#Hwang in Ho x oc

[voxslays]

EPHEMERAL — HWANG IN-HO

Falling in love with you was never apart of the plan. No, it was simply to infiltrate the games, disguised as a player, find out what Gi-hun’s plan was, and get out. He never planned on falling head over heels for someone he had just met. But you were different, weren’t you?

It was obvious in the way you walked, the way you talked, the way you made him feel something besides grief or anger since his late wife had died. You were a blooming flower amongst all the trash in the world. You didn’t deserve to be here, treated like the trashy common-folk who had nobody but themselves to blame for their debt.

That’s why during Mingle, he made sure you never strayed too far. How could he live with himself if you had died? And with the way you desperately clutched the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket, it was obvious you felt the same. “What do you think it’ll be next?” You ask, your tone wavering.

‘Two.’ Young-il answered. “Why?” You looked into his deep charcoal eyes. “There are 126 players remaining and fifty doors.” He paused, looking you in the eye. “A hundred of us will live. They’ll kill the rest.” And like he had ‘predicted,’ the number two was called by the voice over the loudspeakers.

Without missing a beat, Young-il grabs your hand and pulls you off the platform with ease, already running to one of the doors. You weren’t met without struggle though. Young-il had to push multiple strangers out of your path before even reaching a room, holding player 285 back so you could run inside.

Yet, inside was no better. There was another man, Player 343, standing in the corner of the bright yellow room. You hear a loud slam and turn your head to be met with Young-il’s dark eyes. “Out.” He commands the remaining player. “Please.” The man begs. “We were here first!”

Before you can even comprehend your next move, Young-il already has the man in a chokehold. You were so distracted by his sharp movements that you weren’t even ready for when Player 285 charged into the room with one harsh push and threw you outside in one fluid movement.

Young-il immediately snapped the man’s neck as the doors locked. He threw the man’s body down, throwing a harsh punch at the living man’s face, permanently bruising it. He pushes past 285 with ease, aligning his eyes with the small rectangular peep hole in the bright yellow door. “No.” He says angrily, as you run up to the door.

“Young-il.” You cry desperately. “No, no, no!” He nearly screams. He turns to 285, who already has a forming black eye. You turn around, hearing the sounds of an approaching guard. Left with no other choice, Young-il shouts “Stand down!”

Before you know it, you are being sedated and carefully dragged away by the guards. When the doors open, Young-I’m is surrounded by Gi-hun and the rest of his ‘friends’. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asks worriedly. “They…” Young-il pauses, his clever plan going into motion. “They didn’t make it.”

For Gi-hun, Young-il, and the rest of your ex-teammates, it’s a night of mourning. To them, it seems heaven has gained another angel—even though many of them aren’t even religious. As for the other players, you are simply another dead body lying in a pile to rot. To In-ho, however, you are asleep in his private quarters, waiting for him to return.

And Player 285? He was shot by one of the triangle guards who promptly sent his body to the organ harvesting station, before his body was burned, never to be seen again.

[insidekatmind]

His- Hwang In Ho

Wearning: +18,slight smut

You are sitting on Hwang In-ho's lap with his cock inside you, in a black room lit only by the soft light of the large screen in front of you. His face is calm, but his eyes are fixed on the monitor, where the players move slowly during the game of “One, two, three, star.”

His hand, warm and firm, rests on your thigh. His fingers move slowly, tracing circles on your bare thigh. It's a gesture that should make you uncomfortable, but there's something hypnotic in the calm with which he does it, as if it were natural for him to have that kind of control over you and everything around him.

You were sitting on him, with his cock inside you. You didn't move, you just warmed up his cock while he enjoyed the sensation.

“You're lucky you're not there,” he says in a low voice, almost a whisper. His eyes do not move away from the screen, where a newly fallen player is mercilessly eliminated.

“Lucky?” you repeat, almost in disbelief. His grip on your thigh tightens slightly, as if to remind you that you have no choice.

“Yes,” he replies, finally looking down at you. His face is serious, but there is a hint of something deeper, almost tender, in his eyes. “I would never have let you be among them. You are too precious.”

You feel a shiver down your spine. It's unclear whether it's fear, attraction, or a disturbing mix of the two. In-ho looks back at the screen, but doesn't stop stroking your thigh, the movements now slower, more deliberate.

“I don't understand why you chose me,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Because you don't belong to that world,” he replies without hesitation. “You are too young, too beautiful to be thrown away like one of them.”

His words hit you like a rock. You know that his protection is not entirely altruistic; you have become his possession, something he wants to keep away from the rest of the cruel world. But you can't help but wonder if, deep down, there's a part of him that wants more than that.

The game on the screen continues, but in the room time seems to have stopped. His hand on your thigh, his slow, controlled breathing, and his commanding presence are all you can feel. You're caught between the desire to escape and the strange, twisted safety and excitement you find in his arms.

You close your eyes feeling the feeling of his cock inside you without it moving or anything, You leaned into his chest and he grunted softly as he stopped your hips so you wouldn't move. A soft, subtle smile appears on In-ho’s lips as you leaning against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your skin, and his strong arms around you.He lets out a soft, contented sigh, appreciating the intimacy of your touch.“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted something like this,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry.

His hand runs through your hair, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. He seems to be lost in thought, but his eyes never leave your face.“You’re beautiful,” he says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.”

You blushed at his words as you felt his cock throb inside you and you moaned, you wanted to move on him so bad but he wouldn't let you. Your moan doesn’t go unnoticed by In-ho, and he grins at your reaction.

He leans towards your ear, his lips barely touching your skin as he whispers, “I can feel how much you want to move.” His grip around your body tightens slightly, keeping you in place. He enjoys the anticipation, the fact that you’re at his mercy completely.

“But I like to have you like this for a little while longer,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. You moaned softly as your pussy tightened around his cock, you wanted to ride him so bad but you nodded at his command.

In-ho lets out a low growl as he feels you tighten around him. He can't help but feel a surge of desire, but he holds back.His arms remain wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling a little faster."Be patient," he murmurs in your ear, his voice low and firm.

