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oracle-of-dream · 8 months ago

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Welcome to the Dollhouse

Summary: Y/n is down on their luck making financial ends meet. When a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity forces them into a bargain that can't refuse. Now, they find themselves at a party searching for a partner but the person they get is someone they'd never expect.

Notes: Male Reader, Dubious Contracts, Financial Struggles, Idol Jay, Enhypen exists, Fake names, Kissing

Wordcount: 6.9k

It’s funny to think about how much money can buy. Many people say it can’t buy happiness, love, or fulfillment. But when push comes to shove. Money makes the world go round…

Being in college was all you wanted. A chance to get an education that was enough to get you away from the boring life that awaited you if you decided to miss out. Moving to a big city, far away from your parents wasn’t even the hard part. It was paying for college… You managed to land a decent scholarship, as long as you did your school work and did some volunteering to make the school look good then you’d be safe to coast through without any worries. Or that was the case. In your second semester of freshman year, one picture put you dead in the water.

It was your first party. No parents to worry about what time you’d be back. Friends watch you in case things get too crazy. And a cute guy who invited you. A frat boy.By the end of the night, videos of you drinking online circulated. And being a year under the drinking age wasn’t a good look either. The school tore away your scholarship, you were lucky they didn’t expel you. You didn’t have the heart to tell your parents what happened, so you had to find a way to pay for school alone. You looked for private loans, but most wouldn’t accept you without a guarantor, someone to pay them back if you couldn’t. And working odd jobs wouldn’t earn you enough money before the next semester. That’s where The Dollhouse entered the picture.

This was the sixth bank you’d visited. You were desperate. Waiting for the subway, you were approached by a man in a long black coat. He was older than you, but not by much, his early thirties max. He wore a black shirt and pants, with black hair to match. He was almost like a shadow… if shadows were handsome men. “Excuse me, you dropped this!” He exclaimed as he rushed over to you. He had your phone in his hand, ready to offer it to you.

You must’ve dropped it at the bank. “Thank you so much! I’d be dead without this.”

“You should be more careful! You never know what kind of people you’ll meet. Stranger Danger and all that.”

You giggled. He sounded like your Dad saying that. “Aren’t you a stranger?”

He tilted his head to the side, pondering your point. “I suppose so. You can call me Seo-jun.”

“I’m y/n. Sorry for making you chase me here, and thanks again for bringing me my phone.”

He shook his head. “It’s no problem. I have to go this way for work anyway.”

“What kind of job do you have?”

“I’m sorta like a manager. I help connect people looking for work with clients looking for workers.” Seo-jun smiled wryly. “But right now, business is down. Some workers quit recently, and our clients want more new faces.”

You felt a pang in your stomach. You’d been cutting out meals to save money and your job was still only paying minimum wage. Considering you had a bit of free time, you took a chance. “I could lend a hand. I could use the money, and you did help me. It’s only fair that I return the favor.”

Seo-jun’s smile faded a bit. “Um… You’re a nice kid. But I don’t think our work is good for you.”

Originally you were offering just to be nice, but now your interest was piqued. “W-Why not?”

“Don’t be like that. You look like a hard worker, but it’s not ordinary work. The paychecks are nice, but I’d hate to see such a good kid like you work there.”

“How well does it pay?”

“That’s beside the point–”

“How much does it pay!?” You demanded.

“Depending on your client. After fees from management, I’ve seen some workers make over $4,000 in less than a week of work.” Seo-jun sighed.

4k in a week could set you up for the entire semester before the end of the summer, and then some! “Take me to work with you! Please!” Seo-jun tried not to look you in the eye, but you gripped his arm and refused to let go. “Then you’ll have to walk with me there. I’ll just talk to your boss.”

“Woah, woah. I’ll take you there, just don’t make a scene. People are staring,” He whispered, trying to peel you off him.

Thankfully it wasn’t too far of a train ride. You spent it wondering what kind of work they’d had you do. You weren’t well-dressed, having sold off most of your nice clothing. Maybe if there were uniforms, then your clothes wouldn’t be much of a problem. Seo-jun was silent for most of the ride, texting someone. His face was dark, which made his face stand out more. He wasn’t just pretty, he was extremely handsome. His black hair settled on his forehead and dipped slightly past his eyebrow making him even more attractive. The type of look no one could get enough of. And a few of the girls on the train agreed with you, from how they stared.

Seo-jun guided you off the train after another five stops. You walked a few blocks, turned a corner, and approached a black building wedged between two pale ones. Before knocking, Seo-jun looked at you. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I think I can handle it.” You were a bit nervous. There weren’t many people on this street, and the building was tall and imposing in the quiet neighborhood.

Seo-jun knocked on the door. It cracked open, and a big man with tattoos peeked through the crack. Once he registered who was at the door, it closed again before opening completely. Seo-jun said nothing as he entered the building, and you closely followed behind him. The large man shut the door behind you. Now you saw him completely, he looked more like an NFL player. He could easily throw you around if he wanted to. Seo-jun didn’t pay the man any mind, walking forward as he passed several doors. Each had a sign on it. Most said open and a few said occupied. The doors were closed and looked pretty heavy. It was so quiet, you could only hear the sounds of your footsteps on the tile. Seo-Jun led you to an office at the end of the hallway, putting in a key from his pocket and unlocking it. He sat down behind the desk, which was covered with papers.

“Come in and take a seat, y/n.”

You sat down in the chair in front of the desk. The room had a red velvet wall, and pictures of models. Or at least, they seemed like models. All of them were men in their early twenties, each was different but handsome. You even saw one that looked like Seo-Jun.

“Is that you?” You pointed at the photo.

Seo-Jun didn’t look. “Not anymore. That was a long time ago.” You raised an eyebrow. He looked almost the same in the photo as in front of you. But maybe it wasn’t the best time to push him to spill more.

“Why are you looking for money?” Seo-Jun questioned.

“College. It’s expensive, ya know?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. I know. Don’t you have parents, or any other family who can help?”

You shook your head. “That’s not an option.” Thinking about your family left a bitter taste in your mouth. They’d be so disappointed if they knew how bad things had gotten.

He pursed his lips like he understood the feeling. “How much money do you need?”

“Ideally, enough for school.”

“Give me a number.”

“It’s about $10k a semester. More if I live on campus.”

“Okay, and when school’s not in session, do you have a place to live? Around here, specifically.” You shook your head. You caught yourself about to talk about your family home, but maybe it was best not to… Seo-Jun typed a few things on a calculator on his phone, opened a laptop, and waited for it to start. “Okay. If you start working with us, it's like this. We’ll give you the money and other necessities you need, and you have to work off that amount.”

“You’ll give me the money?”

“I’ll have you log into your student account, and I’ll pay your semester in advance now. But that’s only if you accept our offer.”

“Of course!”

Seo-Jun sighed. “Please hear me completely before you decide.” He straightened his back as he pulled the laptop closer to him. He typed a few things before turning the computer around, and showing you the screen. It was a camera feed. “This is what we do.”

You watched closely. It looked like a guy your age was in a room with another person. They were talking. You were about to look away, shrugging it off before you saw the boy kneel on the ground. He was doing something to the older man’s pants. You leaned in to see, but the camera wasn’t clear enough.

“What is this?”

“This is the job. Be a partner for your clients, whatever that means for them. Then they’ll pay you for the service.” Seo-Jun’s jaw went slack. “Like I said, this isn’t an ordinary job. But if you take it, we’ll take care of you. You’ll have a home and meals, and we’ll keep our end of the bargain and pay for school.”

You sat back in your chair as the reality of the offer landed on you. Being hired, partner… A fancy way to say, prostitute. Was this really the only way?

“I know that you don’t want to pressure your family with your financial situation. And I’ll be honest, we didn’t bump into each other by mistake.” Seo-Jun pulled your phone out of his pocket.

You didn’t even realize you’d dropped it…

“You didn’t drop it. I stole it. I needed an excuse to talk to you, and for you to trust me. I know you’ve been looking for loans, but can’t get any.” Seo-Jun leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “We need workers, and you need our help. Or… does your sweet mother wanna hear about your scholarship?”

A cold sweat ran down your neck. You’d walked right into a cage and didn’t even realize it. “What scholarship?” You gulped.

“The one you lost. It’s a shame. How one mistake can ruin everything for you, isn’t it?” Seo-Jun put a video on the laptop, the same one that ruined your chances of living a normal college life. “We can make it so the video never sees the light of day again, as a bonus for signing with us. You won’t have to worry about mommy seeing it, or knowing how you lost your scholarship. You’ll have school paid for, and have time to study. All you need to do is be a worker.” Seo-Jun pulled a piece of paper from a stack on his desk, a pre-printed contract, with your name at the top. “You can read through it if you’d like. Everything I promised is in there.”

Seo-Jun placed the paper on the desk, sliding it toward you, with a pen on top.

“How can you do this to people?” You mumbled.

“It’s never easy. I did try to give you a warning, but you insisted.”

“That was before I knew this!” You wanted to throw the paper at him and storm out, but your legs were glued to the seat. This was a once-in-a-lifetime offer.

“I’ll also mention. Any extra “gifts” you get from your clients will be yours to keep. Frequently, we get high-profile clients who love to have specific partners they visit. And they bring them gifts every time they visit; from clothes and jewelry to cars and even buildings.” Seo-Jun stood from his seat, walking around the desk to lean on it close to you. “It’s a good deal. Fair and transparent. If you’re lucky, you’ll be out fast. And your identity is completely concealed within our walls. No one will ever know you worked here unless we want them to know.” He picked up your hand and the pen, placing them together. “So, what’s the call?”

Your jaw was so tight, you struggled to speak, “C-Can I sleep on this?”

“No. Once you walk out the door, the offer’s gone.” He said flatly.

The pressure was too much. You couldn’t think of anything. There was no real way out, and this was too good of an offer to pass. Even if you refused, how could you afford the new semester? You sighed heavily before moving the pen to the paper, slowly signing your name. The red ink flowed on the paper, drying into a deep crimson like you were using your blood to sign.

“Excellent. As of today, you’re a part of the Dollhouse.” Seo-Jun snatched the paper off the desk, folding it and tucking it into his back pocket. “Here’s this back,” He handed your phone back to you. “One more thing, if you violate our contract or try to run. We’ll drag your ass back here faster than you can blink. If not then your parents will have to pay off the loan.”

Your head hung. Guilt sat on your shoulder as you leaned back in the chair. This was your fate now…

Seo-Jun handed you a card. “You’ll go back to your dorm. When you do, call this number and answer whatever questions they ask. We’ll have to come by in about a week for measurements.”

“What measurements?”

“We need your body measurements to advertise you. And we’ll have to dress you, give you a nice haircut, and dress you up. Which, the Dollhouse will pay for. This will add to your debt, naturally.”

“I-I don’t want it then!”

“If you don’t look nice, no one will ask for you. If not, then you won’t make any money. If you make us no money, you’ll be stuck in our arrangement for a while.” Seo-Jun frowned. “I don’t enjoy this, so let’s make this as easy as possible. There’s an event next week where new clients can meet our workers clandestinely. It’s like a mixer, speed-dating. That’s your best way to get a high-roller on your account to support you.”

You rolled your eyes. “This is so stupid. Why would anyone pick me anyway?”

Seo-Jun glared at you. “Do not talk about yourself like that. If you start looking down on yourself, clients can tell you don’t value yourself. If you can value yourself, how can you value them?”

Seo-Jun sent you back on your way, giving you directions back home. The ride back home felt like hours. All you could do was try not to cry. You tried so hard to come to the city to be someone different than how you could’ve been back home, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. You got back to your dorm. It was dark and quiet, just like that building. You were lucky enough not to have any roommates. No one to hear you cry yourself to sleep…

In the morning, you woke up as your phone rang. You rolled over, ignoring the call. But it rang, again and again. After the fourth phone call in a row, you looked at it. It was an unknown number.

You answered cautiously. “H-Hello?”

“Y/n? Have you lost your mind?” Seo-Jun said, with disappointment in his tone.

“How did you get this number?”

“I stole your phone. I knew I had to get your number too. Just in case you ran off.” He sighed. “I thought you did for a moment. That would’ve been a lot of trouble for the both of us… Why didn’t you call me when you got home?”

You’d completely forgotten about calling the number on the card. “Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

“Let’s get rid of that habit. Being forgetful isn’t cute. Some clients will call you at different times of the day and don’t take kindly to being ignored. You’ve got a job that’s busier than full-time. It’s 24/7.”

“Well, what do you want, Seo-Jun?”

“When we’re talking business, please call me Mr. Seo-Jun.”

You groaned but knew he wasn’t joking. “What do you want, Mr. Seo-Jun?”

“I need you to tell me your school login. I want to see your schedule for classes and pay your bill.” You told him without any fuss. You were too tired to give a damn anymore. “There’s a good boy. Now, you can go back to the rest of your week. I’ll keep in touch.”

Seo-Jun hung up before you could answer him. It was Wednesday, meaning your classes started later in the day. You took your time showering and picking out clothes. It was thirty minutes before class when you went to the bus stop. Like clockwork, your friend, Eun, waited for you to arrive.

Eun was a friend you made during the first semester of college. He was 5’9” and goofy, often laughing at his jokes like a comedy club. He probably heard a laugh track in his head when he told jokes. He usually dressed in bright-colored shirts, denim jeans, and a big smile. He was also there for you when you’d gone through the frat party fiasco. Most of your “friends” had ditched you, throwing you under the bus for drinking to save their necks. But Eun was the only one who stayed by your side.

Eun waved at you as you walked toward him. “Good morning!”

“Morning, Eun.”

He studied your face for a moment. “Yeesh, what happened? You look like you had a rough sleep.”

“Thanks, buddy. You always know just what to say…” You sighed as you looked up at the sky.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. Seriously dude, are you okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure… then, you’ll wanna hear about how Enhypen are coming to the area to perform.”

Your eyes bulged. “Enhypen’s coming here!? No fucking way, when!?”

“The news dropped this morning. They’re holding a small concert on campus around next week!”

Your stomach churned. Next week!? That’s when the mixer was supposed to be. Maybe you could ask Seo-Jun for a day off to attend the concert…

Eun saw your smile drop. “Hey, dude, seriously. What’s going on? Normally you’re super excited about this kind of stuff.”

“I am. I’ve got some stuff happening next week, so I hope they don’t overlap.” You prayed that it would be some swift joke that would pass you by…

The next few days passed, and you kept a close eye on your phone. Not a single call or text from your new boss. Or would your owner be the right word? You checked your school login a few days ago, and your school bill for the next semester was already paid in advance. It was good to know Seo-Jun was a man of his word. But it also meant that everything else he’d said would pass too. It wasn’t until Monday that you got some news.

The Enhypen concert was on a Friday. Which made sense, students would stay on campus all the time. So why not have a concert that night? However, your morning was disturbed by a call. You answered it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Good job answering the first time. You’re learning.” You could hear the smirk on his face.

“Let’s get to the part where you tell me what you want.”

“To the point it is. The date of the mixer is set to be this Friday night, it’ll be pretty late so get your homework done in time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like you care about my schoolwork.”

“Of course I do. I’m the one paying for it.”

“What time exactly is the mixer?”

“Why?” Seo-Jun questioned.

“Well, there’s a concert happening on campus and I wanted to go–”

Seo-Jun sucked his teeth. “No. You’re expected to be here before sunset so we can get you ready. Tardiness will only put the whole team behind schedule, and some client’s time is precious.”

“But–”

“Be here. Friday. After class. Bye.” Seo-Jun hung up without another word.

You huffed a heavy sigh as you texted Eun that you wouldn’t attend the concert. Naturally, he was concerned about why and questioned you, but you lied about having a family matter to attend to. He promised to take videos for you at least. It left you feeling like a dog on a leash. Any time Seo-Jun pulled on it, you had no choice but to follow his orders. In the days before the mixer, he asked you more questions about the style of clothes you’d enjoy, strengths, weaknesses, talents, quirks, birthmarks, anything you hated, and even your allergies.

