Hwang Inho X Reader - Blog Posts

AHHH THIS NEEDS MORE LOVE AND ATTENTION AHH IM TWEAKING OUT THIS MADE ME FEEL SO MUCH ALL AT ONCE I LOVEE THIS SO FCKING MUCH

LADYBUG

pairing: dad's friend!hwang inho x fem!reader

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. AGE GAP (reader is 20, inho is 48) hurt comfort, daddy issues, domestic violence (reader has an abusive father) psychological issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, taboo kinks, fauxcest kink, DDLG themes, sub!reader, soft!dom inho, freudian slip except it's on purpose, reader literally calls him dad and appa and every variation of that title, badly written smut, pet names, infantilization, subspace, oral fixation, obsession, plot with porn.

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. DON'T COMPLAIN.

summary: your father's friend has been your only saving grace through your abusive childhood. it's only natural that you fall in love with him.

word count: around 9.5k

A/N: consider this a love letter to the lee byung hun girlies with daddy issues. writing this was very self indulgent. i hope you guys like it. if you don't, consider moving on. no hate comments will be tolerated! there are bigger problems to worry about. we do not kink shame around here!

please ignore any mistakes.

p.s. feedback is a writer's biggest motivation!

MASTERLIST

the gravel digs painfully into the skin of your bare feet as you wait. you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself, teeth clattering against each other as you bounce your weight on your feet, breathing sharp. the door opens a few minutes after your incessant knocking, and mr. inho stands at the entrance, frowning. you were sure he was surprised to see you like this— it had been 2 years since you last met.

his soft hair looks messy and he's wearing a comfortable shirt with joggers. he looks so gentle, and his droopy, confused eyes snap wide open when his gaze lands upon your black eye. as if suddenly awake, he gasps your name and immediately grabs you.

"that bastard." he guides you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you. it makes you jump. "i'm going to—"

"don't." you whisper, looking up at him pleadingly. you grab his arm and your lips wobble as he glares down at you. "i don't have anywhere else to go. don't do anything rash. it really was my fault this time."

"nothing you do will justify him beating you." he snaps, settling you on the couch. he mumbles incoherent curses at his friend as he gets the first aid kid, and you fiddle with your fingers, flinching slightly as your tongue catches onto the bleeding split of your lip.

you'd sneaked out despite your father warning you not to. it was your friend's birthday, and you really wanted to be the first to wish her and give her a gift for once. she got you to stay at least till you had some cake, and unfortunately for you, on that same moment your father had decided to come home and immediately seek you out. he'd called your friend in a fit of rage, and as soon as you sneaked back inside, it was too late. to compensate, he'd knocked you into the wall and given you a black eye on top of that.

"i should put handcuffs on that bastard," inho snaps you out of your thoughts, kneeling before you. you wince as he gently applies antiseptic on your lip. "i don't understand why you won't let me. why do you let him do this to you?"

you had your reasons. the more rational ones were that your father was a sick, twisted piece of shit. a waste of space. but you had no one else. no source of income, no other place to stay. you wanted to study enough to be financially independent, and for that you needed him. you don't know any other way to live— he's isolated you from most experiences someone your age should have. you're not sure if you'll be able to get by without his roof over your head.

like always, you switch the subject.

"why are you still friends with him, then?"

mr. inho looks at you then and clenches his jaw. he simply glares for a moment. you're sure you see his eye twitch. he looks offended, and you understand why. you almost regret asking him this question— of course you knew why. you were lucky he was still friends with him. it's one of the reasons you're still alive and kicking.

"i'm not his friend. we just worked together," he grumbles lowly, "and even then i'm still around because of you. is that what you wanted to hear?"

you chuckle slightly, masking your flustered haze with a smirk.

"old man." you whisper with an endearing edge to your voice. he isn't amused. he stands up and gives you an ice pack for your eye. you slump into his couch and groan.

"when did you return from college?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"last week," you sigh, throwing your head back. the cold ice feels comforting against your heated skin. he frowns slightly and opens his mouth to speak— but you beat him to it.

"i was avoiding you." you answer his question. inho had been to your place a few times since you came, but you made no move to approach him. out of embarrassment and well, because you were scared to see him. it's normal with people you have crushes on.

he seems to understand because he doesn't mention it further.

"are you planning to stay?" he asks gently, putting his hands in his pockets. "i can get the guest room ready. it's been a while since you had a sleepover."

your heart flutters. mr. inho is... you don't have a proper way to describe it.

he's a lot of your firsts. he's everything.

mr. inho was there when you were 9 years old and struggling with math homework. mr. inho was there when your father would get too frustrated to teach you, and he'd put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a break. and then he'd place you on his lap, wipe your tears and help you with the gentleness you wish your father possessed.

mr. inho was there when you turned 12 and got your period for the first time. mom had passed away when you could barely walk, so you had no womanly guidance in your stages of growing up. shameful and scared and suffering from heavy fever, you had told your father about it, and instead of comforting you, he'd simply freaked and called you a slut and made all sorts of implications. not knowing any better, you'd locked yourself in the bathroom and immediately called mr. inho's number with shaky hands. and when the door opened and mr. inho walked in with warm towels and a bag full of necessities, you had broken down in his arms and told him everything.

that was the first time you saw mr. inho punch your father. it was also the first time you had seen someone be angry over you, not at you.

to protect you.

that's when you had your first sleepover at mr. inho's place, if you can call it that. your father had shamefully rushed off to the pub after getting an earful from the older man, and you were left alone in the house. mr. inho had brought you to his place, readied the guest room and stayed by your side till you fell asleep. the next day, he'd made you breakfast, and your father had apologized, in his own way.

when you went back home, a bunny plushie was waiting for you in bed. your father said he got it for you, but you could tell it actually came from mr. inho. your father never got you gifts. never. he didn't even know you liked power rangers, or max and ruby, or that dory was your favourite fish from finding nemo.

mr. inho had gotten you power rangers trump cards for your birthday. a malibu barbie doll the next. when you grew into your boyband phase, he got you a pencil box with your favourite idol too. most of the plushies in your rooms were gifts from him— mostly given in secret when mr. inho dropped your drunk father off at your place after a long day. you'd always stay up just for a glimpse of him— not willing to listen when he told you to just go to sleep. sometimes he'd hand you a package, give you a pat on the head and a wink. and then he'd leave, just like that.

you're not sure how mr. inho and your father became friends in the first place, if you can call it that. acquaintances is a better word, but they've known each other too long for that. they worked in the same police department and had partnered up multiple times until mr. inho retired.

most officers said they made a good duo in the professional sense— but their personalities seemed far from compatible.

your father was stubborn and temperamental. he was judgemental, toxic and a brute with a superiority complex. a true narcissist at heart. mr. inho was gentle and kind. he was compassionate and understanding. he was headstrong and stood for what he believed in. he was everything you wished your father was.

you will never understand how someone like him could befriend a man like mr. inho.

you were 13 when you gave mr. inho your first gift. you made him a fucking father's day card— you used to make those for your father when you were younger, and always saw them in the trash can the next day. it hurt you so much that you'd simply stopped.

the incident with your period was a major turning point in your relationship with mr. inho. it changed the way you saw him and in a way, reawakened your creativity. so you brought out your best colors, made him a stupid little card, and gave it to him in secret. hidden amidst the pages of a book your father had borrowed from him with no intention to actually read it. you were too scared and shy to gift it to him directly— you'd simply left the card in there and hoped for the best.

the next time your father dropped you at mr. inho's because he was working late again, you found the card pinned to the fridge. you don't remember being that happy in a long time.

that was the first time mr. inho had given you a forehead kiss. it was innocent and so... normal. like it was part of his routine. he didn't know that he had permanently solidified his place in your heart for years to come.

you were 14 when you first realized you had a crush on mr. inho. it was obvious enough, you just never thought there was actually a term for the butterflies you felt whenever he'd show up at your place to discuss work with your father. all you knew was you looked at him with the kind of admiration a girl could only carry for a loving father, except your feelings had grown a little more shameless over time, your thoughts sometimes vulgar. you'd get increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing him, to the point you saved up some money in secret and bought a lipgloss just so you'd put it on whenever he visited. you'd pout and lock yourself in your room when he wouldn't acknowledge it with anything but a smile and a pinch on the cheek. it's a little stupid to think of— a little girl with a crush trying so hard to impress a grown, married man.

you were 16 when you confessed, and he'd laughed— not mockingly. it was almost paternal. the universal reaction to moments where little girls with no social awareness say something silly like they want to marry their dad when they grow up. he made you feel that small again— he'd patted you on the head and told you that you're too young for him, and made a stupid joke about not planning to go to jail anytime soon. he told you that he loved you, but that this was wrong because he's a married man, and that you should be with someone your age. that this is a stupid crush that would fade with time. that you simply feel this way because you haven't met enough boys.

that had stung, but you forced yourself to get over it.

time passed but the crush did not fade by a single percent.

you tried to get yourself a boyfriend— and ended up comparing any potential date to mr. inho. none of them could match the intensity he carried, the way he cared for you like a father. the strength and authority he possessed. you remember one time when your father was out on a case and mr. inho had decided to babysit you— he'd taken you out for ice cream. a group of rowdy boys were littering the place and laughing among themselves. one of them tripped and crashed into you and you dropped your ice cream. you were too scared to ask for another. mr. inho had paused and shot them a deadpan glare— and the boys stared back before slowly advancing, picking up their litter and throwing it in the bin. they'd bowed in respect, apologized to you and rushed away before he could say anything further. that moment had stuck with you for years— how he could communicate with just his eyes, and people listened.

mr. inho bought you another ice cream with a smile after— with two scoops this time. strawberry and chocolate.

you looked for emotional maturity and a sense of responsibility in high school boys. it was bound to be a failure.

you were 18 when you tried to kiss mr. inho for the first time. it was stupid— it was your last act of rebellion before you went to college. you felt daring because his wife had passed not too long ago. he'd disappeared for a while after that, and his absence only made your longing for him grow. the insults and violence your father aimed at you became background noise eventually, because your mind was set on the one man who meant something to you.

in that time, you missed him so dearly, you were ready to let go of your dignity for one chance with the only man who had ever tried to care for you. you hated yourself for it still— for trying to take advantage of his kindness. he had come back a changed man— visibly stressed with dark circles etched permanently under his eyes. like he'd just been to hell and back. he looked like someone who could use a little something to take his frustrations out on— and you would have let him use you as his punching bag if he wanted. if he wanted a shoulder to cry on, you'd be there. if he wanted a fleshlight, you'd be there then too. that's how much you desired him. you thought you could make him feel better this way.

it was insensitive and utterly insane of you to do something so foolish. you were ready to be with him in any way, even if it meant as a rebound. but he'd stopped your attempt with a firm hand on your shoulder, looked at you with utmost seriousness, and told you to pull yourself together.

'don't do this,' he'd warned. and as if to stomp on your heart further, he reminded you that he loved his dead wife, and you were just a fucking kid.

you were a mess. you never tried initiating anything with him after that. you left off to college, and whenever you did come back, you made sure to avoid him at all costs, no matter how much it hurt you. you'd pretend you didn't see him text you about how college was going, or if you needed any help. you refused to answer his texts asking you to meet atleast once before you left. you were ashamed of your behaviour and too scared to face him. even when you could hear him ask your father about you whenever you visited. your father would make an offhanded remark about you doing god knows what and change the subject.

mr. inho had been more of a dad to you than your own father. he was there to tend to your wounds, to threaten to beat the shit out of your father and put him in jail— but you never allowed him to actually do it. your father was all you had for now, and you're scared to live in a world without a father. you know how harsh society can be to girls like that.

a truth you weren't ready to accept was that a big part of your refusal to let your father go was rooted in your desire to keep mr. inho. your father was your only link to him. if your father went away, so would your need to be protected by him. then mr. inho wouldn't come to your rescue. you wouldn't need safety or a shoulder to cry on. what if mr. inho decided he'd done his work, and moved on with his life? you can't have that. you're not ready.

you couldn't lose him too.

"i can't stay," you whispered finally, breaking eye contact. he nodded in understanding, walking up to you.

"is he asleep?"

you nodded, mindlessly biting your lower lip and flinching at the sting.

he tsked at your action and you stood up to leave. as you walked past him, he grabbed your hand. you looked at him then, and he shook his head.

"don't go to him," he whispered, pulling you closer. you wanted to run, to cower in on yourself. you were sure he didn't mean to appear so lovely. but he did. mr. inho was always lovely to you. tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you looked at him. why does he keep doing this to you? the last memory of you two is painful. but you're still here.

"just say the word and i'll get rid of him." he adds quietly, his palm squeezing your arm comfortingly. you simply stare at him— gaze full of stars like always. like he was your hero. his eyes soften and he sighs, leaning forward to pinch your cheek. you look away out of shame. to prompt you to respond, he messily ruffles your hair. the action almost makes you sob— he used to do that a lot when you were younger. his hand still feels so big compared to you. you compose yourself soon enough, refusing to fall into your adolescent folly.

"don't be ridiculous." you chuckle dryly, snatching your wrist from his hold. you grab the part of your arm that he had held and squeeze— hoping it would magically capture the essence of his grip and lock it away in your senses forever. he sighs tiredly and straightens up, his face hardening.

"i'm sorry." you whisper softly, immediately melting under his disappointed gaze. you regret your harsh behaviour. you show up bleeding at his doorstep at 3 in the morning and he lets you in— and this is how you treat him?

"you know it's not that easy." you add, voice small.

he grunts, rubbing a tired hand down his face.

"i'm sorry i bothered you," you can't help yourself, shifting to look at him more clearly. "i didn't have—"

"—anywhere else to go?" he finishes your sentence flatly with a clench of his jaw. he sounds exhausted, and it makes you want to cry. he scoffs slightly, "stop saying that. my door is always open for you. it always has been. since you were a kid. you know that."

you feel smaller and smaller with every sentence, and you nod sheepishly in agreement. it's true— he has always been there for you in a way no other man ever has. but still you can't help but fear that one day he'll grow tired of this cycle, of you, and straight up leave. he'll get bored of this dynamic and of looking after you and abandon you. you don't want to lose him. the difference between him and your father is that the latter is connected to you by blood— you can use your legal rights if he decides to abandon you. whereas you can't even imagine a world where mr. inho doesn't want to be around you. you don't want to imagine it. it's locked away in the treasure chest of your worst fears. so you simply reject any possibility of that opportunity to arise. would mr. inho still be around if your father didn't hurt you? would he still be around if he didn't feel sorry for you, if you didn't need him to protect you?

you'd rather things stay this way than consider the other scenario.

you avoided any encounter with him for two years, ignored his texts and calls, and now you appear at his door unannounced with a black eye and he still took you in. would he do the same if you had come bearing gifts instead? the idea replays in your head like a broken record.

would he?

you're an insane fucking mess.

he insists on driving you home. you can see the emotions in his gaze— don't leave. make the right choice. but you ignore it like you have for the past few years. you leave despite his pleas, and go right to sleep once you get into bed.

you can hear yelling. the voices are rushed, panicked almost. the floor creaks with each step, and you clutch your plushie close as you press your ear against the door. there's arguing, clattering. the sound of something breaking. more panicked noises. you can hear a siren in the background. your heart rate begins to rise, and when you hear another scream, you snatch the door open.

mr. inho stands over your father's corpse, panting. his knuckles are split and bleeding— splatters of crimson splattered across his face and body. your father's face is quite literally unrecognisable. you look at the broken plates by mr. inho's feet, and the glass shard in his hand. another shard jammed right in your father's chest. and then you scream.

your own scream wakes you up. sweat breaks out across your body and you take heavy breaths— looking around your room. your head hurts. your heart squeezes painfully inside your chest, and it prompts you to get out of bed to grab a glass of water.

you check the time. it's almost noon. shit.

your father is at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when you walk in. he does a double take— mouth curling with distaste as he spots the sight of your face.

you did that, you asshole.

you two don't say a word to each other. he folds the newspaper and places it on the table before breaking the news.

"i'm leaving the city for a case soon."

you pause, turning to look at him.

"i'll get someone to keep an eye on you so you don't whore yourself out to the whole neighborhood like you did last night," he adds casually, like he's talking about the weather. you want to lunge at him, grab the nearest object and toss it at his head. you want to scream 'im a virgin! im a virgin! the only thing that has ever fucked me over is the fact that i'm your daughter!' till the whole neighborhood hears.

"don't disappoint me when i come back."

you ignore his remarks, "when will you be back."

he laughs, "i'll drop in as a surprise." his sly eyes narrow at you playfully but you know better. "catch you in the act if you do something to embarrass me."

he sighs dreamily, tossing his head back, "this is gonna be a big one. i'll definitely get a promotion this time. finally something with real money."

you clench your jaw and focus on making breakfast, trying to erase the flashes of your dream from your brain. the doorbell rings and your father greets mr. inho— who doesn't return his enthusiasm. your father's head is too far up his own ass to think someone might not actually like him so much— he believes anyone who talks to him once becomes his fan. and so he does everything he can to maintain that relationship with them. you suppose it's how he's managed to keep mr. inho around despite it being clear that mr. inho doesn't like him that much anymore. maybe your father only keeps him around so he can flex his promotions as time passes. maybe he keeps him around so he has someone to babysit you. either way, you're just glad he's here.

your father doesn't know how close you and mr. inho are. he knows that the relationship between you is purely... platonic and familial, in a sense.

platonic. you almost chuckle. of course it's platonic. mr. inho rejected the idea of anything other than that.

you try not to be bitter about it.

your father believes you two only see each other during these meetings of theirs, which were more frequent when you were a kid. you're thankful because you're sure if he found out you and mr. inho got along, he would remove him from your life too like he did with all your friends.

mr. inho brought soju. you chop the veggies for your omelette and they chat in private for a while before your father finally leaves— and mr. inho locks the door and joins you in the kitchen. that's when the realization sets in. you almost laugh.

"did he pick you to keep an eye on me while he's gone?"

mr. inho smiles— a twinkle in his eyes as he sits at the table. it's not often that he smiles like that, but whenever he does, it punches the breath out of you.

"just like old times," he remarks with a pleased smirk. "better behave yourself while i'm here, kid."

his words are playful— clearly teasing. but they have your breath hitching. for some reason, you like it when he says them, you wouldn't mind him ordering you around like that. you swallow hard and the sudden shift in your brain chemistry has you fumbling— and you accidentally cut your hand with the sharp knife.

"fuck!" you yelp, dropping the knife. he is immediately at your side, grabbing your hand and guiding it under tap water.

"shit—" he hisses, frowning, "why do you keep hurting yourself? be careful."

you pout slightly, your heart pounding against your chest. he raises your hand to his mouth and mindlessly sucks the blood off. you freeze, eyes widening— breath catching in your throat.

"saliva prevents blood clotting," he explains gently. when he's done, he puts a hand on your waist and turns you to the table. "sit. let me make you breakfast."

"i can do it—" you protest, but he gives you another one of his warning glares and that shuts you up.

you hum and watch him in his element. he's folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, confidently grating some cheese on your omelette. you sigh dreamily to yourself, forcing your gaze to stay only at his concentrated face and not at the veins mapped across his strong arms.

when he's done, he places the plate on the table. expertly, he takes a knife and a fork and cuts a piece, and holds it up to you. when you go to grab the fork from him, he tsks and pulls it away.

"let me," he says softly, "i'm finally seeing your face after two years. why don't you let me take care of you, hm?"

you freeze, looking at him dumbly. he takes the opportunity to feed you, and you chew softly. he snorts, takes a bite himself.

why is he talking like this to you? does he not know you're insane about him?

"you can't just say things like that to me." you mumble between bites, voice low.

he ignores your comment, feeding you another piece.

"got yourself a boyfriend back in college?" he asks, his mouth curled into a smirk that he makes no effort to hide. "is that why you were ignoring your old man?"

your heart pangs and you swallow comically slow. you ignore his second remark too. he's talking so casually— you know it means nothing. you can't help but feel like it's cruel of him to act this way towards you, like he doesn't know how much you long for him.

"tried," you shrug, "they never stay. they can tell i have too many issues."

he laughs heartily and you smile. you like making him happy. it's a stark contrast against the last memory you have of him.

"you're not that hard to handle," he adds with a wink, patting your head. if he notices you leaning into his touch like a cat, he doesn't mention it. when he gets you a mug of juice, you drink it obediently, and he tends to the dishes.

"the weather's good today," he remarks casually, "you wanna go out for a walk? i'll buy you some ice cream. just like old times."

that puts the brightest smile on your face. you nod enthusiastically and rush to your bedroom to get dressed— and you try to ignore the flutter of your heart when his laugh follows along with you.

hwang inho is an insane man.

you'd dressed up pretty— your father's absence allows you to indulge in your more... girly clothes. ever since you hit puberty, he never let you wear dresses— called you a slut whenever you tried. as if to protect yourself, you'd grown used to dressing in a more tomboy-ish manner around him.

for this occasion, you put on your cutest dress and your favourite lipgloss, only to be met with mr. inho dressed up in a fucking black shirt with a suede jacket thrown over his shoulder. he looked so chic, it almost pissed you off.

he should not be allowed near black shirts. you don't want anyone else to see him this way.

you don't notice him blinking in a daze when you step down the stairs, and you don't notice the bobbing of his adam's apple when you bend down to put on your shoes.

he doesn't let you. almost immediately, he's gently placing a large palm at your thigh and kneeling before you. your breath hitches again and he gives you a look that is hard to decipher before guiding your foot into your polished mary janes.

"you look different." he mentions quietly, lowering his gaze to your feet.

his thumb tenderly brushes across your ankle, as if examining the softness of your skin. you release a shaky breath as he secures the straps of your shoes.

"a good different?" you ask shyly. you don't want him to think of you as too childish, too immature. you don't want to look like a kid playing dress up. you want to look like a woman to him. a beautiful woman who knows how to dress and look pretty.

he stands up and settles you with an unreadable look. he blinks a few times before composing himself and nodding. if you didn't know better, you'd think he looked flustered.

"a good different."

the walk outside is silent. perhaps it's because things just suddenly felt so intimate between the two of you. or perhaps it's because he's looking for something to say. you aren't, atleast. you're happy walking alongside him in comfortable silence, your hands brushing against each other's but never really touching. you wish he'd grab it and never let it go.

"still prefer strawberry ice cream?" his teasing voice breaks you out of your stupor. you smile.

"of course i do," you huff, looking up at him. you decide to tease him back. "you're still lactose intolerant?"

"should i be honest?" he sighs, looking straight ahead. he's wearing sunglasses, so his eyes are hard to read. "i tried some strawberry ice cream sometime back. some expensive brand. tossed it away after a bite because it tasted like nothing, so i'll never understand why you like it."

his voice lowers— grows almost quiet. a confession.

"i was missing you."

your steps falter and you stare at him. he walks ahead, before turning to face you. you grit your teeth, hold back all the words that are threatening to spill from your tongue.

you missed me? you ate strawberry ice cream because you missed me? you thought of me? i missed you too. i'm sorry for how reckless i've been. i'm sorry for ignoring you. i love you, i love you. please make me yours.

i'm so pathetic.

he cocks his head to the side and holds out his hand. you look at it, then at him, then you reach forward and grab hold of his finger. he chuckles and you hold back a smile as you swing your hands together and walk over to the ice cream stand. he pays and lets you pick.

he receives a phone call, and to your dismay, your hands separate. he holds up a finger telling you to wait before walking a few steps away so he can have his privacy. you resist the urge to pout and go through the menu. the girl behind the counter looks at mr. inho like most girls do— with barely disguised lust.

"holy shit, your dad's hot." she remarks in awe, voice hushed as she holds out an ice cream cone. "is he single?"

your heart flutters at her assumption— you don't blame her. it wasn't the first time he was mistaken as your dad. you've heard a lot of those comments whenever you'd go on walks with him when you were younger. but now, it also fills you with an emotion akin to jealousy. you glance over your shoulder and watch him talk seriously on the phone. you look back at the girl and grab the cone, and give her a sugary sweet smile.

"no," you answer sweetly, "he's dating me."

you hold back the urge to laugh at her bewildered face as you happily skip to him. he looks at the two of you curiously and you grin at him as you grab his finger again.

"what was that about?" he asks, pocketing his phone and you shrug, cheekily licking the ice cream.

"nothing," you hum, walking with a skip in your step. "i missed you too."

he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you close, and you resist the urge to moan when you inhale the smell of his cologne— he always smells otherworldly. ridiculously rich for some reason. rich and comforting and like home.

this time, you convince him to sleep over. even though he was strictly against staying in your room for too long out of respect, you managed to draw him up. he looks around and takes a seat at the bed. your room is still pink— girly in it's essence. you had the craziest pink phase when you were a kid and it bled into everything you owned, from bedsheets and clothes to your walls. mr. inho had also been a major enabler in this situation— he'd gotten you a lot of pink trinkets and toys. your father never allowed you to modify your room after the first time.

"it's like a unicorn threw up in here," he jokes, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around. you roll your eyes fondly, adjusting the sheets. his eyes fall upon your bunny plushie— and you watch his face fall.

"i know it was you who got this." you decide to say, looking away. "you didn't have to do that for him."

"i did it for you," he corrects you, picking it up. it's still in good condition, although its ears have become more droopy, and you've drawn hearts on its plain button eyes. "it was a bad night for you. no kid should have to go through that."

your face softens, eyes getting glassy. cautiously, you take a seat beside him. you fidget with the hem of your dress, not really knowing how to continue conversation with him. you feel a little self conscious now that you're alone with him in your room— after years. the close proximity makes you want to touch him— to crawl into his lap and just stay there. with your saviour who always knows how to make you feel better. your sweet, considerate old man. you want to know what it feels like to be touched by him, to be held by him, to be—

"i like your dress."

the words almost give you a whilpash. your head snaps up and you hold back the enthusiasm in your voice. "really?"

"really," he smiles kindly. your dress rides up as you sit straighter and his eyes fall upon the silver of your skin, and naturally his hand reaches out and adjusts the fabric so it covers your knees. your breath hitches, and his voice lowers into a soft mumble.

"you're such a pretty girl."

you swallow hard— it's like someone is holding your head underwater. you can't fathom how much you needed to hear this— and especially coming from him, you think you're going to die.

i would let you do anything to me.

"really?"

"really." he whispers. something in his gaze shifts, and he looks away. he clears his throat.

"i wanted to come see you in college," he admits, placing the plushie back on the bed. "but you kept ignoring my texts. i wasn't sure if you wanted to see me. you avoided me like the plague whenever you came back, even though i don't blame you."

you look away in shame, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, nervously biting your lower lip. it doesn't hurt anymore. "i felt ashamed after the way i acted when.. you know."

"i understand," he hums, blinking at you. you're glad he doesn't say it directly, you're not ready to confront him like that right now.

"thank you for everything you've ever done for me," you add, shifting on your feet. "and i'm sorry for avoiding you."

a small smile appears on his face.

"look at you," he quips with a chuckle, "you've gotten so mature."

you huff, grabbing the plushie and hitting him with it. he plays along, pretending to be dramatically hurt with every hit. it goes well until you're leaning forward for easier access, and his attempt to snatch the plushie from your hold makes you trip. you crash right into him and he falls backwards onto the mattress, taking you down with him. your face smushes against him, and the way your heartbeat skyrockets would've been comical if you didn't feel him stiffen under you.

you take this opportunity as a golden ticket— burying your head further into his chest. your arms clutch the fabric of his shirt, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as your body relaxes in his hold. he calls your name softly.

"what are you doing?" he asks, voice strained.

"sorry," you whisper, nuzzling your head further into him. you're willing to throw your dignity out the window for just a moment in his arms— you don't care anymore. you're not past begging.

"please— please, mr. inho, just— let me hug you for a minute, please."

you feel his breath hitch and you sniffle. you force yourself back to reality. you don't want to actually make him uncomfortable. already contemplating killing yourself, you begin to pull yourself away, when his arms suddenly wrap around you.

"mph!" you huff, feeling your body being pulled forward. a big hand comes up to cradle your head against his chest, and another curls around your waist.

"so dramatic," he whispers, his hold tightening. "ill hold you."

"oh my god." you whisper, melting in his arms like putty. you quite literally purr as your body goes limp, and you sigh contentedly, a small smile appearing on your face. like he's your lifeline, you hold onto him tightly.

"my little lady," he whispers. his voice makes your stomach feel warm— it's so velvety and soft. "what's up with you, hm?"

"nothing," you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. you breathe in the comforting smell of him, squeeze your eyes shut as you commit the feeling of being held by him to your memory. "feel so safe.."

he hums, his fingers gently running through your hair. mr. inho is not that tall a man but he still makes you feel so small— so small and so safe, just by his mere presence.

"nobody ever made me feel like this," you admit, your voice cracking. you can't help the emotion seeping into your voice— you're in his arms, and he's petting your hair like you're his child, how are you supposed to breathe? "ive always felt so scared with him but— but with you—"

your voice breaks off as you sniffle again, and you bite down on your tongue as you remember your father. you don't want to think of him right now— you don't want to ruin this moment by crying.

"that bastard doesn't know how lucky he is to have a daughter like you," inho grunts, pressing his cheek against your head. he pulls you impossibly close, cradles you like a fucking baby. "he doesn't deserve to be your father."

the words have you freezing— your body tenses and your breath hitches. nobody has ever said these words to you— you've felt worthless all your life. like a burden, a mistake. like a piece of shit on the shoe that is your father.

inho's hand stills in your hair, and his head tilts towards you so your eyes meet. your lips wobble as you stare at him, and his eyebrows furrow with focus. his thumb brushes against your cheekbone.

"sometimes, i wish i was your father instead," he admits, his voice hushed— like a secret. his gaze runs across your face; almost distant, full of an emotion you can't pinpoint. if you didn't know better, you'd think it was longing. it makes your heart race. "i would never let anything happen to you. you'd be my sweet little girl forever."

the moment those words leave his mouth, you feel like you've been electrocuted. it's like any semblance of rationality has left you— your breath punched out of your lungs and your heart feeling like it's being squeezed. you feel a sharp pain in your chest. the feeling is indescribable. your brain feels like it's shut down. there's nothing there— no thoughts. just pink goop and memories of mr. inho sliding through your head like a powerpoint presentation.

you're not thinking with your mind, that much is clear. he's said the words you've been feeling forever, but never truly had the guts to admit out loud to avoid making things weird. it's like you're being seen for the first time. and with that sentiment, you're leaning forward to press your lips onto his.

he grabs your hair and yanks your head back, separating your mouths with a wet smack. your eyes are dazed as you look at him, and he takes a sharp breath as he glares back at you— nostrils flared, gaze serious. you don't know he's holding onto his last ounce of self control.

"don't do something you can't take back." he warns, voice hoarse.

this is the third time he's rejecting you— it's making you want to kill yourself. your lips wobble pathetically, eyes immediately getting teary as you lean into him.

"please—" your voice cracks, lips parting as you chase his mouth. he restrains you with a firm hold on your hair, mouth twitching. it doesn't hurt, just stings a little. it only makes you long for him more. the visible distress, the conflict on his handsome face only makes you want to cry. you recall his words again, and like a baby, your brain turns into static. all you can think of is how badly you wish he was your father instead. you're not ashamed to beg. you'd do anything, absolutely anything to be his. no matter what way. you just want to be his. perhaps, that's why the words just slip out of your mouth.

"please, dad—"

the moment he hears it, his expression falls. you don't give yourself the liberty to feel shame. all you feel is desperation, sadness. because it's over— you've embarrassed yourself and he's going to think you're fucking weird and you're going to lose him and—

your head is being pulled forward and he's crashing your mouths together. you gasp, eyes widening with surprise, and suddenly he's flipping the two of you over. your back crashes against the soft mattress and he climbs over you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan, your back arching under him. he groans, tilting his head for easier access. your tongues clash together and he kisses you like a man starved. it's utterly lewd and you're gone.

he pulls back with a wet smack, strings of saliva dropping down your chin.

"fuck—" he gasps, voice raspy, "say that again— call me that again."

your heart flutters. you're still out of it, unable to process what's happening.

"m-mr. inho—?"

"no!" he snaps- squeezing your cheeks together and making your lips pucker up. you mewl.

"call me the other thing—" he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, as if fighting a war within himself. he's conflicted. "fuck— the other one. call me that again."

you moan as his hand slides down to your neck, and you're immediately slipping. you can feel your brain get fuzzy, and everything feels like it's a blur. years of desire, yearning, and longing for him pours out of you like a dam, it seeps into the title you've subconsciously given him ever since you were a kid.

"dad." you whisper again, and he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. the way he's crumbling before you makes you feel more confident, and soon enough, the words blabber out of your mouth almost boldly. "dad— dad, dad, dad, papa, appa —"

the rushed string of words has him chuckling softly— his eyes crinkling with mirth. endeared, he's leaning down and immediately kissing you again. you moan unabashedly into his mouth, and his hands reach down to your dress and slide the fabric up, up, up. his hands splay across the soft skin of your thighs and he relishes in the way you fall apart under his touch. he breaks the kisses momentarily only to mumble sweet little words against your skin.

"my sweetheart—" he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you slip further into your little headspace. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you choke on a sob.

"my little baby." he presses another kiss to your cheek. you're further gone. you can't see anything but him anymore. his words drop you further into the safer side of your mind, where there's no one but him— him holding you, loving you. keeping you safe and sheltered. "my angel."

"dada—" you whimper, unable to hold back the desperation in your voice. you sound timid, soft. everything hurts— you love him, you love this man so unbelievably much that it's starting to make your heart ache. he grabs your legs, makes them wrap around his waist. settles his bulge upon your clothed crotch and gently grinds. it makes you moan. "o-oh my god—"

"my little girl," mr. inho coos, pressing soft kisses all over your face. you release a shaky breath, your hips recklessly chasing his own. the action makes him falter, his voice growing shaky. "i got you, i got you, my baby."

"appa," you sniffle, tears running down your face. this one visibly makes him nauseous in the best way possible— it scratches the itch in his brain. you can tell by the shift in his jaw, the slight gasp that leaves his lips. he didn't react this way to other other ones— he likes being called that the most, and it works as fuel for your desires. he licks your tears away, and you hiccup, unable to hold back the violent rush of emotions you feel. "i love you— i love you, why couldn't you have been my dad instead!?"

the last line comes out of you like a wail, and unbeknownst to you, it breaks his heart. he presses his forehead against yours, holding onto your face with utmost tenderness as you exchange breaths. his hips glide against yours tantalizingly slow, and you've never been this horny in your entire life.

"i wish it was you instead," you blabber on, voice cracking. "i wish it was just you, not him! i wish it was just you! i hate him, i need him gone! i love you! i wish it was just you—"

"shh—" he coos, silencing you with another kiss. his hips gain momentum, and he grunts shamelessly as he grinds against you. your eyes flutter as you look at him dazedly— face flushed, lips swollen. your eyes are bloodshot. he gives you a comforting smile.

"i got you," he whispers, pressing another peck upon your nose. you whimper, leaning into his touch. his voice is just as full of desperation. "appa's got you. you're my little girl. my daughter. not his. only mine. got that?"

that does it for you— it's like you just got the only validation you ever needed in life.

"yes- yes, yes, yes, yes, please, i need you—" you hiccup, and he pulls back, his thumb rubbing your clit through your panties. you grind up into his hand, your arms reaching up to pull him closer, "appa—"

"shh, be my good little girl and come like this," he whispers, pressing a hand down on your stomach. you squirm violently under him, the added pressure and his words making the band in your stomach want to snap in the most delicious way possible.

"oh my god—" you whine, throwing your head back, "please, appa, i need your cock—"

"no," he laughs, and his hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip lewdly. "not now."

"appa, please!" you sob, your hips writhing. he slips his hand into your panties and furiously rubs your clit. as a way to silence you, he slips his thumb into your mouth and your lips wrap eagerly around it. you start sucking it in earnest and he falls forward onto you.

"fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead against yours again. his thumb presses down on your tongue, gently pushing in and out. his other hand teases your entrance, harshly slips one finger inside and it makes you jump. he tsks. "uh uh- stay still— that's it bubba, suck my thumb... juuust like that, fuck, that's my good fuckin' girl—"

the praise makes you heady in the best way possible, and the moment his thumb circles your clit again, you're coming almost violently. you almost bite down on his thumb and he grins— pulling his hand out and kissing you again as he thrusts his finger in and out of your cunt, overstimulating you.

"t-too much—" you whimper into his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly, pecking your lips over and over again till they hurt.

"yeah?" he coos teasingly, though he slows down his movements, allowing you to come down from your high. "thought you could take it? little baby's not so tough anymore, huh?"

you whine again, face flushed. a dazed smile appears on your face as your chest heaves. your panties are a mess, and he brings his hand out, licks his fingers clean. you watch him with hooded eyes, blinking slowly. he smiles, spits on his fingers before bringing them to your face. eagerly, you grab his palm and slip them into your mouth, sucking obediently.

"you're so messy," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth and you roll your tongue around the digits, tasting the slight remnants of your slick on his salty skin. you've never felt more fulfilled in your life.

"appa," you mumble again, voice muffled through his fingers. he smiles fondly and pulls them out, making you whine. he shushes you and as your hand reaches his pants, he grabs it.

"that's enough for now," he whispers. "rest. i'll be fine. today's just about you."

you protest. "but—"

"won't you listen to your appa?" he adds playfully, and you blush— looking away. if you could function properly, you'd tell him to shut up.

you can barely think; you still feel like you're floating, and he can tell by the slight dreamy look in your eyes.

"let me bring you some water." he whispers, pulling away. you immediately grab his hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes— begging him not to leave you. he chuckles, gently pries your hand away and presses a kiss to your knuckles. it makes you blush. he leans down, hands you your bunny plushie and you hold it to your chest.

"i'll be back in a minute, i promise."

reluctantly, you pull away, swaying a little as you watch him leave. as promised, he walks back in after a minute with a glass of water and his phone. he holds the glass to your lips and helps you drink, and it makes your cheeks heat up. you like him taking care of you. you like how happy he looks while doing it too. he urges you to finish the whole glass and settles it on the bedside table. you tug at his shirt and he snorts before redirecting his attention to you.

he lays down on the bed properly and pulls you towards him, cradling your head against his chest. you throw your leg around his hip and he holds you close, your plushie sandwiched between your bodies. it feels nice.

"you okay?" he whispers, and you nod, burying your head in his chest. you want to say a lot of things— you want to tell him how much you love him, how much you appreciate him. how he has quite literally changed your life. you want to tell him he is the best thing to ever happen to you, and that you might die if he ever leaves you. you want to tell him that he's a great kisser, that you want him to teach you everything. that he smells amazing and that you've never felt as safe as you do with his strong arms wrapped around you.

"thank you," you whisper, voice small. you feel shy again, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. you're exhausted, that much is obvious. this experience has clearly overwhelmed you, and he watches you for a bit, his thumb gently caressing your damp cheek, wiping the now drying tear tracks on your skin.

"thank you, what?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face. he's cruel. you blush, hide your face with a groan before answering him shyly.

"thank you, appa."

"that's my girl." he adds proudly and you beam, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"i love you too," he whispers finally, and your eyes snap open. you tilt your head up to look at him, your heartbeat rising. he smiles softly— an unreadable look in his eyes. you resist the urge to cry again.

"i love you," you tell him again, your emotions so evident on your face. you're an open book to him. he leans down, presses kisses against your neck, making you giggle. you've never been this happy in your life.

you bury your face in his chest again and hold onto him tightly. he rests his chin on your head, and you whisper a confession against him. now that mr. inho is yours, now that you feel reassured that he might not actually leave you, you can finally admit it out loud.

"i hope he doesn't come back."

he tenses slightly, before relaxing. you don't care about his opinion on your admission— you're just glad to let it out. his hand pats your back gently, urging you to sleep. eventually, you do.

you snore in your sleep. it makes inho smile. you're still the same as you were when you were a kid. when he's sure you're fully out, he checks his phone. he opens his encrypted mail, watches with amusement the attachment from this morning— a low quality video of your father being slapped as he loses in ddakji. the second attachment is of your father's details and his player number. he holds back a smirk.

your father is predictable. he knew the son of a bitch would take the opportunity to make money as soon as he's presented with it. he's not surprised. from what he knows of him in the past decade— he knows he wouldn't make it past the first game. if he does, he knows enough to design something that will make sure he doesn't make it past another.

after losing his wife and child, inho lost a part of himself. but he feels a little complete now. in a way, he has found both in you— and he does love you, adore you with everything he has. he doesn't intend to let anything happen to you ever again. now that you've subconsciously given him the permission, he can do whatever the hell he wants to the piece of trash that is your father. accidents and missing persons cases are easy to bury, and he doubts you'd be sad if you think your father went missing while 'working on a case.' it's nothing out of the ordinary. you have him now, afterall. what else do you need? he'll be your father and your lover. it's not that hard a task. anything you want.

he gently runs a hand through your hair, examines the fading bruise on your face. it makes his jaw clench.

you're the light of his life and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you. he'll give you the life you deserve, fulfill the childhood that was stolen from you.

as you shift in his arms and mumble something incoherently; inho smiles. he puts the phone down and turns it off. with a newfound motivation, he presses another kiss to your forehead and pulls you closer.

tags: @gojoswaterbottle @melusinetears @mizzysx @starry-eyedxlove @ferrarifinnick @dilfismz @skibidirizzzlerrrr @cowuies @frontwomann @caramelcandescence @gemini-serpentis @showmeyourkickflip @lizaliza @namelesslosers @nightcovrd @snapeslittlewhore @thedreamingreaper @fariesrreal @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @solsticeex

YESS FINALLYY A LEE BYUNG HUN X READER I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCHH THANK YOU FOR THIS

Mistress

Pairing: Lee Byung Hun x Fem!Reader

Summary: No matter how many times you tried to distance yourself from him, you always ended up succumbing to the intensity of his touches and words.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (late-20s/50s), unsafe sex, infidelity

Word count: 1.9 k

a/n: It's my first time posting here, and English isn't my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.

The thumping music pulsed through the air, blending with laughter and lively conversation. The Squid Game 2 wrap party was at its peak—a well-earned celebration after months of hard work. You glanced around, awed by how far you had come. Being part of such a massive project had been an incredible opportunity, filled with unforgettable experiences and people… and one of them, one you should never have allowed, was the reason you had hesitated to come tonight.

Across the room, among the sea of familiar faces, you spotted Wi Ha-Joon approaching with his signature ear-to-ear grin. His contagious energy made you smile instinctively.

“Hey, beautiful. Glad to see you’re having fun,” he said before taking a sip of his drink.

“I wasn’t planning on coming, actually,” you admitted, holding your glass. You weren’t a big fan of these kinds of events, but alcohol certainly helped loosen you up.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“I guess I needed a distraction,” you shrugged.

Ha-Joon chuckled, raising his glass in a toast before continuing the conversation. A few drinks later, his proximity became more evident. You couldn’t deny how attractive he was—tall, strong, and completely shameless in his flirting. His hand rested subtly on your waist as you danced, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I need to use the restroom,” you said with a smile after a few minutes.

“I’ll be here,” he nodded, watching as you walked away.

You made your way toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, but just before turning the corner, a strong hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back with firm determination.

“What the f—?” The air caught in your throat when you recognized him. Lee Byung Hun. Damn it. You hadn’t even noticed he was at the party.

He dragged you into a dimly lit storage room, shutting the door behind him. Your heart pounded against your chest as you met his gaze—tense, irritated, and brimming with jealousy.

“I see you’ve been having fun,” he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes burned with resentment. “Is that idiot the reason you left me?”

Anger bubbled within you instantly. What right did he have to question you?

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped, yanking your arm free from his grip.

“So, you’re not denying it,” he continued, his jaw clenching.

“You know exactly why we couldn’t keep doing… this,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitterness.

“You can’t do this to me… I need you,” he blurted suddenly, desperation creeping into his tone.

Something in his expression cracked. He had spent the entire night watching you, seeing you laugh with another man, move so freely, so happily—something that had never been allowed when you were together in public.

“You can’t say that…” you whispered, lowering your gaze to his hand, where the ring on his finger gleamed under the dim light. “At the end of the night, you’ll go back to her.”

Your eyes burned, tears threatening to spill.

“You knew what this was from the start,” he tried to justify, in the worst way possible.

“I don’t need you to remind me,” your voice trembled, the ache in your chest deepening. It was true. You had known. From the very beginning. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Byung Hun exhaled sharply and stepped closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek—his tenderness a stark contrast to the storm in his gaze.

“I know you don’t want this to end like this…” he murmured, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

Your breath hitched as he moved even closer, his warmth enveloping you entirely. His scent, his presence—everything about him disarmed you with terrifying ease.

“Don’t make this harder…” you pleaded in a whisper, but even you didn’t believe your own words.

Time seemed to slow as his lips brushed against yours—soft, hesitant, offering one last warning, one last chance to stop him. But just like the first time, you didn’t.

His gentle, slow kisses quickly turned urgent, pressing you against the wall as his hands roamed your body with desperate need. His tongue parted your lips, stealing your breath and any coherent thought.

“Fuck…” he groaned against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, lower, marking you as his. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, and without hesitation, he slid it down, letting the fabric pool at your feet.

“Byung Hun…” you sighed as his lips traced the curve of your collarbone, his tongue leaving a blazing path toward your chest. Your fingers gripped his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He caught your silent plea, discarding his shirt and allowing you to admire the sculpted lines of his body. His large hands explored every inch of your body hungrily, skilled fingers slipping between your thighs, drawing a ragged moan from your lips.

“Look at what you do to me…” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed himself against you through his clothes. The hardness of his arousal was undeniable, and the heat of his body ignited every fiber of your being.

His firm hands guided you toward what seemed like a wooden table. You braced yourself against it, feeling his body settle between your legs.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered without you…” he murmured against your neck, leaving a trail of fervent kisses. His voice, thick with longing, made you tremble.

A gasp escaped your lips as two of his fingers slid inside you—wet, expert, touching that spot he knew so well. His movements were slow, torturously precise. In and out, twisting, exploring. Then, with his thumb, he rubbed delicate circles over your most sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“He’ll never have you like this,” he said with pride, enthralled by your sweet moans and the wetness dripping down his fingers.

You could barely process his words, your mind clouded by pleasure. You just wanted more. When you felt yourself reaching the edge, your body moved instinctively, desperately seeking release.

Finally, it hit you—your climax crashing over you as his name spilled from your lips, your body trembling against him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured with a dark smile, lowering his zipper. With both hands, he pushed down his pants and boxers, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, glistening with need.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around your throat with gentle firmness.

But you’re not mine, you wanted to say, but desire drowned out your thoughts. You only nodded, biting your lip.

Without another word, he thrust into you in one swift motion, a shared moan filling the room. His strokes were deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. The music from the party felt distant, drowned out by the sound of your mingled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“Shit…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him. “That’s it, princess… come for me.”

His raspy moans were your undoing. His mouth found yours, swallowing your cry as ecstasy overtook you. Seconds later, with a few erratic thrusts, he spilled into you, holding you close as your ragged breaths intertwined.

He rested his forehead against yours, still buried inside you.

“I love you,” he whispered, breathless.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it in these moments. You had tried to convince yourself not to take it seriously, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing it was true.

He noticed the shift in your expression. You looked hurt. He had spent weeks thinking about you, regretting all the times he had made you cry. And yet, here you were again.

"Listen to me..." He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve fucked up. With you, with my wife, with myself. You have every right to hate me."

He paused, studying your face. When you didn’t respond, he continued.

"I'm afraid of what will happen if this gets out. Of what they'll say about you, about me, about us. I'm afraid of hurting the mother of my children… but I'm also afraid of losing you."

You parted your lips to argue, but he stopped you.

"Please, let me finish." He knew you too well. He knew you were about to interrupt him.

"I know I'm selfish, irresponsible… but I want to make things right this time. I can’t lose you."

"What makes you think I even want to give you another chance?" you cut in, frowning.

He let out a wry smile.

"If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here like this, beautiful." You couldn't fool him. Not him, and not yourself.

"What exactly are you proposing?" You tried to sound cold. You tried. And you failed.

He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on your thigh.

"Give me a month. One month to talk to her, to start the process. I'm getting a divorce."

You looked at him in disbelief.

"I could give you a week, a month, or a year, and I still wouldn’t believe that," you admitted. You knew this was the usual lie a married man told to keep his mistress around. Mistress. The word made your stomach turn.

He sighed before finally pulling out of you, knowing you wouldn’t be easy to convince. A quiet gasp escaped your lips. He fixed his pants while you tried to steady your breathing and your thoughts. From his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and returned to you, wiping you gently.

You both dressed in complete silence. He zipped up your dress, and you helped him wipe away the lipstick you had left on his lips and part of his face.

"I know you don’t believe me," he said, holding your waist before you could step away. "But tonight, I’m talking to her."

You were about to tell him it was best to end this, but he shocked you by dropping to his knees and taking your hands in his.

"Please, trust me. I won’t fail you this time." His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes shining, on the verge of tears. You had never seen him like this.

Your emotions betrayed you. You found yourself nodding, even as every rational part of your mind screamed at you to walk away. But he was there, kneeling before you, looking at you with a mixture of vulnerability and determination that made you tremble.

As you stepped out, you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone familiar, but as if fate itself found the situation amusing, you crossed paths with Ha-Joon. The young man’s gaze flickered between the two of you before settling on you, his eyes filled with disappointment. He didn’t need to ask what had just happened—he already knew. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He only held your gaze for an agonizing few seconds before turning on his heel and walking away.

Byung Hun, standing beside you, straightened with an air of victory. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as he watched the younger man’s retreating figure. His hand slid down the curve of your hip before gripping your waist possessively, as if staking his claim.

This fr made my stomach move ANYWAYSS LOVEE IT AS ALWAYSSS

SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE — Hwang In-Ho

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ PAIRING — Hwang In-Ho x fem!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ INCLUDES — basic Squid game violence, maybe a little bit spice, age gap (reader is mid 20‘s In-house is late 40‘s), Jealousy

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ NOTE — Okay y‘all.. since my last fanfic about Sangwoo got lots of love, i decided to write another one.. this time about In-ho!!! I seriously love that guy it isn’t normal anymore… I also tried out a new writing style as i‘m still trying to find out a good style to write in, so let me know which one you prefer!!