You nod, closing your eyes, enjoying this sensation. In-ho can feel how much you’re enjoying the situation, and it makes him smile. He's enjoying it too, the control he has over you, the way your body reacts to his every touch.

He leans in closer, his lips gently grazing the side of your neck. “You're so sensitive,” he purrs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love how responsive you are to me.”

You moan softly at his words. In-ho takes notice of your every reaction. He loves the effect his words have on you.He begins to place kisses along your neck, his lips soft and gentle against your skin. He alternates between light, feather-like kisses and more firm, lingering ones, his lips moving slowly as he takes his time.

“I'll make you ride my cock when this game ends, but for now, warm it up for me like you're doing,” he murmurs through kisses on your neck. You can feel his breath on your skin as he speaks, sending shivers down your spine. He's in complete control, and it's both exciting and maddening.

“Of course,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly as you respond to his command. In-ho nods approvingly, his lips still moving against your skin. “That's a good girl,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble.

His hands run up and down your back, exploring every inch of your body, making sure you feel the weight of his presence.The game on the screen continues, and you knew you had to wait. You were anxiously waiting for this game to end so you could finally have everything you want.

[finitalacommediah]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, etc.

playlist inspired by him

[bekkarific]

Playing with fire 🔥

Mun Ji Ah, a dedicated detective, and her partner Hwang Jun Ho investigate the mysterious disappearance of Jun Ho’s brother, In Ho. Their search uncovers a sinister underground operation forcing people to compete in deadly childhood games for survival. Determined to expose the truth, Ji Ah allows herself to be captured, becoming the prisoner of the enigmatic Frontman, who hides his identity behind a mask.

Over the year she spends in captivity, Ji Ah forms a complicated bond with the Frontman, love, passion and opposing views.

Who will the fire consume.

Masterlist

[the-devils-widow]

Hwang In-ho / Front Man x Female OC

Summary: As an exchange student in Seoul, Emma’s focus is far from love—particularly when it comes to a mysterious, wealthy man who seems to be keeping secrets.

Notes: I just finished watching the new season of Squid Game, and a certain Front Man inspired me to write...

[erajunex]

Who wants a smut one shot about this man?

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the tag-list!

[meadowfics]

delivery

hwang jun-ho x pregnant!reader

the policeman is excited for his daughter to arrive

warnings: birth

this is a continuation and part two to this

it all starts late at night, just as you’re getting ready to climb into bed.

you’ve showered, slipped into your comfiest satin nightgown, and are looking forward to finally getting some rest.

jun-ho is already under the covers, scrolling through his phone while waiting for you.

just as you move to sit on the bed, you feel an unexpected sensation.

at first, you freeze, wondering if you’ve accidentally peed yourself.

this has happened before, due to your daughter using your bladder as a soccer ball.

the thought of it happening again makes your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“uh… jun-ho?”

you say hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

your partner's head snaps up immediately, his protective instincts kicking in.

“what’s wrong? are you okay?”

he’s already moving to sit up, concern etched into his features.

you glance down at yourself and mumble,

“i think… i think my water just broke.” the words feel strange to say, and you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

jun-ho blinks a few times, processing what you’ve just said. then his lips curl into a small, excited smile that he’s clearly trying to suppress.

“really? are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already reaching for the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks.

you nod, still feeling a little flustered.

“yeah, i’m pretty sure. i mean, i didn’t feel any pain, but—” you trail off, looking at the growing damp spot on your nightgown.

“okay, okay, no need to worry,”

jun-ho says, his voice calm but laced with excitement.

he places a reassuring hand on your lower back, then gently guides you to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“let’s get you changed first, and then we’ll head to the hospital. our girl’s on her way.”

as you change into clean clothes, with the help of jun-ho.. the man hurries around the room, triple-checking the hospital bag, your phone, chargers, snacks, and anything else you might need.

you can tell he’s trying to stay composed, but the way he fumbles with the zipper on the bag gives away his excitement.

once you’re ready, he helps you into the car.

during the drive, you start to feel mild contractions. they’re not too bad yet, but jun-ho keeps glancing at you every few minutes, asking,

“how are you feeling? do you need anything? want me to play some music?”

you laugh softly, despite the growing discomfort.

“i’m fine, jun-ho. just focus on driving. i’d rather not give birth in the car.”

at the hospital, jun-ho is by your side every step of the way. he holds your hand tightly as the nurses check you in, offering comforting words and even cracking a small joke to lighten the mood.

“guess i’ll finally get to see if all those birthing classes paid off.”

as your contractions intensify, jun-ho stays calm and steady, never letting go of your hand. he rubs your back during the worst of it, whispering,

“you’re doing amazing, y/n. she’s so lucky to have you as her mom.”

hours pass, and jun-ho barely leaves your side. even when you’re tired and in pain, he keeps encouraging you, telling you how strong you are and how proud he is of you.

"you're doing so well, sweetheart."

when your contractions start getting stronger, jun-ho immediately shifts into “coach mode,” even though he’s never officially done this before.

he sits beside you, holding your hand tightly, and says,

“okay, y/n, remember to breathe. in through your nose, out through your mouth..just like we practiced.”

during a particularly intense contraction, just when you're seven centimeters dilated.. you grip his hand hard enough to make him wince, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

he's faced worst while being a detective.

instead, he rubs soothing circles on your back with his other hand, murmuring,

“you’re so strong, y/n. you’ve got this. just focus on breathing, one step at a time.”

every time the nurse comes in to check on you, jun-ho listens attentively, nodding as if he’s taking mental notes.

afterward, he turns to you and explains everything in a calm, steady voice, making sure you’re not overwhelmed.

“okay, so it sounds like you’re dilating really well. that means we’re getting closer. just a little more, and we’ll meet her.”

at one point, he notices you’re getting tense and you start clenching your jaw during a contraction.

“hey, relax your shoulders,” he says gently, placing his hands on them and giving them a light squeeze.

“it’ll help with the pain. you’re doing amazing, y/n.”

when you start to doubt yourself.. you start to cry,

“i don’t think i can do this,”

jun-ho immediately shakes his head and cups your face with both hands.

