You Belong To Me
Series!
Chapter Ten: The Blindfold
Pairing: Dark! Inho(Frontman) x Fem!Reader (y/n)
Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)
Summary: Y/n begins to understand that winning the game didn’t set her free — it trapped her in something far more twisted. Now caged inside his private world, she’s forced to play by his rules. When a black silk blindfold appears, she realizes he’s not ready to show his face… but he has no problem making her feel every inch of his control. But even as her body betrays her, Y/n makes a silent vow: she will not give in. Not yet.
Warnings: Power imbalance. Obsessive behavior. Psychological manipulation. Forced confinement. Blindfolding. Light suggestive content. Non-consensual overtones. Trauma response.
Author's Note: I love the way you guys are showing love to this series. TYSM y'all. Lemme know if you guys are enjoying the pace of the story or need a bit fast.
Words Count: 2082
Tag list: Want to get tagged in this series of other LBH fics? Lemme know below.
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Y/n didn’t sleep.
Not really.
She lay in the bed — still, eyes wide open, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. The silk sheets were soft, expensive, too warm against her skin, and they smelled like him.
Like quiet danger.
She hated it.
She hated how her body remembered the way his breath had ghosted over her neck. How his fingers had brushed her jaw like a promise. She hated that she could still feel him… even when he wasn’t there.
The door never opened again that night.
But the cameras were still there.
Watching.
---
By morning, Y/n hadn’t moved much.
She was still curled in one corner of the massive bed, arms wrapped around her knees, wearing the same clothes he made her change into — soft black cotton and silk, no bra, no sense of modesty.
When the door finally clicked open, her entire body tensed.
Bootsteps. Calm. Slow.
Then the voice:
“You didn’t sleep,” In-ho said, more observation than question.
Y/n didn’t look up. “What do you care?”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just crossed the room until he stood beside the bed.
Then, softly:
“I care about everything that concerns you.”
She finally looked at him.
Still masked. Still calm. Still unreadable.
He extended his gloved hand. “Get up. You’ll come with me this morning.”
Y/n stared at his hand like it was poison. “Where?”
“I don’t answer to you,” he said simply. “You’ll see.”
Her jaw clenched, but she slid out of bed — barefoot, sore, exhausted, and angry.
He didn’t touch her.
Just led the way.
---
The hallway was different this time.
Instead of the elegant, mansion-like decor of last night, he led her down a colder corridor — deeper into the suite, toward a hidden part of his private quarters.
They stopped at a steel-reinforced door. He placed his palm on a scanner. The door hissed, then opened.
The room beyond was clinical.
White walls. No windows. A single metal chair. A two-way mirror. Surveillance equipment lining the far wall.
It looked like an interrogation room.
Y/n froze in the doorway. “What is this?”
“A reminder,” he said simply, stepping in behind her. “Of where you are. Of what I saved you from. And what I still protect you from.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she hissed, spinning toward him. “I won the fucking game—”
He was on her in one stride.
His hand slammed the door shut behind her with a loud bang, and the sound made her flinch.
He didn’t touch her — not yet.
But his body was so close she could feel the warmth radiating through the mask. His voice was velvet and steel:
“You wouldn’t have made it without me. You know that. Deep down, you know.”
Y/n’s fists clenched at her sides, shaking. “You’re insane.”
“No,” he murmured, voice lowering to something dark and almost reverent. “I’m yours. And you’ve always been mine.”
Y/n barely had time to react before In-ho grabbed her wrist.
Not harshly — not enough to bruise — but firm. Cold leather against bare skin.
The same hand Ha-joon had held.
He lifted it slowly, tilting his head, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her knuckles.
Instead, he stared at it in silence. Then… tighter. His grip turned sharp — enough to make her flinch.
“You let him touch you,” he said softly, the tone almost bitter. “You let him comfort you. Like you were his.”
“What the hell are you doing?” she tried to yank away, but he didn’t let go.
Instead, he dragged her to the metal chair in the center of the cold, white room.
“Sit.”
She didn’t.
So he pushed her down.
Not violently. Just… easily. The kind of strength that didn’t need to raise its voice.
Y/n gritted her teeth, breathing hard.
In-ho turned to the panel beside the mirror, tapped a few buttons… and the wall lit up with footage.
Footage of her.
Flickering clips from every angle. The games. The dorm. The bathroom. Her tears. Her fear. Her silence. And then—
There it was.
Player 315.
Hanging from the ceiling.
Dead.
His body swinging.
Y/n’s face went white.
She tried to look away — but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look.
“You remember what he said to you?” he whispered. “That night? Right before he tried to put his filthy hands on you and brushed his shoulder against yours purposefully?”
“Stop—”
“No,” he hissed. “You’ll watch.”
The footage switched again — to the dormitory massacre.
To her crying in the bathroom. To the exact second she was locked in. Saved.
By him.
The next clip showed Ha-joon.
Smiling at her.
Offering his food.
Touching her hand.
Sitting by her bed.
“You trusted him too fast,” In-ho said quietly. “He was sweet, wasn’t he? Soft. The perfect little friend.”
The footage cut to black.
Y/n was shaking now, her heart pounding in her ears.
“You killed them…” she whispered, horrified. “You killed them because they got close to me.”
A pause.
And then his masked head tilted.
“I warned them.”
She tried to stand, but he stepped in front of her.
Too close.
Trapping her between the chair and his body.
His fingers ghosted over her wrist again, then slid to her inner elbow, up her arm — slow, barely touching — and her breath caught.
“I kept you alive, Y/n. While you were sleeping, crying, breaking… I was the one making sure your name wasn’t carved into a coffin.”
He leaned in until the cool metal of his mask brushed her cheek.
