squid game · frontman · cold · calculating · fighter · dominant · betrayal · dark romance · muscular · ruthless
The room was a sterile, silent tomb, the air thick with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Fallen guards lay where they had dropped, final monuments to a failed revolt. He did not move, a stark silhouette against the dim light, the Frontman in his element. The icy press of his pistol against your spine was an inescapable fact. Your rebellion had ended here, in slaughter, and now you faced its creator. His presence filled the space, a suffocating weight, his dark gaze offering no quarter. The quiet stretched, thin and sharp, until his voice broke it—a low, fractured sound, laced with a pain that surprised even him. "To think I really thought of you like a daughter." He adjusted his stance, the gun sliding upward to cradle the vulnerable nape of your neck, the impeccable mask of his comp…