#dark inho

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Dark!Inho x Birthday Girl Reader

Summary: Y/N is a player secretly taken into Inho's private chamber after he becomes dangerously obsessed with her. He claims he fell for her the moment he saw her and refuses to let her return to the games. On her birthday, he tries to celebrate with cake and balloons—only for her to demand he free her.

Warnings: Dark themes / morally grey behavior. Obsessive & possessive behavior.Pinning. Implied sexual content (non-graphic) Unhinged character behavior.Birthday theme in a dark context.

Author's Note: Happy Birthday, anon! I'm sorry if I'm late, I was just confused between different ideas 😭 Hope you'll like this one, I wrote it in a rush.

Word Count: 1,960

Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp @lazybum0 @reneejkn @solarpotato @masked-protocol @lindsay00000

The private chamber was colder than the games outside — quiet, almost sacred, lit only by a single lamp that painted the walls in a warm, eerie glow.

Y/N had learned the pattern.

Nightfall → footsteps → the steel door unlocking → him.

Tonight was different.

When she heard the metallic shift of the lock, she crossed her arms tight across her chest, bracing herself.

The door opened.

Inho stepped inside — mask on, posture unreadable, but his hands held something she had never expected to see behind the walls of death.

A small cake.

Candles.

Several balloons tied with ribbon.

He set them down carefully on the table, the mask laying beside it.

“Happy birthday” he said quietly.

Her throat tightened.

It was twisted. It was… almost sweet.

And it terrified her.

“In-ho” she whispered, stepping back. “You have to stop this. Let me go. Please.”

He froze.

Not a physical freeze — something worse.

Stillness.

Silent, lethal stillness.

He turned his head toward her.

The single sharp of his jaw tilted, like a predator locking onto the sound of its prey.

“You want to leave?” he repeated, voice low.

“Yes” she snapped. “I don’t belong here. You can’t just keep me.”

The air changed.

It thickened. Pressed.

Like gravity buckling under something monstrous being pulled to the surface.

He took one step toward her.

Then another.

Y/N backed up until her spine hit the wall.

His voice dropped — soft, calm, terrifyingly calm.

“I bought you here because I saw you” he murmured.

“You moved differently than the others. You fought. You survived. And I—”

He lifted a gloved hand, touching her jaw with deliberate slowness.

“—wanted you.”

She swallowed hard, breath stuttering. “Inho… let me go.”

That was the moment.

The snap.

His hand tightened instantly on her jaw, not enough to hurt — enough to force her eyes up to him.

“No.”

The word wasn’t loud.

It was quiet — and that was the worst part.

“Do you know,” he whispered, “what it did to me… seeing you beg to leave? On your birthday?”

She gasped as he pressed closer, caging her in with his body, one hand gripping her wrist and pinning it hard beside her head.

“You should be thanking me” he hissed softly.

“Not fighting me. Not trying to run. Not talking about freedom like it’s something you still have.”

She struggled — and he slammed her other wrist above her head too, catching both with one hand.

“Stop.” she breathed. “Just stop—”

“No” he murmured, eyes burning.

“You want to fight? On your birthday?”

His breath grazed her neck.

“I will break every last piece of that stubbornness tonight.”

Her chest rose sharply. “You can’t do this—”

“Oh, I can.” His voice dropped to a sinful, dangerous whisper.

“And I will.”

He lowered his head, mouth brushing her throat, breath burning against her skin.

“You forgot who you’re dealing with,” he whispered.

“You forgot who owns this place. Who owns everything here.”

His free hand slid slowly down her side, deliberate, claiming, his touch leaving heat under her skin.

“And who owns you.”

She stiffened, breath caught. “I don’t belong to you—”

He slammed her wrists harder against the wall, making her gasp.

“You do.” he growled.

“And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

His breath brushed her cheek as he leaned closer.

“Look at me.”

She did — trembling — anger and fear and something else tangled in her chest.

That was when his tone changed.

The snap wasn’t just rage.

It was obsession.

“You think I bought a cake,” he whispered, “and balloons…”

His fingers slid to her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to stare into his dark eyes.

“…for someone I’d ever let go?”

Her heartbeat hammered. “Inho—”

“No.” His voice broke, cracked with something raw and uncontrolled.

“You don’t understand what you do to me.”

He stepped closer until his chest was flush to hers, pinning her fully to the wall.

“I can’t stand the thought of you wanting anyone else. I can’t stand the idea of anyone else touching you. I can’t stand the idea of you walking out of this room and disappearing.”

His breath trembled — the first sign he was losing control.

“So you’re staying here,” he murmured, “with me. Tonight. Tomorrow. As long as I decide.”

She shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate. “For you.”

He freed her wrists — only to grab her by the waist and lift her off her feet, carrying her toward the table where the cake and candles sat.

“Now, I'll give you a gift,” he said softly.

“And you'll take it.”

He set her on the edge of the table, crowding between her legs, his hands gripping her hips with the kind of strength that left no room for argument.