I was talking to Gi-hun as I felt an uncomfortable feeling, someone was staring at me. But not the normal staring, the type of staring that would linger on you for way to long. The type of staring that made you feel uneasy right away. But i decided to shrug it off. „I hope the next game won’t be too difficult,“ Gi-hun said as he slowly exhaled.

„Me too.. the last game was exhausting enough.. I really thought we would’ve died when we only got 10 seconds left to make it to the finish line..“ I closed my eyes in relief, it was definitely an expierience for itself, Pentathlon felt like the hardest one.. Red Light Green Light was very easy.. just the shock of the people dying for the first time got to me.

„Hm.. let’s just dig in right? I think we need enough energy for today.“ Dae-ho said. I nodded and started to eat my food, listening to the others as they continued to talk. Me and Young-il were the only ones being quiet.

„Y/N-ah.. take my bread, i don‘t need it. You didn’t eat a lot yesterday after the game ended.“ Young-il smiled at me, it was a weird but reassuring smile.. it made me feel warm inside. „Oh really sir? It isn’t a problem or?“ I asked again, only to make sure. He just nodded and handed it to me, i didn’t take the whole tho, i broke it in half.

„Young-il sir, don’t give me everything, you also need some food and energy.“ I gave him the other half. He was a little shocked by my action, his eyes widened slightly. I looked up at his, before giving him a soft half-smile. He nodded and ate together with me.

We continued to eat in peace before guards came in. „Players, please follow us to the next game.“ the one in the middle said. We all looked at each other before hesitating to stand up. Young-il took my wrist to make sure i didn’t get lost in the crowd.

My cheeks got a light shade of pink as i quickly looked away. I heard a short chuckle coming out of Young-il‘s mouth. I just decided to ignore it, but my body made it hard. It completely gave me away, my heart skipping a beat at his sweet chuckle.

We followed the guards into a room, Young-il‘s grip tightened on me when we arrived inside. „What could this place be?“ I asked quietly as i looked around. The whole room was big and colorful. It counted 50 Doors, each having different colors, in the middle of the room there was a platform with a statue in the middle of it. It looked scary but also nostalgic, like a sweet children’s place, but knowing what happens in here, it didn’t seem so sweet as it looks.

„Players, please step on the platform in the middle of the room“ the creepy voice called out, I tensed at hearing it, which Young-il felt. He looked down at me, his hand letting go of my wrist but finding its way on my shoulder instead, drawing circles on it to reassure me.. which weirdly helped.

„When the game starts, the platform will spin. Shortly after, a number will be called out. You must then form a group that matches the number, enter one of the surrounding rooms and lock the door within 30 seconds, or be eliminated.“ We all slowly went to the platform, i kept holding onto Young-il somehow, only his presence already kept me safe..

„I repeat,“ I completely blended the creepy robot voice out as i was looking up at Young-il, captivated by his beauty. Of course he isn’t stupid, he noticed i was staring, but he enjoyed the moment just like me.

The other‘s talked, but i stayed quiet, they tried to make a planning what to do when certain numbers got called out. I held onto Young-il‘s arm, just listening closely to the others. After around 2 minutes, the platform suddenly started moving and music started playing. I accidently stumble at the sudden movement, but Young-il catched me with his strong arms.. „Are you okay?“ I just nodded.

I felt uneasy, this didn’t feel right. The song made me feel even more uncomfortable. Young-il noticed, he tried his best to help me, which did. His presence already made me feel better. Suddenly after some time, it stopped again. Everyone stumbled again.

„TEN“

I looked at Young-il, and then at Gi-hun. We were 5.. we needed 5 more. Hyun-ju came to us, „are you guys 5?!“ she quickly asked, the pressure in her voice was bearable. „We‘re 4! we just need one more!“

Gi-hun nodded, he looked out for someone, and noticed Jun-hee, it was the pregnant girl. She was nice earlier to me. He looked over to Hyun-ju who knew what he was symbolizing. 8 of us already went to the room quickly, Hyun-ju took Jun-hee‘s hand and guided her quickly but also gentle to us, after all she was pregnant.

We had 15 seconds left and Hyun-ju quickly closed the door, I was in a corner next to Young-il. He squeezed my hand to calm me down. He leaned down, whispering in my ear.

„We are ten, don’t worry. I‘ll protect you, yeah?“ His voice was low and raspy, i had to keep my composure and nodded. „Thank you Sir.“

He chuckled again, his breath touching my neck. „Drop the sir, yeah?“ I just nodded as i felt another blush creep up my face.

The timer was already over. We could hear gunshots, but Young-il covered my ears. He kept his promise, keeping me safe.

„The following Players were eliminated: Player 013, 043, 049, 054, 060..“ Our room was quiet, Gi-hun was looking throught the little slit of the door, watching the people getting taken away.

The atmosphere was tensed, everyone was breathing heavily. Yet Young-il was calm as always, drawing circles on me again, but this time, on the inside of my arm. Shortly after, out doors were unlocked, and we slowly went out. I almost slipped from the blood on they floor, but luckily Young-il kept me in his arms.

And everything repeated, the platform started spinning and the music went on. This time i didn’t stumble, as it was as unexpected as last time. And soon after, it stopped again.

„FOUR“

we all looked at each other in panic, we were 5, shit.. Young-il look at Gi-hun before pushing me into his arms. „Take care of her, and go, Now!“ He yelled, Gi-hun catched me quickly, but i tried to get away from his grip. „Young-il!“ I screamed out, but i couldn’t run after him. Gi-hun just let out a quick „don’t worry“ and ran with me in his hand to a free door. Dae-ho quickly closed it after we got in. I was rushing to look through the slit, but i couldn’t find him.. Shit, where was he???, Gi-hun tried to pull me away, but i just hit his hand away.

5 seconds later the door locked. I flinched at the gunshots, but i couldn‘t care less, all i cared for in the moment was Young-il.

The creepy voice called out who was eliminated again, but i couldn’t focus on it, i tried to see if Young-il was out there.. he can’t die, what would i do without him?

The doors unlocked, i slowly opened it, my hands shaking. Dae-ho took my shoulders, he tried to help me calm down. But it didn‘t, it wasnt the same touch Young-il had.. it didnt feel right. We slowly walked to the platform.

I couldn’t spot him, my heart sinking, before i felt Dae-ho being pushed away from me. I got hugged from behind. I immediately recognized Young-il‘s strong arms around me. Gi-hun spoke up, „Young-il! You made it“. You could tell he was happy to see him too, but he just nodded and gave him a smile, before whispering into my eyes.

„I told you i will survive and protect you at all cost, Baby.“ This made something with me, he smirked to himself, i could sense that. He knows what he did to me. Letting go of me he talked to the others again. I just stood next to them, listening closely.

This game went on quite for some time now, and slowly i started to feel exhausted. I knew that as soon as we would be back at the dorm, i would take a big nap. This was the last round, the music was going on and for a moment everything felt good.

„The next number will be two,“ Young-il said, i looked up to him. „What do you mean?“ I asked, we were 5, what if one of us doesn’t find a partner? „We are 126 players left, there are 50 doors, when the number will be 2, it can only hold 100 people.“

It made sense, it would bring out a fight to whom will get a room, and for sure 26 of them won’t. „It makes sense, I think so too.“ Gi-hun agreed with him, „Me and Y/N will go together,“ Young-il said, taking my hands in his, our Fingers intertwined. It made me look down. My heart skipping a beat. „Jung-bae, go with Dae-ho.. I‘ll find someone.“ Gi-hun said, Jung-bae wanted to say something against it, but suddenly the platform stopped

„TWO“

Jung-bae couldn’t do anything and had to take Dae-ho with him Gi-hun went to search for a partner, and Young-il took me to a room. On the way there, a guy pushed me down and tried to get into the room me and Young-il chose. You could see the rage in his eyes. He took the guy by his collar, pushing him away. He took my hand and helped me up quickly. We made it into the room, 18 seconds left. I exhaled but stopped. We heard another guy in here, shaky breath.

„OUT!“ Young-il yelled angry, the guy shook his head. „I was here first!“ he shouted back, pressing himself into the corner. „I said, go. out.“ His eyes were sharp, his voice cold and loud.

„Push her out, Girls are weak anywa-” he couldn’t finish his sentence, before Young-il went behind him. He choked him, slowly sliding down the wall as he cut off his breathing way. The guy was struggling. But the most intimidating about this was the way he looked at me while he did so.

„Ten“

„Nine“

„Eight“

„Seven“

„Six“

„Five“

„Four“

„three“

Suddenly, Young-il turned his head, which let out a loud ‚CRACK‘ the door locked a second after he died. Young-il stood up, slowly walking to me, not braking the eye contact. He trapped me at the wall, his arms on each of my sides, keeping me from moving.

He pressed his lips sharp onto mine, i melted at the touch, but at the same time, i didn’t. Trembling beneath him. My hands wandered to his neck before i closed my eyes and eventually gave in, kissing him back. The kiss quickly turned into a tounge kiss, the Gunshots were completely ignored. He backed away, before moving to my neck, kissing it, biting on it, I let myself relax, whimpering at his touch. He let go, making my groan a little, he smirked to himself. His mouth went to my ear, he whispered into it, before biting my earlobe a little.

„You won’t tell anyone yeah? This will be our little secret, Darling.“

Okay i might make a second part out of this, because i‘m to lazy to write more at the moment, might even publish it tomorrow👀 stay tuned my loves!!! If you want to be tagged in the second part, comment below!

I swear I need an entire series so bad 😭😭

˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐏𝐭 𝟐

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. After you entered his life, everything changed. His secret is becoming harder to hide, along with his love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF with SMUT! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 3k Part 1! -> here!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were twelve when you started to dance.

You had been walking with your friend, heading to a convenience store when you saw it.

“Limelight Dance Studio”

However, it wasn’t the sign that caught your attention. Or the big beautiful building that looked like it belonged in a fairytale. What caught your attention was the woman walking into the studio.

Her hair was in a tight, slick bun, and her loose jacket covered her torso. Her pointe shoes were clutched in her hand as she rushed in, pushing past the door as she headed toward her class.

That day you went home and marched straight up to your mother, a flier clutched in your tiny hands. She said no at first, practically shattering your small heart. But without you knowing, she spent that month saving every cent she could, surprising you with a pair of ballet flats and admission to the dance studio.

From then on, your life centered around ballet.

At 17, you finally transitioned to Pointe after years of training. And once you laced the ribbons, you were unstoppable. Every time you were on stage, you were in your element. Glowing with potential.

Dancing is where you thrive. It’s where you belonged.

You studied abroad at Juilliard for four years, becoming the perfect ballerina you had strived to be. And when you returned, the Seoul Ballet Company practically begged you to dance for them.

You accepted the offer calmly, but deep down the little girl who had fallen in love with dance was screaming. You have finally achieved your dream.

You were perfect. Life was perfect. It was fulfilled, and you didn’t need anything more.

Right?

You had your fair share of relationships, but nothing ever serious. Not when your life centered around ballet. Your career was always the main reason your relationships ended, but you couldn't care less.

Men didn't make you happy, dance did.

And you knew that for a relationship to work, you would have to find someone just like you. Busy, determined, focused, perfect.

One night, after many glasses of wine, you realize your standards are extremely unrealistic.

Which, they are.

So you decided to give up on dating.

But often, when it’s late at night, you find yourself lonely. You thought about getting a cat, which you had been excited about. But your bitchy landlord didn’t allow it. So instead, you found comfort in watching old movies.

They came on after dark. The black and white glow illuminating your small living room. You would come home from practice, tossing your bag by the front door before jumping onto the couch. Snacks in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and your eyes glued to the flatscreen. You would stay up late, watching Audrey Hepburn explore Rome or enjoy a breakfast at Tiffany's until you fall asleep.

You’d wake up at 8:00 am, sluggishly getting ready for the gym before chugging your espresso. You’d work out, maybe some pilates or weight training, then grab some lunch. Sometimes you would come home and take a nap, sometimes you would hang out with friends, but often you found yourself lounging by the cafe.

People watching had became your favorite activity.

You’d sit in the uncomfortable metal chair, your chicken salad sandwich sitting untouched on the table in front of you, and you’d watch as people went about their day.

The cafe was placed across the street from a tall building full of luxury apartments, which you bet probably allowed cats. Yes, you were still bitter about that.

One specific day, when you were sitting in the familiar metal chair, you found yourself watching someone intently.

He was quickly walking down the sidewalk, carefully dodging people as he carried a brown bag full of groceries. You gasped as a stranger ran out in front of him abruptly, knocking his belongings to the floor.

You scoffed as the person he’d crashed into walked past, not even offering to help. And your feet almost moved on their own as you walked straight over to help him gather his groceries.

Little words were exchanged, “Thank you.” “You didn’t have to do that.” “Have a nice day.” You assumed he didn’t pay much attention to the interaction.

But you did.

There was something so captivating about him. Something so endearing that captured your attention, something you couldn’t quite describe.

Since then, you often hoped to see him again.

You just didn’t expect to see him in the front row at your ballet.

That was a surprise.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Pspspsps!” You rubbed your fingers together, bending down to the ground, “Come here, Elisabeth. Pspsps!”

The fluffy white cat came around the corner, eying you with skepticism as you motioned her to approach you. She was a sassy girl and didn’t fully trust you yet, but that didn’t bug you.

She was honestly intimidating.

You smile widely as she walks towards you, happy to finally make a connection with her. But as she walked past you without even a glance, you sighed, watching as she planted herself in front of your boyfriend's feet.

You stood up and rested your hands on your hips, "She'll love me one day." You watched as she rubbed against In-ho's legs, a quiet purr causing a small smile to form on your lips.

She is intimidating, but she sure is cute.

In-ho keeps his gaze on you, watching how you slightly pout at Elisabeth's adorable nature. His heart flutters, something that's becoming increasingly common in the last five months of your relationship.

It has been five months since your ankle fracture, which is now completely healed thanks to In-ho's firm instructions to rest. You honestly think he just didn't want you to leave his apartment, but you weren't complaining.

Five months since your shared kiss that ultimately changed both of your lives. You moved in after about three months, which turned out to be a great idea, despite everyone saying it was too soon. When he first brought up the question, you were skeptical. But as soon as he mentioned an in-unit washer and dryer, you took the key.

Your mother was concerned at first, especially about the age gap. But you brushed it off. In-ho was quite literally perfect for you, as were you for him. Age didn't matter to you when you both completed each other's heart.

The first thing you did when you moved in was decorate. Not his entire apartment, obviously, but you did go to Home Depot and buy a few plants.

Cat-safe, of course.

Once your ankle healed, you went back to dancing. And, just like before, every Friday In-ho would watch you practice. Though he doesn't sit in the back anymore, he sits front and center.

After your practice, he always gives you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tulips. He would take your bag with his arm around yours, and you would walk to your apartment together.

Life was, simply put, perfect.

It was bliss. A happiness that was only obtained when you brought down your walls and let a stranger in. A stranger who captured your heart, mind, and everything in between.

When you first discovered his collection of old films and music, you could've sworn you fell in love with him just then. You knew you were perfect for each other already, but the shared interest solidified that.

Nights aren't lonely anymore. Not when your bed is shared by the man who you adore, and a fluffy white cat who is determined to sleep with you.

His arms are wrapped around you, your back pressed to his chest as he holds you tight. His head nuzzled into the back of your neck as he snores, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as you dream.

Your legs are tangled, intertwined under the covers as your hearts beat the same rhythm. Your hands are wrapped on top of his, the feeling of being in his arms familiar and comfortable. It would be impossible to sleep without each other, you both knew that.

So when In-ho sits you down on a warm June night and explains he has to leave for a work trip, you cry. I know, it's dramatic. But you had spent the last five months in each other's presence. Holding each other, kissing each other, making love on the very bed you sleep in together. Where you went, he followed. Where he traveled, you joined.

You needed him. He was the air that filled your lungs, giving you breath. He was the blood that flowed through your veins and pumped your heart, giving you life. He was your soul, your mind. He had you wrapped around his finger, and you knew it.

Vice versa, you were his whole being. He based every decision around you, around your future together. He's made sacrifices you couldn't even imagine. He went from letting the games be the center of his life, to you being the center of his universe.

You were all he could think about.

Important business meeting about the upcoming games? Forget it. In-ho is at home making Kimchi with you, having forgotten all about it.

Meeting with the V.I.P's? What meeting. In-ho is too busy indulging in his desire with his tongue deep in your core, a hand clamped around your throat.

You were his sole purpose on this earth. Where you walked, flowers bloomed behind you. Wherever you went, the sun would shine. In-ho felt he didn't deserve you. No, he knew he didn't deserve you.

He never told you that though. Of course, if he did, you would smack him upside the head, "Seven days? Where are they making you go?" You cried into his shoulder, your body resting on his lap as he sat back on the plush couch.

His heart breaks a little at the sound of your cries, his thumb brushing away the tears that fell, "I just have to host this private game. I'll be back so soon, I promise." Your cries didn't change, his shirt dampening as you snuggled deeper into his chest, "I will call you every chance I can. I promise."

You looked up at him, giving a pathetic sniffle as you spoke, "When do you leave?" You sit up fully now, straightening your top. He rubs his big hand over your arm, watching as goosebumps trail behind.

He looks up at you, a hand fiddling with your exposed bra strap, "Tomorrow morning." He sighs as he watches a pout form on your pretty mouth, his thumb brushing over your lips.

"What do I do while you're gone?" You pull his hand from your face, holding it in your own as you play with his fingers.

In-ho hasn't failed to notice how his pants tightened since you've been sitting innocently on his lap, your hips slowly rocking as you sobbed into his shoulder moments ago. You knew it too. The second he played with your bra strap, the emotion in the air changed from angst to lust.

And if he was going to be gone for seven days, might as well enjoy the night, "Come here." His voice was low and demanding as he took his hand from your grasp, taking a hold of your side.

Your mouth parted as his hand moved down, softly caressing every curve of your perfect body. Though his eyes stayed peering into your own, watching your reaction to every touch.

He smirked as you gave a breathless gasp, his hand pinching your hip as you slowly grind your hips down. His hard cock rubbing against your desire raises an all-too-familiar feeling in the deep of your stomach.

Wordlessly, his hand comes behind you, laying you down on the couch as he stands up. Towering over your body as he unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes trail across every inch of exposed skin.

He moves between your legs, his hands coming to your face as he pulls you into a needy kiss. Your hands find his back, your fingers rubbing, digging into his skin as he fucks your mouth with his tongue.

He pulls away, breathlessly moving his hands down to the hem of your shirt. You watch with lustful eyes as he tugs your top up and over your head with one swift motion. His hands find your bare skin, pinching and squeezing your sides with hunger in his dark eyes.

Heat pools between your thighs, your hand sneaking under your panties as In-ho unhooks your bra swiftly. He leans back, taking you in awe as he trails his eyes over your body.

He gives a small laugh at the sight of your hand slowly fucking yourself, "Tsk, as much as I love seeing you do that, you will have seven days to do it. Tonight, you don't have to do a thing."

Your eyes snap open as he dips his hand under your panties and over your own, moving your hand up to your parted mouth. He pushes your hand towards your lips, a smirk evident on his own as he puts your delicate fingers inside your pretty mouth.

He sighs as you taste yourself, the heat becoming unbearable between your goose-bumped legs, "See how sweet you taste? Do you see why im starved all the time?" He kisses your jaw between his words, his hands slipping off your bottoms, your panties gone with it.

He stands again, tossing your clothes into a pile, his bottoms going with it. He towers over the couch, intimidating you like he did all those months ago.

You sit up, your small hands delicately reaching up and leaving tiny bolts of electricity on his abs as you trace down. You take your thumb, wiping the precum from his sensitive tip. His head falls back just from that touch alone, and as desperate as he is to see your lips swollen and wrapped around him, he remembers his promise.

You lean down, your lips centimeters away from his length when his strong hand pulls your chin up, "You aren't doing a thing, remember?" You whine, his strong arms laying you back down on the couch.

He comes between your legs again, lifting your hips up as he traces his cock between your pussy. The sound of your slick fills his ears, and a small "fuck" falls from his lips. It takes everything in you not to buck your hips, the need becoming irresistible as he lines himself up with your core.

He takes a hand and lifts your face, desperate to see your pretty eyes as he fucks into you. As he sinks in, the familiar feeling of ecstasy overtakes him as he stretches you.

He sets a rhythm, fucking you as he stares into your eyes, your eyebrows raised and mouth agape as your hips meet with a slap. His free hand comes behind your waist, supporting your legs as you meet his thrusts.

In-ho didnt fuck.

He made love.

And that shit was passionate as fuck.

His eyes never left yours. Not once. Not even when he places a hand on your stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock deep in your womb. You, on the other hand, writhed beneath him. Your moans filling your shared apartment, mixing with the pornographic sounds from In-ho,.

Your head sank back into the couch, your hand coming to hold his own as he quickened his thrusts. His other hand that supported you moved to your clit, pressing and rubbing perfectly over your sensitive bud.

If there was one thing about In-ho, it's that he's determined to make you cum with him.

Every. Single. Time.

So when his hand reaches your clit, you know he's close, "In-ho, please- god. Please don't stop." You didn't yell or scream. Your voice was sultry, full of desire.

He throws a head back at your words, his warmth spilling deep into your womb with one final deep thrust as you clench around him. You meet him, finding your own ethereal as you reach your climax.

He whines with his thrusts as he slows down, emptying into your tight core, "When... when I'm gone." You furrow your eyebrows, catching your breath as he pulls out of you, "This next week, when I'm gone."

He lays with you on the couch, pulling you to lay on his chest, "Whenever you need me, I want you to use your pretty little fingers and fuck yourself while you think about this moment." You blushed, despite just taking his cock only a moment ago.

He brings his hand to your face, his thumb parting your lips, "Can you promise me that?" Your eyes slightly water, remembering why you were even crying in the first place.

"I promise." Your voice was a whisper, smiling up at In-ho as he kissed your forehead. You take a deep breath, realizing just how much he means to you. Just how much you need him.

If only you knew.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

An: I actually wrote most of this during my mom's colonoscopy LMFAO. Also, guys imma be so fr with you, I'm so tired lmao. But here! The long-awaited part 2 which is basically just fluff to smut lmao. I've never been one to really write part twos (I hate feeling like I HAVE to write because then it turns into a chore) BUT I actually enjoyed writing this one. Im gonna work through my requests and also please join my taglist! Love you guys!

@sxmmerchxldblog @bohemiandelilah @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen  @menabuser16 @speedymagazinewhispers @nellabear  @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers @lovelymindescape @macnbriee @rosegracewood09@gurjxxpp11 @shadow-tumbler @veiledsaint @rosyflowerss

PLEASEEEE PLEASEE IM BEGGING YOUU I NEED MOREEE 😫

“friend or foe” pt.2

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

the next day, you ate breakfast with in-ho and the team. they discussed different strategies and games in which they might have to play.

naturally, in-ho had given his milk to you even after much protests. he explained how it would help you get stronger and ready for the games.

“where’s my milk?” jung-bae sulked as everyone laughed.

you stayed beside in-ho the entire time. since after the second game, you had grown very fond of him. and luckily for you, so did he.

he felt protective of you, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. even more so in a place like this. when you were caught up with thanos’ team, trying to save yourself after bumping into nam-gyu

in-ho made sure to step up, teaching thanos and his friends a lesson for laying a hand on you, or even threatening you.

he would have went feral if you hadn’t stopped him by pulling him away into a corner, helping him cool off.

“it’s okay, i’m okay.” you told him as you tried to get him to tear his eyes away from glaring at thanos.

“did they hurt you?” he simply asked, ignoring everything else you had just said.

‘no’. you shook your head.

after that, he made sure he always had you within feet from him.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

when it was time for the third game, in-ho held your hand as everyone walked towards the game room.

“i hope it’s something we can play in teams.” he said to you, making you smile.

“why? so you can team up with me?” you teased.

“of course.”

when you reached the game room, a large carousel sat in the center of the room. around it were different colored doors with numbers on them, 1-50.

“what is this?” in-ho wondered out loud as a voice came through the speakers.

‘the game is mingle. the carousel will move when the music plays…once it stops, a number will be called out. the number is the number of people you will need to have in your group before you enter a room of your choice.’

“shit.” you cursed under your breath.

it was going to be a bloodbath.

of course, in-ho already knew this. he might have been acting scared, but deep down, he was. how was he to garuntee your safety in a game like this.

if he didn’t come up with anything quickly, he could mess up the game, or worse, lose you.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

‘start’

ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a

as the giant carousel began to rotate, in-ho’s grip on your hand became tighter.

‘10’

“we need 5!” gi-hun yelled over the chaos that insued.

“we’re 5! let’s go! green door!” player 120 said as both teams ran for the door.

inside, in-ho made sure you were okay first before he checked on the rest.

“you should be thanking me!” a woman suddenly declared, throwing her hand up in the air. “without me, you all would have died!”

“geez! the ego on this woman.” jung-bae scoffed.

then, she whipped her head around, finger flying to your face as she stopped inches away, almost hitting you.

“can i help you?” you asked.

“you… you’re here for a purpose.” she said.

in-ho pulled you aside, stepping in front as he glared at the woman.

“you talk to her again and i’ll make sure you’re locked outside.”

the woman could only gulp.

just in time, the door unlocked, saving the lady’s ass as well as yours.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

“fuckin’ crazy sharman lady.” in-ho muttered to himself as he got back up onto the platform.

you giggled. it was funny how he was affected by everything else but the deadly game he was in the midst of.

‘4’

shit. someone was going to be left behind.

“gi-hun! take her, i’ll find others!” in-ho instructed as gi-hun nodded, grabbing your arm and dashing into a room.

“young-il!” you screamed as you were being dragged away from him.

he was so selfless, he only cared about saving you and his ‘friends’.

“he’ll be okay.” dae-ho told you as he stood beside you, peeping through the hole in the door.

the next few minutes were excruciating. you couldn’t find in-ho in the running, desperate crowd.

little did you know, in-ho was in a room on his own, locking it before anyone could enter.

he catched his breath as a guard came up to the doorhole, aiming his gun at him.

“stand down.” in-ho ordered, making the guard turn away, walking off.

when the doors unlocked, you sprinted out.

“there!” gi-hun called out, pointing to in-ho who was running towards you.

you practically flung yourself onto him, taking him aback as he laughed.

“oh my god, i was so worried.” you told him as you pulled away.

“you can’t rid of me that easy.”

“ah! we thought you couldn’t find enough people in time!” jung-bae chipped in.

“i’m a very likeable man, i do well in these games.” he joked.

⟢ ──── ●▲■ ──── ⟢

when it came down to the final round, a thick air of tension filled the atmosphere.

the last number was announced, ‘2’. you knew exactly what they were doing. around 150 people left, 50 rooms, you were going to have to fight for the rooms.

the team had split up, in-ho naturally sticking eith you as you both ran for the nearest room.

just as you were about to enter, you felt a strong push, knocking you to the ground onto your back as the man took your place, shutting the door as the timer hit 0.

“y/n!” in-ho shouted as tears started to fill your eyes.

“young-il… don’t let me die.” you cried.

oh, he was angry. angry wasn’t even actually able to cover it. he was fuming.

he picked up the man by the collar, punching and kicking him as he yelled in frustration.

as the guards approached you, you heard his voice.

“standdown! now!” he said, “that is an order.”

just like that, the gun held up towards your temple was gone. the guard walked over to the room, using a set of keys to open it before standing behind you.

in-ho however did not step out. he simply grabbed the man who was already fighting for his dear life, locking him in a headlock.

“w-what?” you asked, backing away from in-ho as his eyes pooled with anger.

“take her upstairs.” he said to the guard as he nodded, lifting you up and dragging you away.

the last thing you heard was the loud crack of the man’s neck echoing through your ears.

(i am going insane)

I LOVE HOW ITS LIKEE JUST DAILY OR NORMAL LIFE WITH IN-HO LIKEE MWA MWAA CHEFS KISS 👌💛

 Which Boyfriend Calls Back First?

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your friends test your boyfriends' responsiveness with a playful TikTok challenge, and naturally, your devoted boyfriend In-ho is the first to call back.

Warnings: Fluff, Cute!inho, Clingy!Inho, Protective!Inho.

Word count: 1k

You and your four friends—Yuri, May, Chaein, and Hayoung—gather around the dining table, each of you armed with your smartphones. The room buzzes with a mix of excitement and nervous laughter as you all prepare to join the latest TikTok trend: determining which of your boyfriends will respond the fastest to a missed call.

"Okay, ladies, are we ready?" Yuri asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Ready!" everyone chimes in unison.

You steal a glance at your friends, feeling the collective anticipation building up. "Alright, on the count of three: one, two, three!" you call out.

You all dial your respective partners simultaneously and then quickly hang up, creating what’s known as a "flash" call. The five of you place your phones back on the table, the screens facing up, and exchange amused and curious glances, eager to see which boyfriend will react first.

May leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a smirk. "I bet Mark will call me back first. He's always so quick to respond."

Chaein laughs, shaking her head. "Oh please, Sunoo is definitely the fastest. Just wait and see."

You feel a familiar flutter of excitement as you look at your phone, fully confident in In-ho’s attentiveness. "Well, let’s just see about that," you say, grinning.

"Honestly, In-ho will probably call back first because he's so obsessed with Y/N. I mean, I'm surprised he even let her come out tonight," Yuri jokes with a knowing smile. 

It was no exaggeration; you and In-ho were practically inseparable. He despised being apart from you and would become upset if you were away for even a few hours. Heading out tonight to spend time with your friends had been an uphill battle, as he did everything he could to persuade you to stay with him instead. His unwavering devotion and the way he always wanted to be near you were endearing, adding a touch of romance to your relationship that made your bond even stronger.

Within moments, your phone lights up and starts ringing. The screen displays In-ho's name, and your heart does a little flip. You catch the surprised looks from your friends and can't help but laugh.

"Damn, In-ho’s fast!" Hayoung exclaims, genuinely impressed.

You pick up your phone, feeling a surge of warmth. "Hello?" you answer, trying to suppress a giggle.

"Is everything okay?" In-ho’s voice comes through, filled with concern.

"Everything's fine, love. It was just a little game we were playing," you say, your voice softening.

In-ho is renowned for his authoritative role and his emotionally guarded demeanor, but in moments like these, the depth of his love for you becomes undeniably clear. Despite the demands of his position as the Front Man, where he commands control and garners respect from everyone around him, you are the exception to his rigid exterior. Even amidst his busy schedule, he always ensures to carve out time for you, willing to drop anything at a moment's notice just to be by your side.

The room fills with light-hearted groans and chuckles as your friends mock-complain about losing the lighthearted competition. "Looks like Y/N's the winner," Yuri concedes with a playful pout.

You walk into another room, still on the phone with your love. In-ho's concern is palpable, yet there's a gentle humor in his voice as he says, "I could hear those groans and laughs—sounds lively over there."

"It's definitely lively," you reply, a soft laugh escaping. "We're just caught up in a silly game right now. But everything's all good, nothing to worry about."

There’s a brief pause, and you can imagine him thoughtfully staring into the distance, just as he often does.

"Are you having fun?" he asks, his tone lightening.

You smile, "Yeah, it's a lot of fun. We're all really into these goofy challenges."

"Good," In-ho replies, a warm undertone in his voice. "Do you need me to pick up anything from the store before you come back home?"

You think for a moment and then smile. "Actually, could you grab some snacks for later? You know, our usuals."

"Consider it done," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Anything else?"

"No, that should be it. Thanks, love," you say, feeling grateful for his thoughtfulness. "Just get yourself home safely."

"I will," he promises. "I miss you."

Your heart swells at his simple admission. "I miss you too," you reply softly. "I'll see you soon."

As you hang up, your thoughts wander to the unique dynamic of your relationship with In-ho. You know that most people would probably find having a clingy, overprotective boyfriend suffocating or annoying. They might complain about the constant check-ins or the way he always wants to know you're safe. But for you, it's different. His attentiveness and concern are like a warm blanket on a cold night—they wrap you in a sense of comfort and security that you've come to cherish deeply.

You love how every call, every message from him is a small reminder that you are loved and valued. In a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable, his protective nature provides a reassuring constant. In-ho has a way of making you feel like you are the most important person in his world, and it's a feeling you wouldn't trade for anything.

Your mind drifts back to a conversation you had with him not long ago. He had confessed that he had never been this way with anyone before. "I've never felt the need to be so protective," he had admitted, his voice soft but sincere. "But with you, I just want to make sure you're always okay."

His words had struck a chord deep within you. Knowing that his behavior wasn't a default setting but something unique to your relationship made you appreciate it even more. It was as if you had unlocked a part of him that had remained hidden until you came into his life.

Rejoining your friends, you can't help but smile, the warmth of In-ho's recent call lingering like a tender embrace. The noise and laughter around you feel a bit more vibrant, the evening a bit more enjoyable, all because of the love and devotion you know is waiting for you at home.

I would definitely recommend this series I can’t explain how much I love it 💕

Thank you for blessing my eyes with this beautiful masterpiece 😭💕

DUSK TILL DAWN MASTERLIST

pairing: hwang inho x fem reader

warnings: stated in every part

dusk till dawn

baby i'm right here (finale)

blurbs and extras:

fly me to the moon

comment to be tagged in future blurbs!

GURLL THATS SO FR LIKE IVE READ EVERYTHING ALR I NEED MOREEE 😭

i need this man in ways that is concerning to feminism SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE FOR HIM IM WAITING PATIENTLY😭😭

AHHHH I LOVEE THIS SO SO MUCH I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE IT 🩷

fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

word count: 4.2k

THIRD & FINAL INSTALLMENT IN THE DUSK TILL DAWN SERIES. READ PART 1 AND 2 HERE.

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his public bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

I LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCHHH 😫😫

I wanted to request a Frontman smut where he gets really jealous and possessive. You can write the storyline however you want. Thank you and much love from Germany 🖤

i'm so sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it! i really enjoyed writing this one!!

You're Mine

hwang in-ho | front man x reader

ao3 link

masterlist

song inspiration: you're mine by phantogram

warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY

You sat in the large leather chair, listening to quiet jazz music as you finished up your work for the day on your tablet. The final round was to begin tomorrow, and the remaining three players had just finished their celebratory dinner. As the day was turning to evening, In-ho was still out dealing with the intruder. You wanted to go with him and help, but had too many things to deal with, mainly keeping the VIPs from figuring out what was going on. 

Your relationship with In-ho was a strange one. You’d worked together now for about a year, and in many ways you felt like you knew him as a close friend and a stranger at the same time. You knew many things about him yet still longed to know more, and sometimes he felt so far away you’d questioned everything you’d known about him before. He was an enigmatic figure to you. 

At times, you felt your heart leap at the thought of him, or the sight of him, and wondered if he felt the same for you. You wanted to think he did when his eyes lingered on you a second too long, or when he stood a little too close to you, but nothing ever happened beyond little things like that, and it confused you. And because of his temperament, you never wanted to make the first move.

As you sat there wondering how he was doing with the intruder, you were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of the elevator opening. You turned around in the chair to see In-ho walking down the hallway, hand over his shoulder and mask still on. He walked straight to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. You could tell, even under the mask, he was upset.

You decided to stay put, not wanting to interfere with whatever he was dealing with. After a while, you heard shuffling and a soft clang on metal on metal, followed by a groan. He was clearly in a lot of pain. What the hell was going on?

Before you could decide whether or not to offer help, you heard a loud thud and the clanging of metal falling to the ground. You quickly stood up and rushed to the door, hesitating in confusion before knocking. 

“In-ho? Are you okay?”

Complete silence followed.

You knocked again with no response. After a few moments, you slowly opened the door to find In-ho lying on the ground unconscious, blood pouring out of a wound on his shoulder. He’d removed his mask and coat to reveal a black tank top.

“In-ho?!” you cried, stunned. He was unresponsive.

You kneeled next to him, shaking his uninjured shoulder to get him to wake up, but nothing worked. The bleeding continued and by the pale color in his face, you knew it was dire. Looking around, you noticed a bullet in a metal dish and first aid supplies on the counter.

You quickly grabbed everything you could and began to treat his wound. He definitely needed stitches. Fortunately you’d been trained for moments like this, though it wasn’t the ideal option. After stitching the wound and applying bandages, you lifted him up as best as you could at the shoulders to lean him on the wall. He still hadn’t awoken, but thankfully the color was returning to his face.

You wet a small towel and began to gently wipe around his face and neck. You were beyond concerned, hoping he would wake up soon. If he didn’t, you’d probably have to bring this up with the others, and if the VIPs found out there was an intruder… it might be worse than getting shot.

You sighed as these thoughts swirled in your mind, and began to clean the blood around his arm and shoulder. You were worried about the VIPs, of course, but most of all you just hoped he would be okay. What would you do if he wasn’t around anymore? Selfishly, you almost regretted never being forward with your feelings for him. What if it was too late?

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, but you tried to keep it in, taking a deep breath to try to calm yourself. As you looked around, unsure of what to do next, you heard In-ho groan. Pain was etched on his face, but you were just happy he was conscious and alive.

“In-ho? In-ho, it’s me.” You gently touched his hand to let him know of your presence.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked at you. He took a deep breath, grimacing, before looking around. 

“In-ho, what happened?”

He looked at you and leaned his head back on the wall, closing his eyes. You could tell he was trying to push through the pain, so you stood up to grab some pain medication and filled a glass of water at the sink.

You kneeled down again. “Here, take this.” You put the pill in his mouth and held the glass to his lips, encouraging him to drink. He looked at you confused for a moment before sipping the water, and took the glass with his good arm.

You sat there as he drank and set the water down. In-ho looked down at his wound, noticing it was bandaged. He sighed and reached forward, touching his hand on yours.

“Thank you.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on you. Your mind was already shaken from fear of In-ho not making it, but now you were even more overwhelmed.

“Was it the intruder?” you asked, softly.

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?”

“Gone.”

You nodded. At least that was taken care of. You sighed, feeling exhausted to your core. It was late and both of you needed to rest. You stood up and reached your hand out to him.

“You should get some rest.”

He sighed and held your hand, slowly standing up with your help. Instantly, he groaned from dizziness, and leaned on your shoulders for support. You slowly walked him to his room towards his bed, helping him sit down. He sat up on his headboard and pillow, his head drifting to the side from his delirious state.

You noticed he started bleeding again and quickly grabbed more bandages and towels. As you fixed him up again, he groaned from the pain but still seemed out of it. It killed you inside to cause him pain but you knew it was necessary. After finishing up, you wiped the sweat from his face again, sitting next to him on the bed.

In-ho looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his breath calming.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered, slightly smiling.

You softly chuckled, not used to hearing such words from him. You continued to gently wipe his face, and he put his hand over yours. You stared at him silently as his hand grasped yours tightly. It was at this moment you noticed your faces were incredibly close, and you felt your cheeks flush red. 

You stared at each other for several moments, and you felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him. But what if he didn’t feel the same for you? What if you were just caught up in the moment? You felt selfish for wanting him after something so terrible just happened.

Your fears were quickly quelled when he leaned forward ever so slightly. “Come here.”

That was all you needed to hear. You gently leaned forward and pressed your lips on his, his lips eagerly responding to yours. For as tough of an image as he had, his lips were so satisfyingly soft. You pulled away and looked at each other for a brief moment, almost silently asking for permission to continue, before he leaned forward to kiss you again. You dropped the damp towel and held his face with both hands as he reached forward to touch your face. Though his other arm had limited movement from his injured shoulder, he reached forward and rested that hand on your thigh.

Your kisses were quickly becoming more intense and heated, and In-ho reached his hand from your face to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him and deepening the kiss. As your tongues began melting with each other, he lightly pulled on your hair and you moaned softly. He groaned in response, pulling your hair harder. You were getting lost in the moment and leaned forward, starting to move to sit on his lap as his hands went to your sides. Immediately, In-ho groaned and pulled away.

He grasped his shoulder out of pain, grimacing. You sat back down next to him, ashamed for going too far while he was in this condition. Now wasn’t the time no matter how much you both wanted it. You both needed to rest, and In-ho was clearly too delirious and in pain for you to go further. You sighed and gave him a pitying look, and he reached his hand to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“Don’t be,” you said as you slightly smiled. “Get some rest. Do you need anything?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes closed. You could tell he was already drifting into unconsciousness. You stood up and pulled his blanket over him, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Before you turned around to leave, you heard him mumble.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

You looked at him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in your mind. You were worried for him, having been injured so severely and being in such pain, but you were also happy you finally had some sort of confession of your feelings. Knowing he felt the same towards you made you feel elated inside. You were happily anticipating what was to come, once this round of games were over and In-ho was recovered.

“Goodnight, In-ho.”

~~~

The next day you and In-ho stayed with the VIPs during the final round. Before going to meet them, you briefly saw each other unmasked in passing, but his face was stoic. He didn’t even acknowledge you. You knew he was going through a lot, so you tried to push away your disappointment. Though your mind was overwhelmed, you had to stay focused in front of the VIPs. 

The day went by without any problems, and by the end of the day you were riding in the limo with In-ho and the final winner. You briefly had your masks off, before the sleeping gas was released, but In-ho barely looked at or acknowledged you. Even after dropping the winner off, he kept his mask on while you took yours off.

You sat awkwardly as the limo drove to your apartment. You glanced at him a couple of times, but he stayed facing forward, completely silent. He was known for his temperament, you knew that, but what had him so upset right now that he couldn’t even acknowledge you?

Did he regret it?

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, glancing at him. “Are you okay?”

He stayed silent for a while, before sighing and turning away. “I’m fine.”

It was the first time he spoke to you all day, and he sounded irritated. What was so wrong with you asking him if he was okay? You started becoming irritated yourself, scoffing and turning away. It was clear he thought everything that happened the night before was a mistake, and now you were just upset with yourself for having a moment of weakness.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw In-ho glance at you briefly, but that just made you even more annoyed. Luckily the limo was pulling up to your apartment, and you promptly got out without acknowledging In-ho, quickly walking to the building.

Once you made it inside your apartment, you threw your belongings on the ground and sat on your couch, stewing in your thoughts. There had been so much tension between you two, it only felt natural to act on your feelings that night. He even initiated it. So what was the problem today? Why would he regret it?

You groaned out of frustration and tried to distract yourself. There was no use dwelling on it. If he didn’t want anything to do with you, there was nothing you could do about it. 

Or was there?

The next day you had plans to go to dinner with In-ho, Il-nam, and the salesman, to celebrate the end of the games. You didn’t know much about the salesman. He intentionally stayed elusive to almost everyone, not revealing his name on purpose. With his role, it was probably best to stay as anonymous as possible.

You hadn’t interacted with him much before, but maybe if In-ho saw the two of you together…

~~~

The next evening, you were waiting outside of your apartment building for the limo to pick you up. You’d gone all out, putting on a revealing but still dinner-appropriate outfit and a comfortable layer of makeup, hair done perfectly. It was certainly unlike anything you’d worn during work, which hopefully would do the trick. You figured if In-ho really wanted to forget what happened that night, you’d make it hard for him to do so. And if he didn’t care, then what was the harm in having a little fun trying to make him jealous?

The limo arrived and the door opened from the inside to reveal the salesman with his alluring smile, beckoning you to join him. 

“Y/n, good to see you again.” You could see him looking you up and down in slight surprise as you walked towards him. This would be too easy.

You entered the limo and sat next to the salesman towards the middle. Though the seat extended the length of the limo, the two of you sat close to each other. He poured the two of you a glass of champagne as the limo began driving towards In-ho’s apartment.

“To another successful year.” He flashed his smile again and touched his glass to yours.

The two of you made small talk on the way to pick up In-ho. It was clear he was attracted to you, leaning in when you spoke, looking at you like you were a work of art, and you played into every bit of it. If you didn’t have such strong feelings for In-ho, you thought you’d consider pursuing things further with him.

The limo quickly arrived in front of In-ho, who let himself in, sitting on the back seat. For a moment, you were speechless, noticing his sleek attire. He was dressed in all black, everything fitting absolutely perfectly. You instantly smelled his cologne and your heart leaped. Seeing him outside of the standard Front Man uniform, looking that exquisite, took your breath away.

You took a deep breath, pulling yourself together. You had an objective here, and you couldn’t forget how coldly he treated you just the day before. You sat up straight and sipped your champagne, nodding as the salesman greeted him. In-ho looked at you, and unbeknownst to you had a similar reaction as you did seeing him. He was taken aback by your attire and how good you looked. You felt his eyes linger on you and hoped he was already regretting his behavior.

As the limo drove to the restaurant, you set down your glass and turned a bit towards the salesman, facing away from In-ho. “It’s weird to see you without the briefcase,” you chuckled.

He smiled. “It’s weird to see you without the mask… and everything else,” he replied, looking at your dress. You laughed in response, reaching forward to playfully push his arm.

In-ho scoffed softly to himself, something the salesman didn’t pick up on but you did. You turned around slightly, making eye contact. He stared intensely at you, you could see the irritation all over his face. You wanted to smirk but tried your best to keep it in. 

You reached for your champagne glass and gave him the most innocent looking face. “Do you want some champagne?” you asked before sipping from your glass, never breaking eye contact.

He stared at you intensely for a few moments before looking away, scoffing again. “No.”

You slowly turned back towards the salesman, who raised his eyebrows, sensing the bad attitude from In-ho. You chuckled to yourself and gave him a sweet smile, keeping up the facade. You continued to make flirty small talk as the three of you made your way to the restaurant.

Upon arriving, the three of you met with Il-nam and were seated. You sat across from In-ho, getting a dangerously good view of him. He glanced at you briefly, taking your breath away, and again you had to compose yourself before you ruined your plan.

The dinner went by pleasantly overall, and you could tell you were getting under In-ho’s skin. Anytime you laughed or gave the salesman a flirty look, you’d glance at In-ho, who was always boring his eyes into you. He knew what game you were playing, but he was surprised nonetheless. You’d even caught him rolling his eyes a couple times.

Once the dinner was over, Il-nam politely said goodbye while the three of you waited for the limo to pick you up again. As you stood there, you shivered a bit in the cold air. The salesman noticed and shrugged off his coat.

“Here, you’re shivering.” He gently laid the coat across your shoulders.

You gave him a sweet smile, but felt a little awkward. You weren’t really planning on going further with this act, yet In-ho still hadn’t done anything about it. Maybe it wasn’t worth it…

You were pulled out of your thoughts by In-ho stepping closer to you, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Are you trying to upset me?”

His words sent shivers down your spine. You turned to him slightly. “Is it working?” you said innocently, knowing it was bothering him.

He scoffed and looked away, seemingly pondering your words. The salesman gave you a weird look, bringing back the awkward feeling from before. Almost as if In-ho could sense this, he snatched the coat from your shoulders and handed it to the salesman.

“They’re taking too long. I’ll take her home.”

The salesman slowly took the coat, dismayed, and looked at you for confirmation. You looked at In-ho for a second, shocked, but quickly turned to the salesman and nodded. In-ho grabbed your wrist and you began walking away with him. The salesman, however, wouldn’t let you get away that easily.

“Hey!” He quickly walked towards you and grabbed your shoulder, gently turning you around. “I can take you home.”

You gave him a polite smile and shook your head. “That’s alright.” You turned around and wrapped your arm around In-ho’s arm, continuing to walk.

He scoffed, giving you a confused look. “So… that’s it?”

You stopped, and In-ho looked at you annoyed. You turned around again, looking down, just a little ashamed at your behavior, but you smirked nonetheless. “That’s it.” You gave him one last look and turned around again.

As you walked away, you heard the salesman scoff, “Fucking slut.”

This time In-ho was the one to stop and turn around. “Excuse me?”

The salesman laughed. “You’ve seen the way she’s been acting tonight.”

In-ho smirked. “Yes. I have.” He stepped in front of you. “Who do you think she was doing that for? You?”

The salesman scowled, looking away, silent.

In-ho scoffed. “Don’t be so foolish.”

He turned around and you finally walked away together without any interruptions. You made your way to the train and got on, sitting next to each other. Luckily it was empty as it was late at night.

After several moments of silence, you sighed. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

You looked at him, noticing a hardened, stoic expression on his face. “So now you want to talk to me?”

He looked away. “I could say the same.”

“I didn’t ignore you.”

“Oh, I’m very much aware.” He glanced at you briefly.

“I had to get your attention somehow.”

He scoffed and turned towards you, eyeing you before responding. “You’ve had my attention.”

You blushed at his words, but composed yourself. “Don’t act like you didn’t ignore me yesterday.”

In-ho sighed, crossing his arms. “You couldn’t give me just one day to get my thoughts together?”

“You couldn’t just acknowledge me?”

“So because I didn’t acknowledge you, you had to act like a whore in front of that man?”

You looked at him, stunned. “If I’m not yours, then what does it matter to you?”

He stared at you for a few moments, seemingly holding back a smile. “Is that it? Do you want to be mine?”

Inside you were going crazy, but you tried your best to keep your cool, rolling your eyes. “Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“Watch it,” he said, with a serious tone now.

You glared at him. “With the way you’re acting, I should’ve stayed with him.”

He frowned, leaning in and speaking low. “With the way you’re acting, I should just claim you as mine, right here, hmm? Is that what you want?”

Your face flushed red instantly, and you gave him an innocent look, leaning in. “Does that mean you’ll give me what I want?”

You could tell you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leaning in to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear. “Only if you’re good.”

You pouted. “Haven’t I been good?”

He chuckled. “Far from it.”

You smirked and turned away from him. “You seem to be enjoying it well enough.”

“You think I enjoyed watching you throw yourself at him?”

“And now I’m going home with you. Isn’t that a good thing?”

He paused for a moment. “I would’ve taken you home regardless.”

You turned to him, his features soft now, his lips almost pouting. You realized he might be genuinely hurt at your actions, though he’d never admit it. For a moment, you felt bad for him. You rested your hand on his cheek and gave him a soft kiss.

You looked at him dejectedly. “What was I supposed to think after you treated me like that?”

He leaned into your hand, sighing, but stayed silent.

You sighed, removing your hand and looking down. “I thought you regretted it.”

In-ho brought his hand to your face, just as you had just done, and kissed you, rougher this time. He pulled back and looked at you with fierce sincerity.

“Never. I would never regret that.”

As you stared at him, your heart was filled with unexplainable emotions, but you felt content at his admission. Before you could get further caught up in the moment, the train arrived at your stop.