“yes, you can. you’ve already come so far. you’re the strongest person i know, y/n, and you’re not doing this alone. i’m right here with you.”

between contractions, he keeps you distracted by cracking small jokes.

“if she’s as stubborn as you, it’s no wonder she’s taking her time coming out.”

when you glare at him, he grins and adds,

“but stubbornness is a good thing. she’ll be tough, like her mom.”

when it’s time to start pushing, jun-ho positions himself right by your side, holding one of your legs and encouraging you with every push.

“you’re doing it, y/n. just a little more. you’re so close. i’m so proud of you.”

at one point, you grab the collar of his shirt in frustration during a particularly difficult push.. the ring of fire as doctors put it.

instead of panicking, he stays calm and says,

“that’s it, take it out on me. you can yell at me all you want..just keep going. you’re amazing, y/n."

the moment your daughter is born, just after three hours of pushing.. jun-ho’s eyes fill with tears. he looks at her, then at you, and his voice trembles as he says,

“she’s perfect. you did it, y/n.”

when the nurse places your baby girl in your arms, jun-ho leans in close, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both look at her in awe.

“welcome to the world, little one,”

your man whispers, his voice full of love.

even as exhausted as you are, you can see the way jun-ho can’t stop smiling. he keeps glancing between you and your daughter, like he can’t believe how lucky he is to have both of you.

later, as the three of you settle in for some quiet time, jun-ho gently brushes his fingers over your daughter’s tiny hand.

“she’s got your nose,” he says softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

"thank you for being the best."

you mumble, tired from the pushing.

“thank you, y/n. for everything. i love you so much.”

"I love you too."

you watch him as he carefully cradles your daughter, talking to her in a soft, soothing voice about how much he’s been waiting to meet her.

in that moment, you know your little family is already filled with so much love.

masterlist

[gs29]

Jun Ho's Morning: Love, Laughter, and a Little Shirt Thief

Squid Game Master list

It was still early, the soft light of dawn barely creeping in through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The world was quiet, still. But not for long. In the household, mornings were never as serene as they seemed.

Jun Ho slowly stirred awake, the sound of his infant son’s soft babbling and the gentle rustle of his wife, Y/n, as she shifted beside him, pulling the blankets higher. For a moment, he simply lay there, eyes closed, savoring the peaceful cocoon of warmth around him. The baby’s little hands were gripping the edge of his pillow, a tiny hand sticking out from under the covers as he giggled softly to himself.

“Good morning,” Y/n whispered with a small smile, her voice still thick with sleep. She turned toward him, her eyes half-open but filled with that warmth only she could give. Her hair, tousled and wild, framed her face in a way that made Jun Ho’s heart swell.

“Morning,” he replied, voice thick with affection as he reached for her hand. But before he could pull her closer, the baby’s babble turned into a louder squeal, as if demanding his full attention. Jun Ho chuckled and sat up, shaking off the remnants of sleep.

“You’re already awake, huh?” Jun Ho mused, his voice a mixture of amusement and disbelief. The baby, only a few months old, had an uncanny ability to wake up before sunrise, as if testing the limits of his parents’ patience with every giggle and coo.

“Guess we’re not getting any more sleep,” Y/n laughed softly, stretching beside him.

Jun Ho stood up, the cool floor beneath his feet grounding him to reality. He padded toward the closet, but before he could even pull his work uniform off the hanger, a little hand shot out from the crib nearby.

With a tiny, innocent cry, the baby’s chubby little arm reached for his father’s shirt. “Ahh, you want this, don’t you?” Jun Ho smiled, his eyes softening. He crouched down to pick the baby up, carefully lifting him from his crib.

The baby, delighted with his new treasure, grabbed the shirt in both hands, his tiny fingers pulling the fabric with surprising strength.

“Oh no, are you trying to steal my shirt already?” Jun Ho laughed, his voice filled with warmth. The baby cooed, as if to say, Yes, yes, this shirt is mine now! Jun Ho shook his head and gently pried the shirt from the baby’s hands. “I don’t think I can wear it with you having such a tight grip on it.”

Y/n was already sitting up, watching the whole scene with an amused expression. Her eyes sparkled with affection as she saw the bond between father and son growing by the second.

“I think it’s clear who’s in charge around here,” she teased, her voice light and teasing. She stood and walked over to join them, carefully taking the baby from Jun Ho’s arms. “You two are a handful,” she added, kissing the top of the baby’s head.

“Let’s see if we can’t make a deal,” Jun Ho said, standing up from his crouched position. He held the shirt out in front of the baby like a small offering. The baby, without hesitation, tried grabbing it again. But this time, Jun Ho gently pulled it away.

“You can have it back when I come home, okay?” Jun Ho bargained with a playful smile. “But for now, you’ll have to settle for something else.”

Y/n laughed softly and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “You’re so sweet, Jun Ho.”

With a final look at the tiny shirt thief in his arms, Jun Ho grabbed his uniform and made his way to the bathroom, still chuckling to himself.

By the time Jun Ho had showered and dressed for work, his morning routine had taken longer than usual. The baby was nestled in his arms once more, wrapped in a soft blanket, and Y/n was beside him, both of them showering him with affection.

“I should really be going, or I’ll be late,” he said, but there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. The thought of leaving his two favorite people was harder each time.

Y/n just smiled and shook her head. “You’re not leaving yet.”

Jun Ho raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Before he could respond, Y/n was grabbing her bag, and within minutes, they were all bundled up and heading for the door. Jun Ho blinked in surprise.

“Wait, are we—”

“We’re coming with you,” she said, her voice bright. “We thought we’d surprise you at work today.”

Jun Ho couldn’t contain his surprise. “What? But, it’s a long drive, and… it’s work. What if it’s too busy?”

She just shrugged playfully, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Too bad. We’re going.”

With the baby strapped securely into his car seat, the three of them set off. Jun Ho’s heart raced with excitement at the thought of seeing them both at work, something he never expected. Every second felt like a moment of treasure, a reminder of the love that kept him going even in the hardest moments.

The drive was filled with light conversation and the soft giggles of the baby in the backseat. Jun Ho couldn’t help but glance at his wife every so often, marveling at how she could always make every day feel special, even when it was just a regular morning.