“You cry so pretty when you’re scared,” he murmured. “And when you want me.”

Her breath hitched.

He leaned forward until his forehead touched her's.

“You want to leave?” His voice was a quiet, lethal whisper. “Then convince me.”

“I shouldn’t have to—”

His hand slid into her hair, gripping, pulling her head back so he could look directly into her eyes.

“You’re not leaving,” he murmured.

“Not tonight. Not when it’s your birthday.”

His thumb stroked her lower lip.

“Not when I haven’t even given you your real gift yet.”

She trembled. “Inho…”

“Say it.” He tilted her chin. “Say what you’re thinking.”

“I… don’t know.”

“You do.” He lowered his mouth to her cheek, voice thick with hunger. “You always do.”

He pressed closer. “You want me.”

Her breath caught.

“You want me,” he repeated, darker, rougher, “even when you’re scared. Even when you fight. Even now.”

Her silence was his answer.

His voice dropped to a sinful whisper.

“I should punish you for talking about leaving.” Her pulse spiked.

“Or…” his hand stroked her thigh slowly,

“…I can give you a birthday you’ll never forget.”

She shivered.

His mouth angled toward her ear.

“You won’t walk tomorrow,” he murmured.

“A pretty little reminder that you belong to me.”

Her breath broke.

“And if you’re good,” he added softly,

“I’ll even let you blow out the candles after.”

---

The candles flickered behind him as In-ho pushed her gently, firmly, back onto the table — not rough enough to hurt, but with the certainty of someone who had already made his decision about her.

“Lie back” he said, voice dipped in something sinful.

Y/N did, breath shaking.

His gloved hands slid along her thighs with unhurried possession, as if memorizing every inch of her, as if confirming she was real — here — his.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I’m not—”

He laughed, low and dark. “You are.”

His fingers traced her waist, her stomach, her ribs.

“All this fight, all this attitude… but look at you now.”

His body came over hers.

Strong. Controlled.

A wall of heat pinning her to the cold metal table.

“You want to be free,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek.

“But your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

Her breath caught as his hands tightened on her hips, drawing a gasp from her lips — not from pain, but from the sudden, overwhelming closeness.

He stilled.

That single sound snapped whatever restraint was left in him.

His breath broke, harsh and hungry.

“I’m losing my mind over you,” he whispered, voice cracking with the confession.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His forehead pressed to hers.

“And now,” he whispered,

“I’m going to ruin you properly.”

When he finally pushes into you, he does it slow, letting you feel every inch, watching your expression with darkened eyes.

“Look at me” he breathes, cupping your cheek as he rolls his hips deeper. “I want to see every little reaction you try to hide.”

He praises you in a low, ruined voice —

“How perfect you are…”

“How good you take me…”

“How I can’t let anyone else have you…”

— words too sweet for the way he’s thrusting into you, steady and possessive.

“Good,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “That’s exactly how I want you.”

The room seemed to disappear.

The balloons.

The steel walls.

The cold.

Everything faded as he moved with a control that was almost worship, almost punishment — a rhythm that made her thighs shake around him.

His hands pinned her wrists again when she grabbed at him. His breath stuttered when she said his name.

The table creaked beneath them, soft metallic echoes swallowed by his low, ragged murmurs against her throat.

“You’re mine.”

A kiss to her neck.

“And you’re staying.”

Another hot whisper.

“Say it.”

“I—”

He pressed harder, voice breaking into a growl.

“Say. It.”

“I’m yours.”

His whole body shuddered — a tremor of relief, madness, victory.

“That’s my girl.”

The candles trembled.

Her breath hitched.

And In-ho lost himself in her, controlled only by how much he wanted her to fall apart under him.

And she did.

Again.

And again.

Until her legs were shaking violently and her voice broke into a soft, helpless sound he swallowed with his mouth.

Only when she was limp, breathless, and trembling did he finally stop.

His chest heaved against hers. His hands stayed on her thighs like he didn’t trust the universe not to take her away if he let go.

Slowly — carefully — he lifted her into his arms.

She was too weak to protest.

Her head fell to his shoulder, skin still hot and flushed as he carried her toward the bed in the corner.

He laid her down gently.

Almost reverently.

Her body shook.

Her breathing uneven.

He cupped her face with a gloved hand.

“Breathe,” he murmured, voice softened to something dangerously tender.

“You did so well…”

His face was flushed too — eyes dark, hair damp, lips slightly parted from the intensity he tried and failed to hide.

He sat beside her on the bed.

Then picked up the small birthday cake from the table, lit the candles again and returned to her, kneeling between her trembling legs.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“You made me” she breathed.

His pupils dilated. “Yes.”

He picked up the tiny fork.

“And I’m not done.”

He touched the cool edge of the fork to her lower lip.

Her breath hitched.

“Open” he murmured.

She obeyed.

He fed her a piece of cake, watching every movement of her mouth with a hunger that bordered on reverent obsession.