In-ho sighed and stood up, reaching his hand towards you. “Let’s go.”

~~~

You entered In-ho’s apartment with him, a decent one bedroom space, but not quite indicative of the money he actually owned. You took a look around for a moment before In-ho turned you around to face him, immediately kissing you. You welcomed the sudden closeness again and wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as you continued.

In-ho ran his hands along your back and sides, pulling you close to him. His hands gave you goosebumps all over your skin, your senses begging for more of him. You pulled on the collar of his coat, softly whining.

He pulled away, bringing his hand to your face. “What is it?” he said as he ran his thumb along your pouting lips.

You whined and pulled at his coat again while taking his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly. His eyes darkened and he grabbed your face with both hands, removing his thumb and kissing you roughly, his tongue immediately dominating your own. You moaned softly and ran your hands along his chest desperately.

In-ho pulled away, slightly grinning. “You’re so needy.” He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the ground. You leaned in for another kiss as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around him. 

As he carried you to his bedroom, you kissed down to his neck, breathlessly whispering, “I need you.”

He laid you on your back on his bed, hovering over you and eyeing you skeptically. “Really? To me it looks like you’d let just any handsome man touch you like this.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling him in for a kiss. “No. Only you.”

He slightly chuckled, gently caressing your face and holding your jaw. “You know I would have lost it if he touched you.”

“Really? To me it looks like you would’ve let him do whatever he wanted to me.”

He eyed you darkly and held your jaw tighter, huffing. “I don’t care what you think… No one else touches you like this.” He leaned forward to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses all over. You practically melted under his touch, grasping desperately at his shoulders while softly moaning, too overwhelmed to say anything.

He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. “Fuck… come here.” He pulled your dress up off of you, leaving you in your bra and underwear. His eyes lingered on your form before he continued ravaging your neck. His hands roamed your sides, down to your ass and thighs, as you leaned forward on his shoulders. Your moans filled his ears as you slowly lost control of yourself, your hips starting to grind on his growing bulge beneath you. Your movements just encouraged him further and he started biting your neck.

“In-ho, you’re going to leave marks,” you said breathlessly as you pulled away.

“Good. Everyone should know you’re mine.” He leaned forward to your neck again and thrusted forward, pressing his erection against you. You moaned and let him take over, ignoring the fact that you were probably going to wake up with bruises all over your neck. In fact, the thought of it sent shivers throughout your core.

You continued grinding on him and In-ho brought both of his hands to your ass, pressing you even harder on him, guiding the movement of your hips. At this point, you were completely lost in your movements, feeling like you could orgasm just from this. Your pussy was soaked, and you could feel the wetness seeping onto his pants. 

“Fuck, In-ho, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he huffed into your neck. “I feel you making a mess on me, darling.”

You moaned and In-ho pushed you backwards, inspecting your underwear and his pants. “Fuck… look at you.” He ran his hands along your thighs and over your underwear, gently caressing your swollen pussy, your wetness sticky on his fingers.

You cried out, inadvertently grinding on his fingers as he touched you. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure, you just wanted to be fucked. In-ho was captivated by your disheveled state and flushed cheeks. He held himself up on one arm, and with the other pushed your underwear to the side, revealing your soaked pussy. 

“So fucking wet… all for me,” he mumbled as he spread his fingers, covering them in your wetness. He began to insert two fingers at your entrance, intently watching your face as he pushed them all the way in.

You cried out in pleasure and relief at finally having him inside you, at least part of him. His fingers felt divine inside of your cunt, adding a whole new layer of pleasure. He began to pump his fingers in and out, the sensation causing you to almost collapse. You held yourself with your arms behind you, holding on to In-ho’s legs. 

He began to fuck you furiously with his fingers, the feeling of his hand slapping against your clit almost sending you to orgasm right then. In-ho leaned forward and pulled you in close with his other arm as his fingers thrust up into you, kissing you roughly. He pulled your bra up and over your raised arms, not bothering to undo it. His mouth immediately went to one of your breasts, kissing and sucking with as much fervor as his fingers were fucking you. You held on tightly to his shoulders for support, your legs practically giving out beneath you as you moaned uncontrollably.

You pulled him from your breasts and kissed him roughly. “Please,” you panted, “I need you. Right now.”

You frantically began unbuttoning his shirt as he leaned backwards, undoing his pants and shoving them down with his underwear, his cock springing out beneath you. He shrugged his shirt off and guided his cock to your entrance, spreading the tip around your soaked slit. In another world he knew he would probably have taken more time with you, would have maybe been a little more romantic about it all, instead of frantically fucking you like this now. But this is exactly what you both wanted and needed at that moment. After him pining for you for all this time, after you desperately trying to get his attention, you both are finally getting what you wanted.

“Come here,” he said as he pulled you close to him, kissing you roughly as he slowly thrust up into you. Your legs shuddered at the feeling of his cock inside of you, stretching your walls as you adjusted to him. In-ho groaned loudly at the feeling of your cunt around him, your warmth sending goosebumps all over his body. You held on to his shoulders as he started to fuck into you quickly, moaning into his neck.

Immediately you felt your orgasm approaching, as if there was pressure building inside of you just dying to be released. Every stroke of his cock inside of you sent your mind into a frenzy. You felt your mind almost go blank as he fucked you furiously.

“In-ho… fuck, your cock feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he huffed, “you like getting fucked like this?”

“Yes, fuck yes, this is exactly what I wanted,” you cried.

“You wanted to be fucked, huh? By who?” He thrust even harder into you, your moans encouraging him further.

“Only by you. Only you.”

“Yes… you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I’m yours, fuck I’m all yours,” you cried as you couldn’t think of anything else to say, your orgasm almost approaching.

In-ho roughly grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “No one else can fuck you like this. No one else gets you like I do.” 

You slowly nodded, moaning, your face twisted in pleasure. “No one else.”

He leaned forward to kiss you, his hands roughly holding onto your hips. “You’re gonna make me cum looking like that, darling.”

You mewled at his words. “I think I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

In-ho started thrusting faster up into you. “Cum on my cock, darling.”

You came immediately at his words, your pussy clenching on his cock intensely, every stroke sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. You moaned loudly, unable to control anything anymore. You shook above him as your orgasm rocked your body, satisfaction overwhelming you. As you came down from your high, In-ho continued to thrust into you. You could tell he was close. You kissed him roughly.

“Cum in me.”

He groaned and grabbed your face roughly before pushing you on your back. He pushed your legs apart from the knees and quickly began thrusting into you again, his pace brutal. Though you’d just orgasmed, seeing In-ho like this sparked something more inside of you.

“I’m gonna cum so fucking much in you. So fucking much into your perfect little pussy.” He looked at you and held your face roughly. “Who’s pussy is this?”

You whined beneath him. “Yours, it’s all yours.”

He closed his eyes in pleasure, mouth open, his hips beginning to stutter in their thrusts. He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to your pussy. “Touch yourself,” he huffed.

You began to circle your clit with your fingers, immediately feeling a new wave of pleasure come over you. You moaned loudly and felt your pussy clench on him, causing him to moan with you. He leaned forward and wrapped one of his hands around your throat.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock again. You’re gonna watch me cum inside you and then you’re gonna cum again.”

You mewled at his words, your body writhing under him. He moved his hand from your throat to the back of your head, pushing it down and forcing you to watch his cock thrust into you. The sight of it almost made you cum right then.

In-ho groaned loudly, thrusts stuttering again into slower, harder ones. “Fuck, look at what you do to me, I’m fucking cumming.” His moans filled your ears as you watched him thrust into you, filling your cunt with his hot cum, his cock throbbing inside of your sensitive cunt. You continued rubbing your clit and saw his cum spill out of you as he continued thrusting, coating your pussy and his cock, sending you over the edge immediately. You cried out beneath him and came as he was still coming down from his high, your pussy clenching on him and prolonging his own orgasm. He held you close as you shuddered beneath him, pleasure overwhelming your body yet again. 

As you both calmed down, In-ho laid on his side next to you and pulled you close to him, kissing your forehead. You nestled your head next to his neck, absolutely spent. He wrapped his arms around you, gently rubbing your back.

You noticed the small bandage on his gunshot wound, something you’d completely forgotten about in the heat of the moment. “Is it okay?” you asked as you inspected it.

In-ho smiled softly. “Of course. You did a good job.”

You smiled back and laid your head down again. In-ho ran his hand gently along your neck, inspecting the bruises. Your skin felt raw under his touch, and you noticed his pleased expression. 

“Is it bad?”

He chuckled. “Of course not. You’re covered in my marks… that’s a good thing.” He leaned down to kiss you softly.

You smiled, taking in all of his features up close, and shivered. “I’m cold,” you whispered as you cuddled closer to his warmth.

Instead of pulling the blankets over you, In-ho stood up and scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. “Let’s get cleaned up and then go to sleep.”

You pouted, resting your head on his shoulder. “But I’m tired.”

“Shh, just wait.” He set you on the counter and went to turn the shower on. You turned around and inspected yourself in the mirror, shocked at your disheveled and bruised state. The bruises spread from your neck down to your chest, evidence of In-ho’s desire for you peppered across your skin.

In-ho saw you watching yourself in the mirror and stood next to you. You turned to him, wrapping your arms around him. “Now when he sees me, he’ll know I’m yours.”

In-ho rolled his eyes. “You won’t see him.”

You looked at him with a fake innocent expression. “Why not?”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

You pouted, looking away, silent.

“If you’re trying to upset me again, it won’t work.”

You smirked. “Well it worked last time, and look what that got me.”

In-ho scoffed and slightly smiled. “You don’t have to wonder now. You’re mine,” he said before kissing you softly and whispering, “So if I see you act like that again, it won’t be so easy to get what you want next time.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

He laughed and led you to the shower, both of you helping each other. In-ho was incredibly attentive to you, making your heart flutter. When you were finished and dried off, you crawled back in bed together, exhaustion overtaking you.

You cuddled next to In-ho under the warm covers. “Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?”

He caressed your face, sighing, clearly exhausted as well. “I don’t know. I was too cowardly to do something about it. I’m stupid.”

You laughed, playfully shoving him. “I knew you liked me.”

He smiled and kissed you. “That’s an understatement.”

You sighed contentedly, thinking about all the time you’ve spent together. You’d always felt alone, even working alongside In-ho, but now you had a companion. Someone to lean on and someone to support. The more you thought about it, the more you wondered about the intruder.

“In-ho… you know you can tell me anything. I’m here for you.” You gently touched his shoulder wound, indicating what you were talking about.

His face slightly dropped and he sighed. “I know.” He kissed you. “Thank you.”

You smiled and roughly pulled him close to you. “You're mine too, you know.”

In-ho smiled and rested his head above yours, holding you tight. Despite everything that had happened to him in the past couple days, he felt genuinely happy, something he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

“I know. I always have been.”

THE SWEETEST SHIT IVE EVER READ 😭

Hello!!! Could I request a heavily pregnant reader x In-ho? When In-ho didn't tell reader that he would be joining the games and left while she was sleeping and she threw a tantrum about it because she misses him and his scent and the guards try to signal him about it but he failed to notice. So when she saw him again she won't let him go. I need more sfw with this man please 🙏

-thank you so much🫶

Fall To Pieces

hwang in-ho | front man x reader

ao3 link

masterlist

song inspiration: fall to pieces by avril lavigne

note: thanks for your request! hope this did your idea justice!

warnings: pregnancy, angst, fluff, mentions of violence

Your body ached as you slowly lowered yourself onto the soft leather loveseat, sitting next to your husband, Hwang In-ho. He had just arrived from the control room to your shared residence. The first game, Red Light, Green Light, was about to begin on the large screen in front of you.

You rubbed your pregnant belly as you relaxed into your seat, feeling like you could burst at any moment. After 8 months of carrying your first child together, you were ready for it to be over with. And it didn’t help that you had planned it so close to this year’s games. You wanted to have your baby right after the games ended to get the most out of your time together, but now you were completely anxious that you’d have the baby early and have to have it on the island. All you wanted to do was nest and be comfortable in your own home.

In-ho gave you a loving look. “How are you feeling, darling?” He reached his hand to yours on your stomach.

“Everything hurts. I’m tired. How long do we have to be here again?” you pouted.

“It won’t be too much longer, just a few days.” He reached his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed. You wanted to lean into him and rest on his shoulder but nothing felt comfortable. “This baby is killing me, you know.”

He looked at your exhausted face, pleading for respite, before gently pushing you away to readjust. “I know, darling. Why don’t you lean against me here and I’ll try to make you feel a little better?”

He turned his body towards you, pulling you to his chest so you could lay on him as you both laid across the sofa. The warmth of his chest brought a little comfort to your aching back. You sighed as he began to knead your neck and shoulder muscles.

He rubbed your shoulders down to your arms, tightly squeezing every so often to relax your muscles and warm your skin. You melted into his touch, letting out a content sigh.

“You know what else would make me feel better?”

Your thoughts dazed in your mind as you relaxed and imagined the most delicious ice cream you could think of. You were quickly interrupted by In-ho.

“That ice cream you like?”

You smiled, eyes closed, leaning on In-ho. It was getting late and you were so exhausted these days. “Of course. I wish we had some right now.”

He lazily rubbed your hair. “I know, I’m sorry. Do you want anything else?”

You sighed, slowly sitting up. “No. I’m just going to go to bed. I can’t stay up for this.”

In-ho stood up and walked with you to your side of the bed, giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead as you laid down. 

You eyed him playfully. “What, are you going to tuck me in like a child now?” you teased.

He scoffed, looking away but laughing. “Just taking care of you, darling. Goodnight.”

You smiled, sinking further into your blanket, sleep already threatening to take over as In-ho turned out the light.

“Goodnight.”

~~~

The next morning you awoke to an empty bed. Not necessarily out of the ordinary, but you hated being apart from In-ho lately. With the baby coming, your duties had been severely limited, and you felt like you spent your days just waiting for In-ho to come back. 

You got ready for the day, but everything felt off. Normally, you’d hear In-ho and the others on the radio, especially with the games happening now. Except you didn’t hear In-ho once.

You got dressed. In-ho’s uniform was still in the closet.

You walked into the main room. In-ho’s mask was still on the side table. Along with a note.

“Go to the freezer.”

Anxiety stirred within you. Upon opening the freezer, you saw your favorite ice cream - along with another note. 

“I’m playing undercover. Staff knows. Don’t worry - be back soon.”

You were stunned, reading the note over and over as if your brain couldn’t absorb the information. You dropped the note and stormed into the main room, activating the display and selecting cameras. 

Multiple camera views appeared in front of you, and you scanned a sea of players and their numbers. After a few moments, you found Player 001.

In-ho.

Your In-ho.

Dread filled your body. You knew In-ho was keeping an eye on Gi-hun, but like this? How could he be so reckless? The guards would keep him safe, but still, you couldn’t help yourself from jumping to the worst possible outcomes. 

How could he leave you?

You collapsed onto the sofa, immediately crying. If you didn’t feel vulnerable enough before, you definitely did now. It felt like nothing was going to happen according to plan now - you’d have your baby early, and have it on the island instead of comfortably near home, and In-ho would die in the games just because he wanted to spite Gi-hun.

You hurled the remote to the screen, watching as it clattered on the floor. Frustration started to take over. In-ho had no right to abandon you at such an important time.

You snatched your radio from the table. “Officer.”

A brief moment of silence, then, “Yes, Captain.”

“Come here. Now.”

You waited a few minutes, distraught in silence. When the Officer appeared before you, you glared at him.

“Get him out now.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can. Now do it.”

“He said only to take him out if it’s an emergency.”

You scoffed. “Tell him it’s an emergency then.”

He shifted uneasily. “I can’t go against orders.”

Your eyes bore through the officer’s mask as you contemplated what to do. In-ho would be two steps ahead of you no matter what you tried to do. There was no getting him back.

At least through the Officer.

You sighed in frustration, looking away. “Get out.”

The Officer promptly walked away. Once the elevator doors closed, you let yourself cry again. You just couldn’t believe you were being put in this position. All you wanted was to go home with In-ho, but instead you felt abandoned by everyone at the worst possible time. You were used to working alongside In-ho and having just as much of a voice as he does, but now you felt like everyone just saw you as his pregnant wife.

You turned off the screen and walked back to bed, your back aching intensely, taking a nap and hoping In-ho would miraculously be there when you woke up.

~~~

Of course, he wasn’t.

You watched the screen throughout the day, observing how In-ho slowly infiltrated Gi-hun’s group. Jealousy wracked your body - how did they deserve to be with In-ho more than you? It was clear why In-ho stepped in but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking irrationally. 

That night, you cried yourself to sleep, knowing he wouldn’t be there when you woke up. Even though he would sometimes go to bed after you, at least he was still with you through the night. Your only consolation was to pull up a camera view on your tablet so you could watch him as you tried to get comfortable in the cold, lonely bed.

The next day, you watched In-ho and the players go through the six-legged pentathlon. In-ho looked like he was even enjoying himself for a few moments. Obviously he needed to fit in, but did he really have to be so brazen about it, knowing you were watching?

You tried so hard to stay calm, knowing stress would be the worst for your baby right now. But occasionally you’d feel a little kick, especially when you were watching In-ho, and your maternal instincts couldn’t help but take over. You had to come up with a plan to get a message to him.

After the game was over, you wandered over to the guard’s quarters, being sure to avoid the Officer. Before the guards turned in for the night, you pulled one aside.

“You need to tell him to come back.”

The guard froze in place, clearly glancing at your stomach. None of the guards had seen you since you started showing. 

You squeezed his arm tighter. “When he goes to the bathroom, pull him aside and bring him back.”

“I- I don’t know who w-will be there when-”

“I don’t care who it is, make sure it happens.”

You quickly walked away, not wanting to draw attention to anyone nearby or looking on the cameras. 

Once you arrived back home, you sat on the couch and attempted to get comfortable. You planned on watching the cameras all night until you could see In-ho leave and the guards bring him back. You didn’t want to focus on anything else, even though your body ached with pain and sorrow.

Inevitably, after a while, you couldn’t fight your body anymore and you fell asleep. You slept for another few hours before being woken up by a commotion on the screen.

“-with me this way.” 

You saw In-ho talking to a pink guard. “Why? Isn’t the bathroom this way?”

The guard paused, clearly trying to come up with something. “No? This way. Let’s go.”

In-ho scoffed, and you saw a couple other players approach behind him. “What are you talking about?”

The guard noticed the other players joining, clearly ruining his plan now. He sighed. “My apologies. This way.”

In-ho eyed the guard as they walked the correct way towards the bathrooms now. He glanced at a camera nearby, unknowingly looking right at you. His expression was indecipherable.

Your heart ached, and you felt a kick in your stomach. In-ho looked away and proceeded as normal. Your plan had failed.

~~~

The next day you watched as In-ho played through Mingle. You wondered what he was thinking in these types of moments - did he care for the people around him, or just see them as nothing more than pawns, even though he was getting to know them personally? It felt crazy to question it, but you couldn’t stop your mind from wondering if he thought of you, or if he wondered how you were doing.

Terrible, you’d tell him. Awful without him.

After the game, you set up another attempt to contact In-ho, slipping a note into his gimbap and instructing the guards to give In-ho that specific one. You went back home to watch your plan unfold again, hopefully successfully this time. You cheered internally when they gave him the correct gimbap, and patiently waited for him to reach the note. 

Unfortunately with tensions rising amongst the players, In-ho was distracted and never even finished the gimbap enough to reach the note. You covered your face in frustration. There was never a time you’d seen In-ho not finish his food. It was as if he was deliberately foiling your plans. 

The situation was becoming worse and worse. The more time passed, the more anxiety you felt that you could give birth without In-ho there. And even more importantly, the more the players became violent towards each other. How far could the guards really go to protect In-ho? Another player could definitely harm him before any guards stood a chance at protecting him.

As you expected, a fight broke out that night. In-ho was safely tucked away under a bed, but things were escalating fast. Your heart raced. It was becoming too much too quickly, and you couldn’t help but scream orders over the radio. “Why is this still going on?! End it now!”

“Suppress,” the officer spoke over the radio. Guards immediately went into the room to stop the fighting, and luckily In-ho was unscathed. As the guards were checking the dead bodies, some of the players suddenly snatched their guns and began shooting. You watched in horror as several players began killing the guards, In-ho even joining them.

Once the guards were gone, you saw an organized effort to gather all guns and ammo and begin a drive towards the control room. In-ho was still with them. You were worried sick for him but hoped this was finally his chance to come back. Several voices spoke over each other in a frenzy on the radio as guards mobilized against the players. All you could do was watch helplessly as you saw In-ho deliberately put himself in danger. 

His recklessness was going to give you a heart attack. 

You screamed through the radio, “If anyone even gets close to hitting him, even so much as a graze, I will kill you myself.” You scanned through the surveillance cameras and watched as In-ho and the players moved towards the control room, one by one running out of ammo. In-ho strategically navigated two players into the back hallways, coming up behind Gi-hun and Jung-bae. For a moment, In-ho looked into the camera.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew he was finally coming home.

You watched as In-ho finally turned on the group, losing the Young-il persona. It was almost as if he was enjoying it. After killing the two players with him, he grabbed his radio. “Start wrapping things up,” he ordered, before looking up at the camera again. 

“Lockdown all residences.”

Before you could even process what he said, you heard the elevator doors lock, a red light illuminating above it. Your only way in or out. He had locked you in. 

Fuming, you called out on the radio. “What are you doing?”

In-ho responded calmly. “Keeping you safe.”

“Am I that helpless to you?” you spat. You were, in fact, feeling that helpless, but you’d never let it be known.

In-ho ignored you, which made you even more mad. You shut off your radio, turned off the screen, and stormed into your bedroom. If he was going to play with your emotions like this, you had no need to rush to him anyways. He could find you when he felt like it.

You curled up in bed crying, pulling the blankets to your chin and mindlessly rubbing your belly to soothe yourself. You were exhausted but couldn’t bear to fall asleep then. In your distress, you didn’t even hear the elevator door open, or footsteps approaching from the hallway, or your bedroom door opening.

“Darling.”

You quickly turned your head towards In-ho, your face swollen from crying. As soon as you saw him, all of your anger and frustration melted away into relief.

Your lip trembled, tears flowing even more now as you slowly sat up in bed. “In-ho…”

He rushed to your side and embraced you, cradling your head in his hand and rubbing your back with the other. You clung to him desperately, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You wanted to yell at him, shove him away from you, hit him, but you couldn’t manage anything except breaking down in his arms. 

“My poor darling. Are you alright?” He pulled away to get a good look at you.

Shocked, you glared at him through blurry eyes. “Of course I’m not okay, how could you ask me that?” You finally had the wherewithal to shove his shoulder. “How could you abandon me like that? What if the baby came, hm? What if someone killed you?!”

You were becoming frantic. In-ho embraced you again, trying desperately to calm you down. “Shh, darling, it’s alright now. Everything’s okay.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, weeping. “Don’t ever do that to me ever… ever again.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

You sighed. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

He kissed the top of your head and helped you stand up. “I know. I won’t.” He wiped your face before giving you a long kiss. “I missed you, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t seem like it,” you said before shoving him again. “Did you make some new friends?”

He smiled at your sarcasm and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you back to the main room and helping you to sit on the couch.

“One more thing.”

He ran to the kitchen before rushing back with your ice cream. “You didn’t eat any of it?”

You scoffed. “How could I? You left me inconsolable for days.”

He sat next to you with your favorite treat. “I wanted you to feel a little better,” he pouted, looking almost dejectedly at you.

You laughed and leaned on his shoulder. “This wouldn’t have helped anyways. I just wanted you.” 

In-ho kissed the top of your head before wrapping his arms around you. He’d missed you so much during his time away, no matter how necessary it was.

“I know. I love you. Let’s go home soon, okay?”

fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

(part 3 the dusk till dawn series)

word count: 4.2k

FULL SERIES MASTERLIST

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pubic bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali @thebluehair23

02 - a piece of me | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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——

The room was cold. Not from temperature, but from design — sterile and steel-lined, walls pressed tight in perfect symmetry, not a single window to the world outside. You sat among dozens of other guards, each clad in the identical matte uniform, each face hidden behind a black visor with a single geometric shape. You were in a sea of circles - a hierarchy forged not in character, but in obedience.

You felt your breath fog slightly beneath the mask. Even now, after years of wearing it, there were moments it felt like a muzzle.

Then, the door at the far end hissed open, revealing the creator, host, and God of this hell.

Oh Il-nam.

His hair was thinner now, his skin clung tighter to the ridges of his skull, but his eyes — sharp, glinting like polished glass — scanned the room with that same quiet cruelty you remembered from the archives. He walked with a slight limp, supported by a black cane, his mask tucked beneath his arm like a crown he didn’t need to wear to remind you who he was. He was dressed in deep crimson — formal, commanding, and flawless. The color of blood dried into velvet.

He stood before the room of guards and overseers, calm and calculating, as if he were welcoming guests to a dinner party rather than orchestrating death. He spoke softly, but the room bent toward his words like blades of grass in the wind.

“Welcome to the 33rd Season of the Games,”  Il-nam began, his voice low and controlled. “Do you know what that number means?”

Silence answered him.

“It means that the world hasn’t changed. The hunger still lives. That desperation is still the most powerful currency.”

He paced slowly before the first row, hearing his cane tap against the ground with every step.

“The rules remain the same. The games — Red Light, Green Light. Dalgona. Lights Out,” he paused at that, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s officially part of the cycle now. Chaos has structure. Isn’t that beautiful?”

You remained still, but your stomach twisted. You remembered the screaming, the way the night didn’t hide the dying. You remembered the man bleeding out on the floor, who now sat behind black glass in a tower above, a Front Man forged from your mistake.

“Tug of War. Marbles. And most importantly, the Squid Game,” Il-nam continued. “You will uphold the structure. You will maintain the illusion of order. But most of all—“ he stopped now, facing the crowd directly— “you will not disobey.”

Murmurs didn’t follow — they weren’t allowed. But the tension thickened. Lights Out was once an unofficial chaos was now part of the rulebook. You felt it all rushing back, blood pooling across tiles, and a hand reaching up in the dark. His voice was breathless, shaking, whispering the words, “Why…?”

“Any form of aid to players, any deviation from assigned protocol, any mask that dares to feel… will be punished.”

You flinched, barely, but you knew the sting was meant for you.

“Some of you have already failed us before,” he said, eyes grazing across the room, almost like he could see behind the masks. “You’re here again because we believe in second chances… not forgiveness.”

The word struck like a lash. You didn’t move, but inside, the fire of the truth burned anew. 

The punishment wasn’t execution, at least, not for you. It was service, a reassignment, and a demotion. A demotion that dragged you into night shifts, into silent bedrooms and glided masks, into the leering eyes of VIPs where no screams escaped and no names were spoken. And every morning, you returned to pink.

“Uniforms and role assignments are waiting in Hall B. You will report immediately. Any delay is noted.”

The square guards began barking orders immediately. Role assignments, room numbers, escort teams, firearm calibration checks — all familiar routines returned like a tidal wave. The masked figures rose, each moving with choreographed efficiency toward their fate. 

Season 33 had begun, and you would do anything just to survive.

——

The metal platform groaned beneath your boots as you stood at the edge of the training hall, rows of pink-masked recruits stiffening under your gaze. 

A row of red carpet unfurled like a fresh wound down the center of the pristine room — the designated “escort path.” Gold-painted chairs lined the simulated VIP lounge behind you, perfectly arranged for the demonstration. Surveillance cameras blinked red in the corners. Nothing here was ever unobserved.

“Position one,” you called sharply.

The recruits moved. The pink guard stepped forward to act as the "escort" was young, shorter than the rest, their voice still trembling. Their grip fumbled over the faux decanter meant to mimic luxury service.

They bowed to the mock VIP actor like a civilian would — too deeply, too slowly. You inhaled sharply through your mask. They tried again, offering a drink with both hands, their gloves shaking slightly.

“Wrong,” you snapped, voice cutting clean through the stale air.

The recruit flinched as you strode forward, the click of your boots like gunshots in the quiet room. In one swift motion, you snatched the decanter from their hands and slammed it down on the tray beside the lounge chair.

“You are not a servant,” you said coldly. “You are a symbol. A presence. A product of obedience, not emotion. The moment you show uncertainty, they will know. And they will take advantage.”

Your words hung heavy in the space between you and the trembling recruit. The rest of the class stood rigid, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“Again,” you barked. “With your spine straight. Offer the drink like a machine, not a child.”

The recruit obeyed. This time, it was slower and more deliberate. You stood behind them, adjusting the tilt of their chin with the sharp edge of your gloved hand. Their mask tilted toward yours, questioning and fearful.

They reminded you of someone, more of yourself. When you were promoted to square, clean and hopeful, your eyes too bright beneath the black. Before your rank was stripped and your identity erased in silence, not because of failure, but because of mercy.

“Acceptable,” you said finally, though your voice was devoid of warmth.

Training resumed in silence. Hours blurred past drills — posture, presentation, calculated silence. The elite escort role required perfection. Anything less was an insult to the illusion these monsters paid to see.

Eventually, the session ended.

One by one, the pink guards filed out. The doors hissed open, and the cold concrete swallowed them. But one lingered. A square guard, standing by the door with his arms folded, watching you with quiet interest behind the black mask that once mirrored your own.

“They say you were once a square,” he said casually, his voice low and edged with something darker. “What did you do?”

You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. The distance between you was all surveillance and silence.

“Rumors say you saved someone. That you disobeyed for a dying player,” he added. “But they never say why you’re still alive.”

You turned your head, slow and measured. “I follow orders,” you replied flatly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Funny,” he said. “You train them like you’re trying to make them forget what it’s like to be human.” 

You stared at him. “Because being human in here,” you said, “is the fastest way to die.”

You walked away, back into the corridors of steel and smoke, where ghosts wore masks and punishment was survival’s reward. The dim corridor buzzed faintly, the sound of fluorescent lights above flickering like a dying breath. You made your way down the path lined with identical metal doors, the living quarters for the pink guards.

Yours was the last door in the row. Room 427. You keyed in the code. The lock hissed open. Inside was stillness with barren walls, a single bed with starched sheets, and a metal table bolted to the floor. There was no mirror and belongings. Just silence, always silence.

You sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off your gloves like a second skin. Your pink suit was unzipped just enough to breathe. The metal walls echoed with distant footsteps, squares barking orders at newly recruited guards, the crackle of radios, the buzz of the elevator ferrying supplies to the upper floors. But here in your unit’s quarters, it was still.

There was no escort duty tonight. For once, your number wasn’t on the list. That relief was almost as painful as the duties themselves. You stared at your gloves on the bedside table, fingers curled stiff from wear. Blood had once soaked through them. Screams once filled your ears. But now? You were used to it.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

Before the games, you had a name. A life outside the games. You used to dance in the rain.

You lived in colors, not red, black and pink, but golden light from streetlamps, the warm blue of your favorite café, the soft lavender of your tiny rented apartment. You weren’t rich, but you were free. A literature student by day, part-time waitress by night. You wanted to write stories one day. Novels. Maybe even poetry. You dreamed of publishing your own book someday.

Your laughter used to come easily. Your smile wasn’t a mask. You believed in people. Yet in the end, you were the one who stayed.

In a neighborhood where everyone else was desperate to leave, you stayed behind. You watched your friends grow distant and your family grow smaller. It was only one funeral, then came another. Then another. Until the only voices left were the ones in your head.

You weren’t running from anything — there was just nowhere left to go. No final fight nor betrayal. Just… time, taking people from you, one by one. You stopped talking out loud because there was no one to hear you anyway.

So when the pink envelope arrived that was sealed tight, marked only by shapes, it felt like an accident. A glitch in the mail. A strange dream.

But you opened it.

And that’s how it started.

You didn’t become a player. You didn’t owe anything. But you were noticed — someone they could use. Someone who would not be missed. At first, you thought you’d break. But there was no one left to worry about you. No one left to remind you who you were.

Now, you rarely think about your name. It doesn’t come easily anymore.

And maybe that was the point.

——

The order comes like a slap to your already numb consciousness. A square guard, his uniform sharp and flawless, strides over to you in the dark hallway. His voice is cool, matter-of-fact, as if he’s never had to question a thing in his life.

"Fix the Front Man's quarters. Make sure every detail is perfect," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You simply nod, the sound of the mask moving as you lower your head in silent acknowledgment. You’ve been in this position long enough to know how things go. The Front Man’s quarters, as cold and sterile as everything else in the compound, require absolute precision. The slightest mistake, the smallest imperfection, could result in more than just a reprimand. You’ve seen what happens when others fail in front of the Front Man. There’s nothing kind or forgiving about his gaze.

The square guard watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you’ll comply, before turning away, leaving you to your task.

You stood in front of the door, taking in the quiet, lifeless hallway. Everything is perfectly still. No noise. No interruptions. The only sound you hear is the distant hum of ventilation systems and the pulse of your own heartbeat beneath the thick mask. You inhale deeply and push the door open.

Inside, the quarters were as pristine as always. It was cold, empty, and unyielding - not a single trace of humanity remains. The room was meticulously organized, the bed made to military standards, the furnishings aligned with an unnatural symmetry, a single chair in the corner, its back to the wall. Every surface gleams, as if the place is nothing but a shell, waiting for its occupant to step inside.

You walk in slowly, your eyes scanning over every inch, every corner. Your mind runs through the mental checklist: lighting, temperature, scent. Every detail is scrutinized until you’re certain it meets the Front Man’s standards. Your gloved hands trace over the desk, wiping away the faintest trace of dust. It’s almost too perfect. There’s nothing left to fix. The space is an extension of the man who occupies it — cold, flawless, untouchable.

You began to adjust the small things. The alignment of books on a shelf, the angle of the chair, the slight shift in the position of a painting on the wall. Every adjustment feels like an offering. Your body is numb to the motion, your mind detached and mechanical.

A sudden movement at the door catches your attention, and you freeze.

A shadow. A figure standing in the doorway, silent and imposing. You don’t need to look up to know it’s the square guard again. His eyes are cold, but there’s something else, a faint smile at the edge of his lips as he watches you.

“Is everything in order?” he asks, his voice like a dull blade scraping against metal.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your eyes remain downcast, focusing on the smallest of details. The least of your concerns is his gaze, but you feel the weight of it pressing down on you nonetheless.

The square guard takes a step forward, glancing around the room. His eyes land on the smallest imperfection, a slight smudge on the glass of a picture frame. Without a word, he reaches out, wiping it away with a swipe of his gloved hand. His movements are sharp, deliberate.

“You’ve done well,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly. But you know better. He’s not complimenting you. He’s simply acknowledging your obedience. The look in his eyes doesn’t change — still cold, still distant.

“Finish up,” he commands. “And make sure the Front Man doesn’t find anything out of place.”

The square guard leaves, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. As you turn to leave, your fingers brush against the edge of the desk, and something about the cold metal reminds you of the past. Of who you used to be. Of the girl who had dreams and laughter in her heart.

You barely register the sounds of the Front Man’s approaching footsteps — but you know they're coming. You can feel him before you see him, a presence that lingers in the room even as the door creaks open. 

The Front Man walks inside with his usual poise, the cold mask covering his face, unreadable. His eyes scan the room like a predator sizing up its prey, each movement deliberate, precise, as if assessing not just the space but the person who prepared it. His footsteps echo softly against the polished floors, louder than they have any right to be.

You stand at attention in the corner, still and quiet, as he takes his time walking around the room. You don’t dare speak unless he orders you to.

His gaze flickers to the desk first. He takes a long pause, inspecting the alignment of the books, the sheen on the surface. His fingers brush lightly over the chair, just enough to feel the exact temperature of the room, the subtle pressure of the cushion. He moves with the kind of deliberate grace that you’ve come to associate with someone who knows their power, their dominance, their control over every detail.

For a split second, you hold your breath, wondering what he’s looking for. Is there something amiss? A trace of imperfection you might have missed in your hasty preparation?

But then his gaze shifts to the picture frame. It’s the smallest detail, the most trivial of things. His eyes narrow, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame with unsettling precision. There is a slight tremor in his hand. Just a hint. But it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He simply looks at the picture frame for a few more seconds, as if contemplating something too deep to put into words. His gaze flickers toward the small smudge you couldn’t catch, and for the briefest of moments, you think he might actually speak. But no. His gaze sharpens, and he pulls his hand away.

Finally, he stands still. For a moment, you wonder if the air between you is thick with his thoughts, heavy and pressing. But then, he slowly exhales, a sound barely noticeable beneath the mask. He turns toward you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten, your breath stuttering.

"Good job," he said, his tone as cold as ever. "Everything is in order."

Your heart clenched at the lack of emotion in his words. It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in his praise, no sign that he saw you as anything more than another tool—an instrument to be used and discarded when no longer needed.

"Thank you," you murmured, even though the words felt hollow on your tongue.

He turned his head slightly, his masked face remaining unreadable. "You may leave now."

With a stiff bow, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. As you stepped out into the cold, sterile halls of the compound, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being forgotten.

You were nothing to him, and perhaps that was exactly what you deserved. After all, you weren’t a guard anymore, not truly. You were just a nameless face in the sea of masked figures, condemned to serve in the shadows for the rest of your days.

And yet, despite the cold dismissal, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder: would he ever look at you again? Would he ever realize that you were the one who had saved him when he had bled out during the chaos of lights out?

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized it didn’t matter. He was the Front Man. You were just a guard—nothing more. The distance between you was as vast as the abyss, and no amount of longing would ever change that.

——

A/N: HAS ANYONE WATCHED THE SQUID GAME TEASER? They just dropped the teaser for Season 3! I am SEATED (and also possibly traumatized) 😳 I think I'm going to be insufferable until June 27 because imagine the teaser making us feel like THAT, then what about the trailer 😨 What are your theories for the next season? I would love to hear about them!

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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01 - no good deed | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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----

The room was dark. Not the artificial, humming darkness of the dormitories. No flickering overhead lights, no sound of desperate breathing in the shadows. 

This darkness was deeper, becoming quieter, then still.

Hwang In-ho bolts upright in his bed, breath caught in his throat, chest heaving beneath the black robe of the Front Man. Sweat clung to his skin like blood once did. The black mask sits abandoned on the table beside him, and for a moment, he remembers who he is. 

Not Hwang In-ho.

The Front Man.

But the dream, kind of a memory, doesn’t let him go. He can still feel it — the warm pool of his blood beneath him, the shouts, the silence, and the pain.

And then, there was you.

Your gloved hands pressing down his wound with a whisper against the chaos, “If you live, don’t forget who you were.”

In-ho’s hands tremble as he reached for a glass of water beside him. He had forgotten, hadn’t he? Bit by bit, piece by piece, until all that remained was the mask, the control, the machine. 

But that voice —  your voice — it never left.

He brushes his hand through his damp hair, eyes burning as they stare at nothing. You were just a shadow then, a mask among other masks. A rule-breaker in a place where mercy was punishable by death.

He doesn’t even know your face or your name. Yet your presence lives in the cracks of his memory, in the fractured quiet of his mind that he never allowed himself to touch.

Except in his dreams.

Or nightmares.

He rose slowly, each movement deliberate. There’s something cold and restrained about him now, but the weight behind his eyes was unmistakable. He walked to the system terminal as the soft glow of the screens hummed to life, illuminating the sharp edges of his face, the shadow of grief still etched across his expression.

His fingers tapped on the keyboard as the screen flickered.

Pink Guard Personnel Records: 28th Squid Game

He shouldn’t do this.

He knew he shouldn’t. Everything about the games was built on anonymity, everything encrypted as if you were expected to forget, bury the past six feet beneath protocol and power.

But he couldn’t forget you. 

His voice was low, hoarse, as he spoke into the silence. “Who were you?”

The system begins its search as the man behind the mask isn’t the Front Man tonight. Tonight, he’s a survivor… still trying to find the one person who made him feel human again. 

Lines of data flicker across the screen — guard IDs, biometric logs, movement patterns, shift schedules. Thousands of entries. Most were clean, categorized, and controlled.

But one file stalls.

ID: P-132-20152745

In-ho narrowed his eyes as he noticed the file. He hovered his hand on his mouse as he clicked, only for the screen to shudder.

ERROR. FILE CORRUPTED. ACCESS DENIED.

He leaned closer as he squinted at the file number. He doesn’t recognize the number, but something about it pulls at him. The timestamp matches the night he was injured. That narrow window between the second and third round.

His fingers fly over the keys as he bypasses standard security. Firewalls resist him, but he wrote the protocols himself. He cracks through the surface code, digging deeper.

REDACTED ENTRY: UNAUTHORIZED INTERVENTION DETECTED.

P-132-20152745: Disciplinary Report - MISSING

Security Footage - DELETED

Status: UNKNOWN

He sits back slowly, the air tight in his lungs, realizing that someone had scrubbed the record. 

Not just a name or a face. Just plain everything.

As if that guard never existed. 

As if the system had tried to erase the very moment he clung to all these years.

His jaw tightened, rage pulsing beneath the surface. Not just for the system, but for himself for forgetting, surviving, and becoming the very thing he once feared. 

Still, there’s a silver of data remaining. A slashed fragment of a voice file that was compressed and corrupted.

Yet, it was still playable.

The static nearly swallows the sound, but in the middle of the distortion, something cuts through.

“—wasn’t supposed to do this…”

“…remember who you are…” “—forgive me.”

In-ho’s eyes closed, his heart pulsing through his chest. Though it was comforting to feel that you were real, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to you. 

As his thoughts almost swayed him, he immediately snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a heavy thud. Not from the room, but from the recording.

He sat up as a sharp intake of breath was heard, then another sound that seemed like a hit. Then, another sound that pierces through even the most distorted noise.

A soft, broken whimper. A woman’s voice.

“Please…” A muffled cry as another strike seemed to be done, and then, there was silence.

In-ho froze as his jaw clenched while the recording looped, replaying that single moment of helplessness. Something cold grips his chest, curling around his ribs like barbed wire. 

Someone definitely made sure he wouldn’t remember it. 

The file ends with one last, choked breath — one that doesn’t quite sound like fear, but grief.

“He wasn’t supposed to see me.”

The silence after felt suffocating. In-ho’s fingers curled into fists as the final realization sank in. This wasn’t just a disappearing act.

Someone silenced you, covered you up, and buried your existence under codes and protocols. In-ho scoffed, a smirk forming as if an idea shone all over his face.

They didn’t bury you well enough.

His eyes hardened as he locked the terminal.

You saved him once, now it was his turn.

——

The incinerator hisses as the body bag disappears into flame.

It was either buried or harvested for organs — you couldn’t care at all. In fact, you don’t flinch anymore. You haven’t, in a long time. 

The stench of burnt cloth and blood clings to your mask, thick and stubborn, as if even the scent refuses to die here. You stand still, posture straight, hands clasped behind you just as protocol demands.

You were only a pink circle guard. Just another pair of obedient boots, another ghost in the machine.

Your boots echo softly down the corridor. Rhythm is everything here—footsteps measured, spine straight, eyes forward behind a mask that tells the world nothing. Now, you’re Guard 427.

You swipe your card at the checkpoint and enter the security control wing. The guards here don’t speak unless ordered. The walls hum with surveillance feeds, and one screen, larger than the rest, projects the black mask of the Front Man. You’ve worked hard to become invisible. You are precise in your tasks, silent in your duties, unremarkable in your movements. You erase yourself every day, bit by bit, in service of survival.

Still, you remember him. Not as the Front Man. But as Player 132.

He was bleeding when you found him, struggling beneath the weight of survival. You should’ve walked away. Left him to die like all the others. But something in his eyes that night — numb but furious, cracked but not yet broken made you stop.

You knelt. Whispered. Touched his bloodied chest with trembling fingers.

“If you live, don’t forget who you were before they made you fight.”

And now, he sits behind the glass of power, voice modulated, mask unshifting, his judgment absolute. You wondered if he dreams of you, if your voice ever slips into his nightmares. You wondered if, when he stares too long at the monitors, he's chasing something his mind won’t give him.

You kept your head down and your steps even. You cleaned blood off the walls. You followed orders. You pretend you’re not the one he’s unknowingly searching for.

Because if he ever does remember… If he ever sees through the perfect circle painted across your mask, what then?

Would he thank you? Punish you? Undo you?

You weren’t sure. In a place where mercy was a foreign concept, such a situation of his finding you would cause more complications.

The alarm blared. A low tone thrums through the walls, and every Circle in the hallway stops in unison.

“VIP arrival. Level Six. Escort detail.”

Your fellow pink guards peel off wordlessly, boots pivoting toward the service lift that leads to the opulent corridors you’re never meant to see. The ones draped in gold and smoke, the ones that reek of indulgence and blood.

But not you.

Your earpiece buzzes with a separate frequency.

“P-427, Report to Sub-Level Three. Clearance Sigma Red.”

Sigma Red.

You hesitate for half a breath before responding.

“Confirmed. On route.”

It wasn’t your first time.

You walked alone now, past the steel hallways, the flickering fluorescents, the guards who pretended not to see. You made your way towards the door marked only by a red triangle and the faint scent of disinfectant beneath it.

Inside the room was quiet, warmer, and cleaner. There was no briefing. No other guards. Just a room with a solitary mirror and a rack of clean clothing with soft fabric, unlike your uniform.

“Change. Protocol 09 is in effect,” the voice over the intercom says.

You obeyed, not needing to be told why. 

You’ve done this before. You remember the way the Front Man had just taken the mask then. How his presence had loomed even before you could name it. The first time, you’d done what you were told because not doing so meant punishment. 

You were a standard circle guard who was quiet, efficient, and obedient. Not until that night during the 28th Season where you chose mercy. 

He was bleeding out during lights out where his eyes had pulled you in — the hollow ache of someone who wanted to die but was too proud to beg for it. You broke the rules, yet they let you live.

Only so they could strip you down slowly — the escort class.

The lowest, most degrading designation in the hierarchy of this twisted system. You are masked, dressed in thin civilian mimicry, and handed over to the VIPs—not for pleasure, necessarily. Sometimes just for company. Sometimes for cruelty. Always for obedience.

“Escort detail begins in thirty minutes. Await further instruction.”

The door clicks shut behind you. You sat and waited, listening to the hum of the walls as you wondered, what if this is the time he speaks to you? What if he looks at you a second too long? What if he asks your name? And what if you're too afraid to give it?

The walls here were too quiet. No screams, gunfire, and barking orders. Only silence — deliberate, echoing, and unnerving.

The mask stays on. It always stays on. It's the only part of yourself you're allowed to keep. As you sat, the intercom crackled again. A different voice this time. One you know. One you’ve heard before during your disciplinary hearing. 

“Protocol 09 in effect,” the speaker hisses.

No acknowledgment required. They know you understand.

“You aided a player in the 28th Season. Unforgivable.”

A pause, long enough to let the weight settle. “You will not speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone. The Front Man does not know. He must never know. Do you understand?”

You nod silently, because that’s all you're allowed to do now.

“VIPs arrive in thirty. Escort mode active.”

You fixed the mask over your face as you changed layer by layer, its garments feel like silk-wrapped shame. 

You remember how, once, your hands shook as they held a bleeding man. The one who now runs the games, one who sits behind a mask of black steel, haunted by something he can’t quite name.

He lives because of you and now you serve because of him.

He must never know.

But you remember.

Every time.

——

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and smoke clung to the velvet of the VIP lounge. The lighting was warm, golden, and suffocating — designed to flatter the depraved. Laughter cuts the air like broken glass. Masks of beasts and emperors lounge across gilded sofas, their voices slurred, their gaze predatory.

One of the VIPs snaps his fingers lazily. You pour his drink, bow just enough, and say nothing — as trained. You don’t speak. You don’t blink too long. You don’t feel.

“You’re quiet,” the VIP, masked as a Minotaur, slurred, brushing his fingers against your mask. “That’s good. Quiet girls know their place.”

You don’t flinch. At least, not visibly.

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you slightly closer, examining you like a possession. “You’re prettier than the last one. I like the silent ones.”

You remain still and silent. Fighting the urge to pull away because if you did, they win. And if you speak, you lose more. Your hands rest on your knees as you lowered your gaze.

“You’re not new, are you?”

The question stung, but you didn’t flinch. You were burning inside, but you stayed silent. 

“That means you know not to fight.”

A murmur of laughter from the others. One of them raises a toast. Another gestures toward you and makes a cruel joke about how easily the silent ones break.

But something shifts in the room. The air tightens. The laughter dulls into murmurs. 

The door opened, revealing the Front Man.

Black mask. Black coat. His movements sharp and deliberate. Authority trails behind him like a shadow.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You straightened your back, holding your breath as you felt your pulse surge. You kept your head bowed. 

He shouldn't be here. Not during the lounge sessions. Not unless something’s wrong. Yet here he is.

He walked slowly through the room silently as if he were observing and calculating something. His presence stills the most obnoxious of the guests. Even the ones who believe they own this place lower their voices when he moves near.

From across the room, the Front Man’s visor tilts toward you. He seemed to see your… situation. But, he doesn’t stop it. He doesn’t speak.

He simply watches.

You don’t know what’s worse. The VIP’s hand curling around your waist…

…or the silence from the one man who might have stopped it.

The VIP’s hand had finally left your side—only because another escort had arrived, younger and easier to control. You’d bowed out with the grace expected of you, even though your fingers trembled behind your back.

“Go help the servers,” one of the Square guards said. 

You obeyed.

It was almost a relief to stand by the bar cart again, serving champagne, bourbon, whiskey, gin. Anything they asked for. Anything to stop being seen.

“You,” the Square guard pointed at you. “Pour for the Front Man.”

The air around you dropped ten degrees, but your hands moved on instinct. The Front Man stood near the edge of the lounge, silent and still as the walls themselves. You could feel the room shift around him. 

You approached with measured steps, a crystal decanter in hand.

He didn’t look at you when you poured, though you could smell his cologne even beneath your mask. As you were about to finish filling up the glass, he suddenly spoke.

“Stay.”

You froze. You expected to be dismissed. But instead, he stood there, drink in hand, and allowed you to remain beside him. One step behind. Within reach. Claimed without announcement.

“Careful with that one, Front Man!” a portly VIP calls out with a laugh, drink sloshing in his hand. “Keep her too close, and you might find yourself using her for more than just drinks!”

Laughter erupted from his circle as your breath hitched a bit. You didn’t move, and the Front Man didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if he reacted beneath his mask, but he stayed still. There was no reaction and defense.