When they arrived at his workplace, Jun Ho’s colleagues didn’t know what hit them. To see their stoic, serious colleague standing at the door with his wife and newborn son in tow was an unexpected delight. The baby, now awake and curious, immediately caught the attention of everyone in the room.

“You brought them here?” one of his coworkers, Minho, asked with a grin. “Jun Ho, this is the best surprise!”

[ smiled softly, glancing up at her husband, who was still processing the sudden shift in his day.

“They wanted to see you,” she said sweetly. “We thought we’d brighten up your workday.”

Jun Ho’s heart felt like it was going to burst from the love and joy surrounding him. The baby, fascinated by the new faces and noises, giggled and reached out to one of the other workers, causing everyone to laugh. For the first time in a while, Jun Ho allowed himself to fully embrace the warmth and happiness of the moment.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy to be at work,” Minho teased.

Jun Ho chuckled, his eyes never leaving the sight of his wife and child. “You’re right, I think I’ve found my new favorite part of the day.”

Y/n gave him a knowing smile. “We’ll leave soon, but we just wanted to remind you… you’re loved.”

“I know,” Jun Ho whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I love you both more than anything in the world.”

With that, the day carried on, but Jun Ho felt a little lighter, a little brighter, every time he glanced back at his family. And as they left, the baby’s tiny hands clutching his shirt like a precious token of the morning’s love, Jun Ho knew that no matter where he went or what challenges lay ahead, he would always carry this warmth inside him.

And for that, he was endlessly grateful.

[pyresol]

Since I’m currently into Squid Game and I have a rairpair too, here’s my contribution to the Ddakho/Salesjun/Salesho Circle. Now, I shall hide.

[angelseraphines]

: ̗̀➛ cho sang-woo x oc!roh seong-ah¡!

╰┈➤ [roh seong-ah, born anvara kulov, is a young woman who leaves russia for south korea, yearning for a fulfilling life and the chance to pursue higher education. during her time in seoul, she crosses paths with cho sang-woo, a refined and successful businessman, who serves as her guiding light in the foreign nation. as they spend more time together and develop an intimate connection, mutual affection blossoms, yet their lives are complicated by individual financial struggles. ignorant of one another’s melancholy and troubles concerning acquired debt, both make the desperate choice to join the squid games, and their fates become intertwined within the deadly competition.]

: ̗̀➛ park gyeong-seok x oc!albina ruslov¡!

╰┈➤ [albina ruslov, a young bride trapped in a loveless marriage to a cold and cynical russian oligarch, discovers her husband’s dark ties to the squid games and his malicious collusion with the enigmatic front man. her life unravels further when she loses those she holds most dear, leaving her heartbroken and consumed by a desire for vengeance. determined to infiltrate the games, she disguises herself as a guard, using her cunning and resourcefulness to maneuver through the precarious environment. although, albina quickly realizes she cannot achieve her goals alone. during the games, she saves the life of park gyeong-seok, a desperate player fighting for his ailing daughter. together, they form a fragile alliance, combining their strengths to uncover the truth behind the games and exact justice, even as danger threatens to consume them at every turn.]

: ̗̀➛ seong gi-hun x oc!han ye-rin¡!

╰┈➤ [han ye-rin, a bright and creative young woman with dreams of becoming a painter. her family was abandoned by her american father at a young age, she grew up with her korean mother, finding solace and expression through her art. her vibrant and optimistic personality contrasts sharply with the hardened, despairing seong gi-hun, whom she encounters under unexpected circumstances. despite his stoic demeanor and guarded presence, ye-rin is drawn to the layers of pain and resilience hidden behind his stoic exterior. with her gentle persistence and empathetic nature, she begins to chip away at the walls he’s built around himself, uncovering the humanity and vulnerability he tries so desperately to conceal. their connection becomes a delicate balance of hope and healing as ye-rin helps gi-hun rediscover a sense of purpose, even amidst the shadows of his troubled past.]

a/n: thank you to @lumillsie for the beautiful headers and layout as well as for helping me develop these characters and narratives! these are graphics i made for my original characters for squid games and their love interests! 🤍

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

════════════════════════════════════════════

Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

════════════════════════════════════════════

A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

════════════════════════════════════════════

You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

════════════════════════════════════════════

In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

════════════════════════════════════════════

Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[voxslays]

JUST LIKE CANDY — SQUID GAMES MEN

Summary: The squid games men with a sweet, kind, and slightly naive reader, who is just a total sweetheart throughout the games. Warnings: American!Reader mentioned in the salesman’s part.

HWANG IN-HO

❀ How did such a sweet, caring being such as yourself end up in a place like this? That was In-ho’s first thought when you ran up to him, inviting to sit with your group, which conveniently had Gi-hun already in it. You could be useful. You were so young. Your trusting and naive nature was going to get you hurt. He knew what the people in these games would do for money, so from that day forward he vowed to protect you.

❀ He cheered you on in six legged race, making sure his guards knew not to kill you just in case your team didn’t make it to the end for some reason. And in mingle, he made sure you were no more than an arms length from him at all times. He’s gotta keep you safe, doesn’t he? And in the end—during the rebellion—he refuses to let you join. In-ho can’t risk losing another person he cares about. It would destroy him. So he begs you to stay put, and you do.

❀ When he finally makes it back to his quarters and becomes the frontman again, he makes sure you’re safe. For the next three games, he wastes no time telling the guards that they should give you hints and clues on the next games. Once this is all over, you two can be together, as you should’ve been all along.

THE SALESMAN (GONG YOO)

❀ When the salesman sees you—a foreigner, likely American—sitting on a wooden bench in the park he liked to walk in during his ‘work’ hours, he couldn’t help but think of what an impeccable target you would be. A perfect contestant for the games. So, Gong-Yoo approached you, expecting the normal untrusting response. Maybe you’d be confused, speaking in English or poor Korean.

❀ But the recruiter was shocked when you waved at him politely, letting him sit beside you. Yet, the most shocking of all, your Korean was amazing for a foreigner. He didn’t even have time to offer you a card to the games before he was engaged in a polite conversation with you. Gong-Yoo didn’t even want to recruit you for the games anymore. Despite being a sadist, subjecting you to such pain and torment seemed wrong for him to do.