“Sweet” he said quietly.

“But not as sweet as you were a few minutes ago.”

Her thighs fluttered involuntarily — a small, helpless reaction she couldn’t hide.

His jaw clenched.

He looked wrecked, undone, and still starving.

He set the fork down.

Brushed his fingers along her chin.

“Look at you…” he whispered.

“Birthday girl… shaking under me… still wanting more.”

She swallowed hard.

He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.

“Tell me you’re not going anywhere,” he murmured.

“Tell me you’re staying in my room until I tell you to leave.”

His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her softly into his lap.

“And I’ll give you cake… kisses… anything you want.”

Her breath trembled.

She felt small under him — but not powerless.

Wanted.

Claimed.

Desired.

She whispered “…I’m staying.”

Something broke in him — not violent, but soft, desperate, grateful.

He cupped her face and kissed her forehead like it was an oath.

“Good,” he whispered.

“Because I’m nowhere near done celebrating you.”

okay so i completely made up the bond thing inspired by some vampire stuff ive seen before (mainly fanworks) so these aren’t necessarily parts of vampire lore if that exists. anyway, thanks for the ask.

i imagine the bond where it kind of creates a pull between the two. its almost like omegaverse where the two feel naturally as one or as a couple. its addicting being near the other, and not very fun to be apart. the vampire, being supernatural, can control the bond pretty easily, kind of using it to their advantage. they just have to know how and have a reason to do it. its intentional. but a human with knowledge of the supernatural and the patience can do it to. a lot of the vampires blood is their blood, after all.

so what inho does with it is make gihun more codependent and tamed. he uses it to intensify gihuns senses which were already so intense being a vampire. he can get gihun to do what he wants with it sometimes. its easy to get him stay this way and not run off when inhos being a freak. gihun can get attached and fall in love easily if inhos providing him with everything he needs.

but on less sinister note, he also uses it to comfort gihun. gihun in this au is skittish, anxious, especially around a human that he could kill if his body wanted him to enough. i imagine theres a way for the one who controls the bond to soothe the other person with it. maybe im making this too much like omegaverse, but ive always like the idea in vampire aus where a bond is created between the vampire and the human they routinely feast off of.

I've started writing toxic ex yunho x mingi fic last night. I'm halfway through done with strangers from hell fic. But now I'm second guessing before uploading them. I'm definitely lacking something in my writing. Am I not using right tags by any chance??

Series!

Chapter Twelve: The Edge Of Obedience

Pairing: Dark!Inho (Frontman) x Fem!Reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: Y/n begins to understand that brute resistance won't win her freedom. She chooses a new strategy — playing along. But when her first attempt to manipulate him backfires, she's reminded just how dangerous the man behind the mask is. And when she pushes too far… he finally snaps. A war of dominance begins — and it’s no longer just about power. It’s about control, obsession… and the sick, magnetic pull between captor and captive.

Warnings: Power imbalance. Dark romance themes. Non-consensual overtones. Obsessive behavior. Physical restraint. Intense tension. Mentions of manipulation. Psychological control.

Author's Note: Finally their first kiss happened!! It's just the start guys, brace yourselves for the next chapters!

Words Count: 1856

Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged in the series or other LBH fics.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann

The silence had become her loudest companion.

Y/n paced the edge of the room barefoot, the silk dress from last night flowing around her knees. Her fingers brushed against the cold walls, searching — again — for weakness, a hinge, a latch, anything that hinted at escape.

Nothing.

The door remained locked. The ceiling smooth. The corners clean. No cameras she could see… but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she wasn’t being watched.

She muttered under her breath, “You said ‘be ready for tomorrow’… so what’s tomorrow, freak?”

The screen in In-ho’s private room flickered, her voice sharp and defiant through the speakers.

He was still in the same seat from where he used to watch games, one hand gripping the armrest, jaw clenched tight under the mask.

“I gave her silk,” he muttered to himself, “and she gives me rebellion.”

---

The door clicked.

Y/n turned fast, prepared to yell.

In-ho stepped in. Mask on. Gloved hands behind his back.

He closed the door slowly, deliberately. The lock clicking into place was louder than it needed to be.

“You didn’t eat again,” he said. “Trying to starve your way out of here?”

“Trying to get you to shut the hell up!” she snapped. “And maybe give me real answers for once. What is this place? What are those games? WHY ME?”

A pause.

Then he chuckled low, like she’d told a joke. “Still asking questions you’re not allowed to ask.”

She stepped toward him, fire in her eyes. “You said you’ve known me for years. Then answer me. Why are you doing this?”

Another step. She was close now.

But before she could blink, he reached out — fast — and grabbed her arm, pulling her flush against him.

His gloved hand slid down her side to rest just above her hip. His masked face tilted down close.

“You really want to know how far I’ll go?” he whispered. “I told you not to ask me anything, but you want to test me again?”