On Friday, after your last class. There was a black SUV waiting outside your dorm. Walking past the suspicious car, the window rolled down. “Just going to ignore me?” Seo-Jun’s voice whistled out. You turned to see him sitting in the back seat. “Get in. Time for fitting.”

“I just got home. Don’t I get to change or something?”

“Does it matter? You’d just be changing just to change again. You’ll have time to relax while waiting for the mixer to start.” You got in the car, tossing your backpack in. The car was nice. You didn’t recognize the driver.

Seo-Jun handed you a folder. “Does everything in here look right?”

You opened it. It was almost like a resume, all about you. From an approximate height and weight to even an ethnicity check. “How did you guess my ethnicity? I didn’t tell you that.”

He shrugged. “The internet is a scary place. If you’ve put it somewhere online before, it's on the dark web.” They closed the folder and tucked it into a briefcase. “So, let me explain the mixer a bit. Generally, it's an event for our workers to meet new clients. But also for some of our clients to show off to their rich buddies and convince them to invest in our services. Be presentable, flexible, and obedient to earn attention.” Out of the briefcase, Seo-Jun produced pictures of young men pandering to their clients. “Now, we never call our clients “clients” to their face. They’re our partners. And you’ll need a persona. Something that’s already similar to who you are so you don’t need to act too much. Some like them feisty, others like our boys a little more submissive.”

“How do I come up with one?”

“Don’t, just be you and they will. Once you’ve got one, then stick to it. The savior types might be your best bet, so maybe you’ll get them with a sort of damsel persona.”

“Savior types?”

“The ones who get off on the fact they’re helping you. Like they’re the only ones who ever could, so you need them to save you.”

There was so much nuance to this… It made your head hurt just thinking about it.

Seo-Jun studied your expression. “It’s your first one, so don’t worry about standing out. You’ll be standing with the newbies, like a puppy in an adoption bin. All the newbies are workers without a regular client, so they’re a bit cutthroat when someone gets close.”

“Anything else?” You sighed as you scrolled through your phone.

Seo-Jun leaned forward and snatched it, putting it inside his briefcase.“Also, you can't use phones. You’ll be engaged the whole time, so we can’t risk distractions. And we can’t let you take any photos of anyone.”

You grumbled as you looked out of the heavily tinted windows. The rest of the car ride was silent, even the car didn’t make much noise. After the car ride, you were escorted into the Dollhouse. Upstairs were the living quarters for all the “Dolls” as Seo-Jun called them. You were now one of the Dolls of his house. Each doll was awarded their room. Some got to move out if their clients bought them a place to stay, but they weren’t allowed to leave the city without permission. And, each doll had a name. Something they’d go by. Your new name, Minsu, means Elegant and Beautiful according to Seo-Jun.

“Okay. From now on, anytime you’re in the dollhouse or with a client, you’ll be called Minsu. Clients can pay to change their name. But it's how we can identify you without exposing your identity.” Seo-Jun elaborated, “We’ve had issues in the past of clients who get too attached to their dolls and tried to approach someone’s family to ask permission to marry their song. Which, of course, we dealt with before disaster struck.”

Minsu… You’re new name. Nothing was yours anymore. Your body, time, and now name wasn’t even yours.

“Let’s practice.” Seo-Jun cleared his throat. “Minsu, how are you?”

You hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’m fine… Mr. Seo-Jun.”

“Good job. You even remembered Mr.” He smiled. Seo-Jun put your backpack in your room. It was a simple room, with a bed, desk, and wardrobe. It was bare. “You can decorate it with what you want, it's all yours. But if your client gives you a gift, I’d recommend making a space for it. They notice this kind of stuff.”

You looked around the room. The floor was hardwood, cold, and slightly creaky. You weren’t given much time to settle before Seo-Jun took you to the next floor. “This is the dressing room. We dress the dolls here in outfits when they have to attend events. We also have makeup available, if you don’t know how to use it we can teach you. You are expected to wear makeup, shave, and keep your body healthy while in our care.” There were two older women there. It was the first time you’d seen women in the dollhouse so far.

“This is Jill and Mary. They’re the main doll caretakers and your beauticians. They make you beautiful on the inside and out for our clients. They also help with cooking and cleaning, so please treat them kindly.”

You nodded to them shyly.

Mary cracked a smile. Her caramel brown skin had glitter around her eyes, and her smile was so white even the crayon wouldn’t be able to keep up. Her clothes were simple but chic like she was about to walk a runway. Jill was white, her most notable feature was her colorful hair. Her tattoos, where they could be seen, were amazingly detailed. She had a snake slithering up her throat, ready to bite her chin.

Seo-Jun cleared his throat. “Introduce yourself.”

“O-Oh! I’m y/n.”

Seo-Jun chuckled. “Not that name, remember?”

“I have to use my fake name with other workers too?”

Seo-Jun frowned. “It’s not fake. It’s your name. It’s just a second one to the one you’re born with. And yes, anonymity is our friend here. So use the name that you were given, please.”

You turned to the women, who were smiling expectantly. “Hi… I’m Minsu. I guess.”

Mary spoke first, “You’ll get used to it. It’s a transitory period right now so just take it slow.” Jill nodded in agreement. “Now, you’re here for fitting, right?” You could tell Mary had a slight English accent, but she was suppressing it.

“I’ll leave it to you. Minsu’s a very good boy, he won’t cause any trouble,” Seo-Jun said as he left you with the two women. Mary and Jill were thorough, each taking a side of your body and measuring you. The length of your arms, legs, waist size, and even your bust.

“So, this will be your first mixer, no?” Mary asked.

You nodded.

“Are we looking for something more cute or sexy with the concept here, Mary?” Jill asked.

“Let’s ask him.”

Mary looked at you, waiting for you to answer. “Um… I guess cute?”

Jill booed at you. “You’ve got a sexy frame already. We can crop a top, get you loose-fitting shorts, and give you something cozy yet sexy.”

“Jill, let’s respect him here. Minsu doesn’t want that. Plus, he’d look way better in leather and sheer. I already know what you’re thinking. That just won’t work.”

Jill and Mary started holding up pieces over you, arguing about what to give you. Slowly they moved away from the cute vibe you’d asked for… By the end, you had a sheer shirt, black leather pants, with a leather belt around your waist, not your pants, and a gray denim jacket. You were given some silver accessories, rings, and necklaces to try on.

You’d never worn anything so… revealing. Without your jacket or the design on the front of the shirt, you’d be shirtless. The black sheet was see-through; you could see your stomach in the mirror, and your belt only pulled attention to it. The belt was odd. It was above your pants, so make your waist smaller, so the loops used for belts were altered to move up for the belt to slide through and keep your pants up.

“Minsu, you look great!” Jill exclaimed.

Mary nodded in agreement. “Jill was right, your body suits a sexier concept anyway. Just keep the jacket on if you’re feeling modest. But if you want to get attention, take it off halfway through the party. Pretend it's warm or something!”

The pair squealed like young girls, rambling about ways to appeal to potential clients. But you were just tired and hungry. “So, when can I eat?”

“Oh, you haven’t eaten?” Jill frowned.

“We’ll get you something light. We don’t want to bloat you too much, since you have the belt on. There’s food at the mixer but remember not to stuff your face.” Mary said as she stepped away.

“Why not?”

“Well, what if a client wants to take you home? You’ll want your body to look its best if you have to perform.” Jill squealed. You hadn’t thought of that. What if someone does show an interest in you? And they want something physical from you… Would you be able to go through with it?

Mary returned with a sliced apple. “This should hold you over for now. The mixer will be soon. We still have to do your hair and makeup. So sit, It’s alright if you doze off, we’ll take good care of you.” You listened, sitting in a studio chair as they started working, one on your hair and the other on your makeup. Like magic, you passed out almost immediately in the chair. When you opened your eyes, they’d just finished their last touches.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. You look amazing!” You looked into the mirror in front of you. Your eyebrows had been brushed. Your shawling and nose had never been more prominent. And your hair had a shine that you could only really get from a hair salon.

“Thank you… This is great.” You mumbled as you looked over yourself.

The pair smiled triumphantly. “It's all a part of the job! So go knock them out! Seo-Jun will be here any minute to take you to the mixer.”

They started cleaning as you left the room, going back to your room. There was a mirror on your desk. You used it to study yourself more. Their work was impeccable, with model-quality makeup in such a short time. The alone time you’d found was spoiled quickly with a knock at the door. You answered it to see Seo-Jun waiting.

“Let’s go. Leave your backpack, you can get it later.”

You put the mirror back on your desk and followed Seo-Jun out the door. The venue for the mixer was toward the downtown area in a hotel, one of the large classy ballrooms. There were waitstaff walking with finger food. Many young men, all fashionably dressed, stood around talking to each other. It was intimidating seeing some of them. They could easily be actors and models on the front of magazines… Then there was you, the college kid who wasn’t in the same league as them.

Seo-Jun led you to an empty table. “Okay, you’ll sit here. If anyone comes to you, talk to them respectfully but in a friendly manner. You’re the only doll from our house, all these other ones won’t know you. Remember, Minsu, nothing about your personal life. Or theirs. Keep everything hidden, and tell only what you need to.”

You nodded nervously. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try and point you out to a few people.” Seo-Jun turned to leave, but you grabbed his arm. He was all you’d known for the last week. And now he was leaving you alone at a table at this huge party. “If you want to be a baby, do that to clients. But with me don’t be a baby, I’ll be watching the whole time. Nothing will happen to you.” He pulled his hand away and walked off, talking to a few men in suits.

The mixer began shortly after. Men started slowly filling the room, all dressed in formal clothes, from suits or high-end outfits. Not one paid you any mind. You were relieved that no one was interested in you. You occasionally looked around the room, searching for Seo-Jun with little luck. The first hour was a panic fest, silently hoping no one would sit at your table and talk to you. In the second hour, some clients found who they liked talking to and stuck to certain areas. Some dolls had almost seven men around them at any time. In the third hour, some dolls left with their partners.

Thankfully, not one person seemed interested in you. You’d been sitting so long that your legs started to fall asleep. You’d tried your best to eat any time the servers walked past you with a plate, but the buffet at the other end of the room was almost calling you. Cautiously, looking over your shoulders, you stood and made your way over. Walking like you knew what to do, or like you belonged. The table was full of interesting foods you’d never tried. Mostly seafood and assorted fruits. You took a plate and started stacking it with whatever seemed the yummiest, which was one of everything!

It wasn’t until you reached the end that you realized how much you’d grabbed. It wouldn’t all fit on your plate. If you tried walking back to your seat, you’d drop something… You turned, slowly toward your table when you bumped into someone, keeping the damage under control. You don’t drop your food!

The person in front of you let out a heavy sigh. You looked forward, a huge spot on their shirt from where you’d bumped into them.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry!” You exclaimed.

He shook his head. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean to.”

You put your plate down on a nearby table. You slid the sleeve of your jacket down, making it slide off your shoulder, as you rubbed the spot. It didn’t look like it was going to clean neatly. “I’m really sorry. I can take it and get it washed?” You suggested as you looked at the man’s face.

You realized he was extremely familiar–like celebrity familiar. He had a middle part with long dark hair that draped his eyes. His jawline was sharp, and his eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“Do I know you?” You asked.

“Uh, no. We don’t know each other.” The man assured.

The spot wasn’t getting any better and some people were starting to stare. “How about you take my jacket for now?” You slid off your jacket, showing off your top completely to the room.

“Oh, I–That’s not necessary.” The man said, looking away from you. “Just put your jacket back on.”

“I insist! I ruined your shirt!” More people started staring, and whispering.

“Fine! I’ll take it, just give it!” He snatched the jacket from you, pulling it over himself as he looked down. His long hair covered his face as he looked around.

“Do you have a table? You can sit with me, and we can talk about getting your shirt cleaned.”

The man nodded again. “Fine, just take me away from here.”

You took him to your table in the corner of the room, where you’d spent the last three hours alone. Many more people were watching you this time than when you’d left. Maybe Jill was right about your shirt… It made you a little self-conscious with so much staring. You pulled out a chair for the man and sat next to him.

“I’m y-Minsu! It’s nice to meet you.” You put your hand out.

“Are things always like this?”

You shrugged. “This is my first time here, so I don’t really know.”

The man looked around the room, acknowledging the looks. “Well… That’s nice.”

You sat awkwardly as you looked at him. You noticed Seo-Jun behind him, toward the other end of the room, motioning something to you. Talk to him?

“So, Mister? What brings you here?” You asked,

“You don’t need to call me that. My name’s Jay. I… came here for something stupid and I don’t think I should’ve come.”

You smiled at him. “You sound like someone made you come here. I didn’t want to be here either. I was so worried that someone would talk to me, but it turns out that no one would even pay attention to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just… don’t think this is my sort of party. And I’m not very good at meeting new people. I’m only here because I have to.”

Jay nodded. “I get that. I really only came because my members teased me about not meeting any new people.”

“Members?”

Jay’s eyes flickered to you. “Y-Yeah. I’m a part of a group. I’m a performer.”

“Whoa! Do you make music? I’d love to listen to it.”

Jay smirked. “It’s not me who makes the music. But I dabble.”

“I don’t have my phone. Tell me your band, and I’ll try to remember it.”

Jay leaned close to you to whisper, “I’m a member of Enhypen.”

You blinked. The words echoed in your brain before you looked at the man again. That’s where you’d seen him! He was Jay from Enhypen, and he was talking to you. “O-Oh, yeah I’ve heard of that group before.”

“Oh? Are you a fan?” Jay smiled. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“I’m not trying to be weird. I am a fan, but if you wanna forget about it or talk to someone else–”

“No. You’re funny. And I think it would be better to spend time with a fan.” Jay slipped your jacket off and placed it over your shoulders. “I think this suits you better than me, by the way.” Your heart was fluttering a mile a minute. Jay said he wanted to spend time with you and even draped a jacket over your shoulders. Eun would be foaming at the mouth at this point.

“Could I ask why you’re at an all-guy mixer?”

“You can, but then I’d ask you the same question.”

“Touche…” You chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I’m here for another hour. So we can chat… or whatever.”

Jay smirked. “Would you wanna talk somewhere else?”

You nodded. “I’m cool with that. It beats talking here, with all the staring.”

“Then let’s roll,” Jay said as he stood. You followed him as he led you out of the room. You spotted Seo-Jun who gave you a thumbs-up as you passed by. Jay took you to a room in the hotel. It had an amazing view since it was on a higher floor.

“Jay, check this out! It’s so high!” You cheered.

“So, uh. I’m kind of awkward at this since I’ve never done it. I don’t have any preferences or anything. I’d be okay to start and see how it goes.” Jay said.

You turned around to see Jay sitting on the bed in the room. “What?”

“Isn’t this the part where we… do stuff?” Jay raised an eyebrow.

Your face went warm. You hadn’t thought about the context of things until now. Jay was at a party to meet a partner to spend the night with… and he’d chosen you. And like an idiot you accepted thinking he just wanted to talk.

“I-I…”

“Is it more of a, I tell you what to do?” Jay stood, walking toward you. “I’m new to this whole thing, so I’d appreciate it if you could help me.”

You couldn’t form the words you wanted. All of the thoughts in your mind couldn’t fit the situation in front of you. “I-I’m new too,” was all that you could muster.

“Well, that works for the both of us then. We can figure it out together…” Jay approached you until the both of you were at the window. Your back against it, he leaned his arm on the glass near your head. “Let’s just go slow.”