❀ Gong-Yoo finds you every day on the same bench, waiting for him. You two quickly become friends, and then something more. The Salesman finds himself excited for your company. So when he asks you to get dinner with him, he couldn’t be more pleased when you happily accept his offer. Another win for him.

HWANG JUN-HO

❀ When Jun-ho discovers an American officer has been transferred to his department, he finds himself slightly intrigued. When he finally meets you, he’s shocked. When he thought of an American, you were the farthest thing from it. You were a complete angel. Not like how the other detectives had described Americans as patriotic and cocky. No, you were different, and Jun-ho feels himself drawn to you.

❀ Jun-ho suggests you work on the case together. I mean, you’re new to the country, aren’t you? You might need some help navigating Seoul! What if you get lost? Jun-ho should be there to guide you for your first time. That, and he might have…maybe…wanted to get to know you better. The two of you find yourselves meeting up quite frequently. At the park, the local library, the station. Anywhere, really.

❀ When the two of you finally ‘crack the case,’ as you say back in the states, Jun-ho cant help but fawn over you like a teenage boy. The way your excitement shows through your gleaming eyes, or how you immediately go to give him a high five. Yeah, he knows you’re the one for him.

[insidekatmind]

Mingle- Hwang In-Ho

Wearning: manipulation

You are playing mingle, a game that seems harmless on the surface, but you know that nothing here is. The game was only seemingly simple: enter a room with a number of players by indicating, it was your turn to be with one person. You were about to choose someone, but before you could decide, you felt a strong grip on your arm. You whirled around and met the cold eyes of Hwang In-ho. Without giving you time to react, he dragged you into a room, closing the door behind him. You don't know why he chose you, but his behavior made you even more tense. Your breathing accelerated, the silence in the room heavy as a boulder. In-ho seemed calm, but his gaze left no room for doubt: something was about to happen. Before you could ask what he wanted, a noise behind you made you jump.

You turned around and saw another player, someone who had obviously tried to sneak in to save himself or perhaps to attack you. When you notice that there is another person in the room, the air becomes suffocating. He doesn’t even have time to speak. In a lightning-fast movement, In-ho lunges at him, grabbing him by the neck.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he muttered with icy coldness, as the other struggles desperately. You remain still, paralyzed with terror. In-ho moves faster than you can understand. In an instant, he grabs the player by the neck and pushes him against the wall. His movements are precise, ruthless, and in a matter of seconds, the other falls to the ground lifeless. You remain paralyzed, eyes wide in shock. Despite your efforts to look away, you can do nothing but watch as the man fades away under In-ho’s merciless grip.

When it is all over, the lifeless body of the other player collapses to the ground. In-ho turned to you, his breathing slightly quickened, but his face showed no sign of emotion. He took a step toward you, and your instinct was to step back, but there was no escape.“Calm down,” he said, his voice sounding gentler than expected. “It was necessary. He wouldn’t have spared you.”

You continued to tremble, unable to respond, your eyes still fixed on the other player’s body. In-ho moved closer, until he was only inches away from you. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, before leaning in to kiss you. It was sudden, disarming, and somehow it calmed the chaos inside you, if only for a moment.

In-ho was manipulating you to his liking, and you melted into the kiss. Your body pressed tight to his, the kiss deeper and more passionate than anything you’d ever experienced. In-ho was strong, dominating, but there was something else – a hint of vulnerability, a flicker of suppressed emotion that made your heart race. He was a complex puzzle, a man of contradictions, and this only made him all the more irresistible. There was a kind of power he held over you, one you couldn’t deny even as doubt tugged at the back of your mind.

As you kissed, In-ho's hands traveled over your body, his touch possessive yet gentle. It was almost as if he was mapping out every inch of you, as if he wanted to memorize every contour. He seemed to be waging a silent battle within himself.

He was enjoying the moment of how you were giving in. It had been easy to manipulate you as he pleased, you were a scared girl of only twenty, with problems with her father and alone. In-ho pulled away, his lips hovering centimetres from yours. His eyes were dark, intense, as he looked at you. He was searching for something, some sign, and you were uncertain as to what.

You bite your lip, looking at him in surprise and breathless. In-ho's gaze darkened as you bit your lip, clearly amused.

"You're a surprise," he murmured, his voice low and slightly hoarse. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, as if to soothe where you had bitten.

He continued to study you, his eyes roaming over your face, as if trying to decipher the secrets behind your gaze. Then he leaned in again, his breath tickling your ear. "You know, this is just a game," he whispered, his voice a sinful mix of warning and promise. "And I always win."

You still look at him in surprise from the kiss and you're still trying to come back to yourself. "What?"He smiled, an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His gaze was cool, calculating, but there was a hint of something more within it – a sense of satisfaction at how he had you off balance. In-ho stepped closer, closing the gap that was between you.

"You heard me," he confirmed. "I always win. It's a rule I've lived by for a long time."

His warm breath on you was nearly distracting enough to make you forget the tension in the air. His eyes were trained on yours, as if he was waiting to see your response. In-ho was a man of power, an individual who could manipulate situations to his advantage and right now, he was enjoying your confusion.

[darksisterrr]

❝𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎́𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐉𝐎 𝐋𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀❞

|Hwang Jun-ho|

_______________________________________

Pairing: 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧-𝐡𝐨 × 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐓/𝐍)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞/𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧, 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐨, 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧, 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥, 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 (𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐨), 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐚, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨́𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚, 𝐉𝐮𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐔

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐣𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞, 𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐬 (𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞 𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐨), 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨, 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳𝐚 𝐢́𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚 (𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖), 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨́𝐧 𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚.

_______________________________________

Hwang Jun-ho había visto muchas cosas durante las horasen aquel lugar infernal. Había sido testigo de atrocidades inimaginables, su moral tambaleándose con cada paso que daba entre las sombras de los juegos. Pero nada, absolutamente nada, lo había preparado para lo que sintió cuando la vio.

Allí estaba, entre los jugadores, caminando con un paso que intentaba parecer seguro, aunque él conocía demasiado bien ese leve temblor en su mandíbula. (T/N). Su (T/N).