His hand came up and removed the glove. Bare fingers brushed her jaw… then her lips.

Just like before.

But this time, she turned her head away.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” he said calmly.

He took a step back. Reached the drawer. And pulled out a long black silk blindfold.

Her breath hitched.

“No.”

“Yes.”

In-ho stepped forward. “Last night, you let me touch you because I said I wouldn’t go further unless you wanted me to. And you still didn’t stop me. So I’m curious, kitten…”

He brushed her hair back gently, voice low.

“Where exactly is your limit?”

---

Moments later, y/n was blindfolded again, fists clenched at her sides. Her breath uneven.

He didn’t speak this time. Didn’t whisper filthy promises. He took off the mask in silence, letting it fall gently onto the chair behind him. His eyes raked over her slowly — devouring — like he was etching every inch of her into memory.

Then he stepped forward, his bare hands sliding to her waist, fingers curling around her like he owned the very shape of her.

He just let his lips graze the hollow of her throat… then her shoulder… then up behind her ear.

And then — slow, deliberate — he leaned in and sank his teeth into her earlobe. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to claim. A possessive mark in a place only he could see, only he could reach.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

Her knees almost buckled, and she hated how much her body betrayed her.

But she shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me!”

He stepped back again, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“You’ll learn, little brat,” he said, voice dipping low, “that this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what I allow.”

And then—just before he left—he paused in the doorway.

“Oh… and since you’re so curious,” he added casually, “tomorrow, you’re getting your first real taste of the truth.”

The door shut.

And Y/n stood frozen in the center of the room, the blindfold in her hand now...still burning.

But her mind was sharpening.

If she wanted to escape, she’d have to play his game. Convince him she was breaking. Lure him in.

She wouldn’t win with strength.

She’d win with strategy.

---

Later that night, Y/n sat curled in the far corner of the room. The blindfold lay on the bed like a taunt — a symbol of the control he thought he had.

But her mind was racing.

He wanted obedience?

Fine. She’d give him what he wanted.

Or at least, make him believe it.

---

The next morning y/n was sitting at the table when the guards delivered her breakfast. For the first time in days, she picked up the spoon and began to eat — slowly, silently.

In-ho watched from the private room, mask still on, hand steepled beneath his chin. His head tilted at the sight.

Was she… submitting?

---

When he entered the room later, expecting another round of snarls and resistance — she looked up, soft and quiet.

“I ate,” she said simply. “Just like you wanted.”

A pause.

“Good girl” he said, dark praise curling through his tone.

She lowered her gaze, hiding the spark behind her lashes.

He moved to turn away — but stopped.

Paused.

Then turned back and took another slow step forward, this time until he was inches from her.

She looked up. Reflexively.

And that’s when her gaze dropped — just for a second — to the gun strapped at his side.

One breath.

One thought.

Now.

She didn’t flinch when his gloved fingers brushed her arm.

She let him.

Let him graze his knuckles along the side of her neck, slow, gentle — controlling.

Her hand crept silently toward the holster, fingers aching to wrap around the weapon.

He leaned down, lips beneath mask near her ear, whispering something filthy that made her skin prickle.

Almost there—

Almost—

Then—

His hand snapped around her wrist.

In a flash, he spun her around, her body hitting the wall with a soft thud, his chest pressed tight against her back.

Her breathing faltered.

One arm pinned.

The other still mid-reach — trembling.

His voice was low. Dangerous.

You thought I wouldn’t feel that?” he growled.

She didn’t answer. Just clenched her jaw.

“You were going to steal my gun?” he whispered into her ear. “While letting me touch you?”

His free hand slid down the curve of her hip, slow and steady — not soft, not rough — just controlled.

“You keep pushing,” he hissed. “Keep testing me.”

He pressed his mask to her neck — not kissing, not biting, just resting there, the heat of him unbearable.

“And every time you do,” he said, voice deep and dangerous “You make it harder for me not to take what’s already mine.”

She shuddered.

“Is that what you want?” he murmured. “Want me to lose control?”

His grip loosened — only slightly — as his hand slid down her arm… then grazed her fingers… then fell away completely.

A beat passed.

He stepped back.

“No second chances,” he said.

Then he turned. Calm again. Controlled.

And walked out the door like nothing had happened.

---

The silence was thick — oppressive — like the walls were breathing with her.

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, fingers drumming restlessly against her thigh. Her thoughts were a blur of touch and fire and the maddening sound of his voice still in her ear. She needed out. Out of this place.

Y/n rose, quietly, and padded toward the door. To her surprise, it wasn’t locked.

Cautiously, she slipped into the hallway.

The corridors were painted in those familiar childlike colors — soft pinks, greens, and yellows. A twisted contrast to what this place truly was. She walked with silent steps, eyes scanning for something — anything — that resembled a way out.

Left. Right. Then another turn.

Every path seemed endless. A puzzle with no solution.

And then—

She collided with something solid. Warm. Alive.

A chest.