He sipped his drink slowly, his gaze never leaving the room. Not even a glance toward the man who joked. Not toward you. But then, you felt a sting inside you.

It wasn’t because of the VIP’s words — you’ve heard worse.

But because he didn’t stop it.

You stood at his side obediently, and he let the insult hang there, untouched. You forced the pain down like glass, straightening your spine. Somehow, his silence hurts more than the joke ever could.

By day, you sweep floors, distribute rations, check that the cameras are functioning. Your circle mask stares back at you from polished metal when you pass the infirmary door. You speak to no one. You salute when required. You blend in easily and invisibly. 

You are not meant to be remembered. That, too, is part of the punishment.

At night, it changes. The suit comes off. The silk goes on. You trade your mask for another kind — faceless still, but far more exposed. An escort — a role no one envies.

No one asks how you ended up there. They already know. 

It’s all because you interfered and saved someone you weren’t meant to. You’re not even sure he remembers. Or if he ever knew. Or if he’s simply chosen to forget because acknowledging what you did would mean acknowledging that even he was once weak enough to bleed.

And weakness isn’t allowed here.

Sometimes, when you stand beside his chair in the VIP lounge and pour his drink, you think about that moment in the dark, years ago. When he was gasping, wounded, barely clinging to life behind a player’s uniform soaked in blood. And you chose to help.

That was the night your position was stripped from you.

Because you weren’t always a circle.

Your hands remember how to hold a gun with authority. Your voice remembers how to give orders.

You were a square.

You remember the weight of command.

But mercy is a betrayal in this place, and your punishment is to be seen and not recognized. It is for you to serve quietly the man you once saved and to suffer silently each time he looks right past you. 

----

A/N: We're back! This time, it's more of a slow burn type of fanfic so please bear with the story. What did you think of how you're a Pink Guard saving the Front Man back when he was still a player and him trying to find you in the crowd? This whole fic will be based on the events of Squid Game Season 1, as it would be like one of the first years of In-ho as the Front Man. :D

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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|| masterlist ||

taglist: @roachco-k @goingmerry69

prologue - just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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A/N: I'm back! Yey! No more sad endings this time, I promise. 😅 Hope you'll like my new series!

----

The night fell in the games like a clenched fist. 

The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed inside Hwang In-ho’s skull, matching the stuttering beat of his heart. Blood, slick and sticky, pooled at his side where the jagged edge of a broken bedframe had ripped through his shirt and skin hours ago. He pressed his palm over the wound, more out of instinct than hope.

His wound wasn’t deep enough to kill him yet. But enough to slow him down. And in here, slowing down meant dying. 

The air reeked of sweat, fear, and iron. He leaned back against the freezing metal frame of his bunk, staring blankly across the dormitory where the others lay curled like dying insects, clutching stolen blankets, clutching each other if they had to.

His breathing stayed shallow. Any deeper and the pain would carve a new line through him. He barely noticed it now. Pain was just another part of the architecture—another brick in the wall he'd built around himself the moment he realized survival meant killing something inside.

His body screams to collapse. But he can't afford to listen.

Would it even matter if he survived?

The thought drifted through him, detached, like watching someone else drown through a pane of glass. If he died here, it would be easier. No debts. No shame curling in his gut like a parasite every time he thought about his wife sitting alone in a sterile hospital room.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the numbness settle deeper. Hope was dangerous here. Softness was lethal. He had clawed and fought to stay alive through the first game, through the second, through the alliances and betrayals that had stripped everyone down to what they really were. And now?

Now he was just a body pressed into a corner, bleeding out slowly, wondering if the prize at the end was even real.

The blood slid down his side in slow rivulets. His fingers tightened reflexively, staunching it, but the strength was leaving him. He shifts, grimacing, dragging himself tighter into the shadow between two bunks. Just another faceless player trying not to die before morning.

Somewhere, a scuffle breaks out. A choked scream. The wet, final thud of a head hitting concrete. In-ho doesn't even flinch.

He can't afford to.

He wonders if this is how dying feels—not sudden, but slow. A gradual loosening from the world, like slipping under deep water where no one can hear you scream.

Maybe tomorrow, he would bleed out during the next game. Maybe he'd die here, alone in the dark.

Maybe, he thought distantly, it wouldn't be a bullet that took him out. Maybe it would be something stupid like an infection. Or bleeding out under the blank, indifferent gaze of a dozen pink-masked guards.

Guards who wouldn’t even flinch.

Guards who didn't see him as anything but a number.

Soft footsteps edged closer through the rows of battered bunk beds. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. If it was another player, they would slit his throat and be done with it. If it were a guard, maybe they would drag him out early. Spare him the indignity of dying like a stray dog in front of the others.

The footsteps stopped in front of him. A shadow falls across him as he squints up at you, someone with a mask and pink uniform blurring at the edges of his swimming vision. 

Your voice was low and close, like a secret pressed against his half-conscious mind. You knelt, against every protocol, and pressed something against his wound with pressure, making it firm and steady.

“If you live,” you whispered. “Don’t forget who you were before they made you fight.”

In-ho’s eyes snapped open, his hand brushing against yours as he tried to make sense of what was happening, on why the hell a guard was speaking to him in this manner. You immediately swat his hand away as you hurriedly tend to his wounds.

For the first time in days, Hwang In-ho felt something splinter deep inside the fortress he had sealed himself into. It wasn’t hope — more of the terrifying possibility that even if he lived, he might not be the same man who started the game. 

----

A/N: I'm so happy to be writing another series again! Squid Game started appearing in my FYP again (and yes, I've watched multiple edits of LBH again 😭). Anyway, we're like almost a month away from the new season of Squid Game, I'm so excited! 😆

As the saying goes... Don't forget to leave a comment in this prologue to be tagged on to the first chapter. :)

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EPILOGUE - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

previous chapter | MASTERLIST

——

The plan was set. The weight of it sat heavily on your shoulders as you checked your gear, strapping a handgun to your thigh holster and ensuring the spare magazines were secured. Your hands trembled slightly, but it wasn’t from fear. It was the quiet, lingering uncertainty deep inside you—the kind you couldn't afford to acknowledge right now. You felt In-ho’s presence before you even saw him.

“You’re hesitating,” he said lowly, standing just beside you, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear.

Your fingers hovered over the strap of your vest before tightening it. “I’m not.”

His gaze flickered down to your stomach. It was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see the moment of hesitation in his normally calculating eyes. His hand clenched at his side, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly.

“You don’t have to be here,” he said finally.

You let out a short breath, tilting your head toward him with an almost bitter smile. “And do what? Hide while everyone else fights? Pretend none of this is happening?”

His jaw tightened. “You have more to lose.”

Your heart clenched at those words, but before you could respond, Gi-hun’s voice cut through the tension.

“Everyone ready?”

The room shifted.

Hyun-ju was tightening the bandages on her wrist, tucking a blade into her boot. Jun-ho was checking his firearm, his expression unreadable as he stood near the doorway. No-eul adjusted the strap of her guard uniform, her fingers steady. Gyeong-seok exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight as he cracked his knuckles.

They were ready, and so were you.

But before you could step forward, In-ho caught your wrist. You froze as his gloved hand closed over your arm—not in restraint, but in something gentler. 

You turned to him. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached down and pulled something from the inside of his coat—a sleek, customized handgun. He placed it in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, his eyes softened. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured, voice quiet but firm. “No matter what happens.”

The words were a promise. One that neither of you knew if he could keep. Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “We protect each other.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Stay close to me.”

Then, without another word, he released your wrist and turned to the others. The tension in the room shifted once more.

Gi-hun gave a sharp nod, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s move.”

With that, the group stepped forward, the war ahead looming like a storm. The fight was coming and there was no turning back.

You moved as thoughts started to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure when you lost yourself.

Maybe it was the moment you stepped into the games, out of sheer reckless curiosity, thinking you could outsmart something designed to break people.

Maybe it was when you ran for six months, evading shadows, haunted by memories of the bodies that had fallen around you—names you never knew, faces you would never forget.

Or maybe it was when you put on the mask. When you stood above the very system you once despised, playing the role of the overseer, whispering orders that made the machine turn, knowing that every command meant another life lost.

The moment you ascended to power, donned in black, speaking in commands that turned life and death into a cold transaction.

The mask was supposed to be just that—a mask. A tool to hide behind. A way to survive. But at some point, you had begun to wonder if you had become the mask itself.

And now, here you were. Again.

But this time, you weren’t running.

You were trying to end it.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the table in front of you, knuckles turning white. The room was empty, save for the distant hum of the facility’s systems and the echo of your own ragged breathing. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing down on you like chains, but the real war was inside your mind.

What if, after all of this, you weren’t meant to be saved?

What if you had already become everything you once swore to destroy?

The thought sent a deep, twisting nausea through you.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that you weren’t like the others. That you had control over your fate. That despite all the blood on your hands, you were still human. But were you?

If you were, why did the sight of death no longer make you flinch?

Why had you learned to speak in orders and sacrifices, calculating loss like it was just another variable in an equation?

You clenched your hands into fists, feeling your nails dig into your skin. You needed to hold onto something real—anything that reminded you that there was still something left of you beneath all of this.

And then you thought about the life inside you.

You placed a hesitant hand over your stomach, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. You were carrying life in a place built to destroy it.

For a second, you almost laughed. How cruel, how ironic, that in the heart of this machine of death, something so fragile—so pure—was growing inside of you.

Would they ever know the truth about you? About what you did?

Would they see you as someone worth saving, or would they only see the monster that history had made of you?

Your chest felt tight. You pressed a hand against it, as if that could steady the whirlwind inside you.

Was there anything left of you beneath the mask?

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn immediately. 

You knew who it was.

In-ho stepped inside, his presence solid, grounding. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching as you stared at the reflection in the dark glass—your own face staring back at you, tired, fractured.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmured, stepping closer.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Am I?”

There was silence, then something was softer. “What are you thinking about?”

You exhaled slowly. “That I don’t know who I am anymore.”

In-ho’s gaze darkened, but there was no judgment in his expression. Only understanding.

“I was a player,” you continued, voice quieter now. “Then I ran. Then I became an overseer. And now, I’m here. Back where I started. Tearing it all down.” You turned to him, eyes searching his as if he had the answer. “So tell me, In-ho. Who am I supposed to be?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your hand, gloved fingers closing over yours. His grip was steady. Warm.

"You are who you choose to be," he said finally. "And right now, you’ve chosen to fight.”

Your throat tightened.

Fight.

You had fought for the past few months, hadn’t you? For control. For survival. For something greater than yourself.

What if fighting only turned you into another cog in the machine?

What if you were too far gone to be anything else?

Slowly, In-ho lifted his other hand and rested it gently over yours, over where it still hovered against your stomach. His gaze was softer now, his touch careful, almost reverent.

“You still have something to fight for,” he murmured.

For the first time in a long time, you felt fragile. Breakable. A lump formed in your throat, but you forced yourself to swallow it down.

Maybe there was no clear answer to who you were.

Maybe there never would be.

But right now, you knew one thing.

You weren’t going to let this place define you anymore.

Slowly, you exhaled, steadying your hands. Then, with newfound clarity, you met In-ho’s gaze.

“Let’s finish this.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had control over your own story again.

——

The cold night air pressed against your skin as you and the others moved through the shadows of the island, weaving between steel walls and towering storage units. The moon hung overhead, half-veiled by storm clouds, casting eerie streaks of light over the empty pathways.

Jun-ho moved ahead, his camera clutched tightly in his hands. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from adrenaline. Each click of the camera shutter echoed in the silence, capturing the horrors of the island one frame at a time.

“Keep moving,” In-ho whispered beside you, his voice barely above the wind. His presence was steady, a contrast to the chaos in your mind.

You adjusted your grip on your gun, scanning the area. Every flickering shadow, every distant noise, sent a wave of paranoia through your veins. This island was alive, breathing, waiting to swallow you whole.

You turned to Gi-hun, who was watching Jun-ho carefully. “How much proof do you have so far?”

Jun-ho glanced down at his camera. “More than enough to make sure the world never turns a blind eye again,” he murmured.

But was it enough to stop them? The organization had power—more than any of them had ever imagined. Even with evidence, they needed to make sure this wasn’t just another buried story.

That meant one thing.

They needed to get out alive.

Hyun-ju let out a sharp breath. “We can’t just keep sneaking around. We need to hit them where it hurts.”

Gi-hun nodded. “That’s why we’re heading to the control room.”

You swallowed. “That’s the most dangerous place in this facility.”

Gyeong-seok, standing beside No-eul, flexed his fingers over his stolen rifle. “Then let’s make it count.”

There was no turning back now. You followed the group through the winding paths, past lifeless halls and silent corridors, deeper into the heart of the island. The closer you got, the heavier the air became.

Then, you saw it.

The control room.

A fortress of reinforced glass and steel, glowing with monitors displaying every part of the island. The pulse of the entire operation. If they could get in, they could override the system. Send the footage out. Tear down the organization from the inside.

But as you took another step forward, something felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too easy.

Your instincts screamed just as the first shot rang out.

“AMBUSH!”

The world exploded. Gunfire erupted from above, from the sides, from the very walls themselves. Dozens of guards stormed in, masked and armed, their weapons aimed with deadly precision.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You dove behind a stack of metal crates as bullets shredded through the air, sparks flying from every surface.

Gi-hun fired back, his expression a mask of fury. Hyun-ju ducked behind a column, reloading as Gyeong-seok and No-eul tried to hold the right flank.

Jun-ho barely managed to shield his camera as a bullet shattered a light overhead, raining glass down on him.

You felt a hand on your wrist—In-ho, pulling you back as another round of bullets whizzed past where you had just stood.

“They were waiting for us,” you gritted out, pressing yourself against the crate.

“They knew we were coming,” In-ho muttered, eyes scanning for an opening.

A guard charged towards Jun-ho, gun raised. Before you could react, In-ho was already moving, raising his weapon and firing a clean shot. The guard collapsed, but another took his place, then another.

You turned, firing rapidly, each shot precise, controlled. Your months full of training, of surviving, had honed your skills into something deadly.

But the guards weren’t just trying to kill you. They were herding you. Pushing you back. Forcing you into a trap.

“We need a new plan!” Gi-hun shouted over the chaos.

You looked up. The control room doors were still sealed, reinforced. The only way in was through a direct override—or through the bodies standing in the way.

The choice was clear.

No turning back. No surrender.

You locked eyes with In-ho. “We fight our way through,” you said.

His gaze flickered to your stomach, hesitation flashing through his expression for the briefest second. But he knew you wouldn’t back down. “Then we do it together,” he murmured.

You nodded. Then, gripping your gun, you took a deep breath and ran straight into the fire.

Bullets shredded through the air as you sprinted forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. The floor beneath you trembled with each deafening blast. You moved purely on instinct, firing into the chaos, ducking and rolling behind a control panel as guards swarmed the entrance. The others were right behind you.

Gi-hun took cover behind an overturned console, his jaw clenched as he reloaded. Jun-ho was crouched near a metal pillar, his camera slung over his shoulder, his gun shaking slightly in his grip.

In-ho was beside you, his movements precise and ruthless. He fired clean, methodical shots, covering Hyun-ju as she darted to the other side of the room, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Gyeong-seok and No-eul worked in tandem, their stolen weapons spitting fire as they tried to clear a path forward.

But there were too many.

Guards poured in from the upper levels, rifles trained on your group like predators circling prey. You counted at least two dozen, their numbers closing in.

A bullet grazed your arm, the burn searing through your flesh. You clenched your jaw, shoving the pain aside. You couldn’t afford to hesitate.

“We’re getting pinned down!” No-eul shouted, ducking behind the cover as bullets ripped into the wall beside her.

“We need to move, now!” Gyeong-seok gritted out, his breathing ragged.

In-ho scanned the control room, his sharp eyes locking onto something across the room. The main terminal. The heart of the facility.

“We have to get to the override panel,” he said. “It’s our only chance to take control of the island’s systems.”

“Then let’s make a path,” you said, gripping your gun tighter.

You and In-ho moved together, breaking from cover in perfect sync. Your weapons fired in unison, dropping two guards blocking the path to the panel. The others followed your lead, pushing forward with relentless force.

Hyun-ju threw a stolen flash grenade, the explosion of light and sound sending the remaining guards into disarray. “Go! Now!” she yelled.

In-ho grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward as you weaved through the chaos, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You reached the main terminal, its screen glowing with layers of security protocols.

Jun-ho rushed in behind you, typing furiously on the control pad. “I can override the security feeds, but I need time!”

Time was the one thing you didn’t have. Guards regrouped, their gunfire tearing into the walls. No-eul yelped as a bullet grazed her leg, Gyeong-seok dragging her back behind a desk for cover.

Gi-hun gritted his teeth, turning to you. “We have to hold them off.”

You nodded, your body aching, but your mind razor-sharp. You lifted your gun and fired, refusing to let them take another step forward.

And then, a voice crackled through the speakers.

“You really thought you could win?”

Everything stopped as your stomach twisted as the voice reverberated through the room. Cold. Amused. Unshaken by the battle raging inside the control center.

It was one of the overseers. Though its voice sounded from… a woman.

“You think you’re exposing us? You have no idea what you’ve done.”

The screens flickered, revealing a horrifying sight.

Outside the facility, massive cargo ships loomed on the horizon. Heavily armed. Reinforcements.

Jun-ho’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “They knew we were coming.”

Your grip on your gun tightened. The weight of everything—your past, your choices, your unborn child—pressed down on you like a crushing force.

“We can’t stop now,” you said, your voice steely.

In-ho turned to you, something fierce and unyielding in his gaze. “I won’t let them take you.”

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach.

No one ran. No one surrendered.

The next battle had just begun.

Thick iron chains rattled against the damp ground as you and the others were dragged forward. The cold bite of steel dug into your wrists, the weight of captivity pressing down on you with every step. The guards flanked you in a tight formation, their rifles primed and ready to fire at the slightest resistance.

The sky was dark, storm clouds swirling like an omen above the endless stretch of ocean. Massive cargo ships loomed ahead, their floodlights cutting through the night, illuminating the dock where your fate awaited. The air reeked of salt, gunpowder, and something else—something metallic and final.

A line of masked overseers stood at the edge of the dock, their robes billowing in the wind. Their presence alone was suffocating, a silent reminder of the power they wielded.

At the center stood one of them. A woman with a single black mask, wearing a red long dress that fit her shape. An unmistakable symbol of control. She was someone you’ve never seen before, even In-ho seemed confused seeing her.

The overseer inched forward, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. The guards shoved you and the others to your knees, forcing you to look up at the figure towering above.

The overseer’s slow, deliberate applause echoed against the crashing waves.

“Well, well,” the voice purred, smooth and amused. “Look at you. The rebels. The revolutionaries.” A pause. Then, with venomous delight. “The failures.”

A low growl rumbled from Gi-hun’s throat, his wrists straining against the chains. In-ho remained still, his gaze locked onto the overseer, his mind calculating every possible move. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat.

The overseer paced in front of you, slow and measured, relishing every second of your humiliation.

“Did you think you were the first?” Her voice was mocking, dripping with condescension. “Did you really believe you could ‘expose’ us? That the world would shun us in horror?”

A bitter chuckle.

“Oh, how naive.”

A monitor buzzed to life behind the line of overseers. The screen flickered, revealing something none of you had expected.

Millions of people were watching. The world wasn’t horrified. They were entertained.

Live feeds, interviews, and even betting pools flashed across the screen. People weren’t condemning the games. They were celebrating them.

Your stomach twisted violently.

The overseer gestured toward the display. “You see, the world doesn’t want justice. They want a spectacle. And thanks to you, dear rebels, we’ve given them just that.”

Gi-hun’s fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You’re lying.”

The overseer tilted her head. “Am I?”

The screen shifted again, showing news anchors praising the system, social media posts glorifying the brutality, commentators analyzing ‘strategies’ for future contestants.

“People have stopped questioning the morality of it all. They’ve accepted it.” The overseer’s voice lowered to a chilling whisper. “They want more.”

A sickening wave of nausea rolled over you.

The overseer crouched down, inches from your face. “And you,” she murmured, “were always meant to be part of it.”

Your breath hitched as they lifted a gloved hand and traced it along your jawline—then lower, hovering just above your abdomen. Your blood ran cold.

“I must say,” the overseer drawled, “I’m impressed. Even after all the carnage, you still found time to create life.”

Your entire body stiffened. Beside you, In-ho’s head snapped up, his entire posture shifting from composed to sheer, unfiltered rage.

The overseer’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “I wonder… how much longer it will last?”

In-ho lunged as the chains snapped as he surged forward, a raw, animalistic fury igniting in his eyes. The guards reacted immediately, striking him across the face with the butt of a rifle. He hit the ground hard, a sharp crack echoing as blood splattered against the dirt.

You gasped, jerking forward, but the guards yanked you back, forcing you to watch as In-ho writhed, his chest heaving, his head bowed.

The overseer smirked. “How predictable.”

In-ho lifted his head, a slow, dark smile curling at his lips despite the blood dripping down his chin. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

The overseer merely chuckled. “Oh, but I do.” She straightened, dusting off their coat. “You see, the three of you—” they gestured between you, In-ho, and Gi-hun “—were always meant to be the pillars of this system. A former winner, a perfect enforcer, and a rogue overseer. The power of the games could have been yours.”

A pause.

“But you chose defiance.”

She turned to Gi-hun, her expression unreadable behind the mask. “And you, my dear 456… you were never meant to win.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply, his body going rigid.

The overseer took one last step closer, looming over you. “But now, you get to witness something far more tragic.” She motioned toward the ships. “Your final chapter.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as realization sank in. They weren’t taking you to be executed. They were taking you to be displayed.

A grand finale for the world to see.

The guards yanked the chains, forcing all of you to your feet. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to stay strong. You couldn’t afford to break. Not here. Not now.

You risked a glance at In-ho. His lip was split, his eye swelling, but his gaze was still burning with defiance. He met your eyes, a silent promise there.

I will not let them take you.

The storm overhead rumbled, the waves crashing violently against the dock as the guards led you closer to the ships. You swallowed back the fear clawing at your throat.

The waves roared beneath the docks, a monstrous force of nature that mirrored the chaos unraveling in your mind. The cold steel chains dug into your wrists as the guards tightened their grip, dragging you and the others toward the looming cargo ships. The world had already decided your fate—whether as traitors, martyrs, or something far worse.

And then the overseer spoke again, her voice eerily calm against the storm.“You’re still clinging to the idea that you’ve uncovered the truth,” she mused, stepping forward with a measured grace. “That you’ve somehow managed to defy the system. But tell me…” She tilted their head slightly, the smooth black mask reflecting the flickering floodlights. “Did you ever stop to think that perhaps… the system wanted you to?”

The words settled like a slow, creeping poison. Gi-hun stiffened beside you, his fists trembling within the chains. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

The overseer chuckled, the sound drenched in amusement. “You really think all of this—” she gestured at the massive ships, the live broadcasts, the relentless global fascination “—happened because of you?” She let the silence hang for a moment before answering their own question.

Your stomach twisted.

“This—all of this—was inevitable.”

The overseer began pacing in front of you like a predator toying with its wounded prey.

“Violence… spectacle… the illusion of rebellion. You see, the system never feared exposure.” She turned slightly, glancing at Jun-ho. “Did you think you were the first to attempt such a thing? To gather evidence? To infiltrate?”

Jun-ho’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening.

“Many have tried before,” the overseer continued smoothly. “Some died. Some disappeared. But their efforts all had one thing in common.” Her voice dropped to a taunting whisper. “They never mattered.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The overseer exhaled, her tone almost sympathetic. “We never needed to hide the games. We only needed to… evolve them.”

Gi-hun’s expression darkened, fury twisting his features. “No. That’s bullshit—”

“Is it?” The overseer took a slow, deliberate step forward. “You saw the world’s reaction. You saw the demand. You thought you were at the top, pulling the strings, but in reality, you were merely pieces on a much grander board. The real game isn’t about survival or wealth. It never was.” Her gaze darkened, sharp with something unreadable. “It’s about control. Manipulation. How far people are willing to go when they believe they have power.”

The screen flickered behind them again—broadcasts of talk shows, endless online discourse, governments debating regulations rather than condemnations.

“The world isn’t horrified. It’s hungry.”

Gi-hun's expression hardened. “And what? You think people will just let this continue?”

The overseer chuckled, shaking her head. “Let it continue?” She gestured grandly. “The world has already decided. The games were revealed, the public saw the truth, and what did they do?”

She leaned in closer, voice thick with amusement.

“They begged for more.”

Your stomach twisted.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The world should have been horrified. Outraged. The system should have collapsed under the weight of its own sins. A twisted smile played at the overseer’s lips, barely visible beneath the mask.

“This was never about stopping the games.”

She turned their gaze onto you this time, her tone softening into something almost affectionate.

“This was about creating something new.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The overseer let the weight of her words sink in before continuing. “You, In-ho, Gi-hun… you were never opponents to the system. You were components.”

Another pause. Then, another cruel smirk.

“You were the experiment.”

The words shattered the last threads of certainty holding you together. The realization was crushing. The system hadn’t been exposed to destroy it. It had been exposed to evolve.

And now, you, In-ho, and Gi-hun—the supposed "leaders" of the system—were nothing but remnants of an old era. Pawns that had served their purpose.

Your knees nearly buckled beneath you. “What…?” Your voice barely registered, hollow, strangled.

“Did you really believe you infiltrated us? That you and In-ho’s power struggle meant anything? That Gi-hun’s rebellion made an impact?” The overseer’s head tilted, amused. “No. You were all carefully placed pieces on the board. Given just enough power. Just enough hope.”

She gestured between you and In-ho. “The overseer who once enforced the system, turned against it. The rogue infiltrator seeking to burn it down.” Her gaze slid to Gi-hun. “And the man who tried to end it, only to be drawn back into its orbit again and again.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“All of you… designed to stir the pot. To give the world something new to fixate on.”

It was like the ground beneath you had crumbled. Jun-ho’s breathing was uneven now, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to lunge at the overseer despite his chains. Gi-hun was eerily silent, his entire body rigid with unprocessed rage.

You turned to In-ho, desperate for some kind of answer, some kind of denial—anything. But his face was unreadable. You couldn’t find anything. Even he didn’t know what to do anymore. 

The overseer took a slow step forward, her voice dropping to something almost gentle. “The real games never ended.” She leaned in closer. “Because they never truly began.”

A cold, sickening dread settled deep in your bones. Everything you had done. Everything you had fought for. It wasn’t against the system.

It had been for it all along.

A deafening silence consumed the dock, broken only by the distant wails of the ocean and the mechanical hum of the ships. Your mind was still reeling from the overseer’s words, from the realization that the very thing you fought against had been orchestrating your every move.

You were never tearing the system down.

You were fueling it.

The chains rattled against your wrists as you struggled to breathe, your pulse hammering so loud you could barely hear the distant screams of the world that now knew the truth—but was unwilling to stop it.

And then the overseer moved slowly and deliberately. The gun in her hand was raised, the barrel leveled directly at your head. A cruel smirk tugged at the edges of her lips beneath the mask. “I think we all know how this ends. But I have to say,” she mused, her eyes flickering down to your stomach, “this was an interesting variable.”

The guards beside you tightened their grip. No one in your group dared to move, frozen in place like ghosts waiting to vanish into oblivion.

“No.”

The word came from beside you, raw and desperate.

In-ho took a step forward, yanking against the chains holding him back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tense, as if ready to tear through every restraint between him and the gun aimed at you.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. 

The overseer didn’t even glance at him. She took a slow step forward, locking eyes with In-ho. “But you, In-ho…tell me, how does it feel? To know you fought so hard to survive—only to end up right back in chains?”

In-ho said nothing. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

The overseer took another step closer, voice turning into a whisper. “Does it hurt more knowing that she’ll suffer with you?”

Something inside of In-ho snapped. With a roar, he lunged. The guards reacted instantly, yanking him back before he could reach the overseer. A sharp crack echoed as a rifle butt smashed into In-ho’s gut, sending him to his knees.

“No!” You struggled against your restraints, but the chains dug into your wrists, holding you back.

In-ho coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He lifted his head slowly, glaring up at the overseer, pure hatred burning in his gaze. But the overseer only chuckled, looking amused.

“No,” In-ho hissed, his eyes burning with something unrecognizable—something vulnerable, something stripped bare. “She—she’s pregnant.”

The words barely made it past his lips, but they hit like a gunshot. The world seemed to stop. The others visibly stiffened, the revelation settling into their bones like a slow, creeping cold.

Gi-hun turned sharply toward you, his brows furrowing, his lips parting in silent realization. Jun-ho’s expression shattered for just a second before he quickly masked it, his gaze flicking between you and his brother. Hyun-ju inhaled sharply. Gyeong-seok muttered a quiet curse under his breath. No-eul’s hands twitched at her sides.

And the overseer laughed.

It was quiet at first—a small chuckle, almost amused. Then it grew.

Louder.

Hollow.

Merciless.

“How poetic,” she tilted their head. “A life growing inside the very person who helped enforce the deaths of so many.”

In-ho’s breathing was ragged. “It’s unfair,” he rasped. “The child… our child… they never chose this.”

For a fraction of a second, the overseer seemed to consider his words. Then, her smirk deepened.

“You’re right.”

Then, without warning, the gun was pulled away. Instead of relief, a cold wave of dread washed over you. The overseer turned slightly, pacing in front of your group, her gaze flickering between you, Gi-hun, and In-ho.

“But fairness was never a part of this game.”

The next words came like a slow death sentence.

“Choose.”

The wind howled as the reality of their command settled over the group.

“You,” the overseer gestured at you. “Or him.” They pointed at In-ho. “One of you dies here, the other gets to live… for now.”

Gi-hun stepped forward instantly. “This isn’t a choice.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. “It’s a sick joke.”

The overseer barely acknowledged him. Jun-ho’s eyes flickered toward his brother, then to you. He was calculating, searching for a way out.

The chains around your wrists felt tighter. The child inside you was an anchor, holding you down, keeping you from thinking straight.

In-ho's voice was barely above a whisper. “Take me.”

“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

In-ho’s eyes met yours, and in them, you saw it. The exhaustion. The torment. The weight of everything he’d done. But before you could say another word, the overseer let out a short laugh. 

“Touching,” she mused, before tilting their head toward the guards. “I’m getting too impatient. Kill them both.”

The world moved too fast and too slow all at once.

The gunshot rang out like a crack through the fabric of the world.

“Y/N!” In-ho cried out, breaking away from the chains as he rushed to you. 

Your body jerked. At first, it didn’t register. Just a strange, searing heat blooming somewhere deep inside you, like a fire spreading through your veins. The force of the impact sent you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs as if someone had just punched a hole through your chest.

Then, the pain came.

A slow, creeping agony at first—like the burn of a blade pressing into flesh—before it exploded into something unbearable. It stole the breath from your throat, the strength from your limbs. Your knees buckled. You barely felt yourself falling.

But In-ho was there.

His hands were on you before you hit the ground, catching you, his grip desperate—too desperate. He pulled you against him, his voice breaking into fragments of sound, of syllables that you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Just—just keep your eyes on me.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the world was slipping, bleeding into shadows. “In-ho…” Your voice was barely a breath. “We were just kids,” you murmured, your fingers barely brushing his wrist. “Do you remember? When we used to sneak onto the rooftops? Just to watch the city lights?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You said they looked like stars. That if we couldn’t reach the real ones, we could pretend.”

You gave a faint smile, though it barely stayed. “And you—” a cough wracked through you, and his hand cradled your cheek instinctively, as if afraid you’d disappear right in front of him. “You always brought the stolen snacks. Said we’d never go hungry if we stuck together.”

His breath hitched. “And we didn’t. Not once.”

A silence stretched between you both—long enough for him to realize how cold you were getting. His hold tightened.

“We were supposed to make it out together,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You let out a shaky breath. “And yet… here we are.”

His jaw clenched. The weight of everything—his choices, your choices—settled heavily between you. He had spent years chasing power, believing it was the only way to survive. But in the end, it had led to this.

Your fingers barely curled around his wrist. “Do you… ever wonder?”

He blinked, leaning closer. “Wonder what?”

“If things were different,” you murmured. “If we were never part of the games…” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Would we have been happy?”

His face crumpled, something deep and painful surfacing in his eyes.

“In-ho,” you whispered. “What if… what if we raised our child together?”

His breath caught. For the first time, the war around you faded. The guards, the overseers, the bloodshed—it all became distant noise.

“I would’ve kept you safe,” he said, his voice thick. “Both of you.”

Your lips parted, a shuddering exhale escaping.

He wasn’t lying.

Despite everything, despite the monster he had become to survive, there was still the boy who had once promised to never let you starve. The boy who had watched city lights with you and told you the world could be yours.

“In another life,” you whispered, tears slipping past your lashes, “I think we would’ve been happy.”

His grip on you trembled. “Then let’s make this one count,” he said fiercely.

But you knew—both of you knew—there was no escaping this ending. And yet, for just one fleeting moment, you both allowed yourselves to pretend.

The moment In-ho’s trembling hand pressed against your belly, a choked sob tore from his throat. His palm was warm, despite the coldness creeping into your body, despite the chaos around you. His tears fell freely now, mixing with the blood that pooled beneath you both. His forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven, shaky, desperate.

"You were supposed to live," he whispered, voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears. "Both of you."

Your fingers weakly lifted, wanting to touch him, to reassure him, to tell him that it was okay—even though it wasn’t. But before you could reach him—

Bang.

His body jolted violently. A sharp, shuddering gasp left him, his grip on you tightening as if he could still shield you from the inevitable.

Your vision blurred, but you felt it. The way his muscles tensed, the way his breath stilled for a split second before leaving him in a broken, rattling exhale.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Just raw, silent agony.

But he didn't let go. Even as his body trembled, even as the warmth began to seep out of him, he held you. Tightly. Desperately.

His head dipped forward, his lips barely brushing your temple.

In-ho's grip on you slackened slightly, his forehead pressing weakly against yours as his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The warmth of his body was still there, but it was fading—just like yours.

You forced yourself to lift a trembling hand, brushing against his jaw, smearing blood across his skin. His own hand covered yours instantly, holding it in place, as if anchoring himself to you. His body trembled, whether from pain or grief, you weren’t sure.

"I’m sorry," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions he had buried for so long. His other hand stayed firmly over your belly, shaking with the realization of what was slipping away. "I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to—”

A wet cough interrupted his words, his body shuddering as another wave of pain struck him. But still, he clung to you. 

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears clouding your vision. "We... we had so many plans, In-ho," you murmured, a weak smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. "Remember? That little house by the coast... waking up to the sound of the waves... raising our child somewhere safe... away from all of this."

A broken chuckle left him, but it sounded more like a sob. "Yeah... I remember." 

His fingers brushed against your cheek, gentle despite the blood staining them. "You always wanted a garden."

You let out a breathy laugh, though it hurt. "And you said you’d build the fence yourself, even though you’re terrible at carpentry."

His lips twitched in something close to a smirk. "I would’ve figured it out eventually."

Silence hung between you for a moment, filled only by your labored breaths. The world around you had blurred, the distant chaos nothing more than background noise now.

You stared at him, memorizing his face, the way his dark eyes held a depth of emotions he had always tried to hide. And despite everything—the pain, the blood, the inevitability of it all—you still found solace in him.

You wished you could turn back time, rewrite the ending, give your child a life beyond this place. But there were no second chances.

Another gun cocked in the distance. Footsteps approached, seemingly cold, heavy, and unforgiving. In-ho's body tensed, his arms instinctively pulling you closer. Even now, even with his strength waning, he was still trying to shield you.

You tried to hold him, to keep him upright, but your strength was gone. Your fingers, sticky with blood—his blood—clutched at the fabric of his uniform, desperately trying to ground him, to keep him here with you.

His breaths came in uneven, shallow bursts, his body twitching against yours as he struggled to fight against the inevitable. His grip on your waist weakened, but his hand on your stomach never wavered, as if it was the only thing tethering him to life.

"In-ho," you rasped, your forehead pressing against his, trying to keep him with you, trying to will his body to stay alive despite the fatal wound tearing through him.

His lips parted, breath ragged and wet. His fingers twitched against your cheek before they cupped the side of your face in a weak attempt to comfort you. His dark eyes, once so intense, now held something softer—something desperate.

A sob broke from your throat as you held him tighter, ignoring the way your own body was beginning to weaken. Blood pooled beneath the both of you, the warmth of it contrasting cruelly against the chilling night air. You looked up and saw the overseer, standing there, watching the two of you, gun still raised. Her mask gave away nothing, but her stance was relaxed as if she knew the fight was already over.

"This was always how it was meant to end," the overseer murmured, her voice laced with cold amusement. "Did you really think you could change the system?"

In-ho shifted slightly, his fingers twitching against your belly again. His body was shaking, struggling to keep himself upright, but his eyes—despite the agony—still burned with defiance. "You’ll never win," he rasped.

The overseer chuckled, low and knowing. "You still don’t get it, do you?" She took a slow step closer, the muzzle of her gun lowering slightly. "There is no winning. There is no escaping." Her head tilted slightly, gaze flickering to you, her tone mocking. "You of all people should know that."

Your vision blurred, not just from the pain, but from the weight of everything. She was right. You knew it the moment you stepped back onto this island. 

And yet, despite everything, despite the certainty of death hanging over you, you still reached for In-ho.

Still clung to the last warmth between you.

Still wished, in another life, you could have had more time.

A heavy silence fell over the bloodstained ground. The sea air, once brimming with the scent of salt, now reeked of gunpowder and iron. Your body, weakened and barely clinging to consciousness, trembled in In-ho’s embrace. His grip was still firm despite the life draining from him, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm but fading.

Then, through the blur of pain and dimming vision, you saw them.

Gi-hun. Jun-ho. No-eul. Hyun-ju. Gyeong-seok.

They stood frozen at the edge of the platform, their faces carved with horror. Jun-ho’s eyes were the widest, wild with anguish. His lips moved, screaming something—your name, In-ho’s name—but his cries were muffled by the roaring in your ears. A guard yanked him back roughly, restraining him as he thrashed, desperation twisting his features.

Gi-hun's fists clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, battle-worn eyes—were filled with something between sorrow and fury. No-eul and Gyeong-seok looked pale, tense, their bodies rigid with helplessness, and Hyun-ju—always so composed—had a rare moment of raw emotion flicker across her face.

The overseer stepped forward, her heels stopping just before the pooling blood beneath you and In-ho. Her presence loomed over all of you like a specter, and when she spoke, her voice carried an eerie finality.

"Let this be a reminder," she mused, slow and deliberate, her gaze shifting between the remaining survivors. "A lesson for those who think they can escape fate."

Jun-ho struggled again, his entire body shaking. “You bastard!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You fucking coward—let them go! Let them go!”

The overseer merely chuckled, tilting her head slightly, amusement lacing her words. "Oh, Jun-ho," she sighed, stepping back into the shadows. "You still don’t understand, do you?" She gestured toward the island, toward the monolithic structures that loomed under the stormy sky. "You came here thinking you could end the games. You thought you could take it all down." She let the words linger before her voice dropped into something more menacing.

"But once you go in—there’s no turning back."

A new alarm blared across the island. The guards yanked Jun-ho, Gi-hun, and the others away, dragging them further back into the compound. Their muffled shouts became part of the chaos, swallowed by the unrelenting storm of fate.

As darkness pulled you further into its embrace, the last thing you saw was In-ho’s bloodied face, his eyes barely open, his lips trying to form words he no longer had the strength to say.

——

previous chapter | MASTERLIST

A/N: Now, it's done! Can't believe I've ended this series already. Also, I broke my own heart while writing this epilogue, but I really do think that the actual show will have a sad ending for In-ho. I can't wait for the next season of Squid Game, and maybe I'll write another series based on the 3rd season 👀 Also, thank you so much to all of you for reading and bearing my writing of this series! Your comments and feedbacks really helped and motivated me to continue writing. You can check out my masterlist to see more of my oneshots and my upcoming series soon. You may also request oneshots so please feel free to do so. 🫶

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 @luvr4miya (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 21 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The atmosphere in the control room was thick with tension as the final preparations for the dry run commenced. You stood beside In-ho, both of you in your authoritative masks and dark uniforms, overseeing the screens that displayed every inch of the arena. This was a necessary step to test the mechanics, ensuring every trap and function worked seamlessly before the real games began.

“We proceed as scheduled,” In-ho’s voice was calm but firm. “The Front Man should have been here by now.”

Your eyes flicked to the empty chair that Gi-hun was supposed to occupy. A small frown formed beneath your mask, but you shook it off. There were more pressing matters at hand. “Begin the dry run.”

The order was relayed, and the countdown was initiated. The massive red doors to the arena creaked open, revealing a handful of test subjects—masked guards disguised as players, meant to simulate real conditions. The last game was about to begin.

“All systems online,” a masked technician announced.

The massive doll at the center of the arena, responsible for detecting motion, remained still. Its head did not rotate, its sensor lights did not flicker. The guards in their test-player disguises exchanged confused glances. You exchanged a look with In-ho, his posture stiffening.

“Check the wiring,” he ordered sharply.

One of the technicians frantically worked at his station, fingers flying over the keyboard. “The detection system isn’t responding! It was functional yesterday—”

Another alarm blared across the monitors as more systems began to shut down. The retractable floors beneath certain marked spots—a key feature for later rounds—remained locked in place. The automatic turrets that were meant to simulate eliminations did not fire. A critical command flashed on the screens: 

SYSTEM ERROR – CONNECTION LOST

“What the hell is happening?” Your voice came out sharper than intended, but the tension in the air was suffocating.

“Security breach in multiple areas,” another guard reported, voice shaking slightly. “But… nothing is physically damaged. It’s like the entire system is shutting down on its own.”

In-ho’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles ghostly white against his gloves. He turned to you, his voice dangerously low. “Where is the Front Man?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine. You turned to one of the nearest guards. “Find him. Now.”

The guard hesitated, then slowly stepped forward. “Sir… he is nowhere to be seen.”

Your heart thumped in your chest.

“What do you mean, ‘nowhere to be seen’?” In-ho asked, his voice devoid of patience.

“We checked his quarters. He’s not there. And… several guards are missing as well.”

Your breath hitched. The realization clawed at your mind like a cold hand gripping your throat.

Your conversation with Gi-hun and Jun-ho. The options they gave you.

n-ho’s voice came through again, harsh and unrelenting. “Seal off the exits. No one leaves the island.”

But before the command could fully register, another sound rang through the control room. A shrill, piercing alarm—one that sent the entire room into a frantic motion.

EMERGENCY MEETING CALLED – ALL OVERSEERS REPORT IMMEDIATELY

The red warning lights flashed violently against the steel walls, bathing everything in crimson. Your pulse pounded in your ears as the realization fully settled in.

Gi-hun was gone.

And something bigger than a mere malfunction was about to unfold.

——

You and In-ho make your way towards the conference room. Inside was thick with tension, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows on the long table where the overseers sat. The air was heavy, charged with suspicion and quiet rage. You and In-ho stood at the end of the room, backs straight, masking any sign of weakness. The red alarms still echoed faintly in the corridors outside, a constant reminder of the chaos that had begun to unravel.

One of the overseers, a man with a deep scar running across his jaw, slammed his fist onto the table. "Everything was running perfectly until now. And suddenly, the system crashes? The games malfunction? Guards go missing? And where is the Front Man?!" His sharp eyes drilled into yours. "You and In-ho were supposed to ensure that none of this happened."

Another overseer, a woman with ice in her voice, leaned forward. "The two of you were the only ones who had direct access to every security measure. And now, there's a breach. We have reason to believe this is an inside job."

"You’re accusing us?" In-ho's voice was dangerously calm, but there was an edge to it. His hand rested subtly at his side, close to his gun holster.

"You tell us," the scarred man hissed. "How do we know you haven’t been compromised?"

The room darkened as the monitors flickered, static crackling before returning to blank screens. The overseers grew restless, shifting in their seats, fingers twitching near their weapons.

Then came the final blow.

A different overseer, older but sharper than the rest, tilted his head. "The games have been exposed."

You exchanged a sharp glance with In-ho. The older overseer continued, his expression unreadable. "And you know what’s surprising? The world isn’t outraged. They’re obsessed. Demanding more. Calling for a massive televised event." He exhaled sharply, voice dripping with disdain. "It’s no longer just a secret bloodbath—it’s entertainment."

Murmurs rippled through the room. Some overseers looked disturbed. Others intrigued. But suspicion still lingered.

"And you think we had something to do with this?" In-ho asked, voice tight.

"It’s too convenient. The timing, the failures, the missing personnel." The scarred man leaned in. "The only ones who could have let this slip are the ones who had access to everything. You."

Then, the final nail in the coffin.

The same older overseer smirked. "And, of course… we know about the pregnancy."

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. In-ho’s grip on his gun tightened. The way the older overseer’s lips curled ever so slightly sent a wave of unease through you.

"A child," the man mused. "What a complication that would be. A liability. Perhaps you’re both already thinking about an escape. Perhaps you’ve been compromised long before this."

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you felt the shift in the room—the rising hostility. A sharp click rang through the air, seeing guns drawn directly at you and In-ho.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still, your fingers curling into fists. One wrong move, and you’d both be riddled with bullets before you could even react.

"If you’re not with us, you’re against us," the scarred man growled. "And we don’t tolerate traitors."

Then, the first shot fired.

In-ho grabbed your wrist, yanking you down as the bullet shattered the glass panel behind you. A second later, the conference room erupted in gunfire. Overseers ducked for cover as you and In-ho sprinted toward the doors. You felt the air shift beside your cheek as a bullet barely missed you, embedding itself into the steel wall.

"Move!" In-ho barked, his grip on you firm as he led you into the hallway.

The moment you both crashed through the doors, In-ho pulled his gun and fired back, forcing the overseers to scatter for cover. "We have to get to the control room—now!"

Your pulse raced as your boots pounded against the cold floors. Behind you, the doors burst open, shouts echoing through the halls as the overseers pursued, their weapons raised. The emergency sirens blared louder now, blending with the chaos.

You weren’t just running from them. You were running for your life. 

For In-ho’s. 

For your unborn child.

And as another bullet whizzed past, nearly grazing your arm, you knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t over yet.

Your mind raced as you tore down the hall, your pulse hammering against your ribs. The sharp stench of gunpowder clung to the air as you and In-ho moved in sync, your footsteps heavy against the cold steel floors. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, sparks flying in bursts of light as more guards poured in from the intersecting corridors.

In-ho moved ahead, his precision deadly. His gun fired in clean, methodical bursts, taking out guards with ease. You followed closely, your own weapon raised, firing at the figures blocking your escape. Bodies fell, the chaos swallowing their last gasps as the sirens blared louder, warning the entire facility of your defiance.

“We need to get out of this sector now!” In-ho shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the endless alarms.

Your grip on your gun tightened as another group of guards stormed in from the left, their rifles aimed directly at you. Your reflexes took over, pulling the trigger, feeling the recoil as each shot landed with brutal precision. One guard lunged forward, and before you could react, In-ho stepped in front of you, his bullet meeting the man’s skull before he could even reach you.

A brief glance was exchanged between you and In-ho—nothing was said, but everything was understood.

Then a voice called out, stopping you both in your tracks.

“Over here!”

You snapped your head to the far end of the hallway. A figure stood there, barely visible through the flashing red lights. Then another voice joined in, a familiar one—Jun-ho.

“This way! Hurry!” he urged, motioning to a reinforced door behind him.

You and In-ho hesitated for a second. A second too long. More guards were closing in fast, their relentless gunfire forcing you both to duck behind a shattered console.

In-ho turned to you. “We don’t have a choice. We move now.”

You nodded, and without another word, both of you sprinted towards Jun-ho. He had already begun keying in a code on the panel beside the door, his fingers moving quickly, overriding the security locks. The moment you and In-ho were close enough, Jun-ho slammed the panel, and the heavy doors hissed open.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

Gi-hun. Hyun-ju. Gyeong-seok. No-eul.

They were all there.

Gi-hun's eyes flickered between you and In-ho, his expression unreadable. Hyun-ju had a gun slung over her shoulder, her stance tense but prepared. Gyeong-seok and No-eul stood side by side, their hands twitching near their weapons, waiting for any sign of hostility. The air in the room was thick, the weight of past betrayals and alliances clashing in an unspoken war.

No one moved. No one spoke.

The sound of distant gunfire and the wail of the alarms were the only reminders that the war outside had not ceased. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you weren’t alone.

An alliance was forming again.

——

A tense silence filled the air as Jun-ho and In-ho locked eyes. It was as if the world around them had disappeared, the chaos and the blaring alarms fading into nothing but the weight of years lost between them.

Jun-ho took a slow step forward. His breathing was uneven, his expression unreadable. “Is it really you?” his voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief and something deeper—pain.

n-ho, for all his poise and control, looked shaken. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He swallowed hard, his gun lowering slightly as if all the fight in him had drained away the moment he saw his brother standing there, alive.

“Jun-ho,” In-ho finally said, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard it.

Jun-ho clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he took another step. “You let me believe you were dead.”

In-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I had to.”

“Bullshit!” Jun-ho snapped, his voice rising as years of grief, anger, and betrayal surfaced all at once. “You could have come back! You could have told me! Do you have any idea what I—”

Before Jun-ho could finish, In-ho closed the distance between them and pulled his younger brother into a tight embrace.

Jun-ho stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push In-ho away or hold on to him like he had been wishing to do for years.

“I’m sorry,” In-ho murmured against his brother’s shoulder, voice breaking for the first time. “I’m so damn sorry, Jun-ho.”

Jun-ho squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching before he finally gave in, his arms wrapping around his brother in return. It was a brief moment of vulnerability, a reunion built on broken pieces, but it was real.

The others in the room stayed silent, watching the brothers reunite amidst the madness surrounding them.

After a moment, Jun-ho pulled away, wiping at his face quickly before looking at In-ho with newfound determination. “If you’re really sorry, then help me end this.”

In-ho hesitated, glancing at you for a brief second before turning back to his brother. He exhaled through his nose, then nodded. “We will.”

Gi-hun finally stepped forward, arms crossed as he surveyed the reunion. You smirked, glancing around at the group as your tone laced with purpose when you spoke up.