Su corazón se desplomó primero, seguido de un golpe de pura rabia que lo recorrió como una tormenta. Su respiración se volvió más pesada mientras la veía entrar en la sala común después del desafío del panal, aún limpiándose los restos de azúcar de las manos. Ella estaba viva, pero ¿por cuánto tiempo más?

—¿Qué demonios haces aquí? —murmuró para sí mismo, su voz amortiguada tras la máscara negra.

Cada fibra de su ser quería arrancarse la máscara y sacarla de allí a rastras, pero no podía. No aquí, no ahora. Los ojos de las cámaras estaban en todas partes, y cualquier movimiento en falso pondría a ambos en peligro.

Sin embargo, no podía quedarse quieto. Ella estaba caminando en una cuerda floja sobre un abismo, y él no estaba dispuesto a perderla.

Con el corazón martillándole en el pecho, hizo algo que no debía hacer: se alejo de los triángulos y sin importarle nada se dirigió hasta (T/N).

El guardia triangulo lo miró con sospecha, pero finalmente no le tomo importancia. Jun-ho agradeció que el sistema de jerarquías y los rostros ocultos jugaran a su favor.

Cuando se acercó a ella en la sala común, casi pudo sentir su propio control desmoronarse.

—Jugadora 145. Sígame.

Ella levantó la vista, sus ojos encontrándose con la máscara. Por un momento, algo pasó por su rostro, una chispa de reconocimiento, pero lo escondió rápidamente. Se levantó sin decir nada, caminando detrás de él con pasos firmes.

Jun-ho la condujo por los interminables pasillos metálicos hasta un baño vacío. Cerró la puerta detrás de ellos con un golpe seco, el sonido resonando como un disparo en su mente.

Cuando se dio la vuelta y se quitó la máscara, su expresión estaba teñida de una furia que no podía contener más.

—¿Qué demonios haces aquí?

(T/N) dio un paso hacia atrás, sorprendida por el tono de su voz. No era común verlo perder el control, pero en ese momento parecía una olla a presión a punto de estallar.

—Jun-ho, puedo explicarlo...

—¡No quiero una explicación! —interrumpió, su voz cargada de desesperación. —¿Sabes lo que estás haciendo? ¿Te das cuenta de dónde estás?

Ella apretó los labios, su postura tensa pero desafiante.

—Lo sé perfectamente.

—¡No! —Jun-ho golpeó la pared con el puño, haciendo que ella se sobresaltara. —No lo sabes, (T/N). Este lugar no es un simple caso que puedes resolver. Aquí no hay redención, no hay justicia. Aquí solo hay muerte.

(T/N) lo miró con calma, aunque su respiración era un poco más rápida.

—Por eso estoy aquí. Porque alguien tiene que detenerlo.

Jun-ho soltó una risa amarga, incrédula.

—¿Y ese "alguien" tiene que ser tú? ¿No te importan las consecuencias? ¿Tu vida no vale nada?

—No digas eso. —Su voz era suave pero firme. —Sé cuidarme.

—¡No, no puedes! —Él dio un paso hacia ella, su rostro a centímetros del suyo. —Yo he visto lo que hacen. He visto cómo mueren. Y si te pasa algo aquí dentro... —Su voz se quebró un poco, pero la rabia seguía presente. —No podría soportarlo.

Ella lo miró a los ojos, su expresión relajándose un poco.

—Jun-ho... no planeo morir aquí.

—Eso no me consuela. —Él tomó su rostro entre sus manos, como si necesitara asegurarse de que estaba realmente allí, viva. —¿Por qué no me dijiste nada?

—Porque sabía que intentarías detenerme.

—¡Por supuesto que lo haría! —exclamó, su desesperación volviendo a surgir. —¿Sabes lo que siento al verte aquí, rodeada de esa gente, jugando con tu vida como si fuera un maldito espectáculo?

Ella puso sus manos sobre las suyas, obligándolo a mirarla.

—Jun-ho, voy a salir de aquí. Lo prometo.

Él cerró los ojos, respirando profundamente para intentar calmarse. Pero el miedo y la rabia seguían allí, latentes.

—Si algo sale mal, no podré salvarte.

—Entonces asegúrate de que no salga nada mal. —Sonrió, aunque sabía que él no estaba de humor para bromas.

Jun-ho soltó un suspiro pesado y se apartó, poniéndose la máscara nuevamente, pero luego se arrepintió quedandose estático frente a la puerta.

El aire en el pequeño baño estaba cargado de tensión. El silencio entre ambos era tan denso que casi podía cortarse con un cuchillo. Jun-ho miró a (T/N), su mente un torbellino de emociones: miedo, rabia, preocupación, y algo más profundo, algo que había estado enterrado bajo capas de profesionalismo y autocontrol durante demasiado tiempo.

(T/N) lo observaba con esos ojos llenos de determinación, esos que siempre lo habían impulsado a seguir adelante, incluso en los momentos más oscuros de su carrera. Pero ahora, esa misma mirada lo llenaba de angustia. Ella no entendía el peligro real. No podía permitir que fuera una más en la larga lista de muertos que este lugar acumulaba como trofeos.

—No entiendo cómo puedes ser tan irresponsable, —susurró Jun-ho, su voz quebrada por la mezcla de emociones. —Estás jugando con tu vida, (T/N).

—Estoy haciendo lo que debo hacer, Jun-ho, —respondió ella, su tono firme pero teñido de suavidad.

Él negó con la cabeza, dando un paso hacia atrás como si intentara poner distancia entre ellos. Pero sus propios pies lo traicionaron, y en lugar de alejarse, avanzó, atrapándola contra la fría pared de azulejos.

—No puedo dejarte aquí, —murmuró, su voz apenas un susurro.

(T/N) parpadeó, sorprendida por la cercanía repentina.

—Jun-ho, yo...

Él no la dejó terminar. Antes de que pudiera decir algo más, sus labios se encontraron en un beso desesperado, lleno de rabia contenida y una necesidad que ya no podía reprimir. Sus manos se aferraron a su rostro como si temiera que pudiera desaparecer en cualquier momento.

