though a half-lidded gaze, looks at you, and you stare at her side, at the pale flesh unveiled by a tank top that rose just a bit too much. It healed poorly. Perhaps a surgeon’s trained hands would have made the scar barely noticeable, but your hands weren’t good enough for that. It’s visible, a marker of your failure, a reminder of all the horrors that took place. You still hear that glass skittering away and it’s sharp ping as it hit the floor.

Your finger trails the scar gently. A small smile quirks the corner of her lips and she says, in a rasp, quiet voice, “I would’ve died.” You know, you were there, “But someone helped me.” She doesn’t know it was you. You don’t know what would happen if she did, “There were some good people there after all.”

“No,” You murmur, still trailing that painful outline, “no, just people.”

“You weren’t there.” It’s not an accusation. It’s sounds almost thankful. As if to confirm your suspicions, she closes her eyes and drapes her arm over your waist to have you closer, “I’m glad for that.”

The kiss you land on her cheek feels like an apology. You shut your eyes to avoid her inquisitive gaze. The weight of that truth is crushing. Maybe you’ll tell her one day, when the game is but a blurry contour lost somewhere in memory lane. It’s too fresh now, like ripe fruit - one squeeze and it’ll all come pouring out.

“Night.” You whisper into her shoulder.

“...Goodnight, (Name).”

thank you for reading!! hope you liked it <3

#squid game #squid game x reader #kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #kang sae-byeok x reader #kang sae-byeok #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #reader insert #request #Halloween special #<3

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