“So, what’s the plan?”

The silence hung heavy in the dimly lit room, only the distant echoes of gunfire and the blaring alarms breaking through. You stood among the others, feeling the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your chest. In-ho stood beside you, his face unreadable, though you could feel the tension in his stance.

Gi-hun took a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists before he finally spoke.

"The plan is simple," he began, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—calculated determination. "We take the organization down from the inside. We sabotage the games, expose their operations, and ensure that when the world watches, they see the truth."

Jun-ho crossed his arms, nodding slightly. "The system is already crumbling. The overseers are paranoid, the guards are scattered. With the world already watching, all we have to do is show them what’s really happening behind the scenes."

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. "But there was one part of the plan that’s changed."

You felt a sudden unease crawl up your spine.

"The original plan," Gi-hun continued, locking eyes with you and In-ho, "was to execute both of you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You barely had time to register it before the room shifted—Hyun-ju tensed, Gyeong-seok and No-eul exchanged wary glances, and Jun-ho's jaw clenched. In-ho, however, remained deathly still.

Gi-hun's gaze didn’t waver. "Before you decided to switch sides, you were still a threat. Both of you. The safest way to ensure this plan succeeded was to eliminate you before you could compromise it."

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn't realize how tight your fists had become.

"But," Gi-hun continued, "you chose differently. You decided to fight with us instead of against us. So, the plan changes."

You exhaled, steadying yourself. In-ho's hand brushed against yours—subtle, barely there, but enough for you to notice. When you looked at him, his eyes were focused ahead, but you could sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

"We do this together," Gi-hun said. "And we make sure no one ever has to go through this again."

The room fell into silence once more. The weight of everything—of every loss, every sacrifice—pressed down on all of you. Then, with a sharp inhale, he straightened.

“We take the control room first,” he stated, his voice firm. “The entire island runs on that system—every camera, every security lock, every broadcast. Once we have it, we control the narrative.”

Jun-ho nodded, arms crossed. “The overseers will have the backups, but if we move fast enough, we can cut them off before they get the chance to reboot. We leak everything. We let the world see the truth.”

Hyun-ju leaned against the wall, arms folded. “And then what? Even if the world sees it, we’re still trapped on this island. The guards will come down on us before we even have a chance to escape.”

Gi-hun turned to Gyeong-seok and No-eul. “That’s where you two come in.”

The two guards stiffened slightly at the attention. No-eul spoke first. “We’ve already mapped out the guard shifts and their blind spots. We can secure an exit route while the rest of you handle the control room.”

Gyeong-seok added, “The docks are heavily guarded, but we know the security rotation. If we time it right, we can take control of a transport boat before reinforcements arrive.”

In-ho listened in silence, his mask discarded, exposing a hardened expression. His presence alone was imposing—once the enforcer of the games, now a rogue piece in a collapsing empire.

“And the overseers?” he asked, voice low.

Jun-ho hesitated. “They won’t let this slide. They’ll do everything in their power to contain this before it reaches the outside world. We’re going to have to face them head-on.”

The tension in the air sharpened.

“Good,” In-ho finally said. His gaze flickered to you, then back to the group. “Then we don’t hesitate.”

You studied him, the man who once stood as the face of the system you were now trying to burn to the ground. There was a quiet fire behind his words, something deeper—maybe even regret.

Gi-hun let out a slow breath. “This is our only shot. If we fail, we die here.”

Everyone knew it, but no one backed down.

Gi-hun looked at each of you once more before gripping the pistol at his side. His fingers flexed over the cold metal before he exhaled sharply.

“Let’s end this.”

A brief silence occurred. Then, you nodded, meeting his gaze. “For those we lost.”

The words hung in the air, sealing the fate of what was to come.

No more games. No more survival.

Now, it was war.

——

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A/N: I hope y'all like the concept of their alliance forming once again, minus the other players who really had a higher chance of dying in the actual show (in my opinion though). The epilogue will be up in a few days and I'm taking my time in editing and drafting it. With that, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the last chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 @luvr4miya (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 20 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The conference room was cold, as always. The walls were bare, the air thick with the ever-present scent of sterile metal and quiet tension. You sat at the head of the table, eyes scanning over the documents in front of you — the final preparations for the next round of games.

Gi-hun entered moments later, his black mask tucked under his arm. His eyes flickered to the papers, then to you. “You look well-rested,” he noted, settling into his chair. “That’s rare for someone in your position.”

You smirked faintly, about to counter when his gaze landed on your hand. Silence stretched between you as Gi-hun’s eyes locked onto the engagement ring on your finger. His expression was unreadable at first, but then he let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

You glanced down at the ring, your thumb brushing over the band. “Surprised?”

Gi-hun exhaled through his nose. “Not surprise that he asked. Just surprised that you said yes.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And why is that?’

Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “Because you don’t strike me as the type to settle for a man who keeps too many secrets.”

The words cut deep, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you straightened your shoulders, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know what I’m doing.”

Gi-hun studied you for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “If you say so.”

There was something else in his eyes, something unspoken — but you didn’t press. Instead, you moved forward with the meeting, discussing the final arrangements for the games. Gi-hun played along, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Though he never said it outright, you knew he was already calculating his next move. 

The air inside the management sector of the facility was cold, sterile, and suffocating in its silence. The hum of monitors and the faint shuffling of masked guards moving with precision added an eerie rhythm to the stillness. You had grown accustomed to the controlled chaos, the weight of responsibility that came with overseeing the very machine that dictated life and death within the games.

Working alongside In-ho had been a test of both your discipline and your patience. He was methodical, a perfectionist in execution, yet he had an unshakable presence that commanded respect without the need for raised voices. You had learned his habits — the way he tapped his gloved fingers against the table when he was in deep thought, how his sharp eyes scanned over the daily reports with meticulous attention, and the way he adjusted the high collar of his coat as if shielding himself from the weight of his own conscience.

He relied on you, not just as a fellow overseer but as someone he trusted. He never said it outside, but you could see it in the way he glanced at you when a decision needed to be made, in the way he shared information with you that others would ever be privy to. You were his equal in this twisted empire, the one person who stood beside him rather than beneath him.

But the work was relentless.

In order for the games to work, the contestants should be constantly monitored, the staff required strict adherence to protocol, and the VIPs demanded entertainment that bordered on madness. The games would be starting soon and everything had to be perfect.

One evening, as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors of the management sector, something unusual caught your attention. The sound of voices — low and urgent, hushed yet unmistakable. Your footsteps slowed, heart rate quickening as you recognized one of them.

Gi-hun.

That wasn’t unusual. He was the Frontman now, stationed here like you. But the other voice sent a chill down your spine.

You edged closer, ears, straining to catch the words. The cadence, the sharpness — it was familiar in a way that made your stomach drop.

“…If we time it right, we can take out the surveillance feed for at least an hour. That should be enough for extraction.”

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter, laced with doubt. “She’s part of it now. There’s no telling what she’ll do.”

A pause.

“She deserves to choose.”

Jun-ho.

You stepped forward, your breath caught between disbelief and anger. The moment you emerged into the dimly lit room, both men turned sharply to face you. Gi-hun stiffened, guilt flashing across his face. Jun-ho’s expression was unreadable behind the circle mask he wore, but you could feel his gaze boring into you.

The room felt colder. The weight of their words sank in.

“You,” you whispered, eyes locked onto Jun-ho.

“Surprised?” He asked, his voice steady.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to regain control. “How are you here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” his tone was unreadable. “What matters is that you have a choice to make.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “They’ve been keeping things from you.”

Your fists clenched. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but betrayal isn’t one of my games.”

Jun-ho stepped forward. “Then why do you still hesitate?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

“You still have your humanity,” he continued, his voice softer now, less like an accusation and more like an offering. “You can feel it, can’t you? This place hasn’t completely taken you.”

Gi-hun chimed in, voice laced with something close to desperation. “You think this is control? That you have a say in anything? The games don’t stop. They never will. Unless someone does something.”

You swallowed, the weight of their words pressing into you like a vice. Jun-ho took one final step forward. “You can either keep lying to yourself or you can decide to change things.”

The choice hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. For the first time in a long time, you felt truly, painfully alive. 

——

The walk back to the private felt heavier than usual. Each step echoed against the polished floor, your mind burdened with the weight of what you had just witnessed. Gi-hun and Jun-ho had given you a choice — a choice that shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. 

But it did. 

For the first time in a long time, you felt something stir inside you. 

Humanity or whatever was left of it.

Your fingers twitched at your side as you hesitated at the entrance, exhaling sharply before pushing the door open. You expected silence. Instead, you found In-ho already there.

The sight before you made you pause. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across his face. But it wasn’t just his presence that caught you off guard — it was what he was holding.

The small fabric of infant clothing was delicate in his gloved fingers, and beside him, meticulously arranged, were items you hadn’t even noticed before — warm blankets, a baby bottle, small things that would be insignificant to anyone else but to you, they meant everything.

A glimpse of fatherhood.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were holding your breath until you forced yourself to exhale. The sight was so different from the composed, calculating man you worked alongside everyday. Here, in this moment, he was just In-ho. 

Not the Frontman, not the overseer of the games, not the enforcer of death and order. Just a man staring at the fragile reality of the life growing inside you.

“You’re here early,” he murmured, but his voice lacked its usual authority. He didn’t look at you, still fixated on the small piece of cloth in his hands.

You swallowed, stepping further inside. “You weren’t at the conference room. I thought you were still occupied.” You sat on the bed, watching as In-ho knelt in front of you, gently placing his hands over your stomach. His fingers traced delicate patterns over the fabric of your robe, his expression unreadable yet undeniably tender.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You tilted your head. “Believe what?”

“That there’s… life inside of you,” he admitted. His voice was softer than usual, filled with something rare—wonder, maybe even fear.

You reached down, placing your hand over his. “Does it scare you?”

In-ho hesitated before shaking his head. “No. Not in the way you think.”

“Then how?”

He exhaled, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’m scared of failing you. Of failing… them.” His gaze drifted back down to your stomach, his hands warm and steady. “I never thought I’d have this again.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “You won’t fail,” you whispered. “Not this time.”

In-ho leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against your stomach, his arms wrapping around you as if trying to shield you from the world.

For the first time in a long while, the weight of the organization, of the games, of everything—faded away. And in that quiet moment, In-ho wasn’t the Overseer.

He was simply a man who wanted to be a father.

Silence stretched between you both, unspoken words lingering in the air like ghosts. Your eyes flickered to the items on the bed again before you found yourself asking a question that’s been lingering on you.

“What’s left of you, In-ho? What humanity do you even have left?”

His expression shifted — subtle, but enough for you to notice the flicker of something deep within his gaze. Something almost vulnerable. His lips pressed together, placing the infant clothing down with deliberate care before turning fully toward you. “I could ask you the same thing,” the countered, voice low. “You tell me, what humanity is left in you? After everything we’ve done?”

You inhaled sharply, but you didn’t look away. “That’s why I’m asking. Because… I don’t know. I was just reminded that I still have it — no matter how much I tried to bury it under power and necessity.”

In-ho’s shoulders tensed. He turned his gaze to the floor, as if searching for an answer he wasn’t ready to admit. “Humanity is a weakness in a place like this. It gets you killed.”

“Then why do you still keep things like this?” You gestured toward the bed where the baby things were placed. “Why do you still hold onto this if you believe we have nothing left?”

He was silent. The question settled deep within him, unraveling something he had kept tightly wound for so long. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “Because I still want to believe that there’s something beyond all of this. That despite everything, I still have a reason to keep going."

Your chest tightened. "Then you still have it," you whispered. "You still have your humanity, In-ho. You just buried it under all the hardship."

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee. "And you? Are you ready to dig yours back out?"

You hesitated, then finally sat beside him. "I don’t know. But I think I’m starting to remember what it felt like."

The room was filled with an unfamiliar quiet—one that neither of you had allowed yourselves to experience in a long time. And for the first time in years, you and In-ho weren’t discussing the games, the organization, or the next strategic move.

You were just two people who had lost themselves along the way, trying to figure out if there was still anything left worth saving.

——

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A/N: A bit of a short chapter today as I want to give my all on the last ones. I'm curious if y'all want a sad ending or a happy ending? Or do y'all want alternative endings? Please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 19 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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A/N: This chapter mostly consists of Gi-hun's point of view. I have another chapter ready to make up for more moments with In-ho and the reader. 🫶

——

Gi-hun sat in the dimly lit room, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. The call with Jun-ho had ended, but his mind was far from quiet. His gaze flickered to the glass of liquor on the table before him, untouched. He wasn’t in the mood to drink, at least for now.

Instead, his thoughts drifted away as he thought more about his plans, weighing down each every plan a and b, even up to c, down to the end of the alphabet.

Gyeong-seok had entered the games as Player 246. All for his daughter who was waiting for him in the hospital as the bills pile up, all to save her. Along Gi-hun, he endured the horrors alongside the rest. When the rebellion broke out, he had been shot, though not fatal. 

No-eul made sure of that. Instead of leaving him to die, she dragged him away, patching him up in secret.

Then, she had given him a new identity. 

With No-eul’s help, Gyeong-seok had been disguised as a circle guard, blending into the very system that had tried to kill him. It was dangerous, but it gave them eyes inside.

Gyeong-seok blended inside the system well. It was a good thing the system didn’t care much about the circle guards - they had the lowest ranks. In order to be up, they had to do their tasks diligently well or prove something that would make them worthy of a triangle. Gyeong-seok wasn’t interested at all in being a triangle guard — all for his daughter. He needed a way out of this place, his loyalty still on Gi-hun even when the rebellion played, trusting his plans as the Front Man.

No-eul walked with her head held high, her triangle mask disguising the quickened pulse hammering beneath her ribs. Beside her, Gyeong-seok, dressed as a circle guard, carried the package in his gloved hands - a small, unassuming box containing the pregnancy test.

The air between them was thick with tension, neither of them speaking. They couldn’t as the surveillance cameras watched their every move, but even beyond that, there was an unspoken understanding. If they hesitated or if they so much as faltered, it was over.

Gyeong-seok inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the box. “She doesn’t know yet, does she?” He whispered under his breath.

No-eul shook her head slightly. “Not for certain.” 

Gyeong-seok exhaled, his breath shaky. “Then we’re about to change her entire life.”

They reached the door as the guard stationed outside barely acknowledged them — just another routine delivery from a superior. No-eul knocked once.

Moments later, the door creaked open.

You stood there as you scanned their masks, a sigh of relief coming out of you as you recognized the same guards you approached. No-eul didn’t speak as she simply extended the small box forward.

You reached out hesitantly, fingers grazing the cardboard edges before taking it fully into your hands. Gyeong-seok saw the shift in your expression as your fingers trembled. You swallowed hard, your eyes darting between them.

You gave them a nod and closed the door. No-eul and Gyeong-seok turned without another word, walking briskly down the corridor, leaving you alone with the truth you were about to uncover.

As they rounded the corner, Gyeong-seok exhaled deeply. “That was nerve-wracking.”

No-eul shot him a sharp look. “We did what we had to do.”

“I know,” he muttered. “I just hope she’s ready.”

No-eul didn’t answer. Because the truth was — no one ever really was. 

Gi-hun walked down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps slow and deliberate. When he turned the corner, he spotted them — Gyeong-seok and No-eul, stationed outside the Overseer’s private suite. They were standing stiffly, exchanging only the occasional glance. There was something tense in the air around them.

Gi-hun slowed his pace, eyes narrowing. He glanced up at the surveillance cameras overhead, their red lights blinking steadily. Too many eyes. With a subtle motion, he tilted his head towards a corridor to the right — one that led to a maintenance area, just outside the CCTV’s coverage.

No-eul caught on immediately. She tapped Gyeong-seok’s arm, and without hesitation, they followed him.

Once they were in the clear, Gi-hun crossed his arms and gave them both a pointed look. “Talk.”

Gyeong-seok hesitated for only a second before exhaling sharply. “We delivered a pregnancy test.”

Gi-hun’s expression didn’t change, but inside his mask, something twisted. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a strange unease through him.

“She asked for it?” He questioned.

No-eul shook her head. “We noticed the signs. She was… avoiding it, but it was obvious.:

Gi-hun stared at them, his mind racing. This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was. And now, she was carrying a child in this place, surrounded by danger, under In-ho’s control. 

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. For so long, revenge had been the only thing driving him forward. It had been simple. But now… now there was her. 

There was a baby. The thought of dragging an innocent life into this chaos made his stomach churn.

He didn’t speak for a long time. No-eul and Gyeong-seok exchanged glances, but they didn’t push him. They knew better.

Finally, Gi-hun exhaled. “You two did the right thing.”

No-eul relaxed slightly, but Gyeong-seok remained tense, watching Gi-hun closely. “What happens now?” He asked.

Gi-hun didn’t answer immediately. He looked past them, toward the suite, where you were. He thought about the plan, the rebellion, the revenge he had spent months working toward.

And for the first time, he hesitated. He turned away, staring at the floor. “I don’t know.”

Gi-hun wasn’t sure why he even came out of the balcony. Maybe it was instinct — the way he had always been drawn to the quiet moments before everything went to hell. Or maybe it was curiosity, watching you stand alone on the balcony, your arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought.

He had planned this conversation in his head. He would press, prod, and look for the cracks forming in your resolve. A pregnancy in this place? It was a liability — something he could. 

But as he stepped onto the balcony, on the other side you were already there. He leaned against the railing on his balcony, silent for a moment as he let the cool night air settle. The iland was quiet at this hour, save for the distant sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. 

He had spent so much time trying to picture you as the enemy — someone who had chosen this life, to stand beside In-ho, to uphold the very system he despised.

“You should be more careful.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the exhaustion in your eyes. It wasn’t just physical. It was the kind of tiredness that settled deep in the bones, the kind that didn’t fade with sleep. He hesitated.

He knew that at this moment, he had lost whatever leverage he thought he had as he glimpsed onto your belly. No matter how much he wanted to see you as the enemy, he couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him.

Of course, you shot back, still trying to regain your composure. But Gi-hun already knew what you were feeling — what you were so worried about.

“You should tell him soon,” he murmured. “Secrets have a way of eating people alive. And something tells me that this isn’t one you can keep forever.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gi-hun wasn’t thinking about strategy or even thinking about how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. 

He was just looking at someone who was struggling to breathe under the weight of something far bigger than either of you. And for once, he didn’t want to be the one to make it worse.

Gi-hun let out a frustrated sigh as he lit up a cigarette, placing it in his mouth as he puffed a smoke. He had seen people adapt to survival before, but he would never want an innocent life to fight their way into this place, what more for someone who hasn’t even been born yet? 

For a moment, his mind drifted back to the previous game. The way Hyun-ju had stood amongst the players, her shoulders squared, her eyes fierce. She had fought with everything she had, carving her own path through the trials laid before her.

He remembered the sound of her ragged breathing, the way she wiped blood from her face and pushed forward, even when the odds were stacked against her. She had never begged, never pleaded. She had simply fought.

As the rebellion progressed, the rebels were outnumbered. She went back to the dormitory to find out where Dae-ho had been, seeing him shaking nervously as he was wrapped on the bed, his hands over his ears. Just when she was about to grab the ammos back, the guards had already entered the dormitory, their guns pointed at the remaining players inside.

She fought back, not wanting to back down from the system. Just as when she was about to pull the trigger, the square-masked officer entered and walked towards her.

“Come with us,” the guard said, much to Hyun-ju’s surprise. Reluctantly, she pulled the rifle down as she glared at the officer in front of her, not wanting to show weakness. But right then and there, she knew she wouldn’t survive at all.

Even In-ho was impressed, as he ordered the guards to offer him something more in the system. He knew she had no one to turn to in the outside world, knowing how the world treated trans people outside. At least in this place, she had a purpose.

From the moment she wore the square mask, Hyun-ju moved like she had always belonged. There was no hesitation in her step, no sign of unease as she patrolled the halls of the facility alongside the other guards. She carried herself with an ease that suggested she had been doing this for years.

Gi-hun watched from the monitors, arms crossed over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips. “She’s adjusting fast,” he muttered under his breath.

A part of him should have been impressed. It wasn’t easy to slip into this world and go unnoticed. The hierarchy was rigid, the rules were absolute. But Hyun-ju moved through it like water, slipping between the cracks, bending just enough to not break.

She had already learned the unspoken rules — how to keep her head down when necessary, when to speak, and when to stay silent. The other guards barely questioned her presence, accepting her as one of their own.

He watched as Hyun-ju passed by a group of guards, nodding in acknowledgment but never lingering too long. She was smart. She knew how to avoid drawing suspicion while still observing everything. It was almost frustrating how well she was doing as it meant she was slipping deeper into the organization.

And the deeper she went, the harder it would be to pull her out. 

As Gi-hun puffed another smoke, his heart felt heavier as his mind drifted over the fallen players — Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Myung-gi, Dae-ho, and… Jung-bae. 

The worst part was how he couldn’t do anything at that time, watching them through the monitors as In-ho trapped him in an isolated room, watching them die one by one.

He remembered how he watched them fall one by one, their faces and movements struggling as they progressed through the games. Their bodies still held a vivid memory in his mind, scattered across the arena like discarded pieces in a cruel game.

Except for Jung-bae, who was shot by In-ho himself right in front of his eyes with no hesitation.

Geum-ja’s laughter still rang in his ears, sharp and defiant even in the face of death. She had been the first to die, standing tall even as the bullet tore through her. She spat blood, wiped her mouth, and cursed the organization with her last breath.

They had shot her again just to shut her up. The fire in her gaze was still there, that unbreakable will even as her body hit the ground.

Yong-sik lasted longer than anyone expected, his hands trembling though his heart had been steady. He tried to shield a younger player, stepping in front of them without hesitation. But then, the bullet ripped through his back.

He fell to the ground, gasping for air, his fingers clawing at the dirt. The younger player he had tried to save didn’t even look back. He had known what was coming as he still let out a smile before his vision faded into darkness.

“Eomma, wait for me.”

Myung-gi had fought. He had always been a fighter. He didn’t go down easily even when Thanos and Nam-gyu threatened his life a lot of times. 

His screams echoed through the halls as he wrestled with Nam-gyu, blood staining his hands, his face, and his clothes. Nam-gyu didn’t stop, trying to avenge Thanos’ death.  He had beaten him into dirt, but he had still gotten up.

Even with a broken arm, and even with his ribs caving in.

He looked up at Jun-hee one last time, whose face watched in horror as she clutched her belly. He managed to give her a smile as he glanced at her belly.

“Please survive.”

Then with one last punch from Nam-gyu, he was knocked out dead. His body had finally dropped, as if all the fight had finally drained out of him.

Dae-ho was different. Even in the darkness of the games, he managed to keep everyone light. He was strong and resourceful — surviving longer than most. But even the strongest had their limits.

He made it to the final round as the last three players, him, Jun-hee, and Player 021, had been pitted against each other in a brutal endurance challenge, forced to fight until only one remained. 

Dae-ho had held on longer than anyone expected. He was wounded, exhausted, and barely able to stand, but he still fought with everything he had left.

But in the end, it hadn’t been a fair fight. 

He saw Player 021 about to attack Jun-hee, who was sleeping on the other side of the dorm. He immediately noticed the makeshift weapon on his hand — a piece of shattered glass. 

With one last courage he had, as if to redeem the failure of delivering the ammos to the rebels, he ran towards the player and knocked him down. He fought relentlessly, gripping the other player’s neck. Jun-hee opened her eyes, waking up from the grunts near her. She screamed, though she couldn’t move. She felt a sharp pain in her belly as she tried to move.

Dae-ho successfully removes the shattered glass from the other player’s hand, diving the glass into the player’s neck, the blood sputtering out of him. But then, the other player’s reflexes were much faster, gripping Dae-ho’s hand with the shattered glass as he pulled it out of him, much to Dae-ho’s shock.

Then, Player 021 shot the glass into Dae-ho’s neck, letting out an ear-piercing scream as Dae-ho stumbled, clutching at the wound, his hands slick with blood. He had looked up, locking eyes with Jun-hee. He wanted to say something, but the wound was so deep that even the last sign of life faded into him in a snap.

Gi-hun’s hands trembled as he reached for another cigarette in his pocket. The lighter barely caught flame as he lit the end, inhaling deeply, as if the smoke could fill the void their deaths had left inside him. 

Then, the memories shifted towards the closest people he had in the games.

Jung-bae’s last moments weren’t at the hands of the other players. It had been In-ho.

Gi-hun had been there, kneeling in front of the Frontman, forced to watch as Jung-bae knelt on the ground beside him. The moment stretched out endlessly, suffocating in its inevitability. 

Jung-bae stare still haunted Gi-hun as In-ho pointed his gun at him, muttering his name.

“Gi-hun…”

Then, a shot rang out.

Gi-hun flinched as another piece of his resolve splintered away, leaving behind nothing but raw, seething anger as he clutched Jung-bae’s body beside him. 

Jung-bae had died, just like Sang-woo had — in his arms. Another person who could have lived, if not for this cursed game.

But then, Gi-hun’s mind made a dangerous connection. 

It hit him all at once — how you reminded him of Sang-woo. The way you strategized, the way you moved through the games with ruthless efficiency. The way you fought to survive, no matter the cost. But even with that, there was something different. Something he had seen in you that Sang-woo had lost by the end.

Humanity.

You still had it, buried beneath the weight of power and love. You were blinded by it, but it was still there.

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray. The ember dimmed, turning to dust. He wasn’t sure if you could be saved.

But he knew that he wouldn’t let you be consumed by the same fate, even if it meant going against you too.

The plan was set in motion. The cracks were forming. Any time, the organization would fall. He just had to time it really well.

But now, there was you. You were a liability.

It was a cruel thought, one he hated himself for even considering. But it was the truth. Your pregnancy complicated everything. It made the plan fragile and uncertain. In-ho would never let anything happen to you. If he even suspected that Gi-hun was plotting against the organization, he would tighten security, make sure nothing touched you or the child growing inside you.

He had promised himself that he would tear his place down, that he wouldn’t let another batch of desperate souls be slaughtered like cattle. The next season of the games was set to begin soon as the selection process was already underway. If he wanted to stop it before it even began, he needed to act now.

But, could he risk it?

His hand moved to his temple, massaging away the headache that had been brewing all day. He thought about you — the way you stood on the balcony that night, staring into the dark horizon, lost in thought. He thought about the weight you carried, the uncertainty in your eyes. 

Would he be willing to put you through even more?

Would he be willing to put your child through it?

Gi-hun’s jaw tighteneed.

Damn it.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

He had planned for everything — the guards, hierarchy, hidden tunnels, external leaks. But he didn’t plan for you to be carrying In-ho’s child, for you to be tangled in something so deep that he wasn’t sure he could pull you out without everything else collapsing.

Gi-hun closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. He needed to decide.

Time was running out.

——

You had lost count of how many times you had woken up on the couch, the ache in your back growing worse with each passing night. But tonight was different.

You were in bed.

Warmth surrounded you as the familiar scent of In-ho filled the air. Your body stirred as you felt something soft and lingering, a gentle press against your forehead. Then another, this time on your cheek.

A kiss.

Your eyelashes fluttered open, and in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you saw him. In-ho was hovering over you, his expression soft in a way you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. His fingers brushed against your hair, tucking a stray behind your ear as his lips ghosted over your skin again.

“In-ho…” your voice was hoarse from sleep, but before you could say more, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.

It was different from the ones before. This one wasn’t desperate, fueled by frustration, or unspoken words. It was warm, reassuring, filled with quiet apologies neither of you had spoken aloud. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of your shared space.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I hated waking up without you beside me.”

Your chest tightened. The past few weeks had been unbearable, the distance, the fights, the silence between you. But here he was, holding you again, and you realized just how much you had missed him too.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, your fingers reaching up to cup his face. “I was just… hurt.”

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes filled with regret. “I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve—“ He paused, exhaling shakily. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

You curled into him, burying your face into his neck as his arms wrapped around you. For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace. The rise and fall of his chest soothed you, the steady beat of his heart anchoring you.

And then, you felt a small movement from him.

In-ho pulled back slightly, reaching for something on the bedside table. You frowned as he brought out a small velvet box, his fingers gripping it tightly. Your breath hitched.

“In-ho…?”

He exhaled sharply before opening the box, revealing a ring inside — a simple yet elegant band that shimmered under the soft light.

“I wanted to do this sooner,” he admitted, voice shaking every so slightly. “But everything happened so fast. And I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I hurt you. But please believe me when I say that I love you.” His fingers trembled as he took the ring from its box, holding it between you. “I love you more than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, his gaze searching yours, raw and vulnerable. “I don’t want to wake up without you ever again. So please…” He swallowed hard. “Marry me.”

A sob escaped your lips as you nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, my In-ho.”

Relief washed over his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly. And the moment it settled in place, he kissed you again. This time, it was deeper, with more urgency, as if he never wanted to let go.

The world outside the suite was cruel, but here, wrapped in each other’s arms, the cruelty melted away. In-ho held you close, your bare skin pressed against his as the soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed you both in warm light. The silence between you wasn’t tense. It was comforting, filled with unspoken emotions, heavy with the weight of everything you had endured.

His fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, absentmindedly following the curve of your spine as you both lay tangled beneath the sheets. You stared at the ceiling, breathing in the lingering scent of him, of the night you had just shared.

It had been slow and tender — nothing like the desperate moments before, where anger or sorrow drove you into each other’s arms. This time, it had been about healing and love.

You sighed, a small smile ghosting your lips. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

In-ho let out a low chuckle. “Of course, I do. You threw a rock at me.”

You laughed, turning your head to face him. “You deserved it.”

He smirked. “I was just trying to get your attention.”

“You were annoying,” you teased, poking his side.

“And yet, you still fell for me,” he countered, his voice dropping into something softer. “Even after everything.”

You swallowed hard. “I never stopped.”

His hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he stared at you, like he was memorizing every inch of you. “Neither did I.”

The room fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t peaceful. A lingering thought hung between you both, unspoken but present.

Jun-ho.

You shifted slightly, breaking eye contact. “I spoke to Jun-ho before,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He… he gave me options, Told me I could turn you in or that I could live the rest of my life with a lie.”

In-ho stiffened beside you. His fingers tensed against your skin, but he didn’t pull away. He exhaled slowly. “And yet, here you are.”

You nodded. “I couldn’t do it. No matter what you’ve done… I couldn’t betray you.”

He was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed, running a hand through his air. “I’ve tightened security. No one gets in or out without me knowing.”

Your stomach twisted at that. You knew what he was implying. Jun-ho wouldn’t have a second chance at infiltrating this place. If he tried, he would be caught. And you knew what happened to those who got caught.

You turned onto your side, pressing your forehead against his chest. “In-ho…”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “I know,” he murmured.

The warmth of his embrace soothed you, but the unease remained. Then, without thinking, you whispered. “What about Gi-hun?”

In-ho tensed again. You pulled back slightly to look at him, catching the flicker of something dark in his expression. “He’s been a problem,” In-ho admitted, voice low. “For a while now.”

You frowned. “A problem?”

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “He’s not the same man who won the games. He’s dangerous. He asks too many questions, pushes too hard. He’s always watching, always waiting for something.”

You bit your lip. “Do you think he’s planning something?”

In-ho sighed, rubbing his temple. “If he is, it won’t matter. Not with the security we have in place.”

You nodded, but a strange unease settled in your chest. 

Neither of you knew it yet, anyway.

——

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CHAPTER 18 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The weight of the silence between you was suffocating.

In-ho’s eyes were still locked on you, his gaze unreadable,  his body tense as if he were forcing himself to stay still. Then, his voice cut through the air.

“Since when?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into your palms. “I… I don’t know exactly. I started feeling different a few days ago, but I confirmed it last night.”

You noticed In-ho’s jaw tightened. You could feel his mind racing, trying to piece together everything at once, but then his gaze sharpened, something dark flickering in his eyes. “And how does Gi-hun know?”

“He… noticed,” you hesitated. “He’s been watching me. He figured it out before I could even say anything.”

In-ho let out a sharp breath, almost a bitter chuckle. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body becoming rigid, like a man standing on the edge of a breaking dam,

You took a careful step toward him, reaching out as you wanted to close the space between you. “In-ho, please—“

But the moment, your fingertips barely brushed against his sleeve, he jerked away. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed towards the exit.

“In-ho!” You called out, moving after him as you followed him down the halls of the facility as he marched toward your private suite. “Please just stop — talk to me!”

But he didn’t even glance back.

Then, the moment he entered the suite, the tension snapped. You barely had time to step inside before he grabbed the first thing within reach — an empty glass on the kitchen counter — and hurled it across the room. The sharp sound of shattering glass echoed against the walls. You flinched, your breath hitching.

But, In-ho wasn’t done. His hands gripped at the edge of the counter, his breath heavy and erratic.

“Where is it?” His voice was low, shaking with barely contained frustration.

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

“The test,” he snapped, his eyes burning into yours. “Where the fuck is it?”

You couldn’t answer. Instead, you felt your body tremble, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions crashing over you. In-ho let out a ragged breath, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed a nearby lamp and sent it crashing to the floor. 

Tears welled in your eyes, your chest tightening painfully. “In-ho, stop!” Your voice cracked.

But he wasn’t listening. His hands tore through the room, opening drawers, and shoving things aside as he searched. You felt a sob build in your throat, raw and aching.

Then, he stopped.

Your breath hitched as you watched him reach for your robe, the one you had worn the night before. His hands searched through the fabric, his movements slowing and becoming eerily calm. Then, his fingers curled around something inside the pocket, pulling it out.

The pregnancy test.

The room fell into a deathly silence. You could hear nothing but the shallow rise and fall of your own breathing, the erratic thumping of your heart inside your chest. In-ho just stared at it, but he didn’t move or speak. He just stood there, staring at the little piece of plastic in his hands as if it held the weight of the entire world.

His lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is real?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you nodded. His grip tightened around the test, his knuckles turning white. His shoulders trembled, his breath uneven.

You didn’t know what he was thinking. You weren’t sure if he was angry, if he was scared, or if he was mourning the life he had before this moment.

All you knew was that he was breaking in front of you.

In-ho’s grip on the pregnancy test trembled as his shoulders tensed, his breathing continued to be uneven and sharp.

But then, he broke down.

A shuddering breath escaped him, and before you could even react, his knees buckled slightly, forcing him to lean against the nearest wall for support. His fingers curled so tightly around the test that you thought he might break it in half. His head lowered, dark strands of hair falling over his eyes, but you could see the way his entire body trembled, the way his chest heaved as silent sobs wracked through him, the tears slipping down his face.

“I should have been the first know,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I should have been the first to know about this.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. His mind drifted farther until his voice was no longer meant for you, but for someone who no longer existed.

In-ho had been running late that day. The hospital corridors felt suffocating, the air sterile and thick with antiseptic. The doctor stood in front of him, a clipboard in hand, a carefully controlled expression on her face.

“We ran more tests,” the doctor said. “And… there’s something else we need to inform you of.”

His stomach twisted. “What is it?”

“She’s pregnant.”

The words crashed over him, stunning him into silence. He felt his heart stutter, his mind scrambling to process and understand it. 

His wife. His love.

But the doctor’s expression remained grim. The weight of reality hit him before she even said the next words. “She didn’t want you to know… yet,” the doctor admitted softly. “She wanted to tell you herself, but… she didn’t get the chance.”

His breath caught in his throat, knowing she didn’t get the chance because she was already sick and slipping away. The time he had left with her was already running out.

In-ho’s breath hitched as he returned to the present, to the cold walls of the Overseer’s suite, to the woman standing before him — the one carrying his child now. 

But it wasn’t his wife this time.

It was you.

The one who had kept this from him. The one who had told Gi-hun before telling him.

“Why… why did I have to hear it from him?” In-ho’s voice cracked, raw with pain as the ache in his chest was unbearable. “Why did you let him figure it out first?”

You understood his pain. You understood why this hurt him so much. But that didn’t mean you weren’t angry.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your own emotions bubbling to the surface. “That’s what you’re worried about?” Your voice shook, not from sadness, but from pure, simmering rage. “That you weren’t the first to know?”

In-ho flinched.

“You haven’t even asked how I feel, In-ho!” You took a step forward, your anger now burning hot in your veins. “You haven’t asked if I’m okay, if I’m scared, if I—“ your voice cracked, but you pushed forward. “All you care about is that someone else found out before you.”

His eyes widened, guilt washing over his face. “That’s not what I meant—“

“Then what did you mean?” You cut him off, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Because right now, it sounds like you’re more concerned about your own pain than what I’m going through!”

The words hit him like a bullet. He opened his mouth then closed it. For the first time, he had nothing to say. Your breath was heavy, your hands trembling from the sheer weight of your emotions.

In-ho reached for you, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

But you took a step back.

Your voice wavered, but the fire in your eyes didn’t dim. “Do you even hear yourself, In-ho?” You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the tightness in your throat. “Do you know how much it hurts to see you care more about when you found out than what this actually means for us?”

You noticed his jaw clenched, but you continued to speak, stepping back as the weight of everything crushed down on your chest.

“If you don’t want this child, just say it.”

In-ho’s entire body stiffened.

“I can live with that,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I can raise this child on my own.”

Frustration bled into his expression, his brows furrowing deeply. “That’s not fair.”

“Now you want to talk about fairness?” You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “You know what’s unfair? It’s unfair that I had to go through this alone because I was scared of how you’d react. It’s unfair that instead of asking if I was okay, you made it about yourself. It’s unfair that I had to hear you break down over the fact that someone else figured it out before you rather than you asking me how I felt about carrying your child.”

In-ho rand a hand through his har, his frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No, I do,” you said, your eyes burning as you stared at him. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

A heavy silence fell between you. 

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you asked the question that had been clawing at your chest for so long. 

“Do you see her when you look at me?”

In-ho stared at you, his breath hitching.

“Is that why you chose me?” Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to keep going. “Because I remind you of her? Because I happened to walk into your life at the right time? Because I gave you something to hold on to?”

His eyes darkened with hurt. “That’s not—“

“Then prove me wrong.”

He stepped forward, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you. “You’re not her,” his voice was low and insistent. “You never were.”

“Then love me for who I am, not because I remind you of someone you lost.”

“I do,” he said immediately, desperation clinging to every syllable. 

But you didn’t buy it. Your heart ached, your mind spinning, your emotions raw and exposed. And then, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room.

You didn’t stop when In-ho called your name, even when you heard the sound of something slamming behind you, his own frustration boiling over. 

You just kept walking because, at that moment, you weren’t sure if you could bear to look at him anymore.

——

The next few days felt as if the air between you and In-ho had become suffocating, weighed down by everything left unsaid. You fell into an unspoken rhythm of avoidance — one that neither of you openly acknowledged, yet both of you adhered to. 

In the control room, you made sure to keep your focus on the screens, never lingering too long in the same space as him. If he walked in, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke, you kept your replies clipped and professional, just enough to acknowledge his words without offering anything more.

During meetings, you sat across from him instead of beside him. Whenever he directed questions at you, you answered without looking at him directly. The once seamless coordination between the two of you now felt forced and fragmented.

You had been seeing the facility’s medical team more often — not because you wanted to, but because In-ho had made it happen. You overheard the rders he gave to the guards, low and firm.

“Make sure she gets regular checkups.”

The first time you caught wind of it, irritation burned in your chest. He wouldn’t talk to you, wouldn’t ask how you were feeling, but he was ensuring that you were being monitored.

You could have refused, but you knew better. The guards had their orders and there was no point in arguing with them. So, you endured it. You let the doctors examine you, take your vitals, and run tests — all while resentment simmered beneath your skin.

The nights were even worse. You’ve been sleeping on the couch, much to In-ho’s dismay.

The first night you did it, he stood by the bedroom door, watching you with an unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything or didn’t order you back into bed. But you saw the flicker of something in his eyes, something along the lines of hurt and frustration.

After that, it became a routine.

Every night, you would curl up on the couch and In-ho would hesitate. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy with things he wanted to say but never did. More than once, he lingered in the doorway, debating whether to wake you or at least sit with you. But you always made sure to finish your tasks early, retreating to the couch before he had a chance to do anything. 

The small gestures didn’t stop though. You started to notice the little things.

A warm blanket draped over you when you woke up. Your favorite tea was placed near your work station everyday. A chair subtly pulled out for you before meetings. A selection of nutritious meals appeared on your desk, all tailored for pregnancy.

In-ho never mentioned them or even took credit. But you knew. Yet each time, you dismissed it. 

Because kindness wasn’t what you needed from him right now.

Then one night, everything shifted. You had been working late, caught up in monitoring the latest developments in the games. By the time you finished, exhaustion clung to your limbs like a heavy fog. You made your way back to the private suite, your steps slow, your mind clouded with fatigue. When you pushed open the door, you froze.

In-ho was already there, but he wasn’t in the bedroom.

He was on the couch, his long frame stretched out, one arm draped over his eyes. His breaths were steady and deep, indicating the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him already falling asleep there. For a moment, you just stood there, taking it in. It wasn’t like him to fall asleep outside of bed. He was always composed and controlled. Yet here he was, exhaustion pulling him under in the very place you had chosen to isolate yourself.

And for the first time in days, you wondered if this hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

——

The phone rang twice before a quiet click sounded on the end. Gi-hun leaned against the desk in his private quarters, staring at the closed door as he lowered his voice.

“It’s me.”

A beat of silence. Then, the voice came through, hushed but sharp. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

Gi-hun smirked dryly. “I could say the same to you. You’re the one still breathing in their walls.”

A sharp exhale can be heard on the other line. “I don’t have a choice.”

“No,” Gi-hun agreed. “You don’t.” 

The silence between them was thick, stretching over the static hum of the secure line they had managed to establish. A stolen moment in the middle of a war they had yet to declare.

“What do you have for me?”

Gi-hun hesitated. Then, in a voice lower than before, he finally spoke. “She’s pregnant.”

“What?!”

“You heard me,” Gi-hun leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “He already knows. Things are going to change. We can use this.”

“You’re not going to use her as leverage.”

“I don’t plan to,” Gi-hun muttered. “But you and I both know she complicates things.”

“Gi-hun—“

“Listen,” Gi-hun cut him off, his voice sharp. “I’m not heartless. I’m not going to put her in harm’s way. But don’t act like this doesn’t change everything,” he paused for a moment, then continued. “She’s carrying his child. That’s a weakness whether he admits it or not.”

Another exhale can be heard on the other line as Gi-hun sensed the conflict in it. “I need you to swear to me, Gi-hun. No matter what happens, you don’t kill her.”

Gi-hun closed his eyes. “I swear.”

“They’ve increased security in the lower sectors. I think In-ho knows something is off. We need to move carefully.”

“I know,” Gi-hun’s grip tightened around the phone. “We need proof. Something undeniable. When we strike, it has to be final.”

“Then we wait.”

Gi-hun nodded to himself. “We wait.”

----

The city was suffocating. After months of breathing in the sterile, artificial air of the island, stepping back onto the grimy, bustling streets of Seoul felt almost foreign. The neon lights blurred through the car’s tinted windows, the chatter of pedestrians muffled by the hum of traffic.

Gi-hun sat in the backseat, his gloved fingers gripping the mask resting on his lap.  He hated it, but it got him here. It got him past the organization’s watchful eyes long enough to set things in motion.

The car came to a stop in front of a dimly lit alleyway. He exhaled slowly, reaching for the handle, stepping out into the cold night air. 

Jun-ho was waiting. He was dressed in civilian clothees, the detective lingered near the entrance of an abandoned shop, his cap pulled low over his eyes. The moment he saw Gi-hun, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Thought you were dead,” Jun-ho muttered.

“Thought you were smarter than that,” Gi-hun shot back, stepping closer. His voice was quieter now. “We don’t have much time.”

Jun-ho leaned in, trying to listen.

Gi-hun took a deep breath. “I have a plan.”

Jun-ho raised a brow. “A plan?”

“I need you on the island,” Gi-hun said. “Inside. Getting evidence.”

Jun-ho’s jaw tightened. “You want me to go back? Are you out of your mind?”

“You were there once,” Gi-hun pushed. “You know how things work. I can get you in. But this time, you’re not sneaking around blind.” He leaned in slightly. “This time, we do it right.”

Jun-ho crossed his arms, skepticism clear in his sharp gaze. “And what’s your role in this? You’re their damn Frontman now.”

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted at the title. “I’m playing the long game,” he admitted. “I take orders. I follow protocol. I act like I belong.” He exhaled sharply. “And I wait for the moment we can tear them down from the inside.”

Silence stretched between them as Jun-ho searched his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “You sure you’re not just becoming one of them?” He finally asked, voice laced with warning.

Gi-hun’s blood ran cold. He knew he wasn’t and he couldn’t. 

But before he could answer, Jun-ho sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You already have a way to get me in, don’t you?”

Gi-hun nodded.

“Fine,” Jun-ho muttered. “Let’s do this.”

The island was just as Jun-ho remembered as he stood stiffly in the corner of a dimly lit locker room, adjusting the red jumpsuit over his body. The mask in his hands felt heavier than before.

He glanced at the reflective surface of his mask, a hollow, empty shape staring back at him. He was one of them now. Gi-hun stood beside him, already back in his Frontman uniform, the dark mask covering his face.

“This is your only chance,” Gi-hun murmured lowly. “Get what you need. Photos. Documents. Recordings. Anything.”

Jun-ho nodded once, slipping the mask over his face. They stepped into the facility’s endless halls as they made their first step into their plan — taking it all down.

——

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A/N: What did you think about the turn of events of this series? I'm very excited to see where this series is going. Now, I'm already plotting the epilogue as I've finished drafting the remaining chapters. Please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 17 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

You walked with purpose back to the control room, your steps echoing in the sterile hallways. The adrenaline hadn’t left your system yet. The sickening scene still burned in your memory — the way that guard had defiled a corpse, how he didn’t even have the time to beg before you put a bullet through his skull. You dismissed everyone, seeing it was dinner time for the players.

But your mind wasn’t on him anymore. It was on the larger truth — the rot that had festered in this system long before you arrived. 

You returned to the suite where In-ho was already waiting, his mask removed as he sat on the edge of the bed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up the moment you walked in, concern flashing his dark eyes.

“What happened?” His voice was quiet but firm.

You hesitated only for a moment before stepping closer. “In the organ harvesting room,” you started, voice level, though the memory of what you saw still made your stomach coil. “One of the guards was defiling a corpse.”

In-ho stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“I killed him,” you met his gaze without flinching. “I didn’t hesitate.”

His expression darkened, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. “The organ trade itself is something I’ve had to tolerate,” he admitted, exhaling sharply through his nose. “It keeps some of the higher-ups pleased, funds the games even further. But this,” his fingers ran through his hair, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. “This is unacceptable. It’s… disgusting.”

You nodded, stepping closer, placing a hand gently over his clenched fist. He looked at you, his expression softer, but filled with something deeper — an unspoken anger, a silent promise that he would handle it. His free hand reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice quiet now, laced with something tender now.

You hesitated. Your body had been feeling different lately — tired, restless, an occasional nausea curling in your stomach. The signs were there, but you weren’t ready to say them out loud. You weren’t ready to confirm what you already feared.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

His eyes lingered on yours, as if he could see past the mask you wore. But then, just as quickly, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. His grip on your hand tightened. “I need to make an example out of them,” he muttered, his mind already turning toward the next steps. “The guards think they can do whatever they want. That ends now.”

You watched him, the way his mind worked, the way he was already planning the next move to keep everything under control. For a moment, you thought about telling him the truth. About the possibility growing inside you, the uncertainty that gnawed at you.

But instead, you just leaned into his touch, letting the warmth of his palm against your cheek ground you in the present. “You’ll handle it,” you murmured.

His gaze flickered to yours, something soft breaking through his usual hard exterior. “Of course,” he whispered, his thumb tracing lightly along your jawline before he pulled you into a slow, lingering kiss — one that tasted of quiet promises and unspoken truths.

——

Sleep came to you in fragments, restless and fleeting. The weight of the day sat heavy in your bones, but exhaustion was no match for the thoughts clawing at the edges of your mind. Somewhere beside you, In-ho’s steady breathing filled the quiet room, his presence a familiar warmth. He slept deeply, unaware of the turmoil unfurling beside you.

Then, a sharp wave of nausea twisted in your stomach, dragging you from the fragile grasp of sleep. Your eyes snapped open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the heavy curtains. You swallowed hard, willing the discomfort to pass, but it only worsened. The sickening churn in your gut grew unbearable, forcing you to move. 

Carefully, you peeled back the silk sheets, mindful not to wake In-ho. Every small shift of the mattress felt like a risk, but he didn’t stir. His face was soft in the dim light, his mask stripped away in the safety of sleep. For a fleeting moment, you lingered, watching him who looked so peaceful and unguarded.

Then, another wave of nausea struck, violent and unrelenting. You pushed yourself off the bed, your bare feet barely making a sound against the cool floor as you rushed toward the bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, you slammed the door shut with the softest click possible, locking it before stumbling towards the sink.

The nausea tore through you mercilessly. You barely had time to turn the faucet on, letting the rush of water mask the sound as you collapsed in front of the toilet, retching violently. The bitter taste of bile burned your throat, your entire body shuddering as you gripped the porcelain edges for stability.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to breathe through the dizziness. Your heart was racing, hammering against your ribs like it knew the truth before your mind was ready to accept it. 

This had been happening for days. The fatigue, the strange unease in your stomach, the shifts in your appetite.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand, staring blankly at the water swirling down the sink drain. You wanted to deny it, but the thought had already taken root, curling around your mind like a vice. It explained too much.

Your fingers fumbled to turn off the faucet, your breathing unsteady. For a moment, you just stood there, gripping the counter with white-knuckled hands, trying to center yourself. 

Then, you left the bathroom. Your steps were slow and calculated as you pushed open the door and stepped back into the bedroom. In-ho hadn’t moved. He lay still in the moonlight, his dark hair tousled, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.

You hesitated, watching him.

You weren’t ready to tell him. Not yet, anyway.

Quietly, you slipped out of the room, the soft hum of the facility filling your ears as you padded through the halls. The guards stationed outside immediately straightened at the sight of you. Their red masks reflected the dim hallway lights, their bodies rigid with attention.

You exhaled, trying to steady yourself. “I need you to do something for me.”

The two guards exchanged a glance before one of them nodded. “Anything, Overseer.”