Jay’s tone was calm and empathetic as if he were as worried as you were. He slid his free hand behind your neck and kissed you softly. Your eyes fluttered shut as you placed your hands against his chest, letting him move as he pleased. It was a peck at first. Just a touch, a test. Then Jay leaned in again for a kiss, your lips meeting for longer. His nose brushed yours as he started to move his lips experimentally to find what he liked…

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

Text

Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

#pluralistic #leveraged buyouts #lbos #divi recaps #mortgages #weaponized shelter #debt #finance #private equity #pe #mego #bust outs #plunder #looting

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v6quewrlds · 4 months ago

Note

how i would love to know what goes down when and after shes doing her lingerie try on for joe

One thing the two of them had in common was their stubbornness. It was a trait that had provided them both with flourishing careers but had also led to more than a few heated disagreements. Despite Joe's wealth, she was a woman who prided herself on her financial autonomy. Growing up, independence was a value that had been drilled into her by her mother, and it was something she wasn't willing to give up, not even for love.

Admittedly, Joe found her fierce independence incredibly attractive, but he couldn't help feeling a little frustrated sometimes. He knew she got herself through college and medical school, and he respected that, but he couldn't help but want to take care of her. It was a contentious issue that had been brewing since they first started dating. She insisted on maintaining her own bank account, paying off her student loans herself, and even had her own savings for retirement.

It was all very impressive, Joe had to admit. But his stubbornness was a mirror to hers, and he had his own pride to maintain. Keeping the peace in their relationship came in the form of two compromises. The first saw she move into Joe's home. Joe's fully-paid, multimillion-dollar home in the Cincinnati suburbs, surrounded by lush greenery and the occasional glimpse of the city skyline. The second was the AMEX card. Rarely used, black, and hard plastic found a permanent, welcomed place in her wallet. The compromise was simple: she would use it for one thing, and one thing only – lingerie.

The card was chosen for a reason. It was linked to Joe's personal account, and he had it set up so that every time she used it, a notification popped up on his phone. The notifications came here and there every few months, usually around special occasions. But the frequency had picked up since she moved in, much to Joe's delight and occasional frustration. It was as if she was playing a game, teasing him with the promise of seeing her in something new, something that would make his heart race and his blood rush.

Today, the notification was from a luxury lingerie boutique they had both stumbled upon during a trip downtown. She had fallen in love with the quality, and Joe had fallen in love with the way she looked in their sets. His meetings seemed to drag on forever as he anticipated the moment he would walk through the door and finally see her adorned in silk and lace, just for him.

The moment Joe walked in, he knew she had something up her sleeve. She lay languidly across their oversized bed, the plush duvet just barely covering her, the TV playing something that didn't seem to hold her attention. The sight of her made his mouth go dry and his heart hammer in his chest. He threw his keys and wallet on the side table and approached her, trying to play it cool. "So, you've been busy," he said, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned wide, her brown eyes sparkling. "I've been home all day," she replied, her voice as smooth as honey. "What makes you say that?"

Joe couldn't resist the urge to lean down and kiss her, tasting the sweetness on her lips. "Just got a notification," he murmured against her mouth, his eyes drawn to the shopping bag she had placed on the floor near the entrance to their shared closet.

She pushed him away gently, her own eyes dancing with excitement. "Oh, that," she said, glancing towards the bag. "I picked up a few things, must have swiped your card by mistake."

Joe's smile grew wider. "Mistake, huh?" He couldn't hide his anticipation. "Well, I guess I'll have to inspect the damage."

She rolled her eyes, playing along. "If you must," she said, feigned exasperation lacing her voice. She slid out of bed, the duvet slipping away to reveal her brown skin. She walked over to the bag, her hips swaying with each step.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on her.

"So," she said, her voice a whisper, "last one. What do you think?"

Words seemed to fail Joe as he took in the vision before him, his memory filling in the blanks of what the white lace would reveal. He stepped closer, reaching out to touch the softness of the fabric. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them. "Geez," he murmured, his features marked with hunger. "Baby..." He couldn't find the right words.

His chest pressed to her back, Joe's hands trembled as his fingertips brushed against the delicate bow of the bra, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "You're so beautiful." She leaned back into him. She felt his length thicken against her, and a thrill of desire shot through her.

A satisfied smile adorned her face as she took in Joe's reaction to the white lace. She knew that she had picked well, the third set was definitely his favorite. She turned to face him. Joe's eyes were glued to her, his pupils dilated with desire, trying his best to be gentle with the fabric as he felt her curves beneath his palms.

"This might give that black set a run for its money," Joe declared, his words slow and swirled with honey. His thumbs traced the edge of the lace, his eyes darkening as they took in the way her body filled out the garment. She stepped closer, her arms settling over his shoulders. His hands moved to her sides, drifting towards her lower back before finding her ass, giving it a full-handed squeeze.

She hummed softly at the sensation of his rough palms against her smooth skin, feeling the tension in his body as he struggled to hold back. She reached up, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, tilting his gaze up to hers. "Am I forgiven?" she asked, calling back to the earlier banter about curious notifications and mistaken cards.

Joe's eyes searched hers for a moment, the fire of desire dancing in their depths. Then, with a smoldering smile, he leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. "Always," he responded against her lips.

Her hands slipped under his shirt, finding the rigid lines of his torso, and Joe groaned into her mouth, his arms tightening around her waist. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the energy in the room shifted from playful teasing to something more desperate. She felt the heat between her thighs, and she knew Joe could feel it too. He broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head, discarding the cotton material before grasping her thighs and lifting her. Her legs wrapped around his waist naturally, the lace of the g-string brushing against his skin as he carried her to the bed.

#&. joe x doctor!reader: blurbs.#my writing MIGHT be back #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #&. joey b.

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hangesophtalmologist · 5 months ago

Text

playing with fire burns like hell

part 2

previous title: the salesman’s obsession

(part 1), part 2

pairing: squid game’s salesman x f! reader

synopsis: you played with fire. the salesman wants to make sure you get burned.

a/n: 1,6k on part 1 y’all are actually crazy, tysm for the support!! I do apologize for taking sm time to write the rest, I usually get really productive in writing when I have important tasks that I ignore, but those were unfortunately impossible to ignore this month.

Days passed, but the Salesman couldn’t shake you from his thoughts. The slap had left an indelible mark—not on his cheek, but somewhere deeper, in the dark, cobwebbed corners of his psyche where he kept his ugliest desires

Each game he won, each slap he gave, each life he condemned tasted bland since your encounter – since you, he had tasted the bitter humiliation he imposed on the lowlifes. He was thirsty for something more than the usual pathetic pleas.

Finding out about your money problems wasn’t hard. Your family had helped you out of a terrible addiction, but despite their financial support, you were still drowning in debt, one step away from taking out a bank loan to keep yourself afloat. Maybe he was too eager to have you back in his claws – he didn’t elaborate a plan. When he approached you again, an invitation card in his pocket and a professional smile on his face, you weren’t surprised to see him.

“You’re persistent,” you had glanced at him dismissively, focusing back on your phone.

“Thorough, I’d say. One must be when dealing with large sums of money.”

You didn’t take the bait. He doubted you would – you were slier, prouder, more deceiving.

“Right,” you smiled with a hint of mocking—a fake, perfect smile he also mastered. “Nothing to do with being a sore loser, Mister?”

He let out a chuckle, ignoring the exhilarating rush of adrenaline filling his veins. He sat next to you, intoxicated by the proximity and the appeal of the game.

“Mrs, what do you think about life?”

You ignored him, but he didn’t mind. He liked your defiance; it would make your submission much more pleasurable.

“I like to think life is game,” he started. “Right now, I am winning. I can do anything I want, buy everything I need, dispose of what I do not like. Tell me, Mrs. Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue like he was savoring it, tasting its foreign sound. “Do you think you are winning at life?”

You weren’t. He had spent the last few days watching every single thing you did—how you held back the queue in the supermarket because you didn’t have enough to buy that bag of rice. How you zoned out so that you didn’t have to listen to your boss lecturing you and insulting you. How you couldn’t enter the crowded bus at night and had to walk home for an hour. You were miserable. Poor. Mistreated. With no exit door. He knew you were desperate – he just had to make you admit it to yourself.

You remained silent. The Salesman didn’t realize he had leaned toward you, greedily scrutinizing each of your movements to see the moment where you’d betray your own shame. So, when you turned your head to the side, your lips were inches apart from his, your cold eyes boring fiercely into his, and he felt something dark, something hungry gnawing at him.

“Such a handsome face,” you murmured, gaze traveling over his features, “hiding such ugly thoughts. Shame.”

Your words sounded like purrs to his ear, your disdain fueling the lustful beast inside him.

“Truths are often ugly, I fear,” the man replied slowly, enjoying himself. “That is why people like you usually lie to themselves. Mrs. Y/n, I can help you win something more than a ddakji game.”

Your eyes caught the light reflected on a golden card between his fingers. Triangle, circle, square. No name, no business direction. You scoffed.

“Don’t you have a family to play games with, Mister?” you asked, mocking and cold. “Because I do. Even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t go around begging people and waving dollars to their faces so that they’d spare me a minute. But remind me again, who’s winning at life?”

The Salesman cocked his head, licking his lips—enjoying the venom in your voice. The fierceness in your stance when you stood up to walk away. The fire in your eyes. What a pretty little thing you were. And you had just taken the first step in his trap.

“I won’t need to remind you,” he smiled, a smile that could have seemed genuine if not for the threatening undertone of his words. “Take care, Mrs. Y/n. Times are tough.”

You rolled your eyes, dismissing him completely. You made a mental note not to slap lunatics again—they didn’t get over it easily. Casting one last glance at the handsome man you left behind, you shook your head. Too bad he’s a psycho.

The next morning, your phone buzzed—an automated message from the bank. You groaned in your bed, rolling over, and nearly deleted it without reading. Yet your eyes caught the words through your half-closed lids, and your heart dropped. “Loan application denied.”

You stared at the words until they blurred.

It wasn’t possible. You hadn’t defaulted. You hadn’t missed payments.

Yet the numbers didn’t lie.

By noon, you were in front of the bank, jaw tight, as the teller fidgeted behind the glass. His eyes flicked nervously to the side, barely listening to your protest.

“There’s nothing I can do, miss,” he repeated, voice thin and tired.

You sighed, hand twitching as you rubbed your temples, shaking your head in disbelief. But just as you stood up to leave – you saw him. Across the street.

The Salesman.

Leaning casually against a vending machine, a satisfied smirk curled his lips. Watching you intensely. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your ears—it wasn’t possible, was it? He can’t possibly have…

He didn’t wave. Didn’t move. Just smiled. Then he turned on his heels and disappeared in the crowd.

Your heart pounded, ringing in your mind like a daunting alarm, and for the first time, you wondered who exactly was the man you had offended. And just like that, he started haunting every second of your life. Each day brought its share of new problems, piling up like they intended to crush you—and it was too big to be a mere coincidence. A new landlord raising the rent, your company suddenly merging with another one and having to downsize, your car breaking down in the middle of the day. Even without seeing him again, you couldn’t shake off the daunting feeling that the Salesman had something to do with your misfortune.

As days stretched into weeks, the shadows of frustration and despair crept into your movements, your half-smiles becoming taut and forced, and your answers to your family’s worry becoming more dismissive. One day after work, exhausted from the workload of your now-fired colleagues, you sat down on an empty alley, resting your head on your forehead.

Fuck, you thought. How am I going to make it? Life had never been so hard.

Life? Who were you kidding? Your life didn’t change—the laughter of your friends, the taste of food, the warmth of a morning sun—these things hadn’t changed. But suddenly, life wasn’t just yours to experience - you had to earn it, bargain for it, prove yourself worth it again, again and again until you finally lost the last ounce of strength in your body. And it was money - money, money, money, money—and every single thing was about money, and you knew it before, but you didn’t care enough until you had not a single penny in your pocket anymore.

Well. I can probably blame myself a bit for this.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lassitude winning over your body. And when you finally thought you could offer yourself some peace, a muted thump right next to your feet startled you.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was paper bills. Scattered all over the dirty ground. You almost laughed at yourself—were you so miserable that people now believed you a beggar?

“I don’t need th-“ your words died in your throat when you looked up.

A voice you hadn’t heard in weeks sent a thrill down your spine. “I think you do.”

The Salesman had made his move.

He was towering over you, a pleasant smile on his lips, dark hair framing his beautiful face. There was a flicker of something behind that nonchalance, behind his careful appearance. It was taking him every ounce of self-restraint to tame the rush in his veins. After spending so much time dissecting each aspect of your life, stalking each of your movements, spying on each of your actions—from afar – he finally had you back in his claws, a little mouse pined down mercilessly by the metallic snap of his trap. It was thrilling, to be so close to crushing you. You had never looked as pretty as you did now, broken down, dark circles under your hopeless eyes, colors drained from your cheeks.

But he had to be patient—there was one last hypothesis to test.

“Care for a game?”

A scoffed escape your lips, chuckling until you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. You stood up, facing him with the same fierceness he couldn’t tame.

“I knew it was you.”

Standard protocol would have been to deny – but the Salesman wanted you to know it was him. Him all along. That made you miserable. That had all the power over your life since the day you met. He eagerly drank up each tick of your muscle, each flicker in your eyes. He licked his lips, unable to stop the victorious smirk tearing his face in two.

“Fuck your games,” you muttered, your tone icy, leaning until your faces were inches apart, his gaze falling on your lips. “My life isn’t a game. Stay the hell out of it.”

His expression softened—mocking, theatrical empathy. “If you didn’t hate the game when you thought you were winning, Mrs Y/n, knowing others were losing, are you really allowed to hate it when you finally lose?”

You scoffed—the audacity. Burying the voice in your head telling you he was right and the other screaming at you to scramble to the ground to pick up the bills, you pushed past him. Bumping into his shoulder purposefully, you spat, “Spare me the shabby moral.”

He followed you, hands in his pockets with a widening predatory smile, fingers twitching with excitement as he felt himself get under your skin. “Isn’t moral what led you to help that man in the subway?”

Your feet came to an abrupt stop. You spun, facing him with that same venom in your eyes and in your words—the one he loved to taste and ear. The one he knew was intoxicating your veins, numbing your mind with irrationality. “No. Slapping the living lights out of your mind was the main motivation, actually, Mister. See, I love to see your kind of people, who hate my kind of people, choke in their own egos. Wouldn’t have missed the opportunity.”

“Really?” he cocked his head to the side, a hungry smirk adorning his lips. “No interest in morals or money…? Then how would you explain why you keep glancing behind me, Mrs. Y/N?”

Caught red-handed, the anger that had slipped in your body rushed straight to your brain, drowning every single thought. You swore at him, storming off, pushing the dollar bills out of your mind. You knew he was right behind your heels, but you didn’t care—trying to calm yourself down, gather your thoughts, escape the trap you could feel tightening around you. Yet every time you quickened or slowed your pace, he was following you—a devil on your shoulder, luring you into his games. I understand, life is hard, he’d say. Repeating how much it’s hard to earn enough nowadays. For a moment, you foolishly thought you’d just have to ignore him until he gave up, but-

“And your father’s birthday coming up too. What a shame that you cannot buy him that watch he wanted so-“

The last thread finally snapped – you violently pushed him against a wall, your forearm pressed against his chest. The storm in your eyes sent arrows of thunder. If looks could kill, the Salesman would be burning in hell. Yet now, he was burning in another way—burning from the proximity, from the rage radiating off you, from the thrill of being your undoing.

“Quite a nice watch, really,” he kept going, a mask of professionalism covering his satisfaction as he easily got out of your handle, letting his fingers linger on your skin. “I would know.”

The Salesman smirked as he saw your gaze search at his wrists, finally landing on the gift you had been ogling at for the past week—the watch your father had been wanting for years. The one you couldn’t afford right now. Your heart tightened, your head spun, and a wave of sadness washed over you. Every single fiber of your being wanted to offer your family a better life, fix your mistakes and fulfil from their smallest to biggest dreams – yet you hadn’t been able to gather enough money to buy that one little thing.

His pulse quickened, chest heaving rapidly as he watched something unfold in your gaze—here. He had you; you were right here, in the middle of his claws. He just had to close his hand.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his voice smooth, almost tender—a dangerous veneer for the predator beneath. “It can be yours. No catch.”

She tightened her jaw, conflicted, her emotions now exposed in an open book he could read with his eyes closed. “I don’t trust you.”