She stumbled back and looked up — heart freezing.

Him.

Mask on. Shoulders tense. His breath harsh.

He had found her.

And he was furious.

His voice was a thunderclap.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

She flinched at the sharpness of it, but stubbornness flared in her chest.

“I wanted out. Out of your hell!” Her voice was trembling, but defiant.

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her back through the corridors, boots echoing against the floor as she struggled in his hold.

The door slammed behind them when they reached the room.

“You disobeyed me,” he growled, pacing in front of her like a storm barely restrained. “You really think you can wander around my world like that and there won’t be consequences?”

“Your world?” she spat. “This place is a nightmare! You’re a goddamn monster! I don’t belong to you— I never will!”

That broke something in him.

In one swift movement, he stalked toward her and slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. She gasped as he caged her in, her back pressed to the cold surface, his masked face inches from hers.

He was breathing hard.

The silence crackled with electricity.

And then—

He tilted his mask.

Just enough to reveal his mouth.

She barely had time to process it before he crushed his lips against hers.

It was brutal.

Possessive.

A warning made of teeth and heat and dominance.

Her hands gripped his shirt, unsure if to shove him or hold on.

When he finally pulled back, she was breathless — chest rising and falling rapidly, lips tingling, heart racing.

He hovered close, voice low and sharp like a blade.

“You won’t get another warning.”

Then he adjusted his mask back into place, stepped away without another word, and exited the room — the door slamming shut behind him.

Leaving her gasping in the darkness, lips swollen with the taste of fury… and something else she couldn’t name yet.

The silence that followed his exit was deafening.

Y/n stood frozen against the wall, her chest still heaving, fingers trembling where they clutched the fabric of her dress.

Her lips burned.

Not from pain.

From him.

She reached up slowly, brushing her fingertips over her mouth — dazed, furious, confused. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way her body responded, the way her knees weakened, the way her mind screamed to push him off but her lips had moved with his.

Her breathing was uneven, heart thundering in her chest.

“What the hell was that…” she whispered to herself, voice barely audible.

Her legs gave out, and she slid down the wall to the floor, burying her face into her knees. Shame. Rage. Heat.

And something much worse — want.

She hated him.

She wanted to run. She planned to run.

But now she knew the truth.

This wasn’t just about survival anymore.

This was a war of control.

And if she wanted to win — she’d have to start using everything she had, including the way he looked at her like she was already his.

She closed her eyes tightly, letting the darkness wrap around her like armor.

Tomorrow, she promised herself.

He wouldn’t be the only one pulling strings.

Series!

Chapter Thirty Eight: Mercy And Madness

Pairing: Dark!Inho (Frontman) x Fem!Reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: A week passes, and Y/n begins settling into the strange routine of pregnancy under Inho’s watch. Though he becomes unexpectedly soft, doting, and protective, she remains haunted by fear—fear of the island, the games, and the future of their child.

Warnings: Emotional turmoil. Intense arguments. Pregnancy stress. Violence and death (Squid Game elements) Power imbalance.

Author's Note: Is y/n going to escape again? Tell me what y'all think.

Word Count: 2,550

Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp @lazybum0 @reneejkn @solarpotato @masked-protocol @lindsay00000

Y/n blinked awake, her lashes fluttering. The first thing she registered was not fear, not confusion—but the warm aroma of food.

Soft, gentle… nothing like this place.

She turned her head and found a tray of healthy breakfast—porridge, fruit slices arranged neatly, warm tea. And sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her as if he hadn't looked away even once.

Inho.

His posture perfect, his maskless face strangely soft, eyes tracing every movement she made.

“Good morning” he murmured. “How are you feeling? You… and our baby?”

Y/n couldn’t help the small breathy chuckle that escaped her.

“Inho… our baby is probably the size of a dot right now.”

His expression didn’t change—still intense, still frighteningly sincere.

“A dot.” he said, voice low, “but my dot. Our dot. My child.”

He reached forward, brushing her hair off her forehead as if she were made of glass.

“Size doesn’t matter. They’re already everything.”

Her heart tightened. Softness didn’t suit this place, and yet he wore it so perfectly it made her chest ache.

But she had to ask.

“Inho… what’s happening with the games?”

Her voice was cautious, testing.

For the first time all morning, something dark flickered behind his eyes—just a shadow, quickly swallowed.

“I haven’t been paying attention,” he admitted. “I paused everything for the past week.”

Then he reached out and rested a hand on her stomach—barely touching, almost reverent.

“I was focused on you. On our future.”

Y/n swallowed hard.

“But today,” Inho continued quietly, “the players will resume. They’re going to play a game.”

The room felt colder instantly.

Y/n rubbed her fingers together under the blanket, grounding herself.

A week of peace.

A week of softness from a man made of stone.

A week of safety that didn’t belong to this island.

And now reality was creeping back in.

---

The metallic hum of machinery filled the surveillance chamber — a wide, cold room where every wall was a screen. Hundreds of angles. Hundreds of lives.