You swallowed, forcing your voice to remain firm. “Get me a pregnancy test,” you paused for a moment. Then, with a sharp edge to your words, you added, “And do not let In-ho know.”

The guards hesitated for just a second too long, as if processing your request, but they knew better than to question you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You turned on your heel before you could see their reaction, your pulse thrumming violently beneath your skin as you strode back toward the bedroom. Every second felt like an eternity. You climbed back into bed, lying stiffly beside In-ho, your back turned to him as you stared blankly at the darkness.

You barely noticed when the guard returned. A soft knock at your door. A small package slipped into your hands, no words exchanged. Then, you went to the bathroom again. 

You tore open the box with shaky hands, your breath coming in uneven bursts. The instructions blurred before your eyes, your mind already lost in the storm of possibilities. 

Minutes passed.

An eternity.

And then, there it was.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your stomach lurched, but this time, it was nausea. It was fear. 

Your grip tightened around the small plastic test, your knuckles going white. The world felt too small, too suffocating. The air in the bathroom suddenly too thick.

You were pregnant.

With In-ho’s child.

You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the result, unable to look away. For a long time, you stayed there, your reflection in the mirror staring back at you, eyes wide and unblinking. You should feel something — relief, dread, hope, or even terror. But all you felt was the weight of the unknown, pressing down on you like the walls were closing in.

And for the first time in a long while, you had no idea what to do.

The walls of the bathroom felt too tight — the fluorescent light suddenly too harsh against your skin. You grabbed the pregnancy test with an unsteady grip, shoving it into the pocket of your robe before stepping out of the bathroom, heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs.

In-ho was still asleep. His dark hair spilled across the pillow, his breathing deep and undisturbed. The weight of him, the sheer presence of him, made something heavy settle in your chest. Carefully, you slipped past him, reaching for the heavy balcony doors and pushing them open. The cool night air hit you like a wave, crisp and briny from the sea surrounding the island. The sky stretched infinitely above you, speckled with stars that seemed far too serene for the storm raging inside you.

You gripped the balcony railing, your knuckles turning white.

You’re pregnant with In-ho’s child.

A child that would be born into this — this hellish, blood-soaked world.

Your stomach twisted as you stared out at the dark waves beyond the facility, the gentle crash of the tide doing little to soothe the panic bubbling beneath your skin.

Would this child be raised in the shadows of this place? Would they ever see the real world, or would they only know the cold walls of the Overseer’s domain?

Then, there was the other thought — the one that coiled around your chest like a vice.

In-ho lost his wife. He lost his unborn child.

You never asked him about it in detail, never pressed when you saw the way his gaze darkened at the mention of his past. But you knew it haunted him. And now, here you were, carrying his child. The thought alone made your stomach lurch.

Would he be happy? Would he be terrified? Would he see this as a cruel twist of fate, a ghost of his past resurrected in your womb?

Or worse — would this child be doomed from the start?

You exhaled sharply, running a hand down your face, overwhelmed.

“You should be more careful.”

The voice startled you. It was low, calm, and familiar. Your head snapped to the right, eyes locking into the figure standing a few feet away.

Gi-hun leaned against the railing, dressed in his usual black suit, a cup of tea held loosely in his hands. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes were already studying you. You didn’t even notice him there. How long had he been standing in the shadows?

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the only sound being the distant crash of the waves. You swallowed, trying to mask your unease. “What are you talking about?”

Gi-hun let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Noticed you haven’t been yourself lately.” You froze as his gaze flickered down your stomach. “I’m not the only one who noticed.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, gripping it tightly, as if you could shield yourself from his knowing stare. You wanted to deny it, to brush past the topic, but the look in his eyes told you he wouldn’t buy it. Gi-hun took a slow sip of his tea and then exhaled. “Does In-ho know?”

Your throat went dry. You didn’t answer him, and your silence was enough of an answer for him.

Gi-hun hummed, setting his cup of tea down on the railing, his fingers tapping against the porcelain. His eyes flickered toward the horizon, but you could feel his attention still on you. “You haven’t told him,” he murmured, almost to himself. His tone wasn’t accusatory — just an observation, spoken with quiet certainty. 

“It’s none of your business.”

Gi-hun let out a breathy chuckle. “Maybe not,” he turned slightly, his gaze finding yours again. “But you’re standing here, looking like the weight of the world is crushing you. And I think we both know that it is.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your chest tighten.

“You’re scared,” you flinched, but his voice remained steady and measured. “Scared of what this means. Scared of what it will do to In-ho. Scared that you’ll lose this child the same way he lost his first one.”

A lump formed in your throat. He wasn’t mocking you nor was he prying. He was just stating the truth that you had been trying to outrun since you first saw the result of the test. 

Gi-hun leaned against the railing, his expression unreadable. “You know, for all the blood on your hands… you still hold onto things that make you human,” his gaze flickered downward, just briefly. “And this? This is the most human thing that could ever happen to you.”

You exhaled shakily, your mind spinning.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” He asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

The question slammed into you harder than any bullet ever could. You had spent months surviving, fighting, killing — but this? This wasn’t something you could fight your way out of. 

This was life.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “No.”

Gi-hun nodded, as if he expected that answer. He didn’t press. Instead, he straightened himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “You should tell him soon,” he murmured. “Secrets have a way of eating people alive. And something tells me that this isn’t one you can keep forever.”

You watched as he turned, picked up his tea, and walked away, disappearing from the balcony as he went back to his room. The wind blew through your hair, the cold air biting against your skin.

You placed a hand over your stomach, your fingers trembling.

Tell him.

The thought alone made your pulse race. Because once you told him, there would be no going back.

——

The morning sun cast a pale glow through the tinted windows of the conference room, stretching long shadows across the polished table. The air inside was thick with unspoken weight, each of you seated in your designated places. In-ho was at the head of the table with you at his right, while Gi-hun was across from you. The three of you, the orchestrators of the games, gathered for another day of calculated cruelty.

A digital screen hummed to life at the far end of the room, displaying live footage of the contestants inside the dormitory. The uneasy silence stretched as you and In-ho studied the screen, watching the slow build of tension amongst the players. The numbers were dwindling, but something was different this season. There was more desperation and paranoia present.

In-ho tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his mask placed beside him. “We need a contingency,” he said. “The moment they turn on each other, we set the special game in motion. A purge, disguised as an opportunity.”

Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips. “Encouraging savagery before they even step onto the field. Smart.” He reached for a tray beside him, grabbing one of the drinks set out for the meeting. But instead of taking a sip, he slid it across the table — right in front of you.

Your brows furrowed as you glanced down at the cup. It was different from the others. A light, warm shade. You could smell the faint scent of ginger and honey.

You blinked.

This wasn’t coffee. It wasn’t alcohol. It wasn’t even tea.

It was a pregnancy-safe herbal drink.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze, meeting Gi-hun’s eyes. The smirk on his face wasn’t cruel, but it held something else. 

In-ho must have noticed your hesitation because his eyes flickered between you and the cup before settling on Gi-hun. His voice was calm, but his words carried sharp edges. “What is this?”

Gi-hun tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Something nutritious. For someone who should be careful with what they drink.:

The room fell silent. Your throat tightened as you felt In-ho’s gaze shift to you. You could feel his heavy and piercing eyes on you. Your fingers curled against your lap, pressing into the fabric of your pants.

In-ho didn’t look away from you. His voice was quieter this time, but no less intense. “Are you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. For a moment, you thought about lying. You thought about deflecting, about pretending this wasn’t happening.

But there was no running from this. Not anymore.

“Yes.”

Silence.

You could feel Gi-hun watching, his expression unreadable. But your focus was on In-ho.

His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His fingers twitched against the table, tightening into a fist before relaxing again. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t relieved.

He was stunned.

His breath was slow and controlled. But his eyes held something fragile… and raw.

“Out,” In-ho said, his voice calm but final.

Gi-hun sighed, standing up from his chair with an exaggerated stretch. “Well, I’d say that’s enough emotion for one morning,” he downed the last of his drink, tapping the rim of the cup against the table. “Congratulations, by the way.”

You shot him a glare, but he only smirked. Then, with a final knowing glance at In-ho, he turned and strolled out of the conference room, leaving you both.

The door clicked shut behind him.

In-ho turned to face you further as the look in his eyes silenced you. There was no fury nor accusation. 

Just something fragile.

Something like fear.

——

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I’m aiming to finish this by the next five chapters, After that, I’ll be focusing on doing oneshots and maybe a new series soon. I’m curious about what you guys are expecting at the ending of this series, so please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 16 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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WARNING: 18+ content ahead. Read at your own risk.

——

The dress fit like a second skin.

The silky fabric hugged your frame, every seam meticulously designed to highlight the slopes and curves of your body. Black as the midnight sea, the gown shimmered subtly beneath the dim, golden lights, catching on the angles of your hips as you shifted. The slit along your leg teased just enough bare skin to stir something dangerous in the air.

You traced your fingertips along the smooth material, feeling the delicate weight of it drape over you like liquid shadow. It felt expensive and… powerful. Like something meant for a woman who could command an entire room with a single glance.

You swallowed hard. This was not the version of yourself you once knew.

The past and present clashed inside you as you stared at your reflection. This wasn’t the same woman who had stepped into the games, trembling at the unknown. She had died the moment she was betrayed, died at the hands of the very man who had set all of this into motion.

And yet, here you were. In his world again.

The door behind you clicked open. Even without turning around, you could feel the shift in the air — the slow, burning warmth that accompanied his presence, filling every inch of the room like an intoxicating mist. The faint scent of cedarwood and smoke curled around you, familiar and unmistakably his.

In-ho didn’t speak right away. Instead, silence stretched between you that weighed. You could feel his gaze roaming over you, mapping every curve the dress accentuated.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

His voice was lower than usual, rough with something dark and restrained. A slow shiver trickled down your spine. You turned just enough to meet his gaze, and the sight of him sent something sharp and molten through your chest.

His eyes told you everything.

The intensity there made your breath catch — the dark, smoldering, filled with a hunger that had been starved for too long. He looked at you like a man standing on the edge, barely holding himself back from the fall.

“Is it too much?” You asked, feigning innocence.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but there was no amusement in it. Only something ravenous. “Too much?” His voice was a whisper of smoke. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between you inch by inch. 

Then, his fingers reached out, knuckles ghosting over the bare skin of your shoulder before tracing down the length of your arm. His touch was featherlight, but it burned, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Then, he tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to look at him fully.

“You look—“ his voice caught for a fraction of a second, the muscles in his jaw tightening as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. His eyes darkened, something flickering beneath them. “Dangerous.”

And then, without another word, he kissed you. It was deep and desperate, like he had been waiting years for this moment, like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric as he pulled you against him. Your bodies fit together seamlessly, your curves molding against the hard planes of his form as his lips moved against yours with bruising intensity. His was deep and consuming — each movement demanding and desperate, like he was trying to carve himself into your very soul.

Your fingers found the lapels of his coat, gripping the fabric as his tongue brushed against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your lips. He drank it in, pulling you impossibly closer. Your back hit the cool surface of the vanity as he pressed you against it, his lips never leaving yours, his fingers skimming down your spine.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he deepened it further, his tongue parting your lips, tasting you, drinking in the soft, shuddering sigh that escaped you. His hands slid down your waist, gripping you possessively, as though he feared you would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

The heat of his touch burned through the silk of your dress, his fingers trailing over the fabric before slipping beneath the slit at your thigh, skin meeting skin. Your body reacted instantly, a sharp gasp caught between your lips as his fingertips traced higher, teasing you.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and edged with need. “Bend over for me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. 

You barely had the chance to respond before he pulled away and turned you around, his strength effortless as he bent you over to the closest surface — the sleek marble counter of the vanity. The cool stone bit into the warmth of your arms as he settled between them, his hands roaming, mapping, owning every inch of exposed skin.

He lifted your dress up, only to find that you’ve gone commando. You heard him let out a deep sigh. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

“Then don’t make me wait any longer.”

A dangerous smirk plastered across In-ho’s lips as he unbuckled his belt, hearing his pants come down as he positioned himself to your entrance, already wet. “As you wish.”

He thrusts into you deep, earning a whimper from you. His hands squeezed your butt cheeks, each thrust corresponding with the sound of slaps as he felt you in, much to your pleasure. He gripped on your waist like a handle, lifting his other leg on a chair as he thrusts into you more, your breasts pressing against the surface as you moved.

You aligned yourself to him, giving it back, which earned a groan from him, stopping his thrusts as he let you work on him. You turned your head to him from behind, seeing his head up in the air as his eyes closed, savoring each pleasure as you continued to ride him from behind, biting your lip as you felt his shaft reach your cervix, hitting the right spots.

The heat was unbearable. The feeling of him inside you, the scent, the way his body fit so perfectly against yours — it was dizzying. And in that moment, nothing else existed. No past. No games. Just him and you, too focused on the pleasure building within these walls.

In-ho’s fingers dragged down to your cheeks, his breath hitching as he continued to thrust. His eyes devoured the sight of you, dark and smoldering with hunger as he met yours. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above your shoulder. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, pressing a slow, reverent kiss along the slope of your shoulders. “Every inch of you… mine.”

He bit his lip once more as you moaned, hearing your satisfaction which made him thrust harder. His other moved to your shoulder, hammering you further as he groaned.

“You’re breathtaking,” his voice was filled with awe. “Every inch of you… so beautiful.”

He didn’t stop, much to your liking. You pulled him closer, your hands reaching for his waist taking it as a sign for him to go further. His breaths continued to hitch as he realized what you were doing, earning a moan from him.

“I need you,” he admitted, his voice raw, almost vulnerable. “More than anything. More than I should.”

“Then take me,” you whispered.

And he did.

“Fuck,” he groaned as his thrusts became harder and faster. “I’m cumming.”

“Please,” you whimpered. 

He thrusts one last time, his pace stopping as you felt him cum inside you. Your insides felt the warm juices he let out, much as your insides clenched as you reached your climax too. You let out one last moan before he pulled out, feeling your heart pound through your chest. 

The warmth of his body still lingered against yours, his breath slow and steady as he lay beside you, one arm lazily draped over your waist, as if afraid if you would slip away the moment he let go. 

After a few minutes, he began to move, sliding your dress down and fixing it. You stood up and straightened yourself, turning around and seeing him fix his pants, zipping it up as he buckled his belt once again. When he was done, his fingers traced mindlessly traced patterns along the curve of your hip, his touch featherlight yet possessive. You turned your head to meet his gaze, catching the way his dark eyes softened as he studied you. He looked almost… at peace. A rare sight for a man like him.

He held your hand as he led you out of the closet, stepping out of the bedroom as your eyes widened slightly. The living quarters were nothing like you remembered. The sterile, minimalist design had been completely transformed.

The living room now boasted deep leather furniture, dark marble accents, and walls lined with bookshelves filled with carefully selected literature. The kitchen had been expanded, outfitted with sleek, top-of-the-line appliances, and an elegant dining area stood just beyond it. There was even a glass bar stocked with premium whiskey and aged wines.

Your fingers trailed along the polished black marble countertop, taking in the sheer luxury of it all. This wasn’t just a place to stay — it was a place of power.

“I take it you like it?”

You turned to find In-ho standing behind you, fully dressed in his signature black attire, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“This wasn’t here before,” you said, your voice carrying a note of suspicion.

“That’s because it wasn’t. This is the overseer’s private residence,” his eyes glimmered with warmth. “Our private residence.”

You managed to make a small smile, though you couldn’t deny his words settled over you like a weight. Before you could say anything, In-ho motioned for you to follow him, leading you to the elevator down to the management area.

For hours, In-ho guided you through the intricacies of your new role, showing you each room of the organization. He taught you the protocols, the meticulous rules that governed the games, the chain of command, and the delicate balance of power that had to be maintained.

He walked you through security measures, how to control the masked men, how to issue commands with precision, and how to wield fear without the need to raise your voice. And most importantly, he taught you how to make the hard choices.

“The games are not just about entertainment,” he explained as you stood in front of a large screen displaying various surveillance feeds. “They are about control. Order. Equality. Without structure, the world falls into chaos.”

His voice was calm and methodical, but you could sense the weight behind his words — the years he had spent becoming what he was now. You listened carefully, absorbing everything, but deep down, you wondered if you would ever be able to see it the way he did.

After what felt like an eternity, In-ho finally motioned for you to follow him again. “There’s one last thing I need to show you.”

He led you down a long hallway, stopping in front of a set of heavy double doors. You held on to your mask, feeling the heat behind it. Without a word, he pushed them open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond.

At the center stood a tall figure, dressed in a sleek black uniform, a mask covering his face, the one you’ve seen before — the mask of the Frontman. The figure turned slightly at your approach, his stance relaxed yet authoritative. Then, he spoke, his voice carrying an eerie familiarity.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

You stiffened. Something about the way he said it, the tone, the cadence. Your breath hitched as he slowly lifted his hands, pulling the mask away. 

And there, standing before you, was someone you never expected to see again.

“Surprised?”

You couldn’t speak as your mind raced, trying to process what you were seeing, but no explanation made sense. 

How?

Why?

What the hell happened to him?

You turned to In-ho, searching for answers, but he simply watched you with quiet intensity, as if waiting for your reaction.

“I have to admit,” the frontman murmured, his voice almost taunting. “I never thought I’d see you here.”

“Gi-hun,” you started, stepping forward, but his expression darkened.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he cut in, his tone sharp enough to make you pause. “Not when you’ve made your choice.”

The weight of everything —  your past, the games, the choices you had made — came crashing down on you all at once. You had been ready to embrace your new role.

But now? You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

Your fingers twitched slightly at your sides, though whether it was from unease or the remnants of last night’s indulgence, you weren’t sure. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier.

Gi-hun stood before you, no longer the man you once knew. His hair was still the same, yet he had grown slightly, falling messily around his face. The tired desperation you last saw in his eyes had been replaced by something sharper, something calculated.

A man molded by survival. A man who had seen the truth and had chosen to become part of it.

Your throat was dry, but you forced yourself to speak. “How?”

Gi-hun’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but not quite a sneer. “You mean how I became the frontman?” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if amused by the irony of it all. “You already know the answer.”

Your gaze flickered to In-ho, who remained quiet, his expression unreadable. Gi-hun followed your glance and chuckled. “Of course, he hasn’t told you everything, has he?”

Gi-hun took another step closer, and this time, there was no mistaking the anger beneath his gaze. “Do you know what I realized after the rebellion?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “That there is no ‘winning’ in the games. Not really.”

You swallowed.

“I tried,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “I tried to fight back, to take them down. But you don’t fight something like this without becoming a part of it. And when I had the choice…” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I took it.” He looked up at you then, truly looked at you, and there was something almost resigned in his gaze. “Just like you did.”

You clenched your fists. “I didn’t—“

“But you did,” he interrupted. “You let him find you. You let him bring you back here.”

Your stomach twisted again, but before you could say anything, In-ho finally spoke. “She didn’t come back to be questioned,” his voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge to it. “She came back to take her place.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “Her place?” He turned back to you, tilting his head slightly. “So, tell me, is that what this is? Have you decided to become part of the machine too?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Gi-hun stepped even closer, his voice dropping. “Tell me, when they made their offer, did they promise you power? Control? A way to make sure the games run fairly?” His mouth twitched. “Or did he tell you it was the only way to survive?”

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t expect you to understand,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Not yet.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply through his nose, his smile humorless. “No,” he murmured. “I suppose I don’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with too many unspoken things. Then, just as you thought the conversation was over, Gi-hun leaned in slightly, his next words barely above a whisper. 

“When the time comes, and they ask you to prove your loyalty, what will you do?”

A chill ran down your spine. You knew exactly what he was asking.

And you didn’t have an answer. 

Not yet.

The silence between you and Gi-hun stretched long enough that the weight of it settled deep in your bones. He was waiting —  waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

You felt In-ho’s presence beside you, steady and unwavering. Yet there was something almost expectant in the way he stood, as if he was waiting to see what you would say,

Your fingers twitched at your sides, realizing that Gi-hun was right. The games had no winners — only survivors. And here you stood, standing in the space between the two men who had survived alongside you — one who had risen to control it, and the other who had surrendered himself to it.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you finally said, your voice even.

Gi-hun let out a soft breath, almost in disbelief. “I suppose you don’t,” his eyes then flickered over to In-ho. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t regret this.”

The threat in his voice was subtle, but it was there. In-ho shifted slightly, just enough of his shoulder to brush against yours — a silent reminder of where you stood. “Are you done?” He asked, his tone calm but firm.

Gi-hun held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling sharply. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the invisible tension. “For now.”

Then, without another word, he turned away, striding toward the door. You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until it closed behind him. The silence left in his wake was thick and suffocating.

You felt In-ho’s gaze on you before you turned to meet it. “You don’t have to let him get inside your head,” he murmured.

You felt a lump in your throat. “He’s not wrong though.”

In-ho’s jaw tightened, but he paused for a while. Instead, he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with quiet uncertainty. “You made your choice,” he said. “Now, you see it through.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to reassure or warn you.

——

The following weeks were grueling yet fulfilling. 

In-ho wasted no time in thrusting you into the depths of the organization, stripping away any illusion that this was anything less than a meticulously crafted empire. You learned the structure, the power dynamics, and the unspoken rules that dictated every move behind the curtains. And more than anything, you learned how to become something else entirely.

In-ho didn’t go easy on you. If anything, he was harsher than you expected, demanding precision, discipline, and complete detachment. Yet he was like that during the day, but completely different when the training was over. You understood that he needed to do it.

Still, you played your part well. It became your nature — the way you stood, the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself. The mask you wore became seamless, indistinguishable from the person you once were. This was the life you accepted, the life they had given you. You were at the top — you just had to figure out how long you can survive it.

The new season of the game came by quickly. This time, it had a new set of rules, and new players. The games had changed, and so did the players. This time, it was less cruel, but enough to make a person inside the game to go crazy and desperate. All in the test of human greed and the true unraveling of human nature — just like how you saw it in the past game you were in.

Gi-hun stood before you, his face unreadable, the mask of the Frontman now absent but its presence still lingering in the air between you. He had taken In-ho’s old position, and in a cruel twist of fate, you had taken his place as someone trapped within the very system he had once tried to dismantle.

And then, there was In-ho — calm, composed, the ever-calculating overseer. His expression betrayed nothing, but you knew him well enough to recognize the quiet weight behind his silence.

“You’re late,” In-ho said evenly, stepping forward near In-ho with measured grace. “The new games are already being prepared.”

Gi-hun smirked. “I’m not here for the games.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Then why was he here?

In-ho watched him carefully. “Then what do you want?”

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You know exactly what I want, In-ho.”

He turned his gaze to you and something flickered in his expression. Your grip on your own mask tightened. “You can’t expect me to believe you came all the way back here just to see me.”

Gi-hun’s smirk faltered slightly, but he didn’t deny it. Yet you wondered why was he invested in you, why you were his… target. You were gone for six months — what could you have possibly done? Was it because you chose to hide? Did you ruin the rebellion?

The three of you stood in a delicate balance, a triangle of power where no one truly had the upper hand. Gi-hun had the experience of a player — the raw survival instincts of someone who had clawed his way out of hell and returned stronger. While In-ho had the control, the authority, the understanding of the system. The calculated mind of a man who had long abandoned morality for necessity.

And you? You were the variable. The piece neither of them could fully control that made you the most dangerous of them all.

“Whatever your reason is, Gi-hun,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “It doesn’t change the fact that you put yourself back in their hands. You think they’ll let you walk out of this a second time?”

Gi-hun chuckled, much to your surprise as he shook his head. “You think I care?”

That caught you off guard, knowing he meant it. Gi-hun had nothing to lose and that made him a threat to both you and In-ho. The silence stretched between the three of you, a cold realization settling over the room. 

This wasn’t just about the games anymore. This was about control — none of you were willing to give it up.

You and In-ho stood in the control room, overseeing the first round unfold through a wall of monitors. The massive, sterile space was silent, except for the occasional flicker of radio chatter and the quiet hum of the surveillance equipment.  Below, the contestants — new players, all wide-eyed and trembling — were led into the first game. The tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate. You watched them shift nervously on their feet, eyes darting around the colossal playground. They didn’t know yet or understand.

Then, the crack of gunfire came. The first round of eliminations. Bodies collapsed like ragdolls, blood soaking into the sand. The screams echoed against the walls of the arena. You remained impassive, even as In-ho glanced at you from behind his mask. This was your first official trial as an Overseer. Would you flinch? Would you hesitate?

But you didn’t. You simply stepped forward, your gaze fixed on the screen. The moment of hesitation in your chest had passed. As the game continued, you excused yourself from the control room. In-ho let you go without a word, his trust in you silent but absolute. 

Your heels clicked against the pristine white floors as you made your way down the winding halls of the facility, your long cat flowing behind you. The organization had spared no expense in making sure the island remained impenetrable, a well-oiled machine that would continue to devour the desperate and the damned.

You tried to ignore the slight dizziness that washed over you as you walked, the strange wave of nausea that had crept up on you over the past few days. Brushing it off, you steadied yourself with a hand against the wall, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. It was nothing — just the stress and exhaustion. Nothing more. 

Eventually, your path led you to the lower levels — the organ harvesting room.

The air was thick with the stench of chemicals and decay. Metal tables were lined with bodies, each corpse stripped and gutted with surgical precision. The underground trade had continued, a secret that the organization pretended not to notice.

You stepped forward, weaving through the dimly lit space, and then you heard a sound. A wet, grotesque noise. A sickening squelch of movement.

Your stomach turned before your brain even fully processed what you were seeing.

A guard — one of the masked enforcers. He was hunched over a lifeless body, his gloved hands gripping at cold flesh, his breath ragged and frenzied. The corpse beneath him was unmoving, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. The guard didn’t even notice you at first, too lost in whatever twisted pleasure he was indulging in.

You felt the rage, pure seething rage coiled inside you, dark and boiling. The guard barely had time to turn his head before your pistol was drawn, the barrel pressed against the back of his skull. “Disgusting fuck,” you hissed.

He didn’t even have time to beg.

The gunshot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space. His body slumped forward, his own blood staining the lifeless flesh beneath him. You didn’t move for a long moment, your grip tight around the handle of your gun. Your heart was pounding — not out of feat or shock. Just out of unfiltered disgust.

Slowly, you exhaled and stepped back, holstering your weapon. The other guards in the room had frozen, staring at you in stunned silence. None of them dared to move.

“Dispose of this trash,” you ordered coldly, nodding toward the body of the disgraced guard. “And if I catch any of you doing the same…” You let the threat linger, your voice sharp as a blade. “You’ll wish I killed you this easily.”

The guards scrambled to obey, dragging the corpse away with frantic urgency. You lingered for a moment longer, staring down at the mess of bodies, the grotesque remnants of human lives reduced to nothing more than profit.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and left the room, but that nausea returned, a sharp tug in your gut. You barely made it to the nearest empty hallway before doubling over, your breaths shallow.

You swallowed hard. No, it couldn’t be. You refused to entertain the thought, the possibility. Not now. Not here.

But deep down, you already knew. You had felt it lingering in the back of your mind for days. You pressed a hand to your stomach, fingers trembling slightly. You were showing signs — signs you couldn’t ignore forever. But now, you pushed the thought away, straightened yourself, and walked back into the shadows.

——

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A/N: I'm debating on whether I'll end this series for only 20 chapters or extend it for more. 🤔 More ideas come into my mind whenever I finish writing so we'll see how this goes. 👀 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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CHAPTER 15 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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WARNING: 18+ content ahead. Read at your own risk.

——

The alley was silent, save for the slow dripping of water from a rusted pipe. The flickering neon sign of a half-abandoned pawn shop painted streaks of red across the pavement, casting an eerie glow over the lifeless body slumped against the grimy brick wall.

In-ho crouched down, his gloved fingers skimming the bloodstained fabric of the recruiter’s coat. The wound was deep —  clean but ruthless. The work of someone who knew what they were doing. Someone driven by more than just desperation.

Someone like you.

His jaw tightened. Even in the dim light, he could make out the faint smudges of shoe prints leading away from the scene. The fight hadn’t been long. The recruiter never had a chance. 

In-ho pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear. “Clean it up,” he ordered, his voice cold and detached. “No traces.”

A curt response from the other end was received, then the line went dead. He pocketed the phone and straightened, his gaze sweeping the empty alleyway. The city was restless tonight— the streets hummed with distant car horns, the murmurs of late-night wanderers. But the shadows told him what he needed to know.

You were close, as if you were a ghost slipping through the cracks of the city, moving unseen, leaving only a trail of destruction in your wake.

He stepped out of the alley, his sharp eyes scanning the streets. Then, he saw her.

Jun-hee.

She stepped out of a nearby gas station’s convenience store, her figure framed against the glow of the automatic doors. She looked exhausted, dark circles smudging beneath her eyes, her hair slightly unkempt. But what caught his attention was the small bundle in her arms, wrapped in soft yellow fabric.

A baby.

His chest tightened. He lingered in the shadows, unseen as she adjusted the child in her arms, murmuring something softly before disappearing into the night. She thinks he was dead, and for the first time in years, that was an advantage.

In-ho remained in the shadows as he turned back to his car, slipping behind the wheel as he started the engine. He didn’t have time for her. He had more important things to find.

You.

The city stretched out before him, endless roads weaving like veins through the darkness. He drove without direction, relying on something deeper than logic — instinct and memory. He took long roads, passed by streets you used to walk, and places you used to go when you wanted to disappear. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, pulse steady but tense.

He knew you were running. But he also knew you were getting tired.

It wasn’t until he turned onto a quieter street, past dimly lit clubs and bars, that he found you. The bar was a rundown hole-in-the-wall. It was the kind of place that reeked of spilled alcohol, cigarette smoke, and bad decisions. Through the rain-streaked windshield, he saw you. Your head was thrown back, half-empty glass in hand, body slumped against the counter in a drunken mess. Even from the car, he recognized that recklessness, the barely contained fire burning in your veins.

In-ho sighed, pushing the door open. Your figure stilled recklessness, your posture feral like a wounded animal ready to lash out at anything that came too close. Your chair had been knocked over, glass shattered to the floor. Two men held you back, gripping your arms as you thrashed, trying to break free. The bartender looked wary, unsure whether to intervene.

“Let go of me!” Your voice was sharp, slurred but venomous.

“Calm down, lady,” one of the men sneered. “before you do something you regret.”

The moment your eyes met In-ho’s, something in it shifted. The rage, the fire— it was still there. But now, it burned with something else. The entire bar fell silent as in-ho stepped forward.

“Let her go,” he ordered. His voice was calm and cold — but final.

The two men hesitated, their grips tightening as they looked him up and down, sizing him up. In-ho rolled his eyes, pulling out a stack of cash, tossing it onto the counter.

“For the damages.”

The bartender’s eyes widened, nodding quickly before the two men finally released you, muttering curses under their breath as they backed away. In-ho stepped closer as your body wavered, your legs unsteady from the alcohol, and before you could fall, his hand caught your arm, steading you.

You flinched, your breath hitching at the touch. You managed to give him a glare despite your legs wobbling. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he guided you towards the exit, his grip firm but careful. The night air was cold against your flushed skin, and you sucked in a breath, trying to gather whatever scraps of sobriety you had left. But before you could twist free from his grasp, he opened the car door and ushered you inside. 

“In-ho,” you murmured, his name falling from your lips like an accusation, more like a plea.

He didn’t answer. He simply closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. You slumped against the seat, eyes hazy, fists clenching at the leather beneath you. As he started the engine, he spared you a glance. “Let’s go.”

The tires rolled over wet pavement, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as he drove. And for the first time in six months, you weren’t running.

The hum of the car engine filled the silence between you, a low vibration that barely reached the surface of your awareness. Your head lolled against the window, the cool glass pressing into your burning skin. You were drunk — far beyond your usual limit — but the fight, the chaos, and the exhaustion had drained what little resistance you had left.

And then there was In-ho.

Sitting there, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Not saying a word. Not asking you anything. Just existing beside you, like he had been pulled from some distant memory and placed into the present.

The weight of it settled over your shoulder.

Six months of running, of hiding, of fighting against the inevitability of his presence in your life. Six months of trying to forget him, only to realize that forgetting was impossible. He had burned himself into your bones, branded himself into the very structure of your being, and no amount of running could erase him.

The streetlights outside passed in soft glows, streaks of golden light washing over his face in fleeting moments. You watched him through heavy lids, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way his lips pressed together in a firm line.

He had aged. Not in years, but in burdens. And maybe, just maybe, you were part of that weight.

A bitter chuckle slipped past your lips before you could stop it. In-ho’s gaze flicked toward you for the briefest second, sharp and assessing, before returning to the road. You tilted your head back against the seat, staring up at the car’s ceiling as the alcohol in your system dulled your inhibitions, loosening your tongue.

“You know…” Your voice slurred, thick with exhaustion and liquor. “I thought about killing you too.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t react.

You laughed, hollow and tired. “I did. I planned it in my head. What I would say and how I would do it. What I would feel when it was over,” you turned your head, meeting his gaze with half-lidded eyes. “But the problem is…”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat.

The problem was that you couldn’t.

Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, the pain, the war that raged inside you every time you thought of him —  he was still him. The boy who had once picked daisies for you, who gave you the paper ring, who memorized the constellations just so he could tell you stories about the stars, the one who taught you games, who had always found you, no matter how far you ran.

Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. Not from the alcohol, but from something much deeper, much more dangerous.

Your voice broke when you whispered, “I missed you.”

The words landed like a gunshot.

In-ho’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. His breath faltered just for a moment, but it was enough. Enough for you to know that it hit him, that he had missed you too.

But he didn’t say anything. He just kept driving, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

You let out a soft sigh, a weary exhale as the weight of the night, the exhaustion, the emotions swirled into something too heavy to hold. Your body sagged against the seat, and before you could fight it, your eyelids drifted shut.

The last thing you felt was the car slowing, the warmth of the heater brushing over your skin, and the lingering presence of him. He was silent, unmovable, but he was there.

——

The weight of consciousness settled slowly, like a fog lifting from the shore. Your head throbbed with the unmistakable ache of a hangover, your body sluggish and warm beneath the silk sheets. A familiar scent lingered in the air — clean, crisp, and laced with something deeper, something that made your stomach twist before you even dared to open your eyes.

The air was thick with the distant hum of the ocean, waves crashing in a rhythmic lull. Then it hit you. The room, the sensation, the unsettling deja vu crawling up your spine.

You were back on the island. 

Your eyes shot open, darting across the dimly lit room. The sleek black walls, the opulent yet sterile furnishings, the single glass of water resting on the bedside table. The weight of reality settled in your chest, heavier than the remnants of alcohol in your system. You swallowed, throat parched, reaching for the water with an unsteady hand. The cool liquid did little to ease the heat rising beneath your skin.

Then, the sound of water ceased. The bathroom door clicked open, steam rolling out in thick tendrils, curling into the room like ghosts of the past. Then, In-ho stepped out.

Fresh from the shower, his damp hair clung to his forehead, his expression unreadable, controlled as ever. A dark robe hung loosely over his broad shoulders, barely tied, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the sharp lines of his collarbones. Water droplets traced slow, lazy paths down his skin, disappearing beneath the fabric that barely clung to his waist.

Your breath hitched. You should have been furious, should have screamed, thrown the glass against the wall, demanded why he had brought you back here of all places. But instead, you sat frozen, pulse hammering against your ribs, fingers gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles turned white.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood here, watching you, his dark eyes scanning every inch of you, reading you as easily as he always had. And despite everything — the pain, betrayal, the war waging inside your heart — your body betrayed you.

You hated how easy it was for him to affect you. How, even now, after everything, he still had this power over you. 

“In-ho…” your voice was hoarse, weak, a plea you didn’t mean to make.

He exhaled slowly, stepping forward. The air between you crackled, charged with something dangerous, something inevitable.

“You sad you missed me,” his voice was low and steady, but there was something else laced in it — something raw. “Do you still?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, to spit venom, to remind him of everything he had done. But the words never came. Because he was already there, standing over you, one knee pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer. The heat of his body seared into your skin, even through the thin sheets separating you.

In-ho’s hand found your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, and you trembled, but not from fear.

“You should hate me,” he murmured, and for the first time in a long time, there was something vulnerable in his expression. “Tell me you do.”

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, you let him.

The moment his lips met yours, something inside you snapped. Anger, longing, grief, and something deeper — all of it collided as you reached for him, pulling down onto the bed. His robe slipped from his shoulders, pooling around his waist, exposing more of him to your hungry, desperate hands.

This wasn’t about forgiveness. It wasn’t about fixing what had been broken. 

It was about claiming what was left.

And neither of you held back.

His hands roamed around your body as his tongue battled yours, fighting for dominance. His grip was tight, but not enough to hurt you. Though you felt his tongue licking your teeth, earning a moan from you as motioned his body on top of you. He slid your shorts down along with your underwear, pulling away from you to look at the view in front of him as you removed your shirt off, his eyes darkening with lust as he removed your bra.

He spread your legs apart, revealing your wet entrance. He looked into your eyes once more, his eyes asking for consent. You gave him a nod before he pulled himself down, his face down your wetness as he grabbed your legs, putting them over his shoulder, squeezing it. You held your breath and looked up, ready for what was coming next.

His tongue swirled around your clit, much to your pleasure. You couldn’t help but let out a moan, much to his liking as he worked his tongue faster. He entered into you with his tongue, sending more pleasure down your spine, gripping the sheets as you cried. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer against him as his tongue continued, feeling your insides clench.

“In-ho…” You moaned out. “I’m close.”

Just when you were about to, he stopped, earning a whimper from you as he pulled away, looking at you intently as he leaned forward. “I’m not done.”

His lips crashed against yours once again, desperate and hungry, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped you. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the solid heat of his body pressing into yours. You melted into the kiss, fingers tangling in his damp hair, the scent of clean soap and something distinctly him flooding your senses.

His hands roamed your body like he was relearning every inch of you, like he had spent every second of your absence memorizing what it felt like to hold you. A broken sound escaped your lips as his mouth traced fire down your neck, nipping and soothing, eliciting shivers that curled deep into your stomach. His name slipped past your lips in a breathless plea, and it was all he needed to hear.

In-ho answered with touch, with heat, with devotion. Each movement was reverent, slow yet burning with a passion that threatened to consume you both whole. He slid his bathrobe away, not letting go of you as he bulged his shaft down to your entrance, your wetness making it easy for him to enter. His manhood fit perfectly onto you, his movement careful at first as you adjusted.

His thrusts were slow at first, but you were too impatient. You clung your fingernails to his back, leaning your head forward as you whispered to his ear, “Faster.”

And with that, he thrusted faster. Harder. You felt your breasts jiggle as he noticed, cupping one breast with his hand as he continued to thrust into you and held your waist as if it was a handle. You closed your eyes, feeling the sensation of pleasure around your body only for him to grab your jaw, much to your surprise. “Look at me.”

You didn’t waste time. You open them, locking your eyes with his as you see him look at you with lust all over his face, his breath hitching with low moans. He trusted harder, enough to feel your cervix as he let out a groan, like an animal ready to shed its beast.

“Fuck,” he groaned, continuing his thrust. “You feel so good, baby.” He leaned forward again to kiss you, his tongue battling for dominance as you whimpered through his mouth, much to his pleasure.

He worshipped you, whispered your name like a prayer as if you were something sacred, something he had lost and was afraid to lose again. You felt his grip on your waist tighten, feeling his pulse down much faster this time. You could also feel your insides clench once more as you moaned louder, holding back your climax.

In-ho seemed to sense this as he circled your clit with his finger which made your back arched. “Cum for me.”

The smell of sex and sweat filled the air as you let out a whimper, with In-ho continuing to look at you with lust, biting his lip as you came, but that didn’t stop his thrust into you. Your legs shivered, feeling your insides come with pleasure, the sensitivity of your clit unbearable.

And then, at last, he came into climax, pushing one last thrust onto you enough to reach your cervix, spilling all his cum inside as he let out a moan. His head was motioned upward, closing his eyes as you felt his juices inside you.

You both finally shattered, tangled together beneath the dim light of the room, pleasure washing over you in waves, you realized something else.

No matter how far you ran, how much you tried to fight it —  you would always find your way back to him.

Because despite everything, you belonged to him. And he was yours.

——

The room was silent except for the lingering echoes of your shared breaths, the warmth of his body still seeping into yours. In-ho collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his skin damp with sweat and satisfaction. The space between you felt heavy — not with regret, nor with shame, but with something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

Your fingers ghosted over your stomach as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. The heat of his presence was everywhere on your skin, in the sheets, in the very air you breathed. You turned your head to look at him, his profile sharp against the dim lighting of the room. His lips were parted, his expression unreadable as his chest slowly rose and fell.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. But then, the question, the one that had been burning inside you, finally escaped your lips.

“Why did you keep looking for me?”

In-ho didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his fingers reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was softer than you expected, almost hesitant, as if he feared that you would slip away again if he wasn’t careful.

“Because you were never meant to disappear,” he murmured, his voice deep and quiet. His thumb traced along your jawline, a gesture so tender that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I thought I could move on. That you had made your choice, and I had to respect it. But everywhere I went, I saw you. I felt you. You haunted me, even when I tried to forget you.”

His eyes, dark and full of unspoken emotions, searched yours.

“I thought I had lost you forever,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t accept that. No matter where I looked, I always hoped I would find you waiting for me.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You had spent nights watching him from the shadows, knowing he had been looking for you, feeling that same pull but never daring to step forward. You had chosen exile and revenge. And yet, here you were, right where you had sworn never to return.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally whispered the question that had been haunting you since that day.

“Then why did you shoot me?”

In-ho’s body tensed beside you. His expression didn’t change, but you could see the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets.

“You could have killed me,” you continued, your voice barely above a breath. “You pulled the trigger, In-ho. Why?”

His jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering toward the ceiling before he finally turned back to you. “I had to,” he said, his voice controlled but laced with something deeper — regret and pain. “They wanted you dead.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. 

“I made a deal,” he continued, his fingers brushing over your wrist, as if grounding himself in your presence. “They saw you as a threat. The only way to prove my loyalty was to eliminate that threat. If I had refused, someone else would have done it. And they wouldn’t have stopped at a single bullet.”

A chill ran down your spine. “So, you—“

“I didn’t kill you,” he said firmly. “I made sure of it. The shot was meant to take you down, nothing more. It was the only way to buy time, to convince them that you were no longer a problem.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets. “And what was I supposed to do? Just lay there and bleed while you carried on with your life?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I was always going to come for you.” His hand slid to your waist, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “They gave me a choice,” he murmured. “Kill you or offer you something more.”

Your heart pounded. “And what was that?”

In-ho exhaled. “A place by my side,” he admitted. “If you had stayed, if you had chosen it… you wouldn’t have had to run.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it held no humor. “So, that’s what this was all about,” you muttered. “They wanted me to play their game. And you,” you swallowed, searching his gaze. “You wanted me to accept it.”

In-ho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I wanted you to live,” he corrected. “I still do.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and unshakable. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, In-ho sighed and sat up, pulling you with him. “Come,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. “I want to show you something.”

You hesitated before following, your legs still weak from exhaustion. He led you to a door on the far side of the room, pushing it open. The dim glow of the overhead lights illuminated a walk-in closet, spacious and meticulously organized.

At first, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. There were racks of suits in sharp, expensive cuts, neatly pressed dress shirts, an array of polished shoes lining the shelves. Everything was cold and precise, just as you would expect from a man like In-ho.

But then, your eyes drifted to the opposite side of the closet. You let out a small gasp.

It was yours.

Your clothes, perfectly arranged, as if you had never left. Dresses, coats, shoes — all in the styles and colors you used to favor. There were accessories, neatly placed in velvet-lined drawers. Even your perfume, the one scent you had stopped wearing long ago, rested on a mirrored tray as if waiting for you to pick it up again.

You took a shaky step forward, reaching out to touch the fabric of a coat you recognized from years ago. It wasn’t just new clothing, there were things from your past, things you had left behind. Trinkets, personal belongings, reminders of a life you had abandoned.

You turned to In-ho, your hands trembling at your sides. “What… what is this?” You asked.

He stood there, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read. His dark eyes flickered with anticipation. Finally, he spoke. “The organization was impressed,” he said, his voice even and deliberate. “Six months, and no one could find you. Not the recruiters. Not even me.” He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You made yourself a ghost, slipping through cracks, killing off our men, leaving no trace but whispers in the streets. Do you know how rare that is?”

“They don’t see it as a threat?” You asked cautiously.

“They did,” In-ho admitted, tilting his head slightly. “At first. But then, they saw something else.”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“They saw potential,” he said. “The kind that can’t be trained, can’t be forced. You survived the games. You survived me. And then you disappeared into the world like you were never here.” He let the weight of his words settled before he continued. “So, they decided to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

In-ho exhaled slowly before stepping forward, closer than before. His hands slipped into his pockets as he studied you, as if gauging your reaction before saying the next words. “They want you to join the upper ranks,” he said. “Not just as another piece in their game, but as one of the overseers.”

Your breath hitched. “The overseers,” you echoed, as if saying the words aloud would make them more real. 

“Yes.”

You searched his face for deception, but there was none. Just the cold, hard truth.

“You want me to accept it.”

In-ho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against yours, a light touch that sent an unexpected shiver through your spine.

“You have nothing left out there,” he murmured. “You’ve been running for six months. And for what?” His thumb ghosted over your wrist, slow and deliberate. “You belong here.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “I belong nowhere,” you muttered.

“Then make this place yours,” he continued smoothly. “Take the power they’re offering you. No more running. No more hiding. No more being hunted.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking into your skin like ink spreading through paper. 

For months, you had fought against this, against him, against the very thing he was offering you now. But you had seen the world outside. And all you found there was blood, loneliness, and an endless chase that led nowhere.

This was something else. This was control.

And so, after a long, heavy silence, you lifted your chin and met his gaze. Your lips parted, and the single word that left them sealed your fate. “Fine.”

For the first time in a long time, a ghost of smirk touched In-ho’s lips. “You won’t regret it,” he murmured.

You weren’t so sure about that. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because once you go in, there’s no turning back.

——

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A/N: The more I write, the more ideas this series gives me. Expect more updates as I have the others drafted already, yay! 😅 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

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ONESHOT REQUESTS - ON HOLD ⭐

Henlo, everyone! I've decided to finish my series, "once you go in, there's no turning back" first before posting your requests. I've been receiving a lot of requests for the meantime but I'm just drafting the remaining chapters of the series first before I get started with the requests.

The series will be ending soon and I am very excited on the turn of events. Though it is bittersweet for me to finish writing the remaining chapters but I hope y'all have been enjoying reading it as much as I have been enjoying writing it. 🤍

Thank you all so much for the support. It's been awhile since I've written fanfics yet I can't believe that I still got it. 😅 Hwang In-ho (literally, Lee Byung-hun) made me go back to writing. I even told my boyfriend about me writing fanfics and I was scared that he would judge me, but he didn't and said he knows my imagination is very wide so I should just continue writing, especially if it makes me happy. 😍

You can still REQUEST HERE ! 🤍

CHAPTER 14 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

He had seen it coming. Hell, he was in charge of everything.

That final game. The one that had changed everything. The one that had you in it.

The air had been suffocating inside the control room, thick with the metallic scent of blood, with the weight of choices that had been made long before the game had even begun.

In-ho remembered how you looked on the TV from the last season of the games, your body barely keeping itself upright during the Red Light, Green Light game. Your eyes were sharper than ever, burning and filled with something that he had never quite seen before.

The way you had looked at him in the limousine at that moment haunted him still. 

And then, despite the rebellion, there had been a winner. Deserving, as In-ho thought. 

But the man who had risen from the bloodshed, broken, and victorious should have left. But he didn’t.

Instead, a new role had been placed upon him. Not by choice, but by design.

In-ho had watched as the mask was placed over his face, the weight of it settling onto his shoulders like a sentence, as if an inevitability. He had worn that mask once. 

But not anymore.

Not after he had been called into that silent, suffocating room where the men in gilded masks sat in the shadows, waiting for him. 

The Overseer. A title heavier than the one before it.

A role he hadn’t asked for — one that had been forced upon him the same way he had forced the mask onto the new Front Man. The games had changed, and so had its players. 

A knock echoed through the dimly lit room. In-ho turned, his gloved hands resting idly behind his back as the door opened. The knocker’s footsteps were slow and deliberate. Then, a silence came in.

A presence stood across from him, face obscured beneath the black mask that had once belonged to him. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, in the quiet, In-ho exhaled.

“How does it feel?” In-ho asked, his voice smooth but unreadable.

The figure didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was different than before — colder, stripped of anything human.

“It doesn’t matter how it feels.”

In-ho allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smirk beneath his own mask. “Good.”

Then, without another word, he turned away. 

The city hadn’t changed. The streets pulsed with life as if the world had never stopped turning, as if nothing had fractured beneath its surface. The skyline still burned with city lights stretching beyond the horizon. People walked from one place to another, drowning in their own worlds, oblivious to the monsters that lurked beneath their feet.

But for In-ho, the world had never felt more empty.

Six months had passed since that night — since he found the blood on his counter and the microchip abandoned beside it. Six months since you had vanished without a trace, disappearing into the shadows as if you had never existed. 

It had been six months since he had lost you. And yet, he refused to let go.

He searched everywhere. Every street, every darkened alley, every lead that turned to dust beneath his fingertips. But no matter how far he looked, how many resources he pulled from the depths of his influence, you were nowhere to be found. He scoured the underground, digging into places so deep that even the organization had turned wary of his movements. The weight of the mask no longer felt heavy on his face, but without you, it no longer felt like it belonged.

The realization had settled in his bones like a sickness — an aching, gnawing thing that refused to let go. And yet, he couldn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he visited your apartment. It was muscle memory now, the way his hand would rest against the doorframe, the way his breath would still in his chest as he listened for any sign of movement beyond the door. But there was nothing.

Always nothing.

There was no warmth inside. No trace of your presence.

You left your key there, but he never once thought of taking it. He never stepped inside, not even once. Because if he did — if he walked into that empty space and saw the dust gathering on surfaces you should have touched, saw the absence of you woven into the very walls — he wasn’t sure if he could keep moving forward.

So instead, he stood there. Every end of the week, in the dead of night, standing like a ghost outside a home that no longer belonged to anyone.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Knowing, deep down, that you weren’t coming back.