His smile widened, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes. He leaned in. “You don’t need to trust me, Mrs Y/n. Put your trust in yourself, and in your…” his fingers revealed a card. Not his business card—a Queen of Hearts. Using the edge of it, he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, the caress sending a chill down your spine. “Abilities.”

He knew. You grated your teeth. Of course he knew. You hated his tone, the smug certainty that he had you figured out—that he knew your darkest, most shameful secret. The watch disappeared from your mind, intoxicated by the challenge—his unbearable condescension. Still, you masked your growing anger. “I don’t gamble anymore,” you said flatly.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, feigning a look of realization. “Your little promise. Family bailed you out, didn’t they? Noble of them. But if you won this, imagine how proud they’d be—erasing the weight of their sacrifice. Especially your father... how old is he?”

Her jaw tightened. He was prying, and you’d let him get too close. Your father’s face popped up in your mind—his kind but tired eyes. The promise he made you swore—that you’d never, ever touch a deck of cards again. That’d you step far away from that dark hole you had once fallen, and he had one pulled you from, and never look back.

The choice should have been easy—your parents had told you countless times. If you have problems, we can figure it out together. But for once, you wanted to be the one to solve your own issues.

“One game.”

His eyes darkened with something lustful, hungry, obsessive—and your stomach tied itself into knots. Deep down, a part of you wondered—were you doing this for the watch, or for the pride of proving the man wrong? You could see it in his confidence, in his arrogance—he thought you a fool. A prey. There was a thrill to being the object of all his attention—but an even greater adrenaline at making him pay for it.

You didn’t feel fear when he led you to a shabby yet clean apartment—that so happened to be located in your neighbourhood. Snapping him a glare, he simply smirked, like he knew the effect he had on you. The room was suffocating. It wasn’t the space—shabby yet sterile—but the energy in it. A predator and his prey, locked in a game. Your heart stuttered when his hand grazed your lower back to guide you to the chair. He’s a psycho. He’s a pyscho. He’s a psycho. That was what you kept repeating yourself as he prepared the game, setting up the both of you, until he slid a deck of cards onto the table, a challenging brow raised at you.

When he removed his jacket, displaying the white shirt tightening around his muscular body, your mind raced with forbidden thoughts. Clearing your throat in an attempt to clear your mind, you sat straighter, resting your elbow in a daring position. “So. What do I get when win?”

“Isn’t the watch enough?” he cocked his head to the side, sly eyes traveling over your face. “I thought money didn’t motivate you.”

“How well you know me,” you replied sarcastically, leaning toward him more, the thrill of control intoxicating you. You weren’t blind—you knew how desperate he was to make you play. You’d use it to your advantage. “What can you offer me?”

“Anything,” his answer was immediate, cocky—like he genuinely thought his money made him all-mighty. “Your price is mine.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

The silence stretched between you—you had to repress a smirk upon seeing his jaw clenched. Surely he was expecting a material answer—you had his weakness figured out. The Salesman couldn’t see past his own conceptions of poor people—ungracious, desperate, shameless. He was blind to the humanity of individuals, to the emotions, the bonds, the feelings—and could only think through money.

His gaze was heavier on you than the weight of the world you seemed to carry lately—it was an uncanny sensation, but you ignored it. Finally, his predatory smile returned, shattering the last remains of his polite businessman mask.

“Aren’t you going to ask what will happen if you lose?” the words curled around your ears, sounding so husky yet threatening.

“Don’t worry,” you said slowly, letting the words roll off your tongue. “I won’t lose.”

The cards moved in his hands like water, fluid and hypnotic. Each shuffle was seamless, effortless, as though the deck existed to obey him. You watched his hands closely, trying to decipher whether the grace of his movements was meant to distract you—or unsettle you.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His smirk widened, just slightly, and for a brief moment, his eyes flicked to yours before returning to the cards. That single glance made your chest tighten, though you refused to let it show. He was toying with you already, probing for cracks in your armor.

The air in the room was thick, and not just because it was small. There was something oppressive about the way he sat there, utterly confident, completely in control, as if you were merely an accessory to his performance. He dealt the cards, each one landing on the table with a soft slap.

“You know,” he said casually, his tone like silk over a blade, “this doesn’t have to be painful. Unless, of course, you like it that way.”

You stiffened, your grip on the cards tightening. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, waiting for a reaction. When you gave him none, he chuckled softly and picked up his hand, finally deigning to look at the cards he'd dealt himself.

You did the same, careful to keep your expression neutral as you surveyed your cards. Not a terrible hand, but not an easy victory either. You were acutely aware of his eyes on you as you decided your next move, his presence a constant, gnawing pressure.

You refused to look at his face, though you felt his gaze like a physical weight. It was heavy, deliberate, crawling over you in a way that made your skin prickle. Your pulse thudded in your ears, but you kept your expression calm, masking the slight tremor in your fingers as you adjusted your cards.

“You’re nervous,” the Salesman said suddenly, his voice low and smooth, like the stroke of velvet over steel.

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t look up. “Wishful thinking,” you shot back, keeping your tone steady, clipped.

A soft chuckle escaped him, and you could practically feel his amusement, sharp and cutting. He leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but predatory, like a wolf testing the strength of its prey.

“Are you always this bad at bluffing?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I thought you were a pro.”

You finally met his gaze, forcing yourself not to flinch at the intensity in his eyes. “Are you always this desperate to win?”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, just a flicker of something colder beneath the surface. But then it was back, sharper than ever. He leaned back in his chair, a picture of casual arrogance, and gestured lazily to the cards in your hand.

“Go on, then. Prove me wrong.”

The first hand played out in agonizing silence, every card placed on the table another move in a battle neither of you was willing to lose. When the cards were revealed, the sting of defeat was sharp and immediate. His smirk deepened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Hmm,” he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Guess I was right after all.”

Your throat tightened, heat rising to your cheeks. He was baiting you, daring you to snap.

His smirk widened as he leaned back, his posture triumphant. He leaned back in his chair, his arms resting lazily on the sides as though he had already won everything

Your face remained stoic, but inside, your pulse hammered. Yet you had a card he didn’t suspect in your game—an idea that spurred from the dirtiest corner of your mind. If the Salesman could set trap for you, so could you. Nodding as if you were accepting your defeat, you reached for the thin scarf around your neck, slipping it off casually, your movements as indifferent as you could muster.

He didn’t even glance at it—too eager to catch any expression of your frustration.

“Your turn,” he teased, but his eyes betrayed something darker, a simmering hunger. He wanted to see you crumble.

His confidence was maddening, his smirk infuriating, but you knew that arrogance could be a weakness.

This time, you studied him. The way he held his cards, the way his eyes flickered just slightly when the stakes were raised. You caught the faintest twitch in his jaw when he realized you weren’t folding, and it spurred you on. You could feel it sip back in your veins—the intoxicating feeling that made you fall down the rabbit hole before. Not only that, but you couldn’t even pretend to ignore it—you were chasing the high.

He noticed you watching, of course. He always noticed.

“You’re trying to read me,” he said after a moment, his voice soft and mocking. “Cute.”

“I don’t need to read you,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “You’re already predictable.”

His smirk froze for the briefest moment before it sharpened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Careful,” he said softly, the warning in his voice unmistakable.

The game continued, every move stretching the tension between you to its breaking point. When the cards were revealed, your stomach twisted in relief. You’d won.

The smirk slipped from his face, replaced by something tighter, more calculating.

“Well, well,” you said, leaning forward, your tone laced with mockery. “What are you going to remove?”

His eyes narrowed, the lasting silence betraying his confusion. There was a tension in his posture now, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before.

“Tsk tsk tsk, how disappointing,” you shook your head in a mocking pout. “Didn’t do your research very thoroughly, did you?”

Like a fish caught in a hook, he was hanging to your lips – hiding the delicious hard pounding of his heart against his chest at seeing you this way, so like him yet so foolishly pretentious.

“My specialty was,” you taunted, your smile sharp. “Strip poker.”

For the first time, his mask cracked. A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe even surprise—crossed his face. You saw your opening and took it. His gaze was burning on you now, like your words had unleashed a monster. His laugh was low, almost inaudible. “Is that so?”

How thrilling it was to have him look at you that way—impressed, somehow, but so much more lustful than ever. “Try to keep up,” you chirped, daring him with your gaze.

Yet he didn’t falter. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his tie, skillful, big fingers easily untying the knot. Folding it with precision before setting it aside.

“You must think highly of yourself to think you can distract me that way, Mrs. Y/n,” his voice was a rumble, his gaze unwavering, not blinking once. If you didn’t know how much of a psychopath he was, you’d say he was already plenty distracted by the prospect.

You scoffed. “I think lowly of you, Mister. Maybe being exposed by someone you look down on will be enough for you to choke on your own ego.”

He smirked. What an arrogant piece of shit, you thought as his eyes fell down the length of your body, telling you more than any word could.

“Likewise.”

When he threw the next cards, the air was heavier than ever. The game became something else—less about cards and more about dominance. The stakes climbed higher with every hand, the tension between you thickening like a storm cloud.

You could feel his frustration building, masked by that infuriating smile. He was losing ground, and he hated it. You even thought he’d snap when he finally won, but all you removed was a necklace—he was hungrier than he ever was. But he was clever, too clever, and every move he made was designed to throw you off balance.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, his voice soft, almost seductive.

“You’re not?”

His gaze burned into you, his pupils dark, predatory. “Oh, I am. But I wonder—are you playing to win, or just to spite me?”

You didn’t answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

The next round dragged on, every move stretching the silence between you like a taut wire. Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears, but you kept your face calm, your movements steady. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes dissecting every twitch, every breath.

“Looks like your luck’s run out,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

He didn’t respond immediately; his eyes locked on the cards in front of him. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. The motion was slow, deliberate, his forearms flexing as the fabric slid back.

Your eyes flickered downward for half a second before snapping back to his face, but he caught it. His smirk returned, sharper than ever.

“Staring is quite impolite, Mrs. Y/N.”

“Please,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Try to blink at least once before you say this.”

His eyes darkened, the heat in his gaze unmistakable now. For a moment, the game, the cards, everything else fell away, leaving only the tension between you—dangerous, electric, and impossible to ignore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So are you,” you replied, your words as much a challenge as they were a warning.

Maybe you had underestimated him—you thought his superiority complex would prevent him from completing the game. Yet somehow it didn’t feel like the humiliation you had planned for him—instead, it felt like something quieter, hungrier, forbidden, but excruciatingly thrilling. When you removed your top, heart pounding in your chest, and locked eyes with him, you were suddenly grateful for the games you were playing. The rules seemed the only thing that kept the Salesman from ripping every last piece of clothing from you.

His gaze was fire, slow-burning, consuming. You had stripped the moment of control from him, yet somehow, the shift in power only seemed to excite him. His smirk remained, but there was something new behind it now—something sharper, darker.

The room felt smaller. The weight of the moment pressed against your skin, against the pulse hammering in your throat. He watched you with an intensity that made your breath catch, his head

The cards sat untouched between you, but the game had moved beyond them. This was about leverage now, about control that shifted like sand between your fingers.

You didn’t flinch as he reached forward, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. He was stretching the silence, making you sit in it, daring you to break first.

You wouldn’t.

Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the table, mirroring his stance. "Your move," you reminded him, your voice smooth, unshaken.

His smirk deepened, a predator recognizing another.

Instead of speaking, he picked up the deck, shuffled it with that same fluid grace, the sound of the cards brushing against each other whispering between you. His hands were precise, controlled, but you saw it now—the slight flex of his fingers, the subtle way his jaw tensed. He was enjoying this, the push and pull of it, but he wasn’t unaffected.

Good.

He dealt again. The cards landed neatly, but your attention remained on him. Every twitch, every breath, every flicker in his expression—it was all part of the game now.

As you picked up your hand, his voice broke the silence. "Tell me, Mrs. Y/N," he mused, rolling the words slowly, deliberately. "What happens when you finally meet someone who plays better than you?"

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I'll let you know when it happens."

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Amusement? Whatever it was, it sent a thrill down your spine.

The game continued; the stakes unspoken yet palpable. Every card turned was another thread pulled tighter between you. He was pushing, pressing, waiting for the moment you would falter.

But you weren’t just playing to win anymore.

You were playing to break him.

And the best part?

You could see the exact moment he realized it.

You straightened, meeting his gaze one last time. “Game over.”

The storm brewing in his eyes made a chill ran down your spine. There, you had him. Of course, he hated losing. You knew he was seconds away from snapping—the mighty defeated by the lowly. The silence stretched. The only sign of his rage was the twitch of his hand on his naked thigh.

You expected him to explode—waited for him to lash out, to yell, to freak out. Instead, he got up slowly, exposing his glorious body to your eyes. Your throat dried. He slowly walked up to you, the same confidence he had as always, like despite his nakedness he was still superior to you. How you hated this disdainful, scornful man that made your life a living hell for the past weeks—and your treacherous body should remember it too, instead of shivering in anticipation. His warmth surrounded you, but it felt cold, dreadful, yet so enticing.

His fingers trailed up your collarbone, softly, before he roughly grabbed your jaw, swiping his tongue across your lips. Your mind was dizzy, clouded with desire—that you shouldn’t even allow to take over each parcel of your body. Your breath was shallow, heart pounding against your ribs. His fingers dug into your jaw, his breath warm against your lips, teasing, daring. His touch was rough and possessive, but there was restraint beneath it—like he was waiting for you to yield.

But he had already lost. There was something hungrier than desire in your core – ego. You had crushed the man who thought you insignificant. You couldn’t give in to the shallow lust.

You tilted your chin up, feigning surrender, letting him believe he had you right where he wanted. His smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering in his storm-dark eyes.

And then—

"Winner’s prize. Leave. Me. Alone."

Your voice was soft, almost tender, but the words struck like a whip. His grip faltered for just a fraction of a second, confusion flickering across his face. It was enough.

You slipped out of his grasp, smooth, effortless, and stood. The air between you crackled; his gaze bore into you, sharp, predatory, but you didn’t flinch. The sleek, expensive watch he had stripped from his wrist in his arrogance, certain he wouldn’t lose, was on the table—you snatched it.

In less than a second, you had disappeared from his claws - you didn’t run. You didn’t look back. You simply walked away, your pulse thrumming with exhilaration.

And in the days that followed, you heard nothing.

No calls. No texts. No messages sent through mutual acquaintances.

You had won his game. And he couldn’t go against his own rule. This sick, twisted, obsessive bastard was played. At first, you felt relief. This was it—the moment he realized you weren’t like the others – and he was wrong about all of you. That he couldn’t toy with you, that he couldn’t break you. You told yourself he was too humiliated to come back from this, that he would move on, find someone else to play his twisted games with.

And yet… something gnawed at you. A quiet unease, an instinct whispering that this wasn’t over.

But days passed. Then a week. Then two.

Maybe you really had won.

It was like the game had never happened—except you had gotten a taste of your old addiction, and you could feel the drug take its effect. The way the cards felt between your fingers, the sharp thrill of reading his every move, of pulling him in just to cut him down. You told yourself it was just the rush of winning. That you had beaten him, humiliated him, and that was why it lingered.

But then you started playing again.

At first, it was just one game. A harmless distraction. Then another. Then another. The old hunger stirred deep in your veins, that pulse of anticipation as the stakes climbed higher and higher.

Ironically, you had won enough to buy the watch on your own – which you did.

But you were foolish. Naïve. You didn’t realize until your father’s birthday.

The restaurant was warm with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation. You let yourself relax, let the normalcy of the evening wash over you. Being with your family soothed your worries and warmed your heart. Perhaps because you craved their love so much, you didn’t notice the veil of concern in their eyes.

But you knew something was wrong when your father’s smile faltered when he opened his gift, making your heart break in half. You thought you imagined it, but your mother’s frown and the awkward moment of silence before cheers erupted made you uneasy.

“Dad,” you lead your father to a quieter room in the family house, worry on your face. “What’s wrong?”

