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bruhstories · 15 days ago

Text

Bet V

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.4 here

mandatory mdni. you were not tagged in this because you are not over 18.

summary: in his attempt to break you, in-ho breaks himself pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, masturbation, voyeurism, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, veeeery slow burn, reader’s dad is dead w/c: 2k

a/n: this is my half-assed attempt at writing a game lol. if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can’t find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

Neolttwigi had been another success. The seesaw game eliminated 91 people, and with 97 remaining players, In-ho proceeded with tuho. He paid close attention to the masked soldiers who directed the survivors to the same place where they had previously played Red Light, Green Light, only the floor was divided by a bright blue line in the middle. The ceiling was open, letting players experience natural light for a second time in a row.

The game was awfully simple — throwing arrows into the neck of a jar. In-ho remembered reading about that game in school, how it was played by royal families and the upper class before becoming a game for everyone, and the jar had a narrow neck, making it easy to miss the mark. He had rarely played it as a child, preferring juldarigi or squid, games he taught his younger brother.

It became a habit for him to check the cameras in his penthouse whenever you were there. It brought him a strange peace of mind knowing that Eunjoo was safe in your hands, but he couldn't, for the life of him, stop looking at the selfie you sent the day before. In-ho knew that walking into a lamppost was bullshit, but he didn't want to pressure you into telling him the truth. He needed you to trust him, to tell him willingly.

Still, he examined the picture — your cheek in particular — and concluded that you lied to him. In-ho took it as a triumph. He didn't win the bet just yet, there was still time for you to mess up, but the fact that you chose to not tell the truth only solidified his belief that you were the same as everyone else. In four days he would return to Seoul and win. The prize? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps just the satisfaction that he was above you.

Players entered the field, and the voice in the speaker instructed them to split into teams of two in less than thirty minutes, which was unfair to player 002, since there was an odd number of people. 002 was taken away by a guard, and the remaining 96 players grouped into pairs. While the objective was indeed simple — throw the arrows in the jar — it came with a twist. It always did. Each player was given four arrows, but one of them was blindfolded and threw the arrows while their teammate picked the jar up and tried to catch the arrow in it. Once all four arrows were thrown, the teammates switched places. If at least six out of eight arrows hit the mark, both players passed, but if one player threw four arrows and the other only two, they both died.

The game took out fewer people than In-ho had hoped — 19 to be precise. Player 002 was alive and well, and the remaining 77 survivors returned to their chamber, where more and more beds had been removed, exposing the remaining three games on the walls — Hide and Seek, Yutnori and Ssireum. He remembered his time as a player, how he was the only one who paid attention to his surroundings and anticipated the following games. In-ho used all of his skills and knowledge as a detective and emerged as the sole survivor and winner. Did it bring his wife back? No, but it did make him feel so good when proved he earned his right to live.

Players were receiving less and less food, and from the comfort and safety of the control room, In-ho watched them slowly lose all traces of their humanity. He wondered how you would've performed in the games. Participants would have abused your kindness, and your good intentions would've gotten you killed. To make it worse, he was certain you would've sacrificed yourself to save someone else, someone you deemed worthy of winning. But in his eyes, only you deserved to live.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and In-ho took it out to read the text from you. He knew it had to be you. Who else would text him at that time?

Hellooo, I took a look in the fridge and noticed the eggs and milk will go bad before you come back. I was wondering if I could give it to someone who needs it.

Damn it, you did it again. In-ho couldn't be sure that you actually gave the food to someone else — he had to take your word for it for now.

Of course. May I ask who you're giving it to?

Remember the family I told you about? The one I teach Korean to? The wife is pregnant and can't work. I think she's due to give birth soon, actually, and they could use all the help. Besides, it would be a shame to throw away perfectly good food :)

Don't you want it, miss? When we first met, you told me you didn't have a good financial situation.

Oh, no, no. I'll be fine. They need it more.

Very well, please give it to them.

Ah, I also remembered you left some money on your nightstand. With all due respect, Mr. Hwang, that's very irresponsible. Anyone could take it.

Were you lecturing him? Him? Cute. In-ho even chuckled at your reprimand, finding it adorably amusing. If only you knew the things he did, the people he killed. How would you react? That question was beginning to take over his mind like a maggot wriggling inside of his brain. Would you be disgusted? Would you go to the police? Would you agree with his ways of cleaning the world of its impurities? It was no different than how you cleaned his penthouse — you both got rid of trash.

You're right, miss. There is a safe hidden in my wardrobe. Please put the money there. The code is 1321.

Surely you would crack at the sight of so much money and try to take some. No one sane would miss such an opportunity. But then again, maybe you weren't sane. Maybe you just needed a little push, a little encouragement. In-ho poured himself a glass of whisky and thought about the wound on your cheek, and the night you were crying on his kitchen floor. Someone had hurt you, and he needed to find out who so he could exploit that. And then, you would break.