(T/N) quedó paralizada por un instante, pero pronto sus propios instintos tomaron el control. Sus manos se deslizaron por la cintura de Jun-ho, agarrándolo con fuerza, devolviendo el beso con la misma intensidad. Había algo feroz en la manera en que ambos se aferraban al otro, como si el tiempo se les escapara entre los dedos.

Jun-ho la presionó más contra la pared, sus dedos encontrando el camino hacia su cabello, enredándose en él mientras sus labios viajaban desde su boca hasta su mandíbula, bajando lentamente hacia su cuello. Cada beso era como una súplica silenciosa, como si intentara memorizar cada centímetro de ella, por si este era el último momento que compartían.

—No puedes hacerme esto, —murmuró contra su piel, su voz temblorosa. —No puedes venir aquí y esperar que me quede quieto mientras arriesgas tu vida.

(T/N) levantó una mano para acariciar su rostro, obligándolo a mirarla a los ojos.

—Estoy aquí porque confío en mí misma. Y también porque confío en ti, Jun-ho.

Sus palabras lo golpearon como un martillo. Había tanto en ellas: confianza, fe, amor... y un peligroso toque de despedida.

—No lo entiendes, —respondió, inclinando su frente contra la de ella. —No puedo perderte. No a ti.

Ella no tuvo tiempo de responder antes de que él la besara de nuevo, esta vez con una mezcla de desesperación y ternura. Sus manos exploraron su espalda, sus movimientos más lentos ahora, como si intentara grabar cada sensación en su memoria.

El espacio pequeño del baño, el brillo frío de los azulejos, las luces fluorescentes... todo se desvaneció. Lo único que existía eran ellos dos, aferrándose el uno al otro en medio de un caos que no podían controlar.

—Jun-ho... —murmuró ella contra sus labios, su respiración acelerada.

Él la miró, sus ojos oscuros brillando con una intensidad que rara vez dejaba salir.

—Prométeme que saldrás de aquí.

Ella lo miró fijamente, su expresión suave pero determinada.

—Lo prometo. Pero solo si tú también lo haces.

Él dejó escapar una risa baja, amarga, y la abrazó con fuerza, como si pudiera protegerla del mundo entero con solo sostenerla.

Finalmente, la realidad volvió a golpearlo. Se apartó lentamente, aunque sus manos aún se aferraban a sus brazos.

—Tengo que irme antes de que sospechen.

Ella asintió, aunque su expresión mostraba lo mucho que le costaba dejarlo ir.

—Ten cuidado, Jun-ho.

Él se colocó la máscara con movimientos rápidos, su rostro oculto de nuevo tras el símbolo de cuadrado. Pero antes de abrir la puerta, se detuvo.

—Recuerda lo que prometiste.

Y sin esperar una respuesta, salió del baño, dejando a (T/N) sola con el corazón latiéndole con fuerza y una determinación renovada. Ahora más que nunca, sabía que tenía que ganar. Por él. Por ellos.

[bekkarific]

Playing With Fire

Chapter Ten: Scorch

Chapter Masterlist

Pairings: Frontman/inho x Fem Oc

Ji Ah had no idea what these observations reports looked like she panicked as her heels clicked hurriedly across the marble floor. She had never been asked to fetch them before why now? Was he saving her? Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip at that and not for reasons she would like to admit.

Approaching the familiar site of the black steel doors let her pace slow, not in a rush to return to those people and their lecherous hands.

Entering the room she was met the quiet hallway she has come to know. Heading down past the several black doors toward the living area, with its large black screen.

She was struck with an unusual sight, one of the doors was open. Every time she had been here those doors have been shut, now one was open.

The open door stood like a dark invitation, daring her to cross the threshold. A thousand scenarios raced through her mind—each one worse than the last. What if this was a trap? Another test? She hesitated, her breath shallow, before stepping forward with a determination she didn’t quite feel. She slowly made her way toward the door, heart racing.

She felt vulnerable with no weapon or backup, taking a calming breath she slowly reached for the handle.

As she pulled it back she was met by the sight of a gun pointed squarely at her head, she froze for a beat taking in the sight of her would be attacker.

“Jun Ho” she breathed, taking in his determined face, not recognising her beneath the mask.

“Ji Ah” he exclaimed in relief at hearing her voice, immediately scooping her into a hug.

The warmth of his arms wrapped around her, so familiar yet almost forgotten, melted the icy fear that had clung to her since she'd arrived here. A sob caught in her throat, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe, the world outside forgotten. Both squeezed each other in a firm grip, a single thought shared between them ‘I thought I lost you’

Jun Ho pulled back but did not let her go, his eyes running over her partially masked face.

“Are you okay?” He asked seeing the tears in her eyes.

She nodded not feeling brave enough to say the words. Swallowing she smiled sadly unsure she would ever be able to give him the full truth of it.

“In Ho” she asked, the reason they where in this dreadful place “did you find him?” Looking it Jun Ho’s sad face.

“No” he said simply “but there is something I must tell you, In Ho - “

He was cut off mid sentence by the sound of footsteps, someone was approaching the door, they both froze for a moment before Ji Ah sprung into action.

“Go” she said pushing him back “you must hide” she added closing to door on his worried face.

Her mind raced. She had seconds—no, less than that—to come up with a plan. The reports caught her eye, pristine and orderly on the desk. Without thinking, she swept them to the floor and dropped to her knees, kicking one of her heels off, feigning a clumsy scramble at the click of the door and the heavy sound of footsteps neared.

The gleaming black leather of his shoes entered her field vision first, the polished leather gleaming in the over head lights. Her gaze traveled upward, over his long legs encased in perfectly tailored charcoal slacks, to the familiar lines of his suit jacket, fitted to his broad frame.

And then, the mask.

The Frontman’s cold, unreadable mask loomed above her, its dark, reflective surface concealing his expression. Yet Ji Ah felt the weight of his stare, piercing through her as though he could see every thought racing through her mind. She swallowed hard, willing herself to maintain the act, her hands fumbling with the papers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ji Ah stammered, her voice breathless with a carefully crafted mix of fear and fluster. She nodded toward her discarded shoe. “My heel slipped on the marble floor, and I came down with it.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. She dared to glance up, her eyes meeting the hollow eyeholes of his mask. He said nothing, only watching her.