His lips tightened, a conflicted expression on his face. “Y/n, how could you afford this?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Um, I got a promotion.”

Your dad shook his head, pulling you into a tight hug, desperate hands crawling at your back, holding onto you.

“Stop before it is too late, Y/n. Your mother and I- we can’t lose you again.”

No. No, no, no- there was no way they could have known. The burn of shame tore your insides apart, and suddenly nothing made sense—why you’d let herself go down the rabbit hole again.

Tears were starting to cloud your vision, and as you were about to respond, your words died in your throat.

You saw it.

Sitting innocuously on the table beside your father’s gift boxes. A small black card.

A rectangle of shadow against golden linen.

You knew it before you even touched it.

Heart pounding, you slipped from your father’s hold, his voice far away in another world- and you reached out, fingers brushing over the familiar gold-embossed symbol.

The squid game card.

Your stomach dropped. Your mouth went dry.

He had disappeared, yes.

But not because he had given up.

No.

He had only been waiting. And you had fallen right into his trap

#the salesman x reader #the salesman #squid game imagine #squid game

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angelseraphines · 5 months ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ chapter two ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ season one | episode one | part two

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please note this is a squid game fanfiction featuring original characters! read more about the main characters in this post and see the story masterlist for other chapters, i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍 read the previous chapter here!

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah sat on a worn wooden bench in the gloomy park, her phone grasped in her trembling hands after ending the call with albina. the night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, yet she hardly noticed. her thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the conversation she had just had. she couldn’t fathom the kind of life her cousin lived, the effortless luxury, the endless choices of designer handbags and clothing, the frivolous worries about which pair of heels best matched an evening gown. it wasn’t resentment that carved itself in her chest. no, she would never wish misfortune upon albina. if anything, she was grateful her cousin had never known the kind of suffering she had endured. but still, the contrast between their worlds was staggering.

˚ ༘♡ her phone screen lit up again, breaking her trance. an email notification. her heart sank before she even opened it. a bank statement. another overdue payment. another month without even touching the mountain of debt looming over her. her lips parted in a shaky exhale as her eyes scanned the familiar words, outstanding balance, interest accrued. seventy million won. she had taken out too many loans, grasping at any means to cover her mother’s medical expenses and keep a roof over her head. it hadn’t been a choice. it had been survival.

˚ ༘♡ although, these days, survival was slipping through her fingers. her grueling twelve-hour shifts as a waitress barely covered her rent and food. each paycheck disappeared the moment it arrived, leaving nothing for the debts that only grew larger with each passing month. she had never told albina about this. how could she? her cousin, who had never worried about money a single day in her life, could never understand what it was like to live on the edge of ruin.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah lowered her head, her gaze locked onto the glaring numbers on her screen. her fingers clenched around the device as the stress of it all sank onto her shoulders, pressing down until she felt she could hardly breathe. if she didn’t find a way to pay soon, the consequences would be severe.

˚ ༘♡ “excuse me, miss.”

˚ ༘♡ a voice, smooth, deep, and unfamiliar, cut through the silence. seong-ah flinched, her head snapping up in alarm. beside her stood a man, tall and poised, dressed in a sleek black suit that clung perfectly to his frame. his shoes, polished to a mirror shine, barely reflected the dim streetlights above. in one hand, he carried a leather briefcase. he met her gaze with a pleasant smile, his expression courteous. something about him set her on edge.

˚ ༘♡ “sorry, sir, i’m busy right now,” seong-ah muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she slid to the far end of the bench, putting distance between herself and the stranger. a well-dressed man approaching her at night made her wary. his pristine shoes, expensive suit, and charming demeanor didn’t belong in this dimly lit park, especially at this hour. if he was some kind of salesman, why would he be working this late? and if he wasn’t, then what did he want?

˚ ༘♡ “i promise this won’t take too much of your time,” he said smoothly, his tone pleasant but unwavering. there was an ease to the way he spoke, as if he had done this before, as if he expected her to listen.

˚ ༘♡ she watched warily as he placed his briefcase on his lap, flicking open the metal clasps with a crisp click. the case opened with practiced precision, revealing its contents, two folded paper tiles, one red, one blue, and beneath them, stacks of neatly arranged banknotes. crisp, fresh won bills. seong-ah’s breath caught in her throat. she had not expected him to be carrying so much money with him. her gaze went to his face, searching for an explanation, but he only smiled, patient, unreadable.

˚ ༘♡ “would you like to play a game with me?”

˚ ༘♡ her stomach contorted with agitation. this had to be a trick. a scam. but what kind of scam involved this? she forced herself to meet his gaze. “what game?”

“˚ ༘♡ “ddakji,” he answered. “the rules are quite simple. you choose one of these paper tiles and try to flip your opponent’s tile using enough force. if you succeed, you win.” he leaned forward slightly, pushing the briefcase a little closer to her. “the winner earns one hundred thousand won per round.”

˚ ༘♡ one hundred thousand won per round. her mouth went dry.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah’s first instinct was to refuse. she wasn’t foolish enough to believe money came this easily. but as she hesitated, her mind returned to the email she had just read, the ever-growing debt suffocating her, the hopeless cycle of working demanding shifts only to be left with barely enough for rent. she thought of her mother’s hospital bills, the notices piling up, the relentless phone calls from debt collectors.

˚ ༘♡ what choice did she have?

˚ ༘♡ her fingers twitched slightly, but she still hesitated.

˚ ༘♡ the man smiled purposefully, sensing her reluctance. “it’s only a game,” he assured her, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah swallowed, her pulse quickening. maybe it was just a game. maybe she had a chance to win.

˚ ༘♡ “fine,” she said, voice more strained than she intended. “i pick blue.”

˚ ༘♡ he nodded, pleased. “alright then, i’ll take red.”

˚ ༘♡ he stood up, his movements graceful, precise. he placed the red paper tile carefully on the ground, flattening it against the concrete with the palm of his hand. then he stepped back, gesturing to her. “you go first.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah stared down at the folded tile, its edges slightly frayed from previous games. her fingers tightened around the blue tile. she had never played ddakji before, not even as a child. she remembered sang-woo mentioning it once, something about playing it with his friends in school.

˚ ༘♡ her heart pounded as she raised her arm. she waited for only a second before she swung down with all the force she could muster, slamming the blue tile against the red.

˚ ༘♡ the impact echoed slightly in the empty park. the red tile didn’t budge.

˚ ༘♡ his smile didn’t fade. if anything, it seemed to deepen as he extended a hand toward her.

˚ ༘♡ “you lost,” he said, his voice tranquil and unbothered. “so you now owe me one hundred thousand won.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah stiffened. a sharp chill crawled up her spine.

˚ ༘♡ “i don’t…” her voice faltered, her throat tightening. panic swelled in her chest, pressing against her ribs like a vice. she had known, known, this was too good to be true. but she had wanted to believe, if only for a singular instance, that luck might finally be on her side. “i don’t have one hundred thousand won.”

˚ ༘♡ the man didn’t look surprised. in fact, he still smiled, as if he had expected this all along.

˚ ༘♡ “i see,” he murmured, his tone light, bordering on playful. “in that case, you can pay me back with your body.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah blinked. confusion melding with a sudden surge of dread. “what?” she whispered.

˚ ༘♡ before she could process his words, before she could demand an explanation or recoil in disgust, his hand came down, fast and brutal. a sharp crack sounded in the empty park.

˚ ༘♡ her head snapped to the side, pain blooming hot and immediate across her cheek. she nearly lost her balance, staggering on weak legs, barely managing to keep herself from collapsing onto the pavement. for a split second, she couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe.

˚ ༘♡ then, slowly, she turned back to face him, her vision blurring at the edges.

˚ ༘♡ the salesman was still smiling.

˚ ༘♡ “what the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, her voice shaking, half from anger, half from the searing sting on her skin.

˚ ༘♡ “for the amount you owe me,” he said, his tone infuriatingly friendly, as if he were discussing the weather, “i’ll take off one hundred thousand won per slap.”

˚ ༘♡ he cocked his head to the side, watching her with polite amusement. “would you like to play another round?”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah’s hands clenched into fists. her pride screamed at her to walk away, to tell him to go to hell, to cling to whatever dignity she had left. but then she thought about her mother. the hospital bills. the phone calls from collectors. one hundred thousand won could cover her medication for a few weeks.

˚ ༘♡ her heart pounded against her ribs, hard enough to hurt. “… alright,” she forced out, barely above a whisper. “one more round.”

˚ ༘♡ she lost.

˚ ༘♡ another slap. harder this time. the sting deepened into a raw burn, her skin throbbing under the cold night air.

˚ ༘♡ she lost again.

˚ ༘♡ another blow. the impact sent a sharp pain shooting through her jaw, making her eyes water. she bit down on her tongue to stop herself from making a sound.

˚ ༘♡ again.

˚ ༘♡ her head jerked violently to the side, and for a minute, the world ebbed into a hazy blur.

˚ ༘♡ she could feel her cheek swelling, the skin hot and tender. but she had no time to dwell on it because it was her turn again.

˚ ༘♡ she took a breath. steadied her trembling hands. this time, when she struck the blue tile down, the red one flipped.

˚ ༘♡ she had won.

˚ ༘♡ the salesman chuckled softly, almost as if he were impressed. he bent down, retrieving a crisp bill from his briefcase, and handed it to her. one hundred thousand won.

˚ ༘♡ she should have felt relieved. she should have thanked him. but the stinging pain on her face made it impossible to force the words out. instead, she gave a forced nod, her fingers curling tightly around the bill.

˚ ༘♡ he studied her for a while, his gaze sharp and intrusive. then, casually, he spoke. “you can win much more money by playing games such as this one for a few days,” he said, his voice inviting.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah swallowed hard, her pulse pounding against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears like a warning. her hands, already quivering, clenched the crisp banknote between trembling fingers. her cheek still ached from the repeated slaps, the lingering sting a painful remnant of how far she had allowed herself to go for money.

˚ ༘♡ this was wrong. all of it. every fiber of her being screamed that she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be entertaining whatever this man was offering. she forced herself to speak, though her throat felt tight. “i don’t know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

˚ ༘♡ it was the truth. she didn’t know what this was. she didn’t know who this man really was or what he wanted from her. all she knew was that there was something off, something peculiar lurking beneath his pleasant smile and polite words.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t look disappointed by her uncertainty. without a word, he reached into the inner pocket of his sleek black suit and pulled out a small card, holding it between two fingers. then, with the same unsettling ease, he extended it toward her.

˚ ༘♡ the card was plain, smooth beneath her fingertips. no name. no company logo. just three simple symbols printed on the front, a square, a circle, and a triangle.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah took the card and turned it over. a phone number.

˚ ༘♡ “give me a call,” the salesman said, his voice lighthearted, as if he were offering her nothing more than a casual business opportunity.

˚ ༘♡ then, without waiting for her response, he snapped his briefcase shut with a decisive snap, stood to his full height, and adjusted his dapper suit jacket.

˚ ༘♡ he smiled one last time and bid her farewell before turning on his heel and walking away, his polished shoes clicking softly against the pavement.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah sat motionless on the wooden bench, watching as his figure disappeared into the darkness of the park, swallowed by the night. the card felt heavy in her hands. the night was ominously quiet once again.

⋆.˚🦢⋆࿐♡⋆.˚

˚ ༘♡ albina stood poised, her slender fingers grazing the edge of the vast screen that dominated the private viewing room. the image displayed before her was stark and cold, hundreds of players, clad in identical green tracksuits, stirring awake in the massive, windowless dormitory. their movements were sluggish, confused. some yawned, others blinked away sleep, utterly unaware of the bloodshed that awaited them. ignorant of the fact that, within hours, their numbers would be brutally culled.

˚ ༘♡ dressed in a gown of pristine white satin, her silhouette radiant in the bright glow of the screen, albina looked almost heavenly, an angelic figure in contrast to the cruelty unfolding before her. her pearl earrings caught the light, a soft shimmer against the curve of her jaw. beside her, rurik stood, tall and composed, his presence commanding even in stillness. his dark eyes were fixed on the screen, but his expression betrayed nothing. he had seen this before. orchestrated it before. this was not unfamiliar ground for him.

˚ ༘♡ they had arrived the previous night under the cover of midnight, ferried in discreetly, as was customary for vips of their status. hwang in-ho, the enigmatic front man, had been waiting upon their arrival, clad in his signature black mask, polished and unyielding. his voice had been measured, his words few. he had not addressed them by name. and rurik had warned albina on the plane, his voice low and firm, “do not speak his name. do not ask who he is.” there were rules in this world of veiled horrors, and identity was one of them.

˚ ༘♡ most of the other vips would not arrive until the final rounds, their interests lying solely in the chaos of violence, the spectacle of desperate survivors clawing their way toward the finish line. but rurik had insisted they witness everything. from the very beginning. it was how he conducted his own games in russia, and it was how he would experience these.

˚ ༘♡ their accommodations were nothing short of lavish, private chambers, extravagant dining arrangements, and, most notably, an exclusive viewing room. the centerpiece was the enormous digital screen, offering a live feed of every moment within the arena. no detail would escape them. no scream. no betrayal. no final breath.

˚ ༘♡ albina exhaled softly. rurik was seated on the black leather couch, his posture relaxed but commanding, as if he were preparing for a particularly riveting film. he poured himself a glass of whiskey and rum, the clink of ice against glass the only sound from him. his attention remained fixed on the screen, unmoved by the disorder unfolding in the dormitory.

˚ ༘♡ a fight had broken out before the games had even begun. player 101, a grizzled, broad-shouldered gangster, was throwing his weight around, his voice crude and taunting. across from him, player 067, a younger woman, her willowy frame taut with tension, met his aggression with unwavering defiance. there was something sharp about her, akin to a a blade honed by hardship. player 101 sneered, spewing insults laced with mockery about her north korean origins, before lunging at her with a heavy swing.

˚ ༘♡ albina watched as another player, player 456, intervened, a lanky man with an anxious energy. “i’m seong gi-hun from ssangmun-dong,” he declared, his voice a mixture of forced bravado and genuine intent.

˚ ༘♡ she let out a small sigh. this did not interest her. it was inevitable, tempers flaring, men puffing their chests, the desperate jostling for dominance before the real bloodshed began. a shrill alarm blared, signaling the arrival of the red-clad guards who would soon lay out the rules and begin the waiver signing. she turned slightly, intending to join rurik on the couch, when something on the screen made her stop.

˚ ༘♡ one of the players, standing near the periphery of the scene, player 177. albina stepped forward, her breath held as she leaned closer to the screen, her fingers pressing lightly against the cold screen. the resemblance was uncanny, almost eerie. but it wasn’t merely a resemblance, was it?

˚ ༘♡ no.

˚ ༘♡ her mind reeled. she blinked rapidly, willing her eyes to deceive her. but there was no mistake.

˚ ༘♡ it was her. seong-ah.

˚ ༘♡ a cold shock traveled through albina’s veins, leaving her paralyzed. she stared at the woman on the screen, her cousin, standing amongst the desperate, the damned. the room around her suddenly felt suffocating, the opulence of the private chamber grotesque in contrast to what lay beyond the screen.

˚ ༘♡ what is she doing here?

˚ ༘♡ her thoughts spun back to their last conversations, grasping for any sign, any clue, that could have warned her of this. then, a horrific realization hit her.

˚ ༘♡ a few months ago. albina had been unwell that day, her body aching with fatigue, her mood fraying at the seams. that evening, seong-ah had called, her voice hesitant but hopeful, speaking of money, of a loan she had taken out, of trouble that loomed over her like a stormcloud. albina had barely listened, her irritation quick to surface. her cousin’s pleas had felt like an intrusion, and in her exhaustion, she had snapped.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not as generous as my father was,” she had told her, cruel and unyielding. “don’t expect a penny from me.”

˚ ༘♡ she had forgotten the incident entirely. prior to his death, her father had always been the generous one, sending money to seong-ah’s family because her mother was his sister-in-law. albina had never needed to concern herself with such things. her father had been a businessman, adept at wealth and power, ensuring she never had to think about money before she married rurik.