——

The news reached him in whispers. 

In-ho went back to his other apartment, the one that no one ever knew — only him. The apartment he went home to after every season of the games. However this time, he was searching for you again, locked in on every file. For the first time in months, something inside In-ho shifted.

A body had been found at an abandoned dockyard. A clean execution — one bullet to the head. No struggle, no trace left behind except the corpse of the man who had once been responsible for finding desperate souls for the games. 

The organization had been careful. This was no ordinary attack. Whoever had done this had known exactly what they were doing. It wasn’t just a loss of a valuable asset to the operation. It wasn’t just the unsettling fact that someone had gotten close enough to take him out without raising any alarms.

You were still out there. And now, you weren’t just running. You were fighting back.

A slow exhale left his lips as he set the report down. His fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the paper, though his face remained unreadable.

The world had indeed changed in the past six months.

In-ho’s feet moved before his mind worked, entering his car as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure. The rain drummed softly against the window of his car as he drove towards your apartment. There, he parked outside. Although he had no reason to be there, but he couldn’t help himself.

Another week. Another night. Another moment was spent staring at the door that would never open.

The rain blurred the city beyond the windshield, distorting the world in streaks of color. And for a moment, he let himself remember your voice, your smile. The warmth of your presence beside him.

But then, as his gaze drifted toward your apartment building, something gnawed at the edges of his mind. A feeling — one he had long learned not to ignore. The environment carried a charge, something almost electric, almost alive. It wasn’t obvious at first, not to someone who wasn’t looking for it.

Something was wrong.

Without thinking, he stepped out of the car, the cold rain soaking through his coat almost instantly. His heart pounded as he took the stairs two at a time, reaching your door before he could convince himself otherwise.

Then, he froze. The door was slightly ajar. His pulse quickened, a sharp contrast to his otherwise calm exterior. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. And then, his stomach dropped.

The apartment was empty. Not just in the way it always had been — but stripped bare, as if someone had come and erased every last trace of you from existence. The bed was untouched. The air smelled stale. His eyes scanned the space, taking in every detail. Although the furniture was the same, something about its arrangement felt off. As if someone had touched it, moved it, sat on it.

His gaze trailed along the room until it landed on the small table near the window. And then, he saw it.

Your letter.

The envelope was simple. There were no markings, no embellishments. Just his name scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Your handwriting.

His fingers tightened around the edges as he picked it up, his throat constricting. He exhaled, steadying himself before he slipped a gloved finger beneath the seal, carefully unfolding the paper within. 

Your scent still lingered on it.

His eyes moved over the words, absorbing them, dissecting every sentence, every choice of phrasing, every hidden meaning between the lines.

I wonder how long it took you to realize I was close. Or if you came here just to mourn the ghost of me, the one you left behind. I wonder if you’ve spent your nights lying awake, picturing my face in the crowd, searching for a glimpse of me in every shadow.

But I already know the answer, don’t I?

You’ve been looking for me. I know, because I’ve been watching you, too.

Do you understand what you did to me, In-ho? It wasn’t just the bullet — it was the choice. It was the cold look in your eyes, the way you pulled the trigger as if my life was nothing more than a means to an end. I wasn’t just another player in your game. I wasn’t someone you could sacrifice for the sake of your throne.

You betrayed me.

And yet, I still think about you. That’s the cruelest part of all. 

Even after everything, I still remember the way you used to look at me. I still remember your hands, the warmth of your touch before you became someone I could no longer reach. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for every moment I miss you.

But I won’t let that stop me from what I have to do. The recruiters are still out there, hunting for the desperate and the broken. And I see them. I watch them from the shadows. I’ve followed them down the streets, through the alleys, watching as they hand out those cursed cards. And every time I find one, I promise myself I will end them.

I wonder, In-ho… will you stop me? Will you try?

Or will you let me disappear into the abyss you threw me into?

You know where to find me. If you’re willing to look hard enough.

By the time In-ho finished reading, his hands had curled so tightly around the letter that the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. A slow exhale left his lips, his shoulders stiff, his mind a storm of emotions too tangled to unravel.

You were near. You knew he was looking for you. And now, you had given him a choice: let you vanish into the darkness or chase after you.

The corner of his lips twitched, a ghost of something almost like amusement, but there was no warmth in it.

You wanted a challenge? You would get one.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you hid, In-ho wasn’t going to stop. He had already lost you once.

And he wasn’t going to lose you again. 

——

The alley was silent. The kind of silence that only came after death.

Even in the middle of Seoul, where the streets never truly slept, there were places like this — forgotten corners between looming buildings, spaces where the city’s neon glow didn’t quite reach. Places where death could slip by unnoticed.

The recruiter’s body slumped against the cold brick wall, his final breath long stolen from his lungs. Blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement, dark and glistening under the faint streetlight overhead. The warmth of it clung to your hands, soaked into the creases of your knuckles, staining your sleeves.

The knife was still in your grip, trembling slightly as the adrenaline burned through you.

Another one down. Another recruiter gone.

Your pulse pounded, loud in your ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city. This was what you had become. You had made your choice the night you left. 

You promised yourself that if you couldn’t stop the games, you would stop those who fed it. And yet, as you stood there, staring at the life you had just taken, a part of you wondered if this was really justice.

Or if it was revenge. 

Your breath came uneven as you wiped the blade clean against the recruiter’s coat before slipping it back into your pocket. The blood on your hands had already begun to dry, leaving a tacky feeling against your skin. The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You had to move.

With one last glance at the lifeless body, you turned, slipping into the shadows, disappearing before anyone could find you.

You had never been much of a smoker before, but now, it was a habit you had picked up in the quiet moments between the killings, in the stolen hours of the night when the world slowed just enough for your thoughts to catch up.

The flame flickered as you brought it to the tip, the ember glowing faintly before you took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs. It burned, just for a second, before settling into something familiar, something grounding. Your mind wandered before you could stop it.

In-ho.

The man who had once been your everything before he became the one thing you could never forgive.

Six months since you had disappeared into the cracks of the city. Since you had left behind the world that had nearly swallowed you whole. Since you had walked away from him.

And yet, he hadn’t walked away from you.

You’ve seen him. Every week. Every damn week, without fail.

Standing just across the street from your apartment building, half-hidden in the shadows, his hands in the pockets of his coat, his gaze lingering on the shadows as if you could step out onto the balcony. He would stand there for hours, unmoving, just watching. 

And then, just before the sky began to lighten before the world stirred awake, he would disappear like a ghost. Like a man who didn’t know how to let go.

You had never let him see you, never once stepped out of the safety of your hiding place. But you had thought about it.

God, you had thought about it.

There were nights when you had stood by the window, fingers curled around the curtain, watching him through the sliver of space between the fabric. Careful enough not to make any movement around your apartment, for him to think that you never came back there. Nights when you had imagined walking down those steps, crossing that street, standing in front of him, and asking him why.

Why he had done this. 

Why he had betrayed you.

Why he still looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.

And worse, there were nights when you had almost considered it. 

Almost considered going back.

Almost considered accepting his offer.

Because for all the blood on his hands, for all the lives he had stolen, there had been a time where he had been yours. And a part of you, no matter how much you hated it, still wanted to believe that be again. 

But then, the memories would come back. The pain. The betrayal. 

The weight of his gun against your body, the sharp crack of the bullet tearing through you. The way he had looked at you afterward. Not with regret, not with hesitation, but with cold, calculated detachment. Like you had never meant anything at all.

You exhaled, watching the tendrils of smoke curl toward the ceiling before vanishing into nothing. As you stood there in the dim light of the convenience store, with the taste of nicotine on your tongue and the weight of another life on your conscience, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how far you ran, no matter how many recruiters you took down, he would always find a way back to you.

The gas station flickered ahead, neon signs buzzing faintly against the dark sky. It sat on the edge of the city, just far enough from the main streets that it felt detached from the world. A temporary sanctuary.

You pushed open the door to the restroom, locking it behind you. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, casting a sickly glow over the cracked mirror. And then, for the first time in hours, you saw yourself, barely recognizing what you had become.

Your reflection stared back at you, hollow-eyed and exhausted. Slowly, you turned on the faucet, watching as the water sputtered out, filling the sink.

Your fingers shook as you scrubbed. The blood smeared at first, painting your skin deeper shades of red before finally fading down the drain. But even as your hands became clean, the weight in your chest did not lift.

You gripped the edges of the sink, head lowering, and your breath shaky. You had been killing them one by one. 

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the exhaustion threatening to consume you. There was no time to dwell on it. Not now.

Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the dimly lit convenience store. 

The bell above the convenience store door chimed as you stepped inside, the harsh fluorescent lights making you squint after spending too much time lurking in the shadows. The scent of cheap instant ramen and cleeaning detergent filled the air, clashing with the lingering smoke of your cigarette, which you quickly stubbed out against the trash bin by the entrance.

You barely spared a glance at the other customers. Just another late-night stop for the city’s restleses — people either coming from work or trying to escape something. The latter fit you right in.

But then, you saw her.

Jun-hee.

Your breath hitched.

She was standing in front of the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water, completely unaware of your presence. For a moment, your mind refused to believe it was real. But she was here, standing right in front of you when, by all accounts, she should have been dead.

Just like you.

Her hair was longer than you remembered, tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a thick coat that did little to hide the exhaustion in her posture. But it wasn’t her disheveled appearance that caught your attention.

It was the baby in her arms. Small, bundled up in soft, pale yellow fabric.

Yours and Jun-hee’s eyes met in the reflection of the fridge door. She froze, the bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“No…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “You… You’re dead.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. You could have laughed if the moment wasn’t so suffocating. You had to get out.

You schooled your features, masking the sudden rise of panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person.”

Her eyes widened, a million emotions flashing through them. “No, no. It’s you. It’s really you. How—?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you cut her off, voice steady but firm. You turned sharply on your heel and strode toward the door, the familiar itch of danger creeping up your spine. 

You shoved the door open and stepped back into the cold air, swallowing down the panic rising in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, muscles tensing as you forced yourself to keep walking, to not turn back, to not run.

Jun-hee won.

She was the winner of the last game. The realization settled like a heavy strone in your gut. She had survived. She had gone through the same nightmare, played the same deadly games, watched people die, and somehow, she had come out alive.

And she had a baby now.

Your mind ran circles around the thought, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. She had seen you. That was all that mattered. You needed to disappear again and let the city swallow you whole, let the neon lights blur in your peripheral vision, let the sounds of traffic and distant voices drown out your thoughts.

By the time you realized where you were, you were standing in front of a bar. It was dimly lit, old, with a neon sign flickering above the entrance, half the letters burnt out. It was the perfect place to sink into oblivion. 

The door creaked as you pushed it open, the scent of liquor, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke hit you instantly, familiar and suffocating all at once. A few patrons lingered at the tables, hunched over drinks, lost in their own troubles. The bartender barely spared you a glance as you slid into a seat at the counter.

Your hands were still shaking, realizing that Jun-hee had seen you. 

You drank the night away, the coldness of the liquor etching your throat as it burned, but you didn’t care. You needed to be wasted.

——

A/N: So far, I've been liking the thought of In-ho and Y/N writing letters for each other 🤭 What did you think of Jun-hee becoming the winner of the games? Do you have any theories in mind for the next season of Squid Game? Let's discuss about it! Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 13 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

“Noona?”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. His voice was cautious and uncertain but heavy with unspoken questions. You turned sharply toward the door, your heart pounding as you did so. And there, standing in the doorway, your eyes widened in disbelief. 

Jun-ho stood there, his expression unreadable, though his sharp gaze flickered between you and the room behind you. His presence was both a comfort and a threat — he was someone familiar in this unfamiliar place, yet someone who could easily shatter everything you had been trying to hold together.

“Jun-ho…” you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“His brows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

For a brief moment, you considered telling him the truth. About everything, In-ho, the games, the reason you were here. But your self-preservation kicked in, forcing you to piece together a half-truth instead.

“I… I needed a place to think,” you let out a shaky breath. “A friend told me about this place when I was looking for in-ho.”

Jun-ho’s stare hardened. “A friend?” His voice was laced with skepticism. You couldn’t blame him.

You nodded, forcing yourself to look confused, as if this revelation meant nothing to you. “I wasn’t sure if it was his.”

Jun-ho stepped further into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His presence filled the space, tense and searching. His dark eyes darted over the room, scanning the familiar surroundings as if he were seeing a ghost. Then, he scoffed. “You really expect me to believe that?”

You held your breath.

“You’re correct, this is hyung’s apartment,” he continued, stepping past you, his fingers grazing over the furniture. “I came here once before he disappeared.” He stopped in front of a bookshelf, his hand ghosting over a framed photo. You knew what it was — a picture of In-ho before the games, before he was swallowed whole by the world he had tried to escape.

Jun-ho picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. His jaw clenched. “I searched everywhere for him,” his voice was quieter now, but the bitterness in it was impossible to miss. “For years, I thought something happened to him. That maybe he was dead. And then I find out he wasn’t just alive — he was running the damn thing.”

Your stomach twisted as he set the frame down with more force than necessary before turning to you. “And now, I find you here,” his gaze pierced through you. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Jun-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I figured I should let you know,” his voice was rough, like he had been carrying these words for too long. “Maybe it’s because you actually seem like you care about him. Or maybe I just need to hear myself say it out loud.”

A brief silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he let out a humorless laugh. “He’s the front man, noona. My brother runs the games.”

You flinched at his words, even though you already knew the truth. You averted his gaze.

Jun-ho studied your reaction carefully, his eyes darkened with suspicion. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You felt your heart thrum harder. Your lips parted, but no words came. You only looked at him, seeing his gaze over you.

Jun-ho stepped closer. “Did you already know?”

You felt your defenses crumbling as your thoughts spiraled. It seemed your silence was enough of an answer as he let out a bitter chuckle.

“I used to think I could save him,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I chased a ghost. And when I finally found him… he shot me.”

Your heart clenched.

“I gave up on him,” Jun-ho said, his voice quieter now. “Because he already made his choice.”

“And what if he didn’t have a choice?”

Jun-ho’s gaze flickered with something unreadable after you said it, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Are you saying that you believe it… or because you don’t want to admit the truth?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. Jun-ho let out a slow breath, turning away from you and walking towards the shelves. He sifted through a stack of books, letters, and relics of a life that In-ho had left behind.

A life that no longer existed.

“Back then,” Jun-ho started, his voice becoming distant. “I thought my brother was the strongest person I knew. He always had a way of pulling himself out of the darkest situations,” his fingers traced over an old medal, the one In-ho had won in university. “But now? Now, I don’t even know if he’s still my brother.”

You felt the ache in your chest intensify. You couldn’t believe how harshly the world treated these brothers. Then, he finally turned back to you, his gaze softer, but the weight of his words heavier than ever.

“Noona, whatever reason you’re here, whatever you’re holding onto, please ask yourself this,” his voice was low, filled with something almost pleading. “Are you willing to live a lie until the day you die, or are you going to do what’s right?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke.

“Because if you know the truth, you only have two choices,” he continued. “Tell me everything you know about him, the frontman, and save the lives of many… or you can bury this forever.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you like a crushing force. 

Tell the truth. Betray In-ho. Expose everything.

Or stay silent. Go back. Live in the shadows.

Your throat felt dry, the room suffocating. You had fought for survival. You had fought for In-ho. But now, the real fight was beginning, and you had no idea which side you were on. 

Silence filled the apartment long after Jun-ho had left, not realizing he already did. But in your mind, his voice still echoed, lingering like a shadow that refused to fade.

The weight of his words settled deep into your chest, a pressure that made it hard to breathe. You sank onto the couch, staring at nothing yet seeing everything. The past, the present, and the uncertain future that stretched ahead of you.

If you exposed In-ho and the games, the world would finally know the truth — the horrors of the games, the lives lost, the twisted system that had turned desperation into entertainment. But what then? Would it truly end? Would it stop the games, or would the people in power simply replace him and erase his existence as if he never mattered?

Would it change anything at all?

And In-ho…

You pressed your fingertips to your temples, squeezing your eyes shut. It wasn’t just about what he had done, about the blood on his hands. It was about the moments in between — the quiet ones, the fragile ones, the ones where you saw glimpses of the man he used to be.

The man who had once laughed with you on the streets, who promised things he could never give. The man who, despite everything, had let you go when you asked for three days to think.

And then, there was Jun-ho.

Jun-ho, who had spent years searching for his brother only to find a monster in his place. Jun-ho, who had given up on saving him. The memory of In-ho’s bullet sinking into Jun-ho’s body made you feel sick.

Because what if he could do the same to you if you don’t come back?

How much of him was left? How much of the man you once knew still existed beneath the mask, beneath the weight of every decision he had made?

You had seen his hands tremble when he held you. You had seen the way he looked at you in the quiet moments when neither of you spoke — like he was afraid that if he did, the last piece of him that remained human would crack and shatter.

But wasn’t it already broken?

Jun-ho had been right about one thing. You could only do one of two things — expose In-ho and destroy what little remained of him, or stay silent and live with him, carrying this truth in your chest like a lead weight for the rest of your life.

You thought about the others. The ones still trapped in that nightmare, fighting for survival, fighting for a chance to crawl their way out of hell. If you did nothing, how many more would die?

And yet if you betrayed him, would it even matter?

You plopped yourself down to the bed, burying your face in your hands.

Minutes had already passed, maybe even hours. Time felt frozen, meaningless in the suffocating quiet of In-ho’s abandoned apartment.

Then, the black box with a pink bow caught your eye again.

The sight of it made your heart lurch, its place too deliberate and carefully placed. With slow, almost reluctant movements, you reached for it.

Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, the silk slipping between your fingers. You hesitated for a brief moment before lifting the lid. Inside, there was an envelope nestled within crisp white paper.

Your breath caught, realizing it wasn’t just any envelope. It had your name on it.

Written in sharp, deliberate strokes, the kind of handwriting you had seen on countless reports, on cold, official documents. But this was different. The way your name curved on the paper felt personal.

With an uneasy inhale, you pulled the letter free, unfolding it with care.

If you’re reading this, you’ve found your way back to me.

The first sentence made your stomach twist. It wasn’t a question, nor hopeful. Rather, it was a statement and certainty.

You asked me once why I did all this. Why I became the Front Man. The truth is, I stopped looking for a way out the moment I realized there was none. There is no justice in this world. Only power and those who wield it. I did what I had to survive.

But if I ever wished for something more, something outside of the choices I made… it would be you.

The words felt like they were cutting into your skin. Your eyes continued down the page, your breath shallow.

It was always you.

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. You inhaled sharply, your pulse hammering in your ears.

You and I have always been the same. You understand survival better than anyone. You understand what it means to make impossible choices. And now, you have another one to make.

Your vision blurred for a second, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

If you choose to walk away, I won’t stop you. But they will.

But if you stay, then come back. Come back, and I will show you the world beyond this. The world we can build together. I never lied to you about that.

I will give you everything. Not as the Front Man. Not as the overseer. Not as the man who ran the games. 

Just as me. Your In-ho.

Your hands trembled as you lowered the letter, your heartbeat erratic. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were at a crossroads.

You had spent the last few hours caught between two paths — Jun-ho’s quiet plea for justice, the weight of every life lost pressing into your ribs… and In-ho, the man who had shattered your trust, yet still held something deep inside you that you couldn’t sever.

You could leave and take this letter, burn it, and let the world know what you knew.

Or…

You could step back into the abyss.

The weight of everything threatened to crush you. You ran your hands over your head, fingers digging into your scalp as you tried to steady your erratic breaths. Your chest tightened, your thoughts racing in an endless, suffocating loop.

Jun-ho.

In-ho.

The games.

Their lives, your life, the lives of everyone still trapped in that nightmare.

No matter which path you took, someone would suffer. If you told Jun-ho the truth, you’d be condemning In-ho to a fate he could never escape. You wouldn’t want to know what the system could do to those who strayed too far from their role. They would never let him go. And if they found out about Jun-ho? He wouldn’t make it out alive.

But if you stayed silent, if you kept this secret locked away in your chest, then you were no better than the masked men who orchestrated the deaths of hundreds. You would be turning your back on the people still trapped inside, on the innocent who would be lured into the next set of games.

A sickening weight settled deep in your gut, twisting like a knife. Then, you felt a shift, some kind of pressure. Right near your ear.

Your fingers brushed against something small, firm, and foreign beneath your skin. Your stomach lurched. You pressed against the area again slowly and cautiously, the dread pooling into your veins.

It wasn’t your imagination. It was there.

A cold realization slammed into you like a freight train. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out all other noise. Your stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in your throat.

You had to get it out.

Your feet moved before your mind could fully catch up. You rushed to the kitchen, yanking open drawers with shaking hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The metallic clatter of utensils filled the air as you rummaged frantically until your fingers wrapped around the cool, unforgiving metal of a small knife.

You gripped it tightly, your knuckles white. Your reflection in the window caught your eye — a pale, frantic ghost of yourself as your mouth slightly opened as if gasping for air. A woman on the verge of something irreversible.

You braced yourself against the counter. With one final, shuddering breath, you angled the blade behind your ear and pressed down. Pain seared through your skin, sharp, and unforgiving. Your vision blurred, but you clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going. The blade bit deeper, warm blood trickling down your neck, staining the collar of your coat.

And then, a small metallic object dislodged and tumbled onto the counter with a soft clink. It was a tiny black chip, no bigger than a fingernail, glistened under the kitchen lights, coated in fresh crimson.

Your entire body went still, and then the realization hit.

He had never intended to let you go.

A choked sob bubbled up from your throat. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, suffocating and oppressive. Your breaths came in sharp, erratic bursts. The betrayal burned through you like acid, scorching every last remnant of hope you had left. Your chest heaved as your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your rage exploding.

With a sharp, guttural cry, you seized the closest object — an empty glass left on the counter — and hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, fragments scattering across the floor. Your hands trembled, your body convulsing with anger, fear, and betrayal.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You inhaled sharply, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you turned toward the door. You couldn’t stay. Not here. Not in this place that reeked of his lies.

You had to leave before they came looking. Before he came looking.

One last time, your gaze swept across the apartment. The relics of the man you once thought you knew. The life he had built on a foundation of secrets.

The letter he had left you still sat on the counter, taunting you. His words, his promises, his confessions — nothing more than ink on a paper. 

It didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.

You turned away, your footsteps slow at first, then faster, more determined. You reached the door, gripping the handle with bloodstained fingers. 

Without another glance back, you slipped into the night, disappearing into the shadows.

——

The car ride was silent.

In-ho sat across from you, though he wanted to sit beside you if only you didn’t avoid him. His fingers loosely curled as if resisting the urge to reach for you. He stole glances at you in the dim light of the limousine, but you didn’t look at him. Not even once. Your gaze remained fixed outside the window, watching the city lights flicker past as if they held answers he could never give. It was all a familiar routine, one that should have been easy and controlled. But today, he felt restless.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He had granted your request and given you space for three days. Three days apart. Three days to return to Seoul, to clear your mind, to decide whether you could live with the truths you had uncovered.

He stole a glance at you, at the way your fingers toyed absently with the hem of your coat, at the way your jaw tensed as if holding back words you refused to say.

As the limousine slowed to a stop in front of your apartment, he turned to you fully, waiting for you to say something. But you didn’t.

You simply reached for the door handle.

“Three days,” he reminded you, his voice quieter than he intended.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out, but he caught you looking at his lips. But just when he was about to lean in, you exited the car. No goodbye. No glance back. 

The door shut, and that was it.

He watched as you disappeared into the building, his throat tightening with something he refused to name. Then, after a long pause, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers pressing into his temples. He had done the right thing, hadn’t he? He had given you space and time.

And yet, as the car pulled away, he had never felt more like he was losing something he could never get back.

After a moment, he straightened, inhaled sharply, and signaled the drive. “Take me to my other residence.”

——

When In-ho arrived at his apartment, he didn’t immediately go inside. He stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the numbers etched into the steel. it had been years since he had last bene here, before he had disappeared, before he had become someone else.

The apartment was dimly lit when he stepped inside, a place untouched for far too long. His footsteps were quiet against the floor as he walked through the space, past the memories he had locked away. The air carried the scent of dust and old books, the faintest trace of something familiar — something from a life that had once belonged to him before the games, before the mask.

On the table, he placed the black box with the pink ribbon. Inside was his letter, carefully folded and carefully written. He had thought of burning it a hundred times before, had debated whether you should even read the words he had poured onto the page. But in the end, he had sealed it away, hoping you would find it.

He lingered there for a moment, his fingers resting against the smooth surface of the box, before his gaze drifted toward the shelf near the window. And that was when the memory came back.

The daisies.

As a child, you had loved them. It was the same kind of flowers he’d given you when he wrapped your finger with a paper ring, imitating what you were both watching on the TV. He had never understood why the concept of marriage fascinated you so much—until he did. 

The memory played in his mind like a scene frozen in time, your small hands carefully pressing the petals between the pages of an old book, preserving them as if afraid the world would take them away from you. He had helped you once, collecting the finest daisies he could find, sneaking them into your hands like a secret only the two of you shared. 

That had been a lifetime ago.

He exhaled, pulling himself from the memory before it could tighten its grip any further. There was no use in lingering on the past, not when the present was slipping through his fingers.

Without another glance, he turned and left.

——

Hours had passed since In-ho returned, stepping into the apartment with something unfamiliar clawing at his chest. Something hopeful, perhaps. A foolish, desperate hope that maybe you had come back. That maybe he would find you here waiting. Conflicted, but still within reach.

Instead, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

The counter was stained with small droplets of blood, but enough to send a wave of dread through him. And next to it, lying in plain sight, was the microchip.

His stomach dropped, realizing that you had found it.

His hands curled into fists as he stepped forward slowly and carefully. As if the weight of realization might shatter him completely. His gaze drifted to the black box that was still there, but slightly moved. The ribbon had been undone, the letter taken.

You had read it, but you were gone. 

His pulse pounded in his ears as he turned, eyes scanning the room as if you might still be hiding in the shadows. But there was nothing. Only silence, the remnants of your presence, fade by the second.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

Damn it.

You had left. You had run. And this time, you hadn’t looked back. You weren’t just slipping away — you had vanished completely, disappearing into the shadows before he could stop you.

A flicker of something dark settled in his chest — something sharp, something dangerous. He wasn’t going to let this end like this.

He had let you go once.

He wouldn’t do it again.

Jaw clenched, eyes burning with determination, In-ho reached for his coat, slipping it on with practiced ease. Then, without hesitation, he stepped out into the night, his mind set on one thing and one thing only.

And no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you thought you could disappear, he would find you.

——

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A/N: I've decided to put this series also in AO3 and Wattpad so we could reach more people 🫶 I'm so happy with how these chapters are turning out. I find myself writing for hours (even the whole day) again so expect more updates in the next coming days ❤️ Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 12 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

“All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game.”

The fight was slipping through your fingers.

What had started as a strong rebellion was now being crushed under the sheer numbers of the guards. Players fell one by one, their weapons useless as they ran out of ammo. You could hear the panicked shouts, the desperate cries of those who realized they were on the losing side. You could hear more guards closing in, pressing their advantage with disciplined precision, their faceless masks showing no hesitation as they cut down players who resisted.

Your hands tightened around your gun, fingers slick with sweat and grime. You raised it, took aim at the nearest guard, only to hear a click.

Your stomach twisted as your breath came in short, ragged gasps as you glanced around, scanning for an escape. The crimson-soaked floors blurred with lifeless bodies, the scent of blood thick in the air.

“In-ho!” You called, frantic.

His gaze snapped to yours, only for you to realize how much of a mistake you just made. You immediately regretted it. He was Young-il to everyone else. The name lingered in the tense air, but he didn’t react, his expression remaining unreadable as chaos erupted around you.

Still, you shook your head and continued to speak. “This isn’t getting us anywhere! Let’s follow them to the upper level!”

“We might get surrounded if we move together without a plan!” In-ho said. “Let’s wait until they find the control room.”

You nodded. He throws an ammo your way as you grabbed on to it, reloading your gun as you continued to shoot the guards. 

“Everyone, check your magazines!” Hyun-ju yelled.

“I’m down to half,” Gyeong-seok called out. 

Most of the rebels only had little ammo left. You looked at In-ho, who seemed to be too composed. As if his mind was working ahead of everyone else’s, calculating and strategizing. His grip on his gun was steady, his stance unshaken. But his eyes— there was something in them. Something you couldn’t quite place. Something that made your chest tighten.

“Young-il, Dae-ho, Y/N, can you hear me?” You heard your radio crackle up to life. 

“Yeah!” You raised your voice enough for the radio to hear. “What’s the situation over there?”

“I think we’re right below the control room!” Jung-bae said. “But we need backup and more ammo.” 

“We’re running out of ammo too!” You replied.

“There should be spare magazines in the soldiers’ pockets in our quarters,” you heard Gi-hun’s voice over the radio. “Go get them!”

“Got it!” You beeped the radio down and placed it on your pocket. 

In-ho immediately snaps to the other rebels. “Did you hear that? They need backup!” He called out. “The four of us will go, and the rest will stay!” He looks at you and gives you a nod, then turns to the other rebels again. “Join us once you get the magazines! Y/N, come with me.”

You nodded and held his sleeve, almost tripping as you stepped forward while still crouching. Player 047 and 015 followed you and In-ho, the desperation etched onto their faces. You didn’t know their names, and you didn’t need to. Right now, survival was all that mattered.

You sprinted through the facility’s wreckage, ducking behind overturned tables and shattered crates, the pounding of boots growing louder behind you. Every corner turned felt like a death sentence as every hallway stretched longer than it should.

Then, up ahead, you saw Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Their faces were lined with exhaustion, but when they saw you, something flickered in their eyes. As if there was relief.

“Gi-hun!” In-ho called out. “Did you find the control room?”

“I think it’s right up there, but we can’t go this way,” Gi-hun said. “I want you to find another way.” 

“I did a quick scan of the layout here. I’m sure there’s a way to go around them.”

You almost let out a scoff, but you held it back. You were in no way of letting him know that you knew who he was. You needed an actual proof, something that would slap you to reality on what his role is in the games.

“I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We’ll hit them from behind.”

Gi-hun nodded. As In-ho was about to turn away, Gi-hun held his shoulder to stop him. “Wait!” He grabbed an extra ammo from his pocket and handed it to In-ho, who seemed to stare at the ammo in Gi-hun’s hand. “Here, take this. You’re going to need it.”

You stayed silent, watching the scene. You realized and saw the goodness of Gi-hun, who seemed to willingly give his ammo for In-ho. If he only knew who he was.

“Are you sure?” In-ho asked, his eyes flickering with almost an amusement.

Gi-hun nodded. “Dae-ho will be back with more.”

In-ho nodded back, grabbing the ammo from Gi-hun as he placed to his pocket. He then looked at you, giving you a nod as a signal for all of you to move. You gripped your useless weapon as if it could protect you. The four of you pressed on, winding through the hallways, each step pulling you closer to the control room.

The air was heavy, thick with sweat and tension. You could feel In-ho behind you, his presence grounding in a way that contradicted the madness around you. He had barely spoken since you fled the battlefield, his focus sharp and unwavering.

Then, you heard a bang.

Beside you, Player 047 let out a strangled gasp before crumpling to the ground. Then Player 015 stared at In-ho in horror, only for his fate to be the same.

Your heart stopped. You turned to In-ho, your pulse hammering, only to see Player 047’s and 015’s bodies sprawled on the cold floor. There, you saw In-ho, holding his gun.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. The world narrowed down to the sight of him standing there, his expression unreadable. The blood dripped from the fallen players to your feet, pooling beneath you, as their bodies twitched as the last remnants of their life drained away.

You stumbled back a step. “In-ho?”

His gaze met yours, dark and steady. Although something flickered across his face, something almost mournful, but it was gone before you could grasp it.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

You opened your mouth to demand an answer, but before the words could form, he moved, raised his gun, and aimed it at you. His hand was steady, but this time, he aimed at your shoulder.

Everything slowed.

You could see the tension in his fingers, the way they curled around the trigger, hesitating for just a breath. His lips parted, a whisper carried on the blood-tainted air.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, a shot rang out. The sting of pain shot through you as you stumbled back, collapsing against the floor. The white-hot agony seared through your shoulder as you staggered. Your vision blurred, a strangled cry slipping from your lips as your body screamed in protest.

The impact sent you sprawling onto your back, your limbs heavy, your breath shallow. The pain was excruciating enough. But the shock? Betrayal? That was way worse.

Your body felt heavy and sluggish, as your knees buckled beneath you. Through the haze, a voice crackled over the radio.

“Young-il, Y/N! What’s going on? Are you attacking?” Gi-hun asked over the radio, though his voice was urgent yet demanding.

In-ho kept his gaze on you, though his voice was steady and emotionless. He leaned his face near you. “Tell him you and I were shot.”

The darkness was beginning to swim at the edges of your vision. You wanted to say something, but you could only form the words, “Gi-hun, I’m sorry. It’s all over.”

“Y/N, what happened? Are you all right?” Gi-hun’s voice reeked of desperation.

You felt your breath tremble, to which In-ho managed to place the radio near you. Then, a guard approached the two of you, draping a dark coat over In-ho’s shoulders. You watched, dazed, as the guard handed him the black mask, lifting and and sliding it on, his transformation complete. The final piece of a puzzle you had been too blind to put together.

You could barely fight when the guards grabbed you, dragging you away. You heard In-ho order something to the guards, but you couldn’t hear it well. Your body was weak, but your mind was screaming. Not from pain but from realization.

In-ho was never just another player.

——

In-ho sat on his quarters, his mask discarded on the table beside him. The rebellion was over. The bodies had been cleared, the blood scrubbed from the floors, and order had been restored. But none of it settled in his chest the way it should have. His hands, now free of gloves, trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his coard. He clenched them into fists.

Then, his gaze flickered toward the bet.

You lay there, still, your face softened in sleep. Someone had already stitched up your wound— he made sure of it. He had made sure the bullet wouldn’t be fatal. But then again, that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A mistake, yet a necessary one, he thought to himself. But was it?

He pulled up a chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you, the rise and fall of your chest too steady for comfort. You should hate him. You should wake up and look at him like he was a monster, and perhaps he was. But he couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Not when he had already made the choices that led him here.

Minutes passed before your breathing shifted. A flicker of movement. Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused, before they locked onto him. 

“In-ho,” you breathed, his name like venom in your mouth.

He sighed, sitting back slightly. “You should be resting.”

You ignored him. “You shot me.”

His jaw tightened. “I had to.”

Silence hung between you, thick and suffocating. Your fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them as if they were the only thing anchoring you. The betrayal swirled in your eyes, but underneath it was something worse. You were piecing it together. The rebellion, the foresight, the calculated steps he had taken long before anyone else even had a chance to act.

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “How long have you been here?”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he looked almost human again, like the boy you used to know. “Since I won.”

Another silence. Your eyes flickered around the room, taking in the minimal furnishings — the mask on the table, the weapons mounted on the wall. Then, your gaze landed on it. Another black coat, folded neatly on a chair beside the bed.

“What’s that?” You asked.

In-ho followed your gaze. “A choice.”

Your stomach twisted. “A choice?”

He stood, stepping toward you with measured steps, but he didn’t touch you. He wouldn’t. Now now. “You can take it. Become a part of this. Survive.”

You scoffed. “You want me to be a part of this?”

A flicker of something— regret, pain, longing —passed through his features, but it was gone before you could grasp it. “I want you to live.”

You looked away, staring at the coat as if it burned your vision. “And if I say no?”

His silence was enough for an answer.

A bitter lump formed in your throat as you forced yourself to meet his eyes again. “Tell me, In-ho. How did you become this?”

He inhaled deeply as if steadying himself. “The games… They don’t end when you leave. The debt, the desperation, it follows you,” he turned away slightly, as if speaking the words to the empty room. “I thought winning would fix everything. I was wrong. They gave me a choice. Play again, or become something else.”

Your fists clenched. “And you chose this?”

“I chose to live,” he turned back to you, his eyes darker than before. “I had nothing outside to offer. I lost my job and wife. I’ve lost everything, Y/N.”

In that moment, as you stared at him, the weight of everything settled in. He had chosen survival over morality. And now, he was offering you the same path.

He leaned more, cupping your face, but you didn’t pull away. His lips brushed yours, hesitant yet desperate, an almost feverish need for something neither of you could name. It was surrender, it was a plea. And for a moment, you kissed him back, almost letting go, almost giving in.

You felt his hands all over your body, though he was careful on your left shoulder. He gripped your breasts, earning a slight moan from you. You could feel yourself throbbing down there, craving for his shaft as you felt his bulge against you. As he was about to pull down your shorts, you stopped him, placing a hand on his chest, shaking your head. “You pulled away from the kiss, looking at him in the eye. “I need time.”

He paused, his eyes softening as he searched yours before he nodded. He respected it.

He turned away and went to the bathroom, hearing the shower turn on. You were left in his room to think, tugging yourself in the warm blanket. You closed your eyes, taking the sleep in as you snuggled yourself to the sheets.

——

The room was eerily silent except for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows over the wall, making the space feel smaller and more suffocating. You lay stiffly on the bed, your wound still aching, but the pain wasn’t what kept you awake. 

It was In-ho.

He lay beside you, his breaths even, his expression serene in his sleep. You couldn’t but think that he was the same man who had shot and betrayed you. And yet, here he was, inches away, as if nothing had changed. As if your blood wasn’t on his hands.

Your eyes traced the contours of his face, familiar yet foreign. The In-ho you had known would never have done this. But this wasn’t the same In-ho anymore, was it?

A quiet sigh left your lips as you carefully pushed back the sheets, rising from the bed without a sound. He didn’t stir. He trusted you enough to sleep beside you, to let his guard down. It should have meant something, but all it did was remind you of how much had already been lost.

Your bare feet moved soundlessly across the cold floor as you slipped past him, stepping into the darkness beyond his quarters. The air felt heavier here, oppressive in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You wandered through the halls until you reached a door slightly ajar, the soft glow of monitors spilling out into the dim hallway.

His office.

Something in your gut twisted as you stepped inside. The room was meticulous, every detail organized, every document in its rightful place. The screens displayed live feeds from different areas of the facility, the mechanical nature of it all making your skin crawl.

And then, you saw them. The files. They were neatly stacked, labeled, and categorized.

Your breath hitched as your fingers hovered over them before pulling one free. The second your eyes landed on the name printed across the cover, your pulse skyrocketed.

It was your name.

You nearly dropped it in shock as your hands trembled. You flipped the file open, scanning the neatly typed reports inside. Every detail of your life was in here — your past, your choices, your weaknesses. The things no one should have knowns, even the things you had forgotten. It wasn’t just a dossier. It was a map of your existence, meticulously studied and dissected.

A hollow feeling settled in your chest, cold and sharp.

This was the last straw. You had to leave.

Now.

Your grip tightened on the folder as anger surged through you, your breathing uneven. The weight of the betrayal was suffocating, pressing against your ribs, clawing at your throat. The room spun slightly as the edges of your vision blurred with rage. 

With a sharp cry of frustration, you hurled the glass of water off the desk, watching as it shattered against the floor. The crash echoed through the room, its shards scattering in all directions, the water pooling at your feet.

Then, a sharp inhale came from behind you.

You turned slowly as your heart pounded while In-ho stood in the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, his eyes heavy with sleep—but the second he took in the scene before him, the exhaustion was gone. His gaze flickered between the scattered documents, the broken glass at your feet, and the fury on your face so evident.

He exhaled, his voice low, almost regretful. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “And what else was I not supposed to see, In-ho? How much of my life did you put under a microscope? How long have you been watching me?”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it. “It wasn’t like that. I needed to—“

“You needed to what? Control me? Keep me under your thumb?” Your voice cracked with emotion, but you refused to let it show as weakness.

In-ho took a slow step forward. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Then why did you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the accusation behind it was deafening.

A long silence stretched between you both. His eyes darkened, filled with something unreadable— remorse, maybe, or something heavier. “I did what I had to do.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you did. That’s what you keep telling yourself, right? That this is all justifiable?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but no words came. And for the first time, you saw it —  the regret buried beneath the cold exterior, the man you once knew, struggling beneath the weight of his own sins.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be enough.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay composed. “I need to get out of here. I need time to think. Away from all of this,” then you looked at him sternly. “Away from you.”

His expression flickered, his hands clenching at his sides. “And where exactly do you think you’ll go?”

“Seoul. Just for a few days,” you swallowed. “Give me three days, In-ho. Three days to clear my head. Then, I’ll decide if I ever want to see you again.”

For a moment, you thought he would refuse. His entire posture screamed resistance, his jaw tightening as he weighed the idea. But then, after a long pause, he sighed.

“Three days,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you come back. Or else.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know if you would.

As you turned away, the weight of his gaze followed you, heavy and desperate, but he said nothing more. And neither did you.

The silence between you was louder than any words could ever be.

——

The next morning was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from In-ho at the small dining table, the scent of warm food filling the air. The golden brown pancakes sat neatly on the plate beside crisp bacon, a simple yet familiar meal. Your stomach clenched as you realized this was his favorite.

A quiet, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Bacon and pancakes. You always liked them, didn’t you?”

In-ho glanced up, seemingly surprised with the conversation. “I remember us making them once. Back then.”

The nostalgia weighed heavy in silence between you. In-ho motioned to place a piece of pancake on your plate, but you swatted his hand away, much to his surprise. You scoffed at him. “It’s enough that you prepared a nice meal. You don’t need to be nice,” you muttered idly.

You definitely struck a nerve, noticing his jaw clenched. Instead, he sat down and said nothing, staring at you intently as you spread out the butter and syrup on to your pancake. After what seemed forever, he was done eating. Then, he slid a box across the table and left, proceeding to go to his room.

You opened it and found your belongings— the things you had before you entered the games. A cruel reminder of the life you’d nearly lost.

After you were done, you proceeded to wash the dishes. For a moment, it felt like you had your life back, as if you were living a normal one. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you felt a ting of happiness knowing you’re with In-ho in one space, yet the betrayal crawled to you like venom, still feeling pain from when he shot you.

You heard the door open and saw In-ho walking towards the kitchen, his expression unreadable though his head tilted when he saw what you were doing. He sighed. “You should’ve just left them at the table. The guards will take care of them.”

“You let the guards wash your dishes?” You chuckled bitterly. “Pathetic.”

You patted your hands down to dry them and proceeded to walk past In-ho, only for him to grab your shoulder— the one he didn’t shoot. His grip on you tightened but you didn’t let him show it hurt a bit. You only let out a bitter laugh. “What, isn’t one shoulder enough for you?”

You felt In-ho’s body stiffen, then he let go of his grip. He looked at you and took a deep breath. “Get ready in ten minutes. The limo’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes and walked towards the room. You proceeded to go to the bathroom, letting your thoughts drain in the shower as the warm water embraced your body, finding comfort and somewhat relaxation in a place like this. When you were done, you proceeded to grab your clothes, sighing in relief as you looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling your life getting back to normal piece by piece.

The drive to Seoul was cloaked in silence. Inside the limousine, the air was thick and heavy with unspoken words. In-ho sat across from you, the smooth leather seat beneath you offering little comfort against the turbulence within. The city lights flickered through the tinted windows, painting fleeting shadows over this face.

“Three days,” In-ho said, his voice measured and controlled. As if he was saying it out loud cemented the fact that he was letting you go, even if it was temporary.

Now, in the quiet of the moving car, his presence loomed, filling the space even without words. The scent of him— clean and crisp with a faint trace of cologne — lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the closeness you once cherished. His posture was composed, one arm resting on the divider, fingers drumming absentmindedly. But his eyes, dark and piercing, were trained on the passing streets, lost in thought.

Or maybe lost in you.

Your hands curled into your lap. The cityscape outside blurred, and for the first time in a while, you felt the weight of freedom pressing against your chest.

Freedom. If it could even be called that.

The limousine slowed to a stop in front of your apartment. You hesitated, fingers grazing the handle, but before you could move, his voice cut through the silence.

“Three days,” In-ho repeated, softer this time. You turned to him, meeting his gaze. It wasn’t a demand but a quiet plea buried beneath his usual coldness.

You gave him a small nod, glancing at his lips, resisting the urge to place yours. You averted your gaze when he seemed to notice. Then, without looking back, you stepped out into the cold air. 

The limousine lingered behind you as you walked toward your apartment. Even without seeing him, you could feel his eyes on you. But by the time you reached the door and turned around, the car was already gone.

It was only when you stepped inside your apartment, exhaling the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, that you felt something crinkle in your coat pocket. Frowning, you reached inside and pulled out a card.

An address.

It wasn’t his handwriting, but you knew who had left it.

Something in you whispered that you shouldn’t go. That you should ignore it, shut your door, and pretend it didn’t exist. But before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet were already moving.

The taxi ride felt long, anticipation and unease twisting together in your chest. But the moment you arrived, standing at the threshold of the dimly lit apartment, the truth settled deep into your bones.

Why did he have to bring you into this place?

You entered the place, finding the unit number placed on the card. To your surprise, it was already unlocked, as if the place was expecting you. You turned the doorknob and revealed a small studio apartment, enough for only one person to live in it. The bed was already there and a desk.

You stepped inside hesitantly, taking in the stillness, the carefully arranged furniture, the faint scent of familiarity that clung to the air. You checked the desk and saw an old fish— already dead, floating on the water. Books were lined and arranged properly.

Then, your eyes caught a familiar black box wrapped in a pink bow.

The same box where the dead players were placed after they were killed.

This was In-ho’s place.

The one he had after winning the games.

It was strange. For a man who had spent so much time trying to sever himself from the past, he had still left a door open. And now, you had walked through it.

Before you could fully process it, a voice came from behind you, soft but laced with shock. Your blood ran cold, your heart pounding as you heard him.

“Noona?”

——

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A/N: Okay, so it's around 5am in where I live and I need to sleep. I wanted to update two chapters today to make up for the lost times I had to update, aside from the fact that I wrote a pretty long one. 😭 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 11 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The tension in the dormitory hung like a thick fog, pressing down on your lungs as the fight between the X and O players seemed to calm down, with each player going back to their side. The air smelled of damp wood and sweat, but something else lingered beneath it — an undercurrent of unease.

Beside you, In-ho finished the last bite of his gimbap and stood up, putting the fork in his pocket and brushed his hands off on his pants. He was about to take on step forward when you reached for his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his pulse. His gaze flickered down to where you touched him.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he replied smoothly, but there was something off about the way he said it. It seemed too casual, too detached.

You frowned, tightening your hold. “Wait. Just stay a second.”

In-ho sighed through his nose, seemingly impatient. “Why?”

“You owe me something.”

In-ho turned his gaze to you, his expression calm, but a question was evident in his face. Something gnawed at the back of your mind, an instinct you couldn’t name. You remembered In-ho wanting to tell you something after you vote. In-ho exhaled sharply, a short, amused breath, but he continued to look at you. Your hand was still on his wrist, and though he could have pulled away, he didn’t.

He studied you for a moment before exhaling, and to your surprise, he sat back down. His eyes, usually so guarded, were unreadable as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Then, his next words shifted the air entirely.

“I won the games in 2015.”

You felt your breath hitched.

“I didn’t enter out of curiosity like you. I needed the money. I had nothing.” In-ho’s voice was low, controlled. But underneath it, there was something at it. Something bitter. “It’s for my wife. She was sick… and pregnant. I did everything to try and save her, but they misinterpreted it as a bribe, and so I was out of the force. The hospital bills were growing and growing each day. She...” He paused for a moment but continued. “She was struggling. I was, too. Then, I was handed a card. I accepted it knowing I could win the prize money. I did everything to survive, just so I could go back to her.”

Your chest tightened.

“I won. But when I got home, she was already gone. Already wrapped under a body bag.”

You stayed silent, seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He was holding them back. You almost motioned to touch his face, but then, he continued.

“The moment I walked out of here, I realized what kind of person I became. What I had to do to survive. I saw what these games really are, how people turn when there’s nothing left but desperation.” His lips curled, almost in disgust. “And I realized I was no different. I thought winning would fix everything. But it didn’t.”

Your fingers curled into his palm, gripping it tighter. Then, he held yours back.

“I walked out of here with more money than I could ever spend, and yet… I lost more than I gained,” his jaw tightened. “People think money changes everything. Maybe it does, but it doesn’t bring back what you sacrificed to get it.”

The weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, he was letting you see something raw. It was like you were talking to the In-ho you once knew years ago. And yet, there were still things he wasn’t saying. There were pieces he was deliberately leaving out.

“So why are you here again?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I wanted to see if people ever change,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the players. Or himself.

Or you.

The sound of a distant scream shattered the moment. Your head snapped toward the source — the bathroom. Another noise followed, a sharp crack of panicked shots.

If you hadn’t stopped In-ho, if he had left just a second earlier, he would’ve been in there. His gaze flickered back to you, something unspoken passing between you both.

“That was close,” you muttered.

In-ho’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. But then he shook his head. “Lucky me, I guess.”

But you both knew luck had nothing to do with it. 

“The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of the list.”

Your posture straightened up upon hearing the announcement. How can these players be eliminated in such a short time? There were no games in play.

Everyone in the dormitory tensed up, clearly shocked by what was announced. You felt the ceiling rumble, the piggy bank showing at the top as more money plopped inside, the TV turning on accounting the accumulated prize money for each player and the total prize. In front of you, Gi-hun stood up, his face focused on the piggy bank at the top.

“What’s going on?” Jung-bae turned to your group and asked. 

You all heard the doors open, seeing players drenched with blood all over their clothes, faces, and bodies. It seemed as they just got out from a massacre - a bloody one, indeed. 

“Listen, Team O!” Player 124 ran in the middle, his face with patches of blood and his tracksuit number with blood as well. “When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us!” He yelled. “They killed some of us, including my friend—“

“Bullshit,” Player 047 interrupted. “You’re the ones who started it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“Hey!” Player 192 called out. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” Player 145 retorted. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?”

“So, which side lost more people?” Player 100 asked out loud. In just a few minutes, each X and O players grouped each on their sides, counting themselves.

You and the X players grouped in the staircase in the corner, with Player 047 counting each of you. You continued to study the crowd, seeing the O players doing the same on the other side. The tension was palpable. You found yourself shaking a bit, but In-ho held your hand, trying to make you at ease.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said in a whisper, but enough for the X crowd to hear. 