“And this is how you repay me?” he whispered. “By crying over corpses?”
“You’re sick.”
He didn’t flinch.
Instead, he laughed — low and dark and cruel. “No. I’m yours.”
And then his mouth moved to her ear again, his voice dropping to that dangerous, toe-curling whisper:
“Every man you speak to… every eye that dares to touch you… they’ll all vanish. One by one. Until you learn what you are.”
His hand slid around her waist — just the pressure of his palm over her dress, nothing more. “Mine.”
Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.
Calm again.
Composed.
Like he hadn’t just burned her world to ash in thirty seconds flat.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning toward the door. “You’ll have lunch in my suite.”
She didn’t move.
So he looked back at her, voice dark with command.
“Now.”
---
The sky outside had gone black. Somewhere deep in the private suite, a vintage clock ticked softly — the only sound in the stillness.
Y/n had changed.
The clothing was already laid out for her — black silk shorts and a matching camisole. Delicate, barely there. Like something a mistress would wear, not a prisoner.
She hated how the fabric felt on her skin. Hated how expensive it was. Soft like temptation. Whispering things she didn’t want to feel.
She paced the bedroom slowly, heart still racing from the surveillance room earlier. The images of Player 315, of Ha-joon, of his voice… they echoed in her skull like ghosts that wouldn’t die.
Just then — the door clicked.
He entered.
Still masked. Still dressed head-to-toe in black. His presence swallowed the room.
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at her.
Then
“Sit,” he said softly, motioning to the edge of the bed.
Reluctantly, she obeyed. Not because she trusted him — but because it was easier than fighting again. She was still burning from earlier.
In silence, he walked across the room to the corner table and picked up a small black box. He brought it over and set it beside her.
“Open it.”
Y/n frowned, fingers hesitating over the lid. But she opened it anyway.
Inside… was a folded piece of pure black silk.
A blindfold.
Her heart slammed.
She stood up instantly, panic crawling up her throat. “No. No, I’m not— I’m not doing anything with you.”
He didn’t react to her fear. Just stepped forward, slow and calm — like a predator who had no need to rush.
“You won’t be touched,” he said gently. “Not unless you want to be.”
But then he reached out and took the blindfold from her trembling hands.
“W-What are you doing—”
He stepped behind her.
She felt the silk slide across her forehead, down over her eyes. Her breath caught.
“I said I wouldn’t touch you,” he whispered at her ear. “But I never said you could see me.”
She froze as his fingers tied the silk at the back of her head — firm but careful. And then… silence.
Y/n felt him move. The shift in the air. The soft rustle as he removed the mask.
Then— a whisper of warmth near her skin.
His lips.
They didn’t press — just brushed.
Along her collarbone. Her shoulder. Up the side of her throat.
Feather-light.
Like a secret.
She shivered violently, her fists clenching at her sides, but she didn’t move. Didn’t scream. Didn’t understand why she wasn’t pulling away.
Then just as suddenly—
It stopped.
She heard movement again. The sound of fabric. The soft click of a mask being set back into place.
And then…
Footsteps.
He stepped away.
No goodbye. No command.
Just the door creaking open.
But before he left, he turned his head back toward her, voice low and echoing behind the mask
“When I want you to see me… you will.”
And then the door closed.
Y/n stood there, blindfolded and trembling. Her legs felt like water. Her skin — alive, burning, aching.
Slowly, she reached up and pulled the silk away.
The room was empty.
But the fire under her skin? That remained.
And it terrified her.
---
Y/n sat still long after the door closed.
The silk blindfold hung loosely in her hands now — no longer on her face, but still heavy with the memory of his breath against her skin.
She didn’t cry this time.
She didn’t scream.
Instead… she sat on the bed, curled her knees to her chest, and stared at the floor.
Her mind spun in too many directions to land on just one.
Fear.
Confusion.
But most of all — anger.
At him.
At herself.
At the way her body had betrayed her when his lips grazed her skin — that sharp rush of heat, the goosebumps that rose without permission.
She hated it.
She hated him.
Her jaw clenched as she tossed the blindfold across the room, the silk sliding uselessly to the floor. She would not give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him see her bend. No matter how dark, how twisted this place became — she’d find a way out.
And until then?
She’d play smart. Cold. Distant.
Let him believe she was cracking… and then blindside him.
Whatever this was — obsession, control, some sick fantasy he built around her — she’d survive it.
On her own terms.
Y/n looked around the suite again — really looked this time. Every corner. Every detail.
A vent near the ceiling.
A camera in the corner.
A door without a lock on her side.
And in her chest, a new feeling began to grow.
Not fear.
Not grief.
But strategy.
---
Down the hallway, behind a thick, sliding steel door, In-ho stood in his private room — the one only he had access to, the one from where he watches the games.
The mask was removed on.
The gloves, too.
But inside, his skin still hummed where she’d been close.
He poured himself a drink with steady hands, though the hunger in his chest was anything but calm.
She’d reacted.
He saw it.
The way her body froze. The breath that hitched. The way she didn’t pull away.
He downed the whiskey in one shot and stared at the dim reflection of himself in the blank screen. The city lights far beyond the hidden walls meant nothing to him now.
Only she did.
“She’ll adjust,” he muttered to himself, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk beneath the mask. “They always do.”
But she wasn’t them.
She was her.
The girl who’d fought tooth and nail through hell.
The girl who still had that fire in her eyes.
The girl who didn’t know that every camera in this place had already memorized her face. Every step. Every breath.
She could try to play games.
She could plan her escape.
But she belonged to him.
And sooner or later… she’d realize there was no way out.
Just deeper in.
Chapter 11