˚ ༘♡ and yet now, now her cousin stood in a death game.

˚ ༘♡ how bad did things get for her? how desperate must she have been?

˚ ༘♡ remorse struck albina with a force she hadn’t anticipated, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. her chest ached with something unfamiliar, something raw. she had turned her back on seong-ah that day, ignored her as if she were nothing more than an annoyance. she had assumed the matter had passed because her cousin never mentioned it again. but silence had not meant her troubles were gone. silence had meant suffering.

˚ ༘♡ albina staggered as her gaze caught sight of another familiar face among the horde of players, player 218.

˚ ༘♡ her heart pounded. cho sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ the older businessman she had seen in seong-ah’s apartment months ago, seated comfortably on the worn-out sofa with the behavior of someone who had been there before many times before. she had thought little of it then, merely a companion of her cousin’s, but now, seeing him here, standing amongst the condemned, her mind reeled.

˚ ༘♡ damn him! it was too much of a coincidence. she was convinced, he had something to do with why seong-ah was in this nightmare, even if she had no proof beyond the sickening feeling derived from her intuition.

˚ ༘♡ she turned swiftly, her voice trembling as she called out.

˚ ༘♡ “rurik,” she said, her tone laced with desperation. she pointed toward the screen, her finger shaking as it landed on player 177. “my cousin, seong-ah, she’s here.” the words came out pitifully, choked with disbelief and dread.

˚ ༘♡ rurik barely glanced up from his drink. his fingers constricted around the glass for a fraction of a second before he leaned back into the leather couch, utterly unfazed.

˚ ༘♡ “so?” he muttered, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “you think you’re the first person to have a relative in these games? every single player here has a family. friends. people who will grieve them.”

˚ ༘♡ albina’s eyes widened in shock. her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “how can you say that?” she hissed, her voice rising. “you married me! she is your family by marriage! you can’t just sit here and do nothing, get the front man, figure something out!” she pleaded, stepping closer to him, her voice breaking. “please, rurik. i know she must only be in there because of that sleazy businessman…”

˚ ༘♡ “who?” rurik asked, his expression vexed.

˚ ༘♡ “player 218,” she spat, barely able to contain the venom in her voice. she turned back to the screen, eyes blazing with fury as she stared at sang-woo’s unreadable face. “i know he has something to do with my cousin being here. what are you going to do about seong-ah?”

˚ ༘♡ rurik took a slow sip of his drink. then, setting the glass down with an air of finality, he looked at her. “nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ a shiver ran down her spine. “what?” she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. “you can’t do nothing! she’ll die in there! she has no idea what these games really are, she doesn’t know what’s coming!”

˚ ༘♡ rurik let out a deep sigh, the sound ridden with irritation. “this is not my game,” he said, his voice calm, detached. “this is the front man’s game. his rules. we do not interfere. we observe.”

˚ ༘♡ his apathy sent a pang of revulsion through her.

˚ ༘♡ albina’s hands trembled. her throat ached with the force of unshed tears, but fury eclipsed sorrow. “how can you let this happen?” she screamed, her voice cracking as the walls of her control crumbled. “i won’t just sit here and watch my cousin die!”

˚ ༘♡ rurik’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. “she made her choice,” he said. “there’s always a choice. she made hers.”

˚ ༘♡ “without knowing the truth of the games!” albina cried, but the words fell into a void of silence. rurik had nothing more to say.

˚ ༘♡ her breathing came in short, shallow bursts as she turned back toward the screen. her hands gripped the edge of the console, fingers white from the force of her grasp.

˚ ༘♡ on the screen, the players stood in anxious silence. the signing of the contracts had ended. the masked guards, clad in red, had begun to file in.

˚ ༘♡ the first game would begin soon.

⋆.˚🦢⋆࿐♡⋆.˚

˚ ༘♡ “please look into the camera!”the cheerful, artificial mirth of the announcer’s voice rang through the air, practically mocking in its brightness.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah hung back for half a second before stepping forward, aligning herself in front of the lens. the players had been herded out of the dormitory akin to sheep, and now they were being documented, processed, for what, exactly, she still didn’t fully understand.

˚ ༘♡ “smile!”

˚ ༘♡ she barely managed one. her lips twitched into a feeble curve, a poor imitation of joy, but her nerves betrayed her. her hands clenched at her sides as the camera’s shutter clicked. it was done. her identity, now neatly recorded.

˚ ༘♡ when she had first dialed the number on the strange business card, the one that salesman had given her in the park, it had not been an easy decision. every fiber of her being had screamed at her to be cautious. to throw it away. to ignore the tantalizing promise of a grand cash prize. but desperation had a way of silencing reason.

˚ ༘♡ she had no safety net. no way out. she had tried to fight, claw her way free from the mess she had found herself in, but there was no winning against a mountain of debt when you had nothing. this, this was her last chance.

˚ ༘♡ as the line of players moved forward, they were guided through winding, almost childlike corridors, a sharp contrast to the growing tension in the air. the walls were painted in bright, primary colors, cheerful reds, yellows, and blues, giving the illusion of a place meant for joy. but seong-ah wasn’t fooled. nothing about this was welcoming.

˚ ༘♡ her feet carried her into the vast, open space where the first game would take place. she stopped short. it was enormous. a sprawling field stretched before her, the ground beneath her feet a shade of artificial green, almost too perfect, too uniform. the high walls surrounding the space were painted with an illusion of blue skies and white clouds, an eerie replica of the real world beyond the island. it was meant to look like freedom, but all it did was remind her how trapped they truly were.

˚ ༘♡ and at the far end of the field, a doll. the figure was massive, grotesquely large, mounted atop a platform with its rigid arms outstretched. it was designed to resemble a young girl, its pigtails swaying slightly in the breeze, its painted eyes unnervingly wide. it looked like something out of a children’s storybook, but there was something wrong about it. something that made her shudder in fear.

˚ ༘♡ she forced herself to breathe, to push past the fright pooling in her gut, and scanned the growing crowd of players. then, she saw him. cho sang-woo, player 218.

˚ ༘♡ her heart raced as she managed to find him among the others, deep in conversation with another man. player 456. she vaguely recognized him from earlier, from that scuffle in the dormitory with player 101 and player 067. she had heard his name then, gi-hun.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah stepped forward, “sang-woo!” her voice carried through the distance, her tone one of disbelief and bewilderment.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo turned at the sound of his name, his handsome, angular features tensing somewhat as his gaze landed on her.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah’s mind raced. this didn’t make sense. the masked men had informed them all of why they were here. money. debt. ruin. they had listed the names of certain players, their staggering financial burdens read aloud for all to hear, a grim reminder of what had driven them here.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo’s name had been among them. his had gasped when she heard it. him? the pride of their neighborhood? the one who had built a life for himself outside of the narrow, suffocating streets he had grown up in?

˚ ༘♡ he had gone to seoul national university, for god’s sake. he was a banker at joy investments. he was supposed to be successful. a man of his status and esteem had no business being here, with the desperate and broken. but he was.

˚ ༘♡ and now, staring at him, seong-ah couldn’t reconcile the reputation of the man she had once admired with the man before her now.

˚ ༘♡ “what are you doing here?” seong-ah’s voice was barely above a whisper, the distress behind her words were suffocating. she stared at sang-woo, her dark eyes searching his weary face for an answer.

˚ ༘♡ the last time they had spoken, he had told her he was on a business trip to japan. she had believed him. why wouldn’t she? sang-woo had always been the one with a plan, the one who had climbed out of the life they had all been shackled to. she had looked up to him. trusted him.

˚ ༘♡ but now, he was here. standing amongst the the ruined. just like her.

˚ ༘♡ before sang-woo could respond, gi-hun, the other man he had been speaking to, turned toward her with unabashed curiosity. his gaze drifted between the two of them before he broke into a teasing grin.

˚ ༘♡ “oh, do you know this woman?” gi-hun asked, his tone amused but kind. his eyes scanned seong-ah with interest before he smirked. “she’s pretty, but a little young for you, don’t you think…”

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo cut him off before he could finish. he adjusted his square-rimmed glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion. but he didn’t look at her. he avoided her gaze entirely, his expression indistinct. “seong-ah,” he said finally, his voice rigid. “we’ll talk later, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ he wasn’t giving her an answer.

˚ ༘♡ an ember of frustration burned in her chest, but she disregarded it, nodding stiffly. “of course.”

˚ ༘♡ she wanted to press him, to demand why? why had he lied? why was he here? but the encounter was already slipping away. sang-woo turned and strode off, leaving her standing there, her mind clouded with concern.

˚ ༘♡ before she could call out again, the feminine announcer’s voice echoed across the field, artificial and devoid of humanity. “welcome to the first game. all players, please wait a moment on the field.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah exhaled. she had been so consumed with sang-woo’s presence that she had nearly forgotten where she was, what was about to happen.

˚ ༘♡ around her, the players murmured amongst themselves, shifting in place. she took a deep breath and forced herself to move, stepping into the crowd, positioning herself among them. the air was thick with uncertainty. then, the voice spoke again. “the first game is red light, green light.”

˚ ༘♡ “you can move forward when red light, green light is being shouted. if movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ red light, green light? a simple children’s game. her pulse slowed, if only slightly. so that’s what this was. perhaps all of the games would be korean children’s games? her shoulders relaxed only a tad, her body shifting into a stance of quiet readiness. she could do this. everyone here could do this.

˚ ༘♡ “then let the game begin.”

˚ ༘♡ the doll’s head whirred unnaturally as it turned, its mechanical joints snapping into place.

˚ ༘♡ “green light…”

˚ ༘♡ the words rang out, eerie in their childlike cadence. seong-ah moved, cautiously stepping forward, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. around her, players scurried across the field, some hesitant, others rushing as if speed would save them.

˚ ༘♡ “red light.”

˚ ༘♡ she froze. a sharp, piercing sound cut through the air, so loud, so sudden, that it sent a shiver down her spine. what was that?

˚ ༘♡ “player 324, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah tried to peer past the mass of people ahead of her, but there were too many players, blocking her view.

˚ ༘♡ then, more of those deafening sounds. one after another. then screaming.

˚ ༘♡ it was a chain reaction. players gasped, turned their heads, then panic erupted like a storm. she saw them, the people ahead, suddenly breaking into a frantic run, bolting toward the doors they had entered from.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah barely had time to process it.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds.

˚ ༘♡ the screaming.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ they were shooting the eliminated players. they were killing them.

˚ ༘♡ horror gripped her, clawing at her chest. this wasn’t a game. this was slaughter.

˚ ༘♡ some players desperately pounded on the locked doors, their fists hammering against metal. their cries filled the air, shrill and desperate. then, one by one, their bodies jerked violently as they were struck down by bullets. red mist filled the space where they had stood.

˚ ༘♡ the field was painted in blood. bodies littered the ground akin to discarded toys, contorted and unmoving.

˚ ༘♡ a voice rang out over the chaos, as calm and robotic as before. “red light, green light. you may only move forward when green light is called. if movement is detected after red light, you will be eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah couldn’t move. she couldn’t breathe. her body had locked up, frozen in panic.

˚ ༘♡ “green light…”

˚ ༘♡ the doll turned again. the survivors, those who hadn’t run, who hadn’t been foolish enough to move when they shouldn’t, remained rooted to the spot.

˚ ༘♡ except one. an older man, player 001, stepped forward. casually. calmly. he didn’t even hesitate.

˚ ༘♡ “red light.”

˚ ༘♡ more players moved. more gunfire. more bodies collapsing like broken marionettes.

˚ ༘♡ behind her, a voice broke through her panic.

˚ ༘♡ “seong-ah, don’t just stand there.”

˚ ༘♡ her head jerked slightly, her breath ragged in her chest.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ she turned her gaze toward him, hardly able to think, hardly able to comprehend. his expression was calm, but his hands were shaking.

˚ ༘♡ “the doll is a motion sensor,” he said. “it’s tracking movement with its eyes.”

˚ ༘♡ she stared at him. her mind was still reeling, still trying to piece together how he was even here, how he had gotten himself into this mess. but there was no time for that now.

˚ ༘♡ “if you stay behind me, i’ll block your movement from its line of sight,” he added.

˚ ༘♡ she barely nodded, still too shaken to respond.

˚ ༘♡ “green light…”

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo moved forward.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah forced herself to follow.

˚ ༘♡ her legs felt stiff, her muscles uncooperative. but she moved, one foot after the other, shadowing his steps.

˚ ༘♡ “red light.”

˚ ༘♡ she stumbled. for a split second, her body lurched forward, her balance thrown off. she thought she was dead, thought she was about to be shot, but she caught herself just in time.

˚ ༘♡ her hands gripped into fists, her knees locked. she was motionless and most importantly, she was behind sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ the doll’s lifeless eyes scanned the field, but it did not detect her movement.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah’s pulse thundered in her ears. she had come close to dying.

˚ ༘♡ step by step, cautiously, but with the sheer terror of a person who knew her life depended on it, she followed sang-woo across the field. the closer she got to the finish line, the harder it was to ignore out the horrors surrounding her, the bodies, the scent of blood hanging in the air, the faint gurgles of those who weren’t quite dead yet.

˚ ༘♡ but she kept moving.

˚ ༘♡ “green light…”

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo took another step. she followed. the timer was running low.

˚ ༘♡ seong-ah swallowed her fear and forced herself forward, forcing every nerve in her body to obey.

˚ ༘♡ the finish line was close.

˚ ༘♡ “red light.”

˚ ༘♡ they stopped.

˚ ༘♡ her legs ached from the tension, her entire body locked in a stiff, unnatural stance. the silence was deafening.

˚ ༘♡ “green light…”

˚ ༘♡ a final push.

˚ ༘♡ she surged forward. and with mere seconds left on the clock, seong-ah crossed the finish line.

˚ ༘♡ her lungs burned. her chest heaved with every desperate gulp of air she took. but she was alive.

˚ ༘♡ she turned to sang-woo, ready to say something, anything, to thank him, to demand answers, to scream at him for being here, putting his life in danger.

˚ ༘♡ but before seong-ah could say a word, he looked at her. his expression was unreadable.

˚ ༘♡ then, without a word, sang-woo turned on his foot and walked away. leaving her there, alone.

a/n: chapter two!! let me know your thoughts!! 🤍

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thegingerparty · 2 months ago

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In my defense, I was enabled. As a result, enjoy 2.5k of...something. Eddie is a crime boss and Ravi is his plaything I dunno what else to tell you.

(Also please note my views of Sal do not match how he is in the fic I just needed an antagonist okay? okay.)

Ravi was starting to get annoyed. "You know, when I asked for more responsibility within the business, this isn't really what I had in mind." he said.

Sal waves away his concern, taking another deep puff from his cigar. "You know I hate to loan you out like this, sugar, but business is booming. I can't afford to spare any of my guys right now." The cigar smoke curls around his face, almost obscuring the mean glint in his eye.

Ravi has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. "If business is booming so much, then why do you need me to spy on Diaz so bad?" He tilts his head in faux confusion, eyebrow furrowed just so, the perfect picture of innocent naivete.

Across the table, Sal's jaw clenches. He narrows his eyes, blows out the next puff of smoke straight ahead instead of to the side, causing it to whisp through the space between them and make Ravi's eyes sting. He blinks just once, to brush away the initial wetness that gathers, refusing to pull his gaze away from Sal.

The man in question stubs out the cigar in the overflowing ashtray that's set next to him. "You better learn to watch that lip before you leave. Diaz may not be nearly as…forgiving as I am." Sal pushes back from the table and stalks out without a backwards glance, flanked by guards perfectly proportioned to look intimidating without making Sal look too small.

"Somehow, I doubt that's true. " Ravi mutters once Sal is out of earshot. "Forgiving my ass." He sighs deeply as he stands up and exits the room Sal likes to conduct his "business deals" in, wandering back towards his living quarters. Sal had told him in no uncertain terms that tonight Ravi needed to look good enough to tempt a priest.