He was, however, slightly conflicted, because he didn’t want to ruin you. In-ho merely wanted to make you see things eye to eye. Just like him, life had been unfair to you. And just like him, you needed to survive. Kindness wouldn't take you very far — you had to witness the cruelty of the world somehow, and the only possible way to do that was to play the game and survive it, something In-ho knew you would never do due to your values and morals. And he couldn't wait one more year to push you past your limits. He needed to think of something else, and he needed to do it fast — time was ticking and you were a project he refused to let slip through his fingers.

In-ho checked the cameras at the time you normally arrived at the penthouse, patiently waiting for you. He was pleased to see that you were in a better mood, cheerfully greeting Eunjoo as you went about with your tasks, but something was different. You appeared to be texting someone, and he never received any notifications on his phone, yet you were quite busy chatting back and forth. His stomach churned, an amalgamation of feelings bubbling and boiling in his core. Anxiety? Anger? Jealousy?

Jealousy.

You always sent him a text upon your arrival. You always let him know that you were there, so who occupied your mind if not him? The sudden lack of the very little control he had over you made him trip in his room and lose balance, and he forcefully ripped the mask off and tossed it on the floor.

In-ho was losing the bet he made with himself, and not in the way he had imagined.

It wasn't him who lived in your mind, but you who invaded his, and it infuriated him, because after his wife died, he refused to get attached, refused to fall in love. Luckily for him, it wasn't love that he felt for you, but an unhealthy obsession to watch you, to know your every move, to find out who hurt you and make you hurt them back.

You performed your tasks with utmost perfection, and placed the money in his safe while ignoring the riches inside it, but you were distracted, constantly looking at your phone and half-smiling whenever it lit up. In-ho couldn't have that.

How's Eunjoo?

Since you were so busy talking to someone, he expected you to frown at his text, to scoff and ignore it. But you did worse. You stopped folding his clothes and sat on the edge of his bed, beaming at the message on the screen.

She's alright! We had dinner and a cuddle, and now she's playing next to me. I'll send you a picture!

In-ho watched you struggle to take a photo of the cat — each time you took out your phone, Eunjoo stopped playing, so you swapped to the front camera, trying to sneak a picture. You even smoothed your hair and made yourself look presentable, and he found it quite adorable that you tried to look presentable for him.

I'm sorry you have to see my face, but she wouldn't sit still for a photo!

You were stunning. It was all In-ho could think about when he opened the photo. Your bright eyes were like a drug to him, instantly hooking him, forcing him to regain a shred of humanity.

Don't apologise, miss. You're beautiful.

There it was, the crack he so desperately sought for. You were practically hyperventilating in his bedroom, struggling to breathe, constantly rereading the words on your phone. And then he heard you talk to Eunjoo, heard you question your own sanity. But no, In-ho didn't like you. He was simply interested in breaking you, oblivious to how you were breaking him.

"Damn it. I promised Donghyun I'd go for a coffee after work tomorrow. I'm so confused now." Your distorted voice crackled through his speaker, and In-ho clenched his jaw, barely stopping himself from breaking his phone.

Who the fuck was Donghyun? And more importantly, why did he care?

He didn't care, or at least that was what he told himself for the past few days. He didn't care. He didn't give a shit about you. He didn't-

The familiar words of Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon stopped him dead in his tracks. In-ho turned the volume up, still in disbelief that you knew the song, that you sung it in his bedroom like no one was watching you. It was impossible how similar you were to him, to how he was before life took a turn. But a song and a kind heart weren't enough to change him. It was far too late for that. The only possible outcome was for you to become like him, and he wouldn't accept anything else.

For the first time, In-ho didn't offer you privacy when you stepped into his bathroom. For the first time, he watched as you peeled off each layer of clothing, and for the first time, he saw every scar and scratch, every burn and bruise on your body, new and old, and he understood. You had already faced the realities of this cruel world, and you chose not to become vengeful. Your father died, your uncle abused you, and yet, you shined.

The unforeseen urge to protect you seeped through his veins, but not before you got your revenge. You deserved to get revenge more than anyone in the world. And if you didn't want that, he'd make you want it one way or another.

"Fuck." In-ho whispered when his cock twitched in his trousers at the sight of your bare body. So vulnerable. So weak. So perfect.

He sat down, phone in one hand and his eyes only on you. It was pure instinct when he fisted his cock, pure instinct when your name spilled from his lips, pure instinct when he imagined you under him, wriggling and writhing, pure instinct when he came on his fingers, disgusted with himself.

Pure instinct. Nothing more.

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