All dancing on strings pulled by one man.

Inho sat alone in the center of it.

His throne was a black leather couch, the kind that swallowed sound. A glass of whiskey rested between his fingers, amber light reflecting off the giant screen in front of him.

Soft classical music played in the background — haunting, almost elegant. A tune he always used when watching death unfold.

On the screen, players were playing Keys and Knives.

Screaming.

Metal clashing.

Fear, sweat, betrayal — all beneath his calm gaze.

This was the Inho the island knew.

The one without softness.

The one without a heart.

The one who only stopped being a monster when she was near.

The door clicked open.

He didn’t turn, but his voice softened instantly.

“Y/n. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

She walked into the dim light, eyes adjusting to the huge screen, to the maze of chaos displayed before her.

“No, I just…” She gave a small, tired exhale.

“I’m tired of lying in bed all day.”

Before he could respond, movement on the center screen caught her attention.

Player 456.

Seong Gihun.

Tired. Exhausted. Barely standing.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Gihun…” she whispered, voice cracking.

Inho heard the name and his jaw locked so hard it ticked. Like a crack forming in marble.

He didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like the way her eyes glistened for another man. He didn’t like the way she whispered Gihun’s name like a prayer.

“Y/n.” His voice turned sharp, slicing cleanly through the music. “Go back.”

She didn’t move.

She didn’t even hear him.

Her entire body leaned closer to the screen, eyes shaking, breath trembling as she watched Gihun fight for his life.

Inho snapped.

He set the whiskey down too hard—glass slamming on wood.

He stood, walked toward her, grabbed her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

“I said go. Back.”

She shook her head, stubbornness burning through fear.

“I want to see them” she said. “I want to know what’s happening downstairs.”

His nostrils flared, but he controlled himself.

He always did — for her.

“You shouldn’t watch this.” His voice lowered, steady but threaded with warning.

“You’re pregnant. These games aren’t meant for—”

“But living with a man who runs all this is fine?” She snapped without thinking.

Silence.

The kind of silence that feels like something breaking.

Inho froze.

His eyes widened — not with anger first, but with hurt.

Pure, raw hurt.

Like she had stabbed the last soft part of him.

His hands slowly dropped from her face. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white.

Y/n’s stomach twisted with regret.“Inho—no, I didn’t mean it—”

“You still see me as a monster” he said quietly.

Not loud.

Not violent.

Just… shattered.

She stepped closer, cupping his jaw with trembling hands.

“That’s not true,” she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him — a soft peck on his lips, gentle, pleading.

But Inho didn’t kiss her back.

He just stared at her.

Like he was trying to understand why the only person he ever loved could still fear him.

“Inho, please…” She swallowed hard. “Let me watch. Just… let me see what’s happening.”

His breath hitched. Between jealousy, fear of losing control, and love so violent it hurt him.

The music kept playing.

The screens kept showing blood.

And Inho stood there, torn between two lives— the monster this island made him and the man who wanted to give her the whole world.

---

Inho stood there for several seconds, jaw strained, chest rising and falling with a quiet storm.

Y/n’s words still hung between them like a blade, and guilt was already burning her skin. She hated herself for saying it, hated the panic in his eyes when she compared him to the cruelty he commanded.

But she also knew him—knew his patterns, knew that stubborn edge inside him that only softened for one person.

Her.

And he knew her too.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling the slightest bit as he looked away from her, then back.

“…Fine,” he muttered finally, voice low, defeated in a way only she could make him. “You can watch.”

Relief washed over her, her shoulders dropping. Before she could speak, he had already taken his seat again—leaning back on the black leather couch, the glow of the huge screen casting sharp blue lines across his face.

He extended a hand toward her.

Not another word spoken.

She stepped forward, and the moment she was close enough, he pulled her down onto his lap—firm but careful, his palm instinctively settling over the small curve of her belly.

The very place that held the life softening him piece by piece.

He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss just over the fabric of her shirt, lips lingering there longer than usual.

As if grounding himself.

As if grounding her.

And then, together, they watched.

---

The sound of the game filled the room.

Metal clashing, footsteps echoing, breaths hitching. Y/n tensed every time a player fell—her nails digging into Inho’s arm without realizing.

But every time, his arms tightened protectively around her waist, thumb rubbing calming circles on her belly.

He didn’t look at her.

But he felt every reaction she had.

The game was nearing its end when the screen abruptly switched feeds.

Player 222.

Junhee.

The girl was curled on the cold floor, sweat covering her face, hands gripping her stomach as she writhed.

She was whispering for help—but too weak to scream. And the cameras captured every tremble of her body, every tear, every broken breath.

“God…” Y/n whispered, her heart stopping. “Junhee…”

Inho’s jaw flexed.

He didn’t move.

Y/n turned toward him quickly. “Inho—do something.”

He took a sip of his whiskey, eyes still locked on the screen.