Allegedly, they had good intel that Diaz was going to be at the border of their territories tonight, patronizing a bar that he likes to frequent. The bar used to be under Sal's domain, before Diaz had taken over the area in a minor turf war. Everyone said he liked to visit on occasion to assert his control, but Ravi was pretty sure it was just because they had really good bar peanuts.

God, he missed those. He had searched high and low at nearly every bar loyal to Sal to try and find some that could compare without any luck. He was more excited about the chance to have some again than about Sal letting him out of the house. He just had to hope that Diaz fell for the trap, otherwise those peanuts would be the last bit of freedom he would taste for a long while.

Diaz was late. The plan had been for Ravi to waltz into the bar, the one he definitely wasn't supposed to be in, a good hour after Diaz was set to arrive, looking slightly harried and completely irresistible. Sal was banking on the fact that Diaz wouldn't be able to stop himself from investigating what was either a blatant challenge or an incredible opportunity, and would therefor approach Ravi shortly after he entered. That was why he had been instructed to "make himself pretty" for the evening, the better to draw attention to himself when he walked in.

But it had now been over an hour since Ravi had arrived, and there was no sight of Diaz or anyone from his inner circle. It meant that Ravi had been able to house an entire bowl of peanuts, but was currently nursing the last few sips of a now lukewarm beer that hadn't even been good. He grimaced to himself as he swallowed down the rest of the glass, tapping his fingers on the table in anticipation. This wouldn't be the first time that Sal had gotten bad intel, but Ravi was pretty sure that if Diaz didn't show tonight it would be awhile before Sal could arrange another meeting without arousing suspicion.

Just as he's about to get up and take a lap just for something to do, the bartender sets another full glass in front of him, this one a different draft than what he had ordered before. Ravi looked up in surprise, wondering if the bartender had been given a tip to keep him well hydrated or if there was some kind of mistake. The bartender, a mildly intimidating woman with a blonde bob quirked her eyebrows at him, barely hiding what seemed to be a smirk. She didn't say anything in response to his confused expression, just jerked her head to the side and walked away to return to cleaning glassware.

Ravi took an exploratory sip of the almost overflowing glass, and closed his eyes in delight. He hadn't had a lager this good since before he started working for Sal. All the bars in his territory served watered down shit or shit that tasted like piss, none of which was Ravi's vibe. He glanced to the side where the only other patron at the bar top was sitting, ready to raise his glass in thanks when he nearly choked on his tongue.

There, at the very back of the bar, nursing a beer of his own, was Diaz. He had a baseball cap on that shadowed his face, and was wearing a nearly see-through while henley, complete with black jeans and even blacker combat boots. The sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, showing off the numerous tattoos covering his body, and now that Ravi was really looking he could see the gold signet ring adorning his pinky finger, although he seemed to be keeping the rest of his jewelry pretty minimal.

As he watched, Diaz raised his own glass in salute, the barest hint of a satisfied smile visible from under his cap, before turning back to whatever sports game was on the TV in front of him. Probably baseball, Ravi thought. He seemed the type.

The message was clear, however. If Ravi wanted an audience with Diaz tonight, he was going to have to approach the guy himself, a move that could be detrimental if it didn't go the direction Sal was hoping.

Ravi turned back to his new drink, gulping back the top quarter before peeling himself off the bar stool and slowly making his way towards Diaz. He could feel his hands start to get clammy as he approached, and prayed desperately that he was Diaz's type after all.

After what feels like hours but is only seconds, Ravi arrives at his destination. Diaz doesn't turn, doesn't even acknowledge his presence except to take another sip of his beer. He thinks he catches the edge of another smile, but its gone before he can process if it was really there at all.

"Hey," he says. Wow, great opening line, Panikkar. Diaz drops his chin to his chest, face completely obscured now. Undeterred, he presses on. "Thanks for the beer."

"No problem." And fuck, Diaz's voice is hot, too. Ravi is going to really have to keep himself in check if he wants to pull this off. Diaz lifts his head back up, eyes darting to the side before fixing on the screen. Baseball, Ravi can see from his periphery, just like he expected.

"Didn't think I'd see you tonight." Ravi says, feeling emboldened. He steps a little closer, and swears he sees Diaz take a sharp inhale.

"You looking for me?" he murmurs. Ravi's chest is up against his arm now. He nods, even though Diaz still isn't looking at him. Yet.

"Was hoping to talk to you." he says, breath practically tickling Diaz's ear. A loud thunk from the counter top startles him, as Diaz slams down his beer glass suddenly, some of the liquid sloshing out. Lightning fast, Diaz swivels to the side, placing Ravi firmly between the breadth of high thighs.

Even with the height of the stool Ravi is just taller than Eddie. He can feel his heart beat beginning to thud heavily inside his chest as Diaz leans forward slowly, arm stretching across the bar, brushing against his side. He stops inches away from their faces touching, and Ravi is pretty sure if someone asked him what color the walls in this bar were he would say brown on instinct. Its all he can see.

Diaz retreats, grin on his face at his deception, fist clenched around a pile of napkins he uses to clean the spilled beer off his fingers. Ravi thinks briefly he would have preferred if Diaz had stuck them in his mouth instead, requested for him to lick them clean, before he catches himself and mentally shakes himself out of it.

"And why would a pretty little thing like you want to talk with someone like me?" he drawls. His right hand, the one wearing his ring, drops to rest on his thigh, before he curls it around to loosely grip the back of Ravi's. He uses the press of his fingers to nudge Ravi closer to him, close enough that Ravi has to catch himself with his hands against Diaz's shoulder. Ravi can see his face clear enough to see that his pupils are dilated.

And this? This Ravi knows. This is Ravi's bread and butter, his bar peanuts, if you will. Seeing a big, bad crime boss go a little crazy at the sight of his cleavage is a sensation Ravi is all too familiar with by now, and one he knows how to exploit.

He pulls out all the stops; letting his head fall in resignation, making his lower lip quiver ever so slightly, blinking rapidly like he's trying not to cry. He clutches at the back of Diaz's shirt, tries not to get too distracted by the feel of his muscles, lets Diaz press his thighs tighter against him until he has an ankle hooked around the back of Ravi's leg. Not that he's trying to escape from the situation. This is exactly where he wants to be.

Ravi pours his heart out to Diaz, telling him about how scared he's been living under Sal's thumb, how he's desperate to get out, how the last time they fucked he truly feared for his life, ignores the tiny part of his brain that points out he's not even lying when he says that. He can see the worry pool into Diaz's eyes as he talks, shivers at the way he rubs his hand up and down Ravi's upper thigh, almost certainly trying to soothe him but only serving to rile him up as he creeps closer and closer to Ravi's ass with each pass.

"Please, help me." he begs, allowing his voice to crack on the "please." Diaz eats it up. Ravi can tell by how he lets the hand that had been resting on the bar grip Ravi's hip instead, thumb slipping underneath his shirt. "I'll do anything, just get me out of there." Diaz tilts his head, considering, and squeezes Ravi's hip more roughly.

"Anything?" he rasps, and Ravi chooses to believe its lust clouding his tone, instead of the desire to get one over on Sal, which is a much more likely option. He knows how fast someone can get bored with a pretty plaything.

He nods his head rapidly, eyes filling with unshed tears he knows will never fall. "Anything." he promises.

Diaz grins, feral. "Well, if you insist."

And before Ravi can even blink, he's pulled even further into Diaz's chest, mouth dropping open in surprise just enough for the other man to slip his tongue inside. He moans into the kiss, shivers at the way Diaz grips his ass and hauls him forward until he's straddling one of his thighs. In no time at all, Ravi finds himself growing hard, just from some kissing and a little dry humping. He would be more embarrassed if it wasn't for the fact that Diaz is exceptionally good at this. His kisses are deep and sucking, luxurious in a way that completely contradicts their setting. He feels thoroughly claimed, something he knows Sal tried to accomplish numerous times when they were in bed together, but compared to this his attempts even come close.

It takes Ravi several long moments to realize there is something metal pressed against his temple. At first he thinks its a ring, before he realizes both of Diaz's hands are still firmly attached to his ass. He pulls back abruptly, eyes wide, mind scrambling to make sense of this new development. And as soon as he locks eyes with Diaz, it does.

Any source questioned about tonight would report that Ravi approached Diaz, that he threw himself at his feet after begging for his help. If they're seen walking out of the bar hand and hand, he may as well have pointed a gun to Sal's face and dared him to dodge the bullet. There's no way Ravi is surviving that, even if he can now reasonably be considered "damaged goods" for his little public tryst. If he wants to leave with Diaz, wants to make it out of this with all his fingers still in tact, there was no other option than for Diaz to have his goon hold a gun to his head.

Well, maybe it didn't have to be his head, specifically, but it certainly gets the point across. Ravi gulps, let the instinctual fear take over his face, tries not to preen at that slight nod of approval Diaz gives him in response. Diaz stands up, right arm sliding around his wait, the pinky ring cool where it brushes against his skin where his shirt is still rucked up.

He leans forward, mouth pressed again Ravi's ear. "Hope you know what you're in for, doll." he murmurs. His lips brush over Ravi's cheek in an approximation of a kiss as he pulls back, before saying louder, "Tommy, can you believe Sal let his best girl slip out like this? All alone, practically begging for someone to snatch him up?" He shakes his head and tuts, glint in his eye as his gaze roams up and down Ravi's body.

"No, sir, I cannot." The man holding the gun to his head responds, voice entirely devoid of emotion. "The car is ready for you, sir."

"Excellent." Diaz says, and with the gun still hovering centimeters from his skull, Ravi is unceremoniously escorted out of the bar, Diaz's hand pressed against his lowed back like a brand.

The adrenaline of the evening carries him all the way until he's in the car, staring out the window at parts of the city he hasn't seen in years, Diaz's hand warm against his thigh. And for the first time since he sat across from Sal this morning, Ravi starts to wonder if he does actually know what he's gotten himself into.

#listen i dont know either okay #i do have more ideas for this but i make no promises about it becoming an actual fic #this is for me and like five other people #eddieravi #raveddie #eddie x ravi #eddieravi fic #eddie diaz #ravi panikkar #lain lit #someone give me a good title for this one #captain do not read

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kayleightarot · 4 months ago

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The week of March 10-14

We start the week with Prosperity, Equity, & Generosity

Someone else’s need to give to you in order to restore balance or, a need for you to give in order to create balance, makes generosity a priority. It’ll be less about philanthropy & more about equity, & compassion.

The joy of giving what is needed & ‘deserved’ can illuminate the next steps on your path & renew your inspiration. Equally, receiving assistance that returns a balance to you will bring a feeling of fairness & equity.

💚 This is the perfect time to seek improvement through an authority figure; ask the bank for the loan you want to start your own business, or ask your boss for a raise. 💙 In relationships, this Six heralds happiness found in security, balance, & a strong foundation. Make an effort to connect with your people today. Remind each other of the ways in which you enrich each other 🧡 Freely give, and receive today, with the knowledge that the Universe always returns to you what you freely give.

MIDWEEK we have Focus, Manifested Success, Equitable Partnerships

Three of Wands indicates success after a time of struggle or difficulty; the light at the end of the tunnel. Whether you desire a better career, a “new” you, or some other change, manifest what you desire. New associations, new information, & a new perspective may contribute to your success.

Looking to the past can help you appreciate how far you’ve come; just don’t let nostalgia or hold you there. Be patient & trust in your vision & effort.

💚 Whether you are a stay at home parent, or work in a company of hundreds, your efforts have been noticed. Others, & the Universe wish to reward them. 💙 In love, keep or invest in, only a partnership that is equitable & respectful. If the relationship is not all it needs to be for you then let it go. Ensure you are ready to prioritize a relationship. 🧡 Invest time in the things that matter & then release control. Trust the process, let go, & choose to be surprised by joy.

We approach the weekend with Abundance, Creativity, & Celebration

This card represents happiness & secure joy that will last & be shared in deep friendship. It’s a celebration of the success of the different skills & traits each of you contributed to the success; an honouring of the “tapestry”. It usually appears at the completion of a meaningful project, or a marriage or birth.

💚 Work may offer a promotion &/or a pay increase. Whether you are looking for a new job or wish to move up where you are, the 'right' people are about to see your efforts & reward them. 💙 Love requires the closure of past relationships in order to attain the next level of your current relationship, or to begin a new one. This closure comes to you because of the personal growth you have achieved. 🧡 Your effort has generated great energy, & is beginning to influence your future. The future holds abundance & celebration. Well done, you!

Gus an ath thuras (Until next time), darlings Go, Do, Be. Peace out

#kayleightarot #tarot #tarotreader #godobe #peaceout #mystic

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not-goldy · 9 months ago

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Writing it down goes to show he wasn't actually trusting and that man isn't as close. I bet JM wouldn't write down if he gave money to a close friend. The members have said JM is the one who always gives expensive gifts on their birthdays, so clearly he treats close friends differently and doesn't mind about money with them. Also Hsw who introduced Jm to that man then was also someone who lent his money to him and didn't get back.

So I don't know why they be introducing such ppl to JM. Not only are they not careful but they be introducing them to Jm too.

Like that everyone will approach his friends to reach him.

But again, JM let it go. So I don't know, maybe he's not bothered as we are, about the money.

Writing it down has nothing to do with trust but rather a smart financial move and legal decision. When it comes to money, legally you either gift it or loan it and as i explained earlier in law writing something down is of little legal importance unless the law has specifically said a transaction ought to be in writing to be enforceable.

So I repeat writing things down has nothing to do with trust- before someone uses that to manipulate their loved ones into giving them monies they know damn well they will not pay. Oh you making me sign a contract you don't trust me boo boo baa baa. Do you see how harmful such a narrative you are peddling is?

I get that we are all sharing our thoughts on this but try not to spread legal misinformation or fill people's heads with beliefs and ideas that will only further harm them financially. Situations like this have practical legal implications for people in all walks of life so let's be careful.

when it comes to money it's always wise not to mix business with pleasure or in this case with friendships as you seem to be suggesting JM would have done with his close friends. Always draw out that paper regardless of whether it is your mama or not.

I think Jungkook got that paper work done even with his brother and their business which is a very smart thing to do.

You don't need to stretch this or down play what has happened to that man. He was financially abused in spite of whether it was by a close friend or acquittance whether he trusted them or didn't trust them as clearly having the terms written on paper didn't prevent that from happening.

However, since he has this in writing it prevents the person from manipulating the narrative or claiming JM only gave it to him as a gift or merely to support him due to whatever situation he claimed he was going through.

Which is very smart and something every obe should learn from.

Well I think he was bothered but like everything else he stayed strong. That money could have gone to his charities or be put to a good use.

And being a victim of financial deception can give a person trust issues. This is stealing. He's been robbed in day light and I bet it's gonna traumatize him. Poor dude.

His friends are shitty for introducing him to this cuckpit you'd think they'd know better since they are older

And JM should have said no. If he needed money he should have went to the bank. Fucking dammit

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fastgrowthcapital · 17 days ago

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Easy Business Loans for Small Businesses in the USA: A Complete Guide to Getting Funded Fast

Running a small business in the USA comes with its fair share of challenges. One of the biggest is securing the right funding at the right time. Whether you’re launching a startup, expanding your operations, or just looking for a cushion during a slow season, access to easy business loans for small businesses in the USA can make all the difference.

The good news? It’s now easier than ever to apply for a business loan online in the USA—and get the fast capital you need to move forward. This guide breaks down the various funding options, how to choose the right one, and the steps you can take to get funded fast.

Why Small Business Funding Matters

Before diving into the loan types and application process, let’s talk about why funding is essential. Small businesses are the backbone of the American economy. But even with strong ideas and hard work, every business needs financial support—especially during its early and growth stages.