Her pulse quickened. Was he doubting her story? Did he suspect her?

After what felt like an eternity, the Frontman crouched before her, his gloved hands moving with deliberate precision. Ji Ah’s breath caught in her throat as he reached for her shoe, lifting it from where it lay.

“You should be more careful,” he said, his voice low and measured, the words carrying an edge she couldn’t quite decipher.

She couldn’t respond, her throat too dry, her heart thundering. She watched as he turned the shoe over in his hands, inspecting it as though it were a crucial piece in one of his games.

Then, to her surprise, he extended his hand, palm open, wordlessly gesturing for her foot.

Ji Ah hesitated, her mind racing. There was no graceful way out of this. Slowly, she stood and lifted her foot, placing it lightly against his palm. His grip was firm, steady, as he guided the shoe back onto her foot with ease.

The moment his gloved hand touched against her ankle, her skin seemed to burn. She felt a shiver run up her spine, the contact both unsettling and disarmingly gentle.

Ji Ah’s breath hitched as his fingers moved upward and brushed against her calf, lingering for a fraction too long to be entirely professional. Her gaze snapped to his mask, searching for any sign of his intentions, but the dark surface revealed nothing.

Her skin prickled beneath the weight of his touch, her instincts screaming to pull away even as something kept her rooted.

“Better?” he asked, his voice smooth and even, as though this act of intimacy were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yes,” Ji Ah managed to whisper, though her throat felt tight. “Thank you.”

He rose slowly, his towering presence casting a shadow over her. The papers in her hands felt flimsy, inconsequential compared to the intensity radiating from him.

Then a chime came over his radio, breaking the spell.

The frontman turned away speaking quietly into his radio, shoulders tense. Ji Ah took the opportunity to step backwards her hands braced against the small drinks table, pretending to sort the papers whilst calming the beat of her heart. It wasn’t fear alone that made her pulse race—it was something darker, something she refused to name.

“I must attend to business” the frontman stated simply, like the charged moment never happened. “I will escort you back to the VIP lounge” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Ji ah hesitated, her gaze briefly flicking the door that housed Jun Ho. She couldn’t let her gaze linger there—not even for a second. Any slip could doom them both. Instead, she tightened her grip on the papers, holding them like a shield against his scrutiny.

She tried to think of an excuse but none came. At least if the Frontman came with her Jun Ho would be free to escape.

Clearing her throat, she simply replied “Of course sir” scooping up the rest of the papers from the desk, trying to seem surer than the felt.

She jumped slightly when she felt his hand take her elbow, turning to look at him in an accusing manner.

“Wouldn’t want you to have another accident” was all he offered in response, smooth as silk but heavy with implication. His grip tightening slightly as he lead her away.

Away from Jun Ho.

It took all that was in her not to look back.

——————————————

The night seemed to drag on since Ji Ah returned to the opulent VIP lounge, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the murmur of indulgent laughter. The guests, draped in luxury, reveled in their evening's entertainment, their eyes gleaming with a predatory delight that made her skin crawl.

She performed her duties with practiced grace, refilling glasses and offering trays of delicacies, all the while her mind a tempest of conflicting thoughts. The Frontman's absence since their charged encounter left her both relieved and disquieted. His touch, his inscrutable gaze and the lingering heat of his hand against her skin, haunted her more than she cared to admit.

Her thoughts shifted to Jun Ho, hidden away, his safety precarious. The fear of his discovery tightened her chest, each passing moment amplifying the dread that he might be caught, punished, or worse. She had to find a way to protect him, but under the ever-watchful eyes of the VIPs and the omnipresent surveillance, any misstep could be fatal.

A burst of raucous laughter jolted her from her reverie. One of the VIPs, a portly man with a flushed face, beckoned her over, his eyes roaming over her with unabashed lechery. Suppressing a shudder, Ji Ah forced a polite smile and approached, the mask of servitude firmly in place.

As she leaned in to pour his drink, his hand brushed against her thigh. Her stomach churned, but she maintained her composure, retreating smoothly once the glass was filled. The man's attention was fleeting, already shifting back to his companions and their sordid tales.

Ji Ah's mind wandered back to the Frontman. Despite his absence, his presence loomed large, an enigmatic force that both threatened and intrigued her. She couldn't afford distractions, not with so much at stake, yet the memory of his touch, the mystery of his intentions, lingered like a phantom, refusing to be exorcised.

She moved through the room, a silent observer to the decadence around her, her thoughts a labyrinth of fear, desire, and determination. The games were far from over, and the most dangerous moves were yet to be played.

In the midst of the revelry, Ji Ah resolved to stay vigilant, to protect Jun Ho, and to uncover the truth behind the Frontman's actions. But as the night wore on, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was a pawn in a game far more complex than she had ever imagined.

And the Frontman, whether ally or adversary, held the key to her next move.

As the evening progressed, the VIPs' indulgences grew more extravagant, their demands more insistent. Ji Ah's role as their attendant became increasingly taxing, each forced smile and compliant gesture chipping away at her resolve. Yet, amidst the clamor and excess, her mind remained sharply focused on her dual concerns: Jun Ho's safety and the enigma of the Frontman's intentions.

She couldn't afford to falter now. Every interaction, every movement had to be carefully measured, her true thoughts and fears concealed beneath a veneer of servitude. The stakes were too high, the consequences of any misstep too dire.

She was determined to navigate this treacherous landscape, to protect those she cared about, and to unravel the mysteries that bound her to this place. No matter the cost.

And in the shadows of her mind, the Frontman's presence lingered, a constant reminder of the complexities and dangers that lay ahead.

But Ji Ah was resolute. She would not be a mere pawn. She would find a way to turn the game to her advantage, no matter how deep she had to delve into the darkness.

[the-devils-widow]

Hwang In-ho / Front Man x Female OC

Summary: As an exchange student in Seoul, Emma’s focus is far from love—particularly when it comes to a mysterious, wealthy man who seems to be keeping secrets.

The fic was missing a cover, so I put something together.

Read Dark Signs here. 🖤