“Inho,” she repeated, pushing at his chest this time. “How can you just sit here?! She’s in labor—she needs help—she’s going to die!”

“I didn’t take responsibility for saving them,” he said flatly.

His tone made her flinch.

Her eyes stung. “How can you be so—so cold? How can you watch that and do nothing when I’m—” She cut herself, but emotion burst through her voice anyway.

“When I’m pregnant too! What if I was the one on that floor right now?!”

His head snapped toward her so fast she almost recoiled.

His eyes darkened into something dangerous.

Something protective.

Possessive.

“That,” he said through clenched teeth, “would never happen. You would never be in that place. You will give birth to my child in the finest hospital I can build if that’s what you want.”

His gaze dropped to her belly.

“No one will touch you. No one will frighten you. No one will let you suffer. Not when you’re carrying mine.”

Her anger softened—just barely.

She lifted her hands and cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“Then show it,” she whispered. “Inho… please. You’re going to be a father. How can you ignore someone else suffering through the same thing I will one day?”

The word father hit him like a bullet.

His breath stilled.

Something inside him cracked—not loudly, not violently—but like a small glass window finally letting sunlight in after years of darkness.

He swallowed.

Looked back at the screen.

Then at her.

She pressed more, voice trembling. “If you can protect me… protect our baby… then you can save her. Just this once. Please.”

His throat worked as he tried to fight it—fight her—fight the humanity she kept pulling out of him.

But he lost.

Because he always lost when it came to her.

With a long, heavy exhale, he reached for the walkie-talkie on the table.

Every muscle in his arm was tense, as if giving the order physically hurt him.

“This is the Frontman,” he said finally, his voice cold and authoritative again. “Player 222. Send a guard. Assist her and take her back to the dorm. Make sure she’s stabilized.”

There was silence on the other end.

Confusion.

The guards never got orders like that.

“Yes, sir.” the guard finally replied.

The walkie-talkie clicked off.

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears—relief, gratitude, something warm and overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

“You’ll be the best dad” she whispered against his neck.

But Inho…

Inho stayed still.

He hugged her back, but slowly—hesitantly—because deep down, a fear had already started spreading in him.

A quiet, dangerous thought.

What if he couldn’t live up to what she believed?

What if father was something he didn’t know how to be?

What if loving them… ruined them?

He swallowed those doubts, locking them deep inside as he held her a little tighter.

Because she believed in him.

And for the first time since his childhood…

he desperately wanted to deserve it.

---

All players returned. Bloodied, exhausted, shaken. Yet when the vote was cast, card after card turned red.

Everyone chose to stay.

Junhee sat on one of the lower bunks, her newborn wrapped in a thin blanket, held protectively against her chest.

Gihun and Jungbae crouched beside her, worry etched into their dirt-stained faces.

Jungbae rubbed the back of his neck.

“How did they even let you come back? You were mid-game. They never—ever—do that.”

Junhee shook her head, still panting, still pale. “I don’t know. I thought they were going to kill me. But someone came. Helped me. No explanations.”

Gihun frowned deeply. His eyes drifted toward the cameras in the corners of the dorm, his instincts tightening like a trap.

“This isn’t right,” he whispered. “The Frontman I knew wouldn’t show mercy. Not like this. Something has changed…”

He exhaled slowly, suspicion forming in his gaze.

“…or someone.”

---

Y/n had been watching silently, heart aching as Junhee held her baby girl, trembling, alive only because she had begged Inho. Because she was pregnant too. Because he couldn’t ignore her voice.

But the room suddenly felt suffocating.

“I’m going back to the bedroom” she murmured to Inho.

He nodded without looking at her, eyes still fixed on the screen. She slipped out and closed the door behind her.

The quiet hallway stretched in both directions, dim and sterile. She pressed her back against the wall, exhaling shakily.

She should go back.

She should rest.

She should stay safe.

But her feet refused.

A desperate thought whispered through her mind: Is the way out still the same as eight years ago?

Is escape still possible?

Before logic could stop her, her legs were already carrying her down the corridor. Past the room with the large staircases.

Past the guard outposts.

Past the places she remembered only in nightmares.

She held her breath at every corner, eyes darting, pulse ringing in her ears.

She remembered running for her life here once. Remembered the smell of metal and blood. Remembered the cold night air when she finally escaped.

She had to know.

For herself.

For her baby.

---

Inho closed the screen and the room fell dark.

He leaned back, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His eyes closed slowly.

She had called him a monster.

He had pretended it didn’t matter.

But it did.

He breathed in—slow, heavy.

Everything in him was torn straight down the middle.

Part of him wanted to take her far from here, somewhere warm, somewhere normal. To give her sunlit mornings, peaceful nights, a home where their child would never have to see blood.

But the other part.

The part shaped by years of humiliation, betrayal, and being told he was nothing. Whispered that leaving meant losing control.

Losing power.

Losing the one place where he was untouchable.

He had built this empire with his own hands.