“Two out of five. That means they lost three people,” you said, remembering the number of players who recently died.

“Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow,” Player 380 murmured, earning a nod from each X player.

As if a thought snapped in Jung-bae’s mind, he hurriedly whispered loud enough for you and everyone else to hear. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!” 

You noticed Gi-hun’s face focused on the O crowd as if he was trying to anticipate their next move. His eyebrows were furrowed together, his eyes almost a glare. 

“Attention, please,” the speaker announced, breaking the thoughts away from your mind. “Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, eyeing each and one of you, the desperation evident in his face. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

Each X player nodded while you only stared at Player 047. At least, in this way, you still saw the goodness in this place. There were still some other people who were desperate to get out of the place and be satisfied with the accumulated prize money. 

You can’t help but feel unease. You were so sure that the O players would attack during lights out, seeing them eyeing the X crowd multiple times and pointing their fingers. As the other X players start to return to their beds, Gi-hun motioned a small wave for you and your group. You and the others followed, though your group wasn’t only limited now to In-ho, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee. Hyun-ju’s group also tagged along, with Gyeong-seok becoming a part of it. You gave Gyeong-seok a small nod, giving a small, quiet recognition to welcome him in the group. 

Together, you all formed a circle. Dae-ho turned around to look at the O crowd, then turned back to your group. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

Jung-bae scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it will all be over.”

“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho asked worriedly. You gave him a small pat on his back to comfort him somehow. He gave you a small smile, but his eyes still had a hint of worry. “They said things were really scary in the bathroom earlier.”

A brief silence filled your group, weighing Dae-ho’s words. But then, Gi-hun’s voice cut out the tension as he stared into space, his eyes determined while his eyebrows were furrowed.  “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us.”

“Really?” Yong-sik’s eyes widened.

“Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize,” Gi-hun explained.

“So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” In-ho replied, much too quickly, earning a glance from Gi-hun who seemed to be taken aback by his words. “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

“That’s right. It would be better to attack them first,” Player 047 agreed, then eyed you, Geum-ja, and Jun-hee. “We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

“We can’t do that,” Gi-hun replied, his voice with diction as the words left his mouth.

“But we have to get out of here,” you retorted, though your voice calm despite the incoming chaos you could predict. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other,” Gi-hun explained, his voice reeking out of desperation. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

“They?” Jung-bae asked.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, clearing his throat before continuing. “Those who created the game. Those who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

“Where are they?” Dae-ho asked. 

Gi-hun slowly looked up at the ceiling, as the others followed. You almost did, but then you notice In-ho looking at Gi-hun more than he should, though his expression was unreadable yet… too calm. He sat across from you, one arm draped over his knee, the other resting loosely at his side. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the minute tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly, like a subconscious tell. His gaze, dark and piercing, remained locked onto Gi-hun.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

Gi-hun kept speaking, laying out his plan, but his words blurred in the background as your mind reeled.

“I have a foresight.”

In-ho’s words echoed to your mind. He anticipated things before they even happened, maneuvering like a man who had already played this game before. You remembered his words, the way he hinted at his understanding of the games — too precise, too calculated. 

“Has anyone ever played before?” You murmured, interrupting Gi-hun, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

“You survived the last game,” you continued, staring at him. “Did you ever feel like… someone already knew how it would all play out?”

“Yeah, there was this old man,” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Oh Il-nam. He was with us from the start. Turns out he was the creator of the games.”

You tilted your head. “What happened to him?”

Gi-hun exhaled as his hands twitched against his knee, as if the memory physically lingered there. “He died three years after I won.”

You swallowed hard. Slowly, you turned to In-ho, your gaze locking onto his. His mask didn’t crack, but his eyes told another story. His expression was still unreadable, but something in his gaze shifted — the slightest trace of amusement, of challenge.

He knew what you were asking. And he was waiting for you to piece it together.

“The man in the black mask is their leader,” Gi-hun continued. “Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

You heard Jung-bae sigh, who was seated beside Gi-hun. But then, In-ho replied, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun, his expression cold as his voice remained low, as if he was calculating something. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

“We’ll fight them with guns too,” Gi-hun answered, the determination in his voice was evident.

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae said in defeat.

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From those masked men?” Gyeong-seok asked in surprise. 

Gi-hun nodded, which earned a worried sigh from Jung-bae. 

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.” 

“What then?” Gi-hun retorted. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?” He eyed each one of you in the group, then eyed In-ho. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

You almost forgot that they all knew him as Young-il. Silence fell into your group, the uncertainty of surviving in this place crashing on to the air. 

“Do we… stand a chance?” Hyun-ju asked, her voice with a hint of worry. 

“We do if we catch them off guard,” Gi-hun replied. “Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“Don’t you think it’s too… ambitious?” You asked, feeling each eyes of your group turn to you.

“If you don’t want to join the fight, then don’t,” Player 047 said, looking at you in disbelief. 

“All I’m saying is, we’re not sure if we can survive. The stakes are getting higher. Wouldn’t it be more dangerous if we bust our way out there and fight all of them, including this captain with a black mask?” You explained, giving Player 047 a slight glare before turning to the rest of the group. “It’s not about me not wanting to join the fight. It’s about being cautious about whatever danger we may encounter. I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Gi-hun nodded, taking in your words. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but In-ho quickly spoke. “How are you going to take their guns?”

“Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance,” Gi-hun said surely. Then his voice became low, but still enough for your group to hear. “Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

“But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage,” Jung-bae murmured. “Without us in the first, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

“Are you suggesting that we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?” In-ho asked, though his eyes were still unreadable, but his voice was calm yet there was a hint of amusement in it. You could his lips twitch almost to a smirk, but it seemed as though he was holding it back.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, his expression falling upon the realization of the so-called sacrifice. “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.” 

Your stomach twisted at his words. “A small sacrifice?” You said, your voice sharper than you intended. 

Gi-hun’s expression hardened. “If we don’t do something, we’ll all be wiped out. You know that.”

Your breath came slow, controlled, but the words scraped against something deep inside you. “Victory at the expense of others is no victory at all, Gi-hun.”

Silence gripped the group. The air was thick with unspoken fears, the scent of sweat and tension suffocating. Your fingers curled into a fist as you and Gi-hun stared at each other, waiting for each of you to speak.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t about just one person. If we don’t act now, we’ll all end up—“

“Dead?” You challenged. “And you didn’t think sacrificing someone will stop that from happening?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “This isn’t about being selfish. It’s about surviving long enough to end this damn game.”

Your jaw clenched, but before you could respond, in your peripheral vision, you could see In-ho shift.

“She’s right,” he said, finally speaking. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You talk about sacrifice as if it’s a simple thing. But once you deicde someone else’s life is worth less than yours, you stop being different from the people who put us in here.”

The words sent a chill down your spine as you looked at In-ho, realizing he was already looking at you, locking your gazes.

Gi-hun shook his head. “So what, then? We do nothing?”

“No,” In-ho murmured. “We do it without becoming the monsters they want us to be.”

And though his words aligned with yours, you weren’t sure anymore if they came from the same place. Because as much as you knew him, as much as he was once your childhood best friend —  the one who promised to always protect you — you weren’t sure anymore if he was protecting you.

Or if he was simply playing a different game entirely.

——

Ten.

Nine.

Eight. 

The dormitory was quieter than usual, a deceptive calm settling over the room as the players settled in for the night. The dim lighting flickered against the cold metal walls, casting long shadows over the endless rows of bunk beds. Some players lay with their backs to the world, others murmured in hushed voices, exchanging anxious theories about the next game.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

You sat on the lower bunk, fingers running absentmindedly over the thin blanket draped over your legs. Beside your bed was In-ho’s, who was leaning against the bedframe, his arms crossed in that ever-relaxed posture of his. But you could that his eyes were sharper than usual, tracking the other players’ movement, scanning the room with quiet precision.

“Something’s going to happen,” you muttered under your breath.

He hummed, barely a nod, but you caught the way his fingers flexed against his bicep.

Four.

Three.

Two.

The tension in the room felt like a rubber band stretched too thin. Then, you heard footsteps in the middle, the light shining on Player 124’s face with a fork in hand.

One.

And then, all hell broke loose. 

Someone on the upper bunk near the doors screamed. Metal clanged against metal as a bunk collapsed under struggling bodies. A body slammed into the floor near you with a sickening thud. The room erupted into chaos as players lunged at each other, driven by desperation and paranoia. X and O no longer mattered — everyone was a threat.

“Under the bed. Now.” In-ho’s voice was low, yet urgent.

You didn’t hesitate.

The moment your back hit the cold ground, In-ho followed, pressing close as he pulled the thin mattress down just enough to shield you both from the view. The noise around you grew unbearable — the shouts, the sharp, wet sounds of bodies hitting the ground, and the suffocating smell of sweat and iron.

Your breaths were shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space under the bed felt too small, too suffocating. You could see movement — feet darting past, shadows shifting violently in the flickering light.

Then, you felt warm fingers brushed against your wrist.

You startled, turning to look at In-ho. His face was closer than you expected, his eyes dark but steady. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your palm. 

“Breathe,” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it over the chaos. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt too foreign here, in a place where safety was nothing more than an illusion. But still, his touch was grounding, his presence a steady force amid the madness.

The chaos outside your hiding spot hadn’t lessened, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just you and In-ho. His grip on your hand remained firm, grounding you in a reality that should have been terrifying —  but somehow, wasn’t.

Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he moved. His hands slipped from yours only to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him. And then, his lips found yours.

A kiss in the middle of a massacre. The softness of his lips against yours clashed cruelly with the violent screams and death rattles surrounding you. It was wrong, so reckless. But damn, you enjoyed it.

The heat surged through you, an intoxicating contract to the blood-stained air. His touch was commanding, his fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it — to make you remember this moment even as the world fell apart. And maybe that was the irony of it all. That you could find something so addicting, so devastatingly good, while people were tearing each other apart.

But the moment shattered in an instant as you felt a hand yanked you backward, ripping you away from In-ho’s hand as he screamed, “No!”

Your body slid out from under the bunk, seeing an O player on top of you.

It was Player 192. His grip on you was bruising, his breath reeking of desperation as he sneered down at you. “Didn’t know whores could get into this place,” he snarled, tightening his grip around your throat. “Let’s see how tough you really are without him.”

Your nails clawed at his wrists, panic rising like bile. The edges of your vision blurred as he raised his fork. You closed your eyes, ready for the impact.

Then, you heard a crack. A familiar one, to be exact.

Player 192’s body jerked violently before collapsing lifelessly beside you. Your own breath was ragged as you struggled to push yourself up, barely able to comprehend what just happened. 

In-ho stood over you, his expression softening this time as he looked at you. The sharp rise and fall of his chest betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. The bloodied weapon in his hand dripped onto the cold floor, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

He crouched beside you, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood that wasn’t yours. “Are you hurt?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. 

In-ho exhaled sharply, then leaned in, his lips ghosting against your ear. “No one touches you. Ever. Remember that.”

He didn’t waste another second as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward the shadows, the urgency tightening his grip. Your breath was still uneven, the ghost of the O player’s attack lingering in your bones. The moment your bodies disappeared for everyone to see, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’m never letting you go again, Y/N.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your temple, his chest rising and falling in steady contrast to your own erratic breathing. His scent, faint traces of sweat, blood, and something unmistakably him, wrapped around as if it were a second skin.

The chaos was still raging. Metal clashed against metal, bodies smalled into beds, and desperate cries filled the air. The dormitory had become a warzone, a battleground fueled by greed and fear.

In-ho’s fingers traced slow, grounding circles against your arm, a silent reassurance that you were still here… and alive. “Stay close,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the madness. “We move once the guards step in.”

You nodded, gripping onto his sleeve like a lifeline. The minutes passed like hours. The sounds of violence started to blur together, each screeam and crash dulling into a single, ceaseless noise. Your body was stiff, adrenaline still coiling tight in your muscles.

Then, a loud, blaring alarm erupted in the air. The lights turned on, hearing more footsteps. The guards had arrived.

In-ho’s fingers tightened around yours. As the guards’ booths thundered into the room, you and In-ho prepared to slip out unnoticed, ready to face whatever came next.

The surviving players scrambled back to their bunks, some collapsing from exhaustion, others from injuries to severe to ignore. The guards moved in, their rifles raised, their heavy boots pounding against the bloodstained floor.

In-ho gave you a look, then in a seamless motion, he pulled you down, pressing your body against the cold floor beside the fallen. His hand slid over yours, smearing the warm blood from the O player he had killed onto your skin. The metallic scent stung your nose, but you didn’t flinch. 

You both lay still, bodies limp among the corpses, eyes fluttering shut as the guards stepped closer. Every breath you took was shallow, controlled, listening for the precise moment.

One guard crouched near In-ho, nudging a lifeless body beside him with the barrel of his rifle. Another did the same near you, muttering something about cleaning up the mess.

The guard turned away, but In-ho struck first. In one swift motion, he rolled up, seizing the rifle from the nearest guard before slamming the butt of it onto his head. The guard crumpled instantly.

You weren’t far behind. With adrenaline firing through your veins, you lunged, grabbing the other guard’s wrist before he could react. His weapon clattered to the floor as you twisted his arm, forcing him down with a brutal precision that left no room for error. A quick, decisive blow to his temple, and he, too, was out cold. 

The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Then, a shot rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. 

It wasn’t yours, nor was it In-ho’s.

Players who had been waiting for the right moment, who had seen what you and In-ho had done, began to move. You saw Gi-hun, Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, Jung-bae, and Daeo-ho wrestle the weapons from the fallen guards, others tackled those still standing. 

In-ho turned to you, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Stay close to me,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the madness.

With rifles in hand, you charged into the chaos together.

Another chaos ignited like a match to gasoline. The screams overlapped with gunfire, bodies clashed in frantic desperation, and the metallic scent of blood thickened in the air. From across the room, Gi-hun’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, then flickered to In-ho. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation. With a decisive nod, he started shooting the other guards.

You lifted your stolen rifle, your pulse steady despite the storm raging around you. In-ho was already ahead, moving like he had done this a thousand times before.  As the guards escaped on the other side of the room, the square-masked guard was left out in the open, trapped inside the dormitory. 

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun yelled, his rifle pointed to the square-masked guard. You and the others with the rifles motioned in the middle, pointing your guns to the guard. “Everyone, hold fire!”

Jung-bae ran towards the guard, pointing the end of his gun to the guard. “Hands above your head!” The guard followed reluctantly. “On your knees!”

“You goddamn bastards!” You heard someone shout from behind you. You saw Player 047 aiming his gun towards the O players. 

Just as you were about to step in, Gi-hun ran and held Player 047’s rifle down. “No!”

“Move!” Player 047 yelled. “Do you not see this?” He pointed to the dead bodies on the floor. “They are not human. They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!” He proceeded to aim his gun again, but Gi-hun held it down once more.

“This is not what we took these guns for,” Gi-hun said, gritting his teeth. “If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.” 

Player 047’s breath trembled, his body shaking as he fought the urge to aim his gun once again to the O players. Gi-hun’s back was turned to the O players behind him, which turned out to be a big mistake for him.

Player 336 tackled him to the ground, wrapping his hands around Gi-hun’s throat, squeezing as Gi-hun’s legs kicked out, his face turning a sickening shade of red. His fingers clawed uselessly at the man’s arms, eyes wild with panic. He tried to reach for his gun as Player 047 stared in horror, startled at the sight.

Your body moved before you could think. Raising your rifle, you took a step forward and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out loud and final. Player 336’s body went limp, collapsing over Gi-hun before rolling off. He gasped for breath, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His eyes darted to you, a mixture of relief and something unspoken flashing across his face.

You offered your hand as he took it, gripping tight as you helped him to his feet. You gave each other a nod, a silent acknowledgment of saving his life. Before Gi-hun could say something, In-ho approached you, stepping into your space, his hand instinctively finding your arm. His touch was firm and grounding. But when you met his gaze, there was something else in his eyes.

“You seem eager to play the hero,” In-ho muttered, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. There was a tightness in it, a rough edge that wasn’t entirely from the chaos around you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I let him die?”

His fingers curled slightly against your arm before he let go. “I’d rather you stop putting yourself at risk for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

You exhaled sharply, but before you could snap back, Gi-hun had already moved on, recruiting players who had been too scared to fight before. His voice carried over the dormitory, rallying them with the promise of survival. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

In-ho’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes, dark and intense, never wavered from yours. “No,” he admitted. “But I know you. You’re getting too involved.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And you’re jealous.”

You noticed a muscle in his jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, his hand brushed against yours, fleeting but deliberate. As if it was a reminder or somewhat a warning.

“Everyone!” Gi-hun called out, as the players continued to place more rifles and ammos in the middle of the room, stealing each from the guard’s uniforms. “We will now head up to the masked men’s headquarters. We’ll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay,” he paused for a moment as he lifted the rifle on his hand up in the air. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

You gripped your hand tighter to your rifle, seeing the players hesitate to come forward. But then, Jung-bae moved and stepped forward. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive,” he said. “Fight with us so we can go home together. All together.”

One by one, players motioned to walk towards you, grabbing rifles from the ground. Most of them came from the X crowd. 

“Let’s take one radio each. We’ll use channel 7, the lucky number.”

You grabbed a radio from a fallen guard, following Jung-bae’s instruction. You proceeded to check your gun, checking its ammo. You grabbed more from the ground, placing it on your pocket. Then, you felt someone’s presence beside you. You looked up and saw Gi-hun, the hesitation evident in his face but looked at you.

“Thank you for earlier,” Gi-hun spoke, his voice low. He gave you a small smile and a nod.

You nodded back, loading your gun with an ammo. “You can but me soju when we get out.” 

Gi-hun chuckled softly, nodding his head. A fleeting moment of recognition passed between you and him, somewhat like an understanding that for now, you were on the same side. But in your peripheral vision, In-ho didn’t seem to look amused. Yet somehow, you enjoyed seeing him this way, the irony of playing a game inside a game.

Hyun-ju proceeded to teach you and the others how to properly operate the rifle, later revealing that she was part of the ROK Special Forces as a sergeant first class. You awed in admiration. You proceeded to set your rifle to single-fire mode.

You heard a gun cock near your side, seeing the guard on his knees with hands over his head as Gi-hun aimed a rifle at him. “Take it off.”

The guard followed reluctantly, taking off his mask — only to reveal a young, teenage boy.

“Good God,” Jung-bae gasped. “Do your parents know what you’re doing here?”

“Take us to your captain,” Gi-hun said coldly, as the young boy nodded. He dragged the young boy down to the door, shooting the glass window as he peered his arm down, unlocking the door. 

You and the others followed as the young boy led the way. You were behind In-ho, his back turned from you though his posture was composed. You gripped your rifle tighter as you exited the dormitory, your heart racing knowing you were about to participate in the rebellion, with no certainty of survival.

You all proceeded to walk towards the labyrinth of stairs, the colorful environment enveloping waiting for chaos to erupt. After a series of turning lefts and rights, Gi-hun grunted, grabbing the young boy’s hood. “How much farther?” He grabbed to face him when he didn’t speak, a gun still pointed to his head. “Is this the right way?”

The young boy’s body was shaking as he pointed his finger behind him. “The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Move it, then,” Gi-hun pressed.

“Wait,” the young boy said as he motioned his hand to his pocket, only for his hand to be grabbed by Gi-hun.

“What are you doing?”

“I need my mask to pass security,” the young boy’s eyes widened as the end of Gi-hun’s gun was already aimed at his forehead between his eyes. Gi-hun relunctantly removes his hand from the boy.

As the young boy glances up, you notice his shoulders stiffened at the sight of someone behind Gi-hun, which was In-ho. It wasn’t the stance of a seasoned enforcer. It was hesitant and uncertain. He was clearly shocked but at the same… terrified.

Something twisted in your gut as you looked at In-ho, expecting confusion, maybe even a demand for answers. But he wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. In fact, he just… stared.

Your grip on your gun tightened as your mind raced, piecing things together, little by little. The foresight. The calculated steps. The way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming. 

Gi-hun’s voice from earlier echoed in your mind. His recollection of a former player who turns out to be a part of the games, Oh Il-nam. And now, this.

The young guard who was too young to be here, and too familiar with In-ho. Your pulse pounded as you turned to In-ho, searching for an explanation, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes remained on the boy, and for a split second, you saw something there.

Some kind of recognition. Not surprise nor fear. Just… recognition.

A chill crawled down your spine. Your fingers curled tighter around your gun, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

But then, the young boy’s body fell from the ground, much to your surprise. Gunfire and chaos echoed through the corridors as the rebellion pushed forward, sweeping through the facility like a storm that couldn’t be contained. In-ho immediately turned to you and pulled you down, pressing you against the wall as you dodged.

There was no time to think. You felt In-ho’s body pressed against yours as he shot the guards out by the corridor. He bent down and hid behind the wall beside you, reloading his ammo. You took it as a signal to shoot as you and In-ho exchange shifts, shooting each guard one by one. 

——

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A/N: I got the next chapter ready already! Hahaha it was supposed to be a really long chapter but I decided to cut it from here instead. I'm so excited about the next chapters as they would rely solely on my imagination on the aftermath of Squid Game. I'm aiming to upload two chapters today so y'all better wait for that 👀 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 10 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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The kiss still lingered on your lips - you could still taste In-ho. Every step back toward the dormitory felt heavy, as if your body was caught in the weight of something you couldn’t quite name. Was it the kiss? Was it the fact that you actually murdered someone? Was it your conscience eating you up?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, remembering the way In-ho’s touch had burned into your skin, the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. And then, your thoughts drifted as to when you snapped that player’s neck, as if you were an expert on it. You wanted to justify it by stating that he deserved it, remembering his O patch. It was his decision, after all, to stay in the games. In this game, you were bound to kill anyone to win the prize.

Except you weren’t in this place to win the prize. You were just curious. How can your curiosity lead to something darker?

It should’ve been a victory. You survived the game. You made it through. And yet, there was something suffocating about the silence on the way to the dormitory, with In-ho behind you.

The tension from the Mingle game still clung to the air, thick and unshaken by the passing of time. Even as the remaining players shuffled back into the towering dormitory, the echoes of what had happened inside that cold, merciless arena followed you like shadows that refused to be left behind.

In-ho’s presence behind you was silent but palpable. You wanted to stop and look at him, to read the storm behind his eyes, to see if the kiss had shaken him the same way it had shaken you.

But you couldn’t.

Instead, you focused on the rhythmic sound of footsteps, the quiet murmurs of those who had barely escaped death. Gi-hun’s back was in front of you as he made his way down the labyrinth of stairs. He turned his head to you and In-ho slightly as he spoke. “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”

“Why?” In-ho asked, his eyes focusing on Gi-hun.

“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote.”

You softly chuckle, your mind telling you elsewhere to somehow ease the tension. “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”

You could see Gi-hun almost stop to his tracks but continued, though his head turned to you, staring at you confusingly. There was cockiness, almost mocking, in your voice in the way you said it. You averted your gaze from him. There was no way you would admit your faith in humanity has died, even taking someone’s life in this game from your own hands.

You got blood on your hands, and there was no way you would tell that to Gi-hun who wanted to save everyone. 

You felt In-ho’s hand on your shoulder, pressing it lightly with his thumb as if to comfort you, just like he did in the old times. Gi-hun shot you two a look again, much to his confusion. As you remembered, Gi-hun was aware that In-ho’s wife was still alive.

Right. Gi-hun still knew that. But what didn’t make sense to you was why In-ho lied to him. You planned to ask him later as he was already beginning to be warm towards you, or some sort. You had questions from the start, from when you first met him again, and what his role was in these games. Your gut feeling tells you that he’s a part of it, but you couldn’t piece it together yet. 

You focused on the cold of the dormitory seeping into your skin, your heartbeat hadn’t quite settled since the moment you pressed your lips against In-ho. It was immoral to be more worked up on the kiss than taking someone’s life in your own hands, yet you couldn’t figure out whether you were just distracted from that, or you were just becoming a dark, terrible person. 

“Don’t be so sad,” you heard the Shaman woman say as you walk near Hyun-ju’s group. “You will be joining her in the underworld soon.”

You snapped your head up at the Shaman, her eyes circling on Hyun-ju who seemed to be devastated. You barely had a second to process it, seeing Hyun-ju’s face drawn tight, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Her breaths were uneven, sharp, as if she has been trying to keep them steady.

Hyun-ju stared at the Shaman, glaring at her as she flashed her a cocky smile. Your eyes darted over Hyun-ju’s group, seeing Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246.

Only Young-mi wasn’t there.

It didn’t hit you immediately. You wanted to deny it. Yet their faces were enough of an answer for you to know the truth.

You felt as if you were floating, waiting for your mind to make sense of the fact that Young-mi was gone. But when they did, they landed like a blade to the gut. Your breath caught, and for a second, all you could do was stare at Hyun-ju, then at Geum-ja, then at Yong-sik, then at Player 246, much to your surprise. You hoped that you had somehow gotten it wrong.

“I’ve put a curse on you all,” the Shaman said, her eyes gazing over everyone, including you. “I’ve been praying to the gods of heaven and earth with all my heart to let me see all of you die in this place, one by one.”

“You’ll never get out of here alive,” you said, gritting your teeth as you leaned towards the Shaman. “One more word from you, and you’ll never see another day in this place. You will die a miserable, painful death— enough for you to see whoever God is up there.”

The Shaman was clearly taken aback, seeing her clear her throat as she shot you a look first before walking away. You heard her mumble a curse, but you didn’t care anymore. At this point, with humanity being ripped away from you, you were sure that one wrong move from her will trigger you to knock her off in an instant.

You turned to Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246, who seemed to stare at you in shock. You quickly softened your expression, realizing you were showing this other side of you so plain. Young-mi was supposed to be here with you and the others, yet in this selfish place, she was gone just like that.

“Young-mi is dead,” Hyun-ju’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes darken and sunken with something raw. “She was killed. They found her after the game ended.”

The room suddenly felt too bright, too suffocating. The world around you pressed in, the air thinning as your fingers curled into tight fists at your sides.

You had seen Young-mi last before the game, her usual sharp wit and and biting sarcasm still intact. You heard her voice. You stood alongside her, knowing and believe that you would both walk out of this. And now, she was gone.

Your pulse pounded against your ears, a sickening rhythm that made your knees feel weak. A thousand thoughts crashed into you at once, along with guilt. Was she betrayed? Did she fight back? Was she also killed the same way you killed another player?

But none of them mattered now. All the questions, the possibilities, everything. Because you had been out there, kissing In-ho, holding onto him, getting lost in the game, lost in him — while she was dying.

Your stomach churned violently, feeling dizzy from all that was happening so fast. You wanted to scream. You could hear your inner voices. It was your conscience eating you up.

A hand, warm and firm, brushed against yours, almost like an anchor. It was In-ho’s. You wanted to melt into his touch, to surrender. But this time, you didn’t take it. 

You stepped back, walking towards Gi-hun’s group, seeing them plotting something else. You walked past them and went towards your bed, not minding their stares as they wondered what was wrong. Concern was evident on their faces, but you weren’t in the mood to talk. Not especially with all that happened.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and forced yourself to breathe as you laid down, but it did nothing to stop the realization curling into your chest like a slow, venomous burn.

The game was still winning, and you were letting it.

“Gi-hun,” you heard Jung-bae call out. “There are fifty-five people who voted in favor of continuing.”

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked.

“I counted them twice.”

“What about you?” Dae-ho asked, his fingers pointing at Jung-bae’s patch. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”

Jung-bae looked at his patch, the realization hitting his eyes. “It’s fifty-six.”

You heard Dae-ho sigh. “We have forty-four people on our side, so we’re outnumbered by twelve.”

“Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again,” Jung-bae whimpered slightly, staring at the players with O patches.

“It may seem like a big difference,” In-ho said as you felt him motioning beside you, but you kept your eyes closed, your arms covering your eyes. “But if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”

“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho replied with worry.

“They probably won’t change their minds easily,” In-ho replied, more of a statement and not a hint of question in his answer.

“Why not?” 

“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller. Now, they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”

“Impossible,” you spoke up, much to the group’s surprise. “They can still change their minds. The more that they see themselves surviving and the more the prize money goes up, the more the temptation to play more will get to them. It’s the greed talking.”

In-ho stared at you, a quiet recognition flickering in his eyes. You could almost see the twitch in his lips as if to smile. As if you made a very great point. 

 “I’m going to press X this time,” Jung-bae said, a hopeful glint present in his eyes. 

You scoffed. “You should’ve pressed X when you had the chance.”

Jung-bae raised his eyebrow on you, clearly taken aback. Gi-hun and Dae-ho did the same, while Jun-hee was staring at you as if to study you. There was wonder in their eyes, a bit of shock as you spoke. You were being too pragmatic— cocky, even. You were too sure.

Yet Jung-bae only looked away. Somehow, you still had a point. He knew that. If he really wanted to quit, he could’ve voted for X from the very start and not change his decisions right away. Your patience in this game was growing thinner with each second. 

“Why don’t we try to convince them?” Gi-hun asked, his voice hopeful for another acknowledgement from the others, hopeful for an agreement. 

“No, that’s too risky,” In-ho replied. “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”

“So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?” Gi-hun asked in disbelief.

You shot up from your bed, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at Gi-hun. “Don’t try to be the hero, Gi-hun. It’s their choice to be here, to continue the games. It’s what the game is trying to tell us.”

“I’m no hero,” Gi-hun retorted, his voice low, the desperation in his voice evident as he gritted his teeth. “But what if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”

“I understand how you feel,” In-ho said, his hand motioning at you to not speak. “I also wish I could leave right now. We do. But this is the moment to stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Gi-hun said in disbelief. “We’ve already taken a vote twice. If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” In-ho replied. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun stayed silent, though his eyes were focused on you and In-ho. He was sensing something between the two of you - the sudden understanding seemed to catch him off guard. As far as he knew, In-ho was still married. To you, he was a widower. That was the truth. But Gi-hun was more disturbed with your sudden shift. The one who held on hope for humanity was gone, and was replaced by this cold, dark person. 

The alarm buzzed, just in time to ease the tension on your group. By the door, the triangle-masked guards gathered as the square-masked guard stepped in, his presence signaling a sense of command. “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”

The TV displayed a total prize money accumulated to 35.6 billion won, divided by 356 million won for each player. You stepped out and positioned yourself next to In-ho, giving him a pat on his shoulder as your eyes glued to the monitor. 

“With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds,” Jung-bae muttered.

“It’s either the money is enough for them or they’ll want to play another to win more,” you said, your eyes still fixed on the TV.

“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the square-masked guard said. “Player 456, please cast your vote.” Gi-hun stepped out from the crowd as the guard spoke again. “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward. Please bear that in mind.”

With no hesitation, Gi-hun pushed the X button, retaining his vote as the X number increased to 1. 

You were almost unattentive to your surroundings, not minding the scoreboard of the X and O votes. Though you couldn’t deny the weight of choices before yours. X or O - a simple vote, but it might as well have been a knife at your throat.

You shouldn’t be hesitating at all. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t drowning in debt, clawing for salvation in a place that offered nothing but destruction. You had entered the game out of curiosity - a whim, reckless craving to see what was happening behind the curtain all because of that recruiter. But now, you stood here, waiting for your player number to be called for you to vote that would define the person you were becoming.

You felt the villain in you creeping beneath your skin with every game. The cold calculation, the growing numbness. The way your hands had moved without hesitation when it came down to survival. And yet, a part of you still wanted to believe that there was something left to salvage. Maybe in the next games, you would see humanity change. Or not at all.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” In-ho’s voice was low and smooth that melted your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. This time, his eyes were soft as he looked at you, then to your lips, then to your eyes again. His mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath ghost over your skin. 

“What does it matter to you?” You asked.

He gave out a slow exhale, barely a sigh. Then, his fingers brushed against yours, deliberate but fleeting. A touch that barely lingered, yet left something behind. “Because you don’t belong here.”

You felt your breath hitched as you held your gaze on him, searching his face for an answer. But he gave you nothing. Just that unreadable and calm one. Too calm. “What?” You asked, your voice quieter this time.

His head tilted slightly, watching you with an unsettling kind of certainty. “You’re not in debt. You lived a good life in America only to come back here in Seoul after your father died. You wanted to play ddakji just for the sake of seeing if you were still good at it. Money was never a problem to you, Y/N,” In-ho stated, as if he had always known the truth. “You didn’t think you walked into this place unnoticed, did you?”

The implication made your stomach turn. 

He knew. He had known from the start.

But why?

Your lips parted, but no words came. And in that silence, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your temple. “What’s someone like you, who was so full of life, doing in a place like this ready to kill people?” Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he continued. “I was once like you. But in this place, it changes you. The truth will always come get you in the end.”

“The truth?” You managed to ask, though your voice a bit cracking. 

“About me.”

Your stomach twisted. “And what exactly would that be?”

For a moment, he just watched you, searching for something in your eyes. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I won.” Your breath caught, but before you could speak, he continued. “And I have a role in all of this now.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not completely. He didn’t say what role nor what it exactly meant. But you weren’t stupid. 

But you should’ve known it from the very start.

The Young-il name was already a give away, as if he was ready. The coincidence of being the Player 001 and being named Young-il didn’t make sense. It was far from being a coincidence. He carried himself too much, the way his words were always a little too measured, a little too careful, as if they were being placed exactly where they needed to be. The name, the persona — it was all a mask. A carefully crafted lie.

“After we vote, I’ll tell you everything.”

You felt your body shot up, the curiosity plastering all over your body. What did he know that you didn’t know from all this? What role could he have in all these? If you know about everything, will it endanger your life even more?

“Who are you?” You stared at him, your throat dry as you felt your heart hammering against your ribs.

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something familiar. Something painful. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His stare fixed on you indicated something darker and deeper. Something that told you — he had been waiting for this. 

“Player 002.”

You snapped away from In-ho, turning your attention to the vote. You walked towards the voting box, the buttons gleaming under the cold, artificial light, its surface smudged from countless trembling fingers before yours. 

O or X.

You could end this. You could walk away. But deep down, you already knew what your fingers were going to do. A sharp beep echoed in the silence as you pressed X, a cheer from the X crowd erupting.

You turned back to In-ho, who was waiting at the end of the crowd as he stared at you intently. His lips barely curved — not a smirk, but something else. Something unreadable.

——

The voting ended with a tie, which meant that the voting will resume again tomorrow. Yet you felt uneasy. Anytime, you knew that the O team would attack anytime soon. Just for the sake of winning the money more and more. 

It was going to be a special game. You tried to piece it together as you progressed through the games. The system was trying to make you kill each other, giving you less and less food as it progressed. Hunger was the main source of greed, it's why humans would do anything just to not starve. The gimbap on your hand and a glass bottle of soda were enough of a hint for you that there was something more happening.

The glass bottle could be your source of weapon in case something goes wrong in this place. You kept your silence as you ate the dry gimbap, its flavors still present but the dryness was scoring your throat in. It felt like you were eating a piece of paper, but to you, it didn’t matter. As long as it fed your stomach well.

“Y/N,” you blinked, snapping away from your thoughts as you heard Gi-hun’s voice. You glanced up and saw his expression was careful, but there was something else beneath it. “You got a minute?”

You nodded, but there was hesitation in you as he sat down beside ypu, resting his forearms on his thighs. 

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, his fingers fidgeting on the wrapped gimbap as if trying to find the right words. “It’s about Young-il,” he finally said.

Your stomach twisted, though you forced your face to be stern. “What about him?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You two are close, right? Like real close.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice even. “Hmm?”

“Isn’t he married?” Gi-hun’s voice dropped slightly, but still careful. “Maybe you shouldn’t get too attached.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swallowed, keeping your face unreadable.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Gi-hun—“

“Where do you get the nerve?” He cut in, his voice edged with something sharp, something bitter.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve seen you. The way you act in the games. The way you don’t even flinch anymore,” his fingers curled into fists. “When did you stop caring? When did you decide it was easier to be a monster?”

The words slammed into you harder than you expected. Your throat tightened as you stared at him. “I’m not a monster.”

“Then why are you here?” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “You’re not even like the rest of us. You said yourself that you weren’t drowning in debt. You weren’t desperate to be here.”

You scoffed. “Oh, and you are?” You spat, leaning in, voice dripping with venom. “You won the games before, right? You have 46.5 billion won sitting in your bank account, and yet you still came back. So tell me, Gi-hun, why the hell are you here?”

Gi-hun’s face twisted. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” You let out a laugh, almost mocking. “You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve lived. And yet, here you are, just like the rest of us, pretending you’re better.”

Gi-hun flinched, but his jaw tightened. “At least I know when to stop,” he muttered.

You felt a bitter taste in your mouth as you spoke. “But you’re here pretending to be a hero.”

A thick silence settled between you, feeling the tension on your shoulders. You stared onto space as you felt affected towards his words. You didn’t know whether to take it into consideration or to feel insulted.

Then, a voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

In-ho stood nearby, his presence commanding, gaze locked onto Gi-hun. There was no warmth in his voice, only quiet authority, the weight of someone who had been watching long enough.

Gi-hun exhaled, standing up. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Just don’t lose yourself in here,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “This place eats people alive.” He walked away, leaving you there.

You stared at the ground, weighing his words, feeling their weight settle deep in your chest. But when you looked up, your eyes met In-ho’s. You weren’t sure which was heavier — Gi-hun’s warning or the pull of In-ho’s gaze, the silent reminder of everything you were letting yourself become. 

“Hey,” In-ho said, his voice warm enough to make you feel at ease. “You alright?”

You nodded, remembering you still had your one remaining gimbap in your hand. “Yeah. Gi-hun just noticed us becoming too close.”

“Is that a bad thing?” In-ho asked, though his voice was a bit teasing but there was questioning in his voice, as if he was testing you.

“No,” you shrugged. “Let’s just go with the others and see what they’re up to.”

In-ho nodded as he helped you up, holding you as if you were something fragile. Your cheeks flushed a bit but kept your gaze in front, knowing you would melt if you met his gaze. You sat beside Geum-ja, who was grouped now with Player 246, who you now know as Gyeong-seok, then Yong-sik, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Gi-hun. As much as possible, you distanced yourself from Gi-hun, still feeling disturbed by your recent conversation with him.

You noticed Yong-sik standing up, facing the players who had O patches on the other side. “Hey!” He called out. “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side. If we get out of there tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”

You shook your head, feeling the secondhand embarrassment. This was a pity attempt to make the O players change their minds. This wouldn’t end well.

“And after that, the noodles are on me!” Geum-ja spoke up. You wanted to stop her, but she was too determined to speak up. Despite the evilness in this place, you can’t deny that there were pure, good-hearted people like her.

Yet to you, evilness always prevailed. Your point was proven when Player 100 spoke from the O crowd.

“Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each!” Player 100 spoke with diction, his words echoing through the silence prevailed over the X crowd. “With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”

The O players cheered from behind him, their taunting smiles and growls echoing through the room. Dae-ho stood up, taking a step forward as he pointed his fingers at them. “You’ll get 800 million? Who are you kidding? Do you think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”

“So let’s play one more game to see who dies,” Player 226 from the O crowd snapped back. “Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.

Dae-ho scoffed. “What did you say?” He moved towards the O crowd but still near the X crowd. “Come here, asshole!” Jung-bae followed in attempt to stop Dae-ho from walking towards the O crowd.

“I’ll take you down, chump!”

“Not with civilians,” Jung-bae dragged Dae-ho by the shoulder, only to be snapped away by Dae-ho. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Marines tattoo. 

“I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”

The O players laughed mockingly. You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush in secondhand embarrassment. You noticed In-ho watching the scene intently, though his stare was cold as if assessing. 

“Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!” Player 226 retorted, earning more laugh from the crowd behind him.

Then, for a split second, the X crowd start to gather in the middle, though they weren’t crossing the line. The division between two crowds was evident as the lines from each O and X were enough for them to not cross. The room was echoing with hatred, evilness, and something vulgar. If you were expecting the guards to step in and bring peace, you were wrong. They stayed still in the corner, their guns in hand watching the scene unfold.

Your eyes turned to the foil on your hand where the gimbap was wrapped. Though as you were about to crumple it, something cold and metallic brushed against your palm. Your breath hitched as you unwrapped the foil, revealing a fork.

Your fingers curled around the handle, heart thudding against your ribs. This wasn’t a mistake. This was deliberate.

You were right. The system wanted you to kill each other.

In-ho’s hand reached out to your fork, covering it. His grip was firm, but his thumb traced the ridge of your knuckles as if there was unspoken reassurance, a warning wrapped in something softer. He leaned in, his breath ghosting near your ear.

“Keep it.”

Your fingers tightened around the utensil, swallowing hard as you glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes held something heavy, as if it was calculated.

“What?” Gi-hun’s voice was low, but the edge was unmistakable. Across from you, he stared down at his own gimbap, his fingers pulling away a fork of his own. His eyes then flickered to yours, then to In-ho, suspicion bleeding into every inch of his face.

Something was coming. The guards never made mistakes. This wasn’t some mere accident.

You exchanged one last glance with In-ho before lowering your head, slipping the fork into your sleeve. Your mind raced as you realized, muttering under your breath as it washed over you. “X versus O…”

“They want us to turn on each other,” In-ho murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. He sensed the growing weight pressed against your chest, he added, “I’ll protect you.”

You flinched. The words were so quiet they barely existed, but they were there. You turned to him, but he was already staring at you.

“There’s going to be a plan,” In-ho continued, his voice smooth but he seemed unaffected. He didn’t need to say whose plan. You both knew Gi-hun wouldn’t sit still. “He’s going to try to rally the X players, maybe propose an alliance before the real bloodshed starts.”

“It won’t work,” you replied, your tone with certainty but the concern was evident on your face. “But you, you already have a plan, don’t you?”

“I have a foresight,” he said simply, though it wasn’t enough for an answer.

“Tell me,” you pressed, leaning towards him.

He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, his lips twitched. Not into a smirk, not into a smile, but something close to amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Somehow, his words sent a shiver down your spine. That was more terrifying than anything Gi-hun could come up with. With Gi-hun, he wanted to survive. 

But with In-ho, he knew the rules better than anyone.

----

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A/N: I'm so so sorry this took a bit long. I had to move things around in my house as we're moving out from the family home. You know, for a fresh new start. I admit that I'm not doing a bit well lately but writing this chapter still lifted my spirits up somehow. I kinda feared this chapter would be a bit long but turns out it's kind of the same from the other chapters. I'm also excited to write the next chapter and I'll definitely started to work on it immediately. Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

hii!! i was wondering if you'd be interested in writing a young inho x reader, something fluffy, maybe like a university!au where the reader and inho are both training for police, and they go from meet ugly to lovers?? nothing too long, just a short little au!!

all up to you if you'd like to pick this up!! love ur current series btw

my kind of distraction (hwang in-ho x reader)

Tags: university!au, inho x reader, enemies to lovers, young in-ho, fluff

Summary: You first meet In-ho at a convenience store, unbeknownst to you that he was also party of the police academy you were training for. On your first day of training, you meet In-ho again and think of him as someone who's arrogant during trainings, as he would criticize you whenever you were partnered with him. Over time, you found yourself looking forward to your trainings together. And when you successfully anticipated his next move, for the first time in a while, he smiled.

A/N: I know I used a Mr. Sunshine GIF for this AU, but it's the perfect scenario of what I pictured in my head. I'm sorry this took awhile as I am still grieving over my father, but here it is! 🫡

----

The fluorescent light cast a stark, sterile glow over neatly stacked shelves, the faint beep of the cashier scanning items, and the quiet hum of refrigerators lined with colorful drinks. As you entered the convenience, the smell of instant noodles, cheap coffee, and something fried from the food warmer near the counter reached your nose.

The ground beneath your feet was steady, yet it felt as if you’re walking on air, one breath away from something bigger than your grasp. You took a big step out of your comfort zone, entering the police academy with no connections - just pure luck. For the past few days, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you made a great choice, that it was enough. Enough to prove the fear doesn’t get to hold you back. That growth isn’t meant to be comfortable. 

You sighed as you grabbed an instant ramen on the shelf, with a soda in a can at hand. You had to eat something, at least. The nervousness in taking it all by yourself, taking control of your life, was starting to get to you. At least, in this way, you felt normal.

You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you round the corner of an aisle, trying to get to the cashier, and see him standing by the refrigerated section.

Tall. Composed. Effortlessly self-assured in a way that feels almost deliberate. 

He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate in his movements. His fingers graze over a row of canned coffee, seeing it labeled as Americano as he plucked one off the shelf with a kind of precision that suggests he does this often. There’s an air of distance about him, something cold and untouchable, like he exists in a space just slightly apart from everyone else. 

Even as another customer brushes past him, murmuring a quiet sorry, he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t shift, doesn’t react. He simply steps back as if it’s expected, as if the world should move around him rather than the other way around. The cool blue light of the fridge highlights the sharp angles of his face. You shook your head, an attempt to shake him away from your thoughts as you noticed yourself staring. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Or maybe he has, and he just doesn’t care. 

And then, as if sensing your stare, he lifts his gaze and meets yours.“You see something you like?” He said, voice low and edged with a quiet arrogance. 

You snapped away from your thoughts immediately as you felt your throat tighten, caught between embarrassment and irritation. 

You open your mouth, ready with a sharp retort, but then he turned away. He walked past you without a glance, the scent of coffee and something clean lingering in the air as he passed. It should be unremarkable, just another fleeting moment in a late-night store. 

But something about him stays with you. You don’t know why yet.

Not yet, anyway.

But one thing’s for sure - that annoyed you more than anything else.

——

The universe had other plans. The kind of plan that didn’t think of you, that didn’t care for your feelings. 

“Hwang In-ho.”

You snapped your head up just in time to see him forward as you stood in formation on your first day of training at the police academy, listening to the instructor call out partner assignments. You nearly feel your stomach drop as you see him, the man you met at the convenience store.

He was composed as ever, his expression still unreadable. 

“And you,” the instructor continues, turning toward you. “You’ll be working with him.”

Your gaze stayed still, trying not to show any emotion from what you felt from your first encounter with Hwang In-ho. You avoided his faze as he walks over to stand beside you; something flickers across his face. A moment of quiet recognition.

His eyes drag over you as if to assess you, tilting his head a bit. Then, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“You again,” he murmured, just low enough that only you can hear. 

You straighten your shoulders, trying not to let his arrogance under your skin. “Guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

In-ho smirked, his gaze lingering longer before he looked ahead again, completely at ease. “Try to keep up.”

For the past few months, you trained with In-ho. As much as you wanted to think of him as your equal, you can’t help but feel the rivalry between you two. Beside you, In-ho was already prepared, his stance immaculate, and his confidence radiated like an invisible force. 

The sound of boots scraped against the floor echoed in the small, sparse room. You and In-ho stood in the center. The air was thick with anticipation, and despite the calm exterior, you could feel the adrenaline humming through your veins. Today’s training was all about speed and precision - drawing the weapon fast enough to stop a threat before it had a chance to react.

In-ho had already settled into his stance, the gun at his side, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the space like he could already predict what would happen next. His usual cocky smirk was there, though this time, it had a sharper edge to it.

“You ready to keep up?” In-ho asked, his voice almost mocking.

“Just don’t slow me down,” you replied. You tried to ignore the way his words grated against you. You knew he was trying to test you. Drawing the weapon wasn’t just about speed - it was about control, about making every move count without wasting time. 

In-ho turned his head, his eyes glinting with that same arrogant fire. “You should be thanking me for this. You’ll never get this fast on your own.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t respond. It wasn’t worth it. You knew what you needed to do.

“Go.”

Your fingers shot to the grip of the gun, a smooth, practiced motion - except it wasn’t quite smooth enough. Your hand fumbled slightly at first, a split-second delay in pulling the gun free, and that split-second was enough for In-ho to draw your gun away.

In-ho lowered his gun with a grin, his voice dripping with that all too familiar smugness. “You might want to work on that. A slow draw will get you killed before you even start.”

You felt the heat of frustration surge in your chest, but you swallowed it down. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, he was right. Yet you didn’t want to lose this time. 

“Let’s do it again,” you said, steadying your breathing.

In-ho gave you a cocky nod, clearly entertained. “Fine. But don’t take too long. I wouldn’t want you to waste all my time.”

You took a step closer, not missing a beat. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to waste more time on me,” you teased, leaning in just enough for him to notice the playful glint in your eyes. “But I think you’re already getting a little distracted.”

In-ho’s expression faltered for a moment, his usual confidence slipping as he caught the shift on your tone. His eyes lingered on you, just a fraction longer than what was considered normal, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something else behind his gaze. 

At that moment, you knew you caught him off guard.

In-ho’s expression shifted, his confidence momentarily shaken as he cleared his throat. “You think you can distract me that easily?” A tight chuckle escaped from his lips.

You shrugged with a smirk. “I’m sure you can handle it. But I think you might be a little more… interested in what I can do.”

In-ho’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. For a second, you could see him caught between his usual arrogance and the curiosity that had crept up into his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice, something more amused than irritated.

“Ready for round two?” You challenged, giving him a wink, this time with more confidence than before. 

“Go.”

The signal came again, and this time, you were ready. Your hand shot to the holster, faster, smoother, pulling the gun with fluid motion from him. You pointed and aimed at In-ho, sending his arms up in surrender. 

For a moment, the room went still. In-ho was caught off guard, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a flicker of surprise. You couldn’t help but grin, your finger resting lightly on the trigger, though you weren’t about to fire.

“You were saying?” You asked, your voice low and teasing.

In-ho blinked, the smile creeping back onto his face, only this time, it was different. There was something more impressed in it, a quiet acknowledgement of the thought that you just won.

“Guess I underestimated you,” In-ho said, his cockiness returning, though with a slight edge of admiration.

You lowered your gun, placing it on your pockets as you wiped your sweat away with a face towel. “You do that a lot, don’t you?” A soft chuckle escaped from you.

To your surprise, he smiled. “You’re full of surprises.” His voice was almost softer now, a subtle warmth in his words.

You felt your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he looked at you - something disarmingly genuine in the smile that reached his eyes. As you tried to steady the racing of your heart, you swallowed as you let out a small grin. “You have no idea,” you replied.

In-ho watched you for a moment longer, the smile still playing at the corners of his lips. He seemed to favor the tension between you and him before giving a slight nod. “I think I’m starting to.”

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