Funding helps in:

Covering day-to-day operational costs

Hiring staff or upgrading equipment

Launching marketing campaigns

Managing cash flow during seasonal dips

Expanding into new locations or product lines

And thanks to technology, there are now more business financing solutions available than ever before—many tailored specifically to small businesses and startups.

Quick Funding Options for Startups in the USA

Startups often need cash fast, but traditional bank loans can take weeks (or even months) to get approved. Here are some quick funding options for startups in the USA:

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Many online lenders offer streamlined applications and approvals in as little as 24 hours. This is one of the best ways to apply for a business loan online in the USA without the need for lengthy paperwork or perfect credit.

2. Merchant Cash Advances

If your business earns revenue through credit card sales, this could be an ideal short-term solution. The lender provides an upfront sum, which is repaid through a percentage of daily sales.

3. Line of Credit

A business line of credit offers flexibility. You can borrow only what you need and pay interest only on the amount used. Great for managing cash flow and unexpected expenses.

Understanding Different Types of Business Loans

Not all business loans are created equal. Choosing the right type depends on your business stage, goals, and how quickly you need the money. Let’s explore the most common options:

1. Working Capital Loans

These are short-term loans designed to help cover everyday expenses like payroll, rent, and inventory. They’re great when your business needs a temporary cash flow boost.

Best for: Businesses with seasonal sales or those managing short-term operational costs.

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SBA loans are partially backed by the U.S. Small Business Administration and typically offer low-interest business loans for new companies in the USA. While the approval process can be slower than online loans, the repayment terms are often more favorable.

Best for: Established businesses with good credit and a solid financial history.

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With a term loan, you borrow a lump sum and repay it over a fixed period with regular installments. These can range from short to long term, depending on the lender.

Best for: Businesses planning a large investment, like equipment or expansion.

4. Startup Loans

These are specifically designed for brand-new businesses. Lenders might look at your business plan, projected revenue, and industry experience instead of traditional credit history.

Best for: Entrepreneurs in the early stages of their venture.

How to Get Fast Capital for Business Expansion

Looking to grow your business quickly? Expansion often requires upfront capital—for new locations, more inventory, additional staff, or marketing campaigns. Here’s how to get fast capital for business expansion:

1. Have a Clear Growth Plan

Before approaching lenders, outline how the funding will directly contribute to growth. Will it generate new revenue? Open new markets? Lenders like to see a strong return on investment.

2. Gather Financial Documents Early

Even if you’re applying online, having your financials in order helps speed up the process. Prepare documents like bank statements, tax returns, profit and loss statements, and a business plan.

3. Explore Multiple Loan Options

Don’t settle for the first offer you receive. Different lenders have different interest rates, terms, and qualification criteria. Comparing options helps you find the best funding solutions for entrepreneurs in the USA.

What Lenders Look For

Whether you’re applying for SBA loans, term loans, or other small business loans, lenders typically evaluate your application based on the following:

Credit Score: Personal and business credit scores both matter.

Time in Business: Some lenders require at least 6 months of operational history.

Annual Revenue: A minimum revenue threshold is often required.

Business Plan: Especially important for startups and new companies.

Debt-to-Income Ratio: Lenders check whether your business can handle additional debt.

While some of these criteria can sound intimidating, many modern lenders focus more on real-time cash flow and less on perfect credit.

How to Apply for a Business Loan Online in the USA

The process has become incredibly convenient. Here’s a step-by-step approach:

Step 1: Choose the Right Loan Type

Think about your needs. Do you need a small amount fast? Or are you planning long-term growth? Match the loan type with your goal.

Step 2: Compare Lenders

Look for online platforms offering small business funding with transparent terms, flexible repayment options, and fast approval times.

Step 3: Complete the Application

Most online applications take under 15 minutes. You’ll need to provide:

Business name and EIN (Employer Identification Number)

Revenue and time in business

Purpose of the loan

Bank statements or tax documents

Step 4: Get Funded Fast

After approval, many lenders provide fast capital—sometimes within 24 to 48 hours. Be sure to read the loan agreement carefully and understand the repayment schedule.

Tips for Getting Approved Quickly

Getting approved doesn’t have to be stressful. Here are a few things that can improve your chances:

Improve Your Credit: Pay down existing debts and make payments on time.

Organize Your Documents: Keep everything ready before applying.

Be Honest: Don’t exaggerate your revenue or downplay challenges.

Stay Responsive: If the lender needs clarification, respond promptly.

Final Thoughts: Choose the Right Partner

Choosing the right funding partner can save you time, stress, and money. The key is to find a lender that understands your business, supports your goals, and offers simple, fast, and reliable funding options.

Whether you’re looking for working capital loans, low-interest business loans for new companies in the USA, or just want help navigating the best business financing solutions, working with the right team matters.

Why Fast Growth Capital?

If you're ready to take the next step and need funding that’s fast, flexible, and designed for small businesses, Fast Growth Capital is here to help. With a seamless application process, personalized support, and a variety of loan options tailored to small businesses and startups, we make it easier than ever to access the funds you need.

From SBA loans and term loans to quick funding options for startups in the USA, Fast Growth Capital delivers practical solutions that help your business grow—without the long wait or confusing paperwork.

Apply now and get funded fast. Your business deserves it.

#commercial real estate loans for small businesses #business line of credit for seasonal businesses #best working capital loans for startups in the usa

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112alb · 4 months ago

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You are literally stuck with me…

Marianne watched the tall, young man striding towards her, his backpack slung over his shoulder, bouncing in rhythm with his steps. His ball cap was on backwards, dark sunnies hiding his eyes. He reached her, stopped and looked around before saying to her, “Has everyone gone?”

“Yes. I was waiting to see if you showed up. Everyone else has paired up and gone hunting. You are my partner for the day.”

“How the fuck did that happen?” he grimaced; his voice filled with disgust.

“You weren’t here.” She replied.

“I was running late, so I rang and left a message.”

“Yes, I got your message, but everyone else was eager to get going. If you’re ready, we can go. “

“I didn’t envisage this…I was expecting to be partnered up with my girl…ah…friend not with a…” he hesitated, “ahh…”

Marianne said, “Let’s get going. You can sort out your love life another time. I will endeavour not to feed you to the first dragon we find. Given that we are starting later than everyone else, we will have to go further afield.” She turned, pulling the remote from her pants pocket and walked towards the hover, opening the flier’s side door. “Are you coming or not?” she asked the young man still standing where he had stopped.

“Sure, sure,” he said. He glanced around to see if anyone had appeared to rescue him before moving towards the hover. “Do you want me to fly?”

“No, I can manage. I may look old, but my flying skills are up to the task.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just meant that if you preferred, I could do the flying today. I don’t have a hover and I enjoy flying. And my name is Marcus.”

“The hover is a loan. I’ll check if the insurance covers another flyer. If it’s ok, you can fly later today.”

“Thanks,” he said as he got into the passenger seat. He sniffed with appreciation. “It smells new.”

Marianne tapped away at her communicator, sending a query about the insurance. “It is,” she said. “Anyway, let’s get going.” She punched in co-ordinates before they lifted off, banking to the right, flying over the busy university town. “I think we should head in a different direction. The others will be noisy. They will scare every dragon in the vicinity into the nearest cave. And my name is Marianne.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Marcus said. “That’s a good idea, Marianne.” He paused. “Sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be rude. I like this girl and hoped to spend today with her. Maybe tee up a date. But you snooze, you lose.” He shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I ran some errands for Dad. He said they were urgent. That’s why I was late.”

Marianne looked at Marcus but didn’t reply.

The university town was ringed on three sides by a mountain range. The sea is on the fourth side. Everyone else hunting today headed north or south to the nearest mountains to begin their search. Instead, they flew west, over the town and along the valley floor, over farmland towards the mountains. The distance was further than if they had followed the other hunters. They flew in silence, with neither of them talking, lost in their own thoughts.

As they approached the foothills, Marianne glanced at Marcus. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

Marcus started and turned towards Marianne. “Not much to tell. I go to uni, hang out with my friends, run jobs for my parents, that earns me a little pocket money. Try to get dates with all the hot girls in my class.”

“How is that working out for you?”

He grimaced. “Not that great.”

“What are you studying at uni?”

“Engineering, biomechanics with a side of zoology, that one’s for the girls. The hot girls…they all want to catch a dragon and study them.”

“Why engineering?”

“I reckon that won’t go astray when I someday get to do what I want. Although Mum keeps pushing me to add business administration to my workload. She wants to tie me to this rock as an administrator. There’s an entire universe to be explored.” He paused. “Do you know my parents? Is this a setup?”

“Yes, I do. No, it isn’t a setup. I am getting to know you before I entrust my life to you as my backup when we get to my cave.”

“You know about a cave with dragons?”

“A dragon mama and her dragon eggs that should be close to hatching.”

“Wow!” Marcus sat up straighter in his seat, his attention caught. A thought occurred to him and he said, “Are you planning on taking some dragon eggs?”

“No! Of course not! But I plan on setting up cameras around the nest to record the hatching.”

“That’s cool. Most zoology students are all for catching dragons and breeding them like pets, so they can study them at leisure.” He paused. “I hate the idea of anything free being captured and penned up for life. “

Marianne smiled; glad the estimate his parents had given of their son tallied with the actual person. He empathised with being held captive. His parents knew they would lose him eventually, but wanted him to fight for his opportunity. They considered him too soft to survive off planet like they had done in their past. If you earned your opportunity, you placed more value on it; it was a valuable life lesson.

They flew over lower foothills covered in dense forest. In about thirty minutes, when they reached what she considered base camp, she would see if Marcus could hack life away from civilisation.

She flew higher to reach the mountain clearing wide enough to land the hover. Marcus held his breath as he watched Marianne manoeuvre the controls. She landed the hover with ease of long experience. “That was awesome,” he said.

“Piece of cake,” she said. “I hope you have your hiking boots with you in that backpack. If you don’t, I have a spare pair.”

“I came prepared.”

They changed into their boots. Marianne checked over the cameras and the long-life battery packs, confirming she had everything she needed. She split the load between two packs, giving Marcus the heavier pack, saying, “Load your stuff into this pack. It’s larger than yours. We have an hour on foot. Lucky most of that is downhill. Mama dragon will be out hunting. That means no problem getting into the cave. It will take about twenty minutes to set up the cameras. When we hike back, we will have less of a load to carry. “

“Sounds good.” Marcus said. “How did you find this cave?”

They set off, Marcus following Marianne. She said, “I was camping, and I saw Mama dragon, followed her back to the cave. I was lucky. She flew out again to go hunting while I was waiting. She was flying low and slow, her belly was heavy, and that gave me time to go into the cave. I saw the nest she was building. That was two months ago. The babies will be close to hatching.”

“You know a lot about dragons.”

“Some. Most of it is guesswork. I intend to know more using the feed from these cameras.”

They walked through the bush, making little noise, heading downwards towards the valley floor. The silence was eerie. Marcus had gone camping before but did not remember the bush being so quiet. His sense of dread increased with each step until he tapped Marianne on the shoulder and whispered to her. “Something’s wrong.”

“Yes, I feel it too. Stay alert. We are almost there. I intend to observe the area before we go into the cave.”

Marcus followed Marianne for another ten minutes before she stopped, put down her backpack and leaned it against a tree. He did the same with his pack. She mimicked she was going to climb the tree and look around. Marianne climbed up the tree while Marcus waited below. The silence enveloped them.

Marianne climbed down as gracefully as she had climbed up. “Something is in front of the cave. I want a closer look. I will circle round and climb the ledge over the entrance.”

Marcus asked, “Do you want me to follow you?”

“No. Get closer but stay hidden until I signal you. Come out with caution.”

Marianne made her way up to the ledge above the cave entrance. The climb wasn’t arduous. On the ledge above the entrance, she could see what was below her. Two mature dragons lay before the cave entrance. Their bodies lay as if they had fallen out of the sky or mid battle. There were bits of white eggshell strewn around them and two little fledglings. They were all dead.

She looked towards Marcus hidden among the trees and signalled that he could approach with caution. She watched him and noted his reaction to the dead dragons. He looked up at her and then down at the bodies, his shoulders hunched.

He said, “They shot them and killed the babies! That is criminal.”

“Smugglers. I think they are long gone. The album from the eggs has dried solid. If you go in, be cautious. Or wait for me to get down.”

“I’ll go in. I’ll be careful.”

Marianne watched as Marcus got out his communicator and turned on the flashlight. He went into the cave. She made her way back down to the cave entrance towards the bodies of the two mature dragons, noting that one was the female she had followed, recognising the nick in her left wing. The other was male, probably her mate, and the two fledglings. She lifted a dragon wing and counted a third and then a fourth baby under the male dragon’s wing. The adults were protecting their babies. Such a waste, she thought. What a lost opportunity to learn more about these fascinating creatures. The team could come and get the bodies, she would give them the coordinates. They would not go to waste; the study of the dead can help the living. It would help them learn more about their physiology.

She opened her communicator and turned on the flashlight to follow Marcus into the cave. He hadn’t come out. Something inside was holding his attention.

Marianne called out to Marcus, asking what he had found? Marcus didn’t reply. She could hear him. He was singing a lullaby. She called again, louder this time.

Marcus stopped singing and said, “Yes! A fledgling survived. I think it hatched before the smugglers came. It was hiding.”

She arrived in the main chamber of the cave and played her light over Marcus; his communicator was on the ground at his feet. He was standing still, facing towards her, cradling a small fledgling in his hands close to his chest.

“Oh, dear!” she said.

“They communicate!” he said. “I can feel what it is feeling.”

“You bonded already?” she asked.

“Bonded?”

“Yes bonded. From the little we know; they can communicate but it is selective. Looks like this one took to you straight away. This is going to cause some issues.”

“What do you mean?” he said. His attention was on the fledgling cradled in his hands.

“They don’t communicate with everyone. They choose, but the human has to be receptive. And it looks like it chose you and you accepted. This is going to get interesting.”

Marcus’s agitation at Marianne’s reply came out in his words, “Your answers are confusing to me.” He looked down at his cupped hands, at the fledgling nestled there. It was crooning the lullaby back to him. He could feel the vibration in his hands.

“Never mind,” she said. “We need to go before dark. I can explain more on the trip home. I’ll pick up your communicator.” Marianne was close enough to hear the crooning. “Amazing!” she said and shook her head in disbelief. “Follow me, last thing we need is you tripping over your own feet.”

They walked back to where they had left their packs. Marcus waited while Marianne set up some cameras. She told him it was a precaution. He spent the time admiring the fledgling’s green scales glinting in the afternoon light. It had fallen asleep in his cupped hands now that his agitation had subsided. Marianne returned picking up the packs, leaving Marcus free to keep his hands cupped for the sleeping fledgeling.

Back at the hover, she made a nest from towels she had. She told Marcus to put the sleeping fledgling into it. She said to him, opening the door for him, “When you sit down, keep one hand touching the fledgeling. You need the touch to strengthen the bond.”

He nodded. She got in and concentrated on getting the hover into the air. The sun was setting behind them as they headed back towards the city.

After a short time, when she had gathered her thoughts, she spoke. “The bond will change your life. How you deal is up to you. We know a little about bonds. If you die, the fledgeling dies and if the fledgeling dies, you die. You get sick, the same goes. The pair we are studying have been together for 15 years. They are happiest in each other’s company. Separation makes both of them pine and get sick. From the minute you bonded, you were literally stuck together.”

She kept going. “We are still studying the ramifications of the bond. The problem is we only have the one pair. We do not know enough. Unfortunately, word has gotten off planet. We are already experiencing an influx of dragon hunters from all over the galaxy. The rumours have an element of truth.”

Marianne glanced at Marcus, but he was not listening. The fledgeling was scratching its head against his fingers and held his attention. She knew they were communicating, absorbed in their own little world.

She would have to break the news to his parents. They would be difficult; Marcus was their only child. His mother was the prime administrator of the planet, and she would not want her son to become another experimental pair in Marianne’s study, even if the viability of the planet depended on the results of the study.

#creative writing #fiction #short story #speculative fiction #writing #mythical creatures #dragons

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