And here, no one could hurt him.

No one could hurt them.

His jaw clenched.

“To protect my child… I have to stay powerful.”

He opened his eyes.

And froze.

The hallway camera showed movement.

His heart seized—but not with fear. With something far darker. He stood instantly.

---

Y/n continued down another corridor, then another, trying to trace the path from memory.

Left, then straight, then down the metal stairs… was it? Or right? No—no, wait…

Footsteps echoed behind her.

Slow.

Steady.

Unmistakable.

Her blood turned to ice.

She didn’t turn around.

She didn’t breathe.

Then—

“Y/n.”

His voice. Low. Quiet. And far too calm.

She froze.

She knew that tone—it was the voice he used when he was angry in a way he didn’t show on his face.

A soft danger.

“What,” he asked, each syllable slicing through the silence, “are you doing here?”

Her lungs locked.

Her fingers trembled.

She turned her head just slightly—

And saw him.

Standing at the end of the hallway.

Mask off.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes burning, not with rage…

…but with something she couldn’t name.

Fear?

Possessiveness?

Anger?

All three?

He took one slow step forward.

“Answer me.”

Y/n swallowed, heart pounding so violently it hurt.

She didn’t have an answer. And he already knew that.

Oneshot! (Request)

Pairing: Frontman/Inho x FemVIP!Reader (y/n)

Summary: When her defiance crosses a line and another man dares to touch what he believes is his, Inho finally stops holding back. Jealousy turns lethal, and possession is claimed in blood.

Warnings: Dark themes, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, extreme jealousy, gun violence, murder, power imbalance, morally gray/black characters, psychological manipulation, intense and unsettling content.

Author's Note: Hey guys, I'm back after my exams. I'm still a little lazy but I'm really trying to be active again. Thanks for all your patience. Love y'all! Based on THIS request.

Word Count: 2,962

Taglist: Let me know if you want to get tagged. @salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovebyunghunlee @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp @lazybum0 @reneejkn @solarpotato @masked-protocol @lindsay00000 @v13fsg @missinkho

From the moment she stepped into the VIP lounge, the atmosphere shifted.

Y/n didn’t need to try. She never did.

Dressed in elegance that spoke of power rather than excess, she moved with a calm confidence that made men straighten unconsciously, their attention snapping to her like trained animals.

She was the youngest among the VIPs—young enough to raise eyebrows at first—but the way the room responded to her erased any doubt. Respect followed her like a shadow.

She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t vulgar.

And she certainly wasn’t desperate.

That alone made her dangerous.

Across the room, hidden behind his black mask, Inho watched her. He had been watching her since the very beginning.

Before the games even truly started, before the blood soaked into the sand, before the screams became routine—his eyes had found her. And they stayed there.

Something about her unsettled him.

Not fear. Not suspicion.

Possession.

She was seated among men twice her age, men who had bought their way into cruelty, men who laughed too loudly and drank too much. Yet somehow, she was the one in control.

When one of the VIPs leaned too close, voice thick with interest, y/n smiled—soft, polite—and redirected the conversation so smoothly it left him blinking, humiliated without realizing why.

Another tried a different approach. Compliments. Promises. A hand lingering a second too long.

She laughed.

Not flirtatious. Not inviting.

Amused.

The kind of laugh that said you’re entertaining, nothing more.

Inho’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.

Every time one of them looked at her like that—like she was something to be consumed—his chest burned. An instinct older than logic rose in him, sharp and violent.

Hide her. Shield her.

Take her away from their eyes.

He hated the way they watched her mouth when she spoke. Hated the way they leaned in when she laughed. Hated the way she remained untouched by their money, their power, their greed.

She didn’t drool over diamonds. She didn’t cling to status. She didn’t play the part they expected.

And that—that—made him obsessed.

“She’s different ” one of the VIPs muttered once, eyes following her as she stood to leave the table.

Inho almost laughed.

You have no idea.

When another man offered her a drink, she declined with a smile that somehow felt like a closed door. When one suggested a private conversation, she deflected gracefully, turning the attention elsewhere without causing offense.

Each rejection was elegant. Each refusal, devastating.

Inho watched it all.

Every flicker of jealousy pooled inside him, dark and bitter. He wanted to step between them, to remind them who truly owned this place, who decided who breathed and who didn’t.

But he didn’t.

Because to her, he was nothing more than a shadow.

A masked figure. A nameless authority.

Just the Frontman.

And she never once looked at him the way she looked at them—not even out of politeness.

That hurt more than he cared to admit.

By the time the VIPs retired for the night, Inho’s restraint was gone.

He locked himself inside his private chamber, ripping the mask off and tossing it aside like it had personally offended him.

The room filled with smoke as he lit one cigarette after another, the sharp burn in his lungs doing nothing to calm the storm in his chest.

He poured himself a drink.

Then another. Then another.

Her laugh echoed in his mind. Her calm voice. The way she never once noticed him watching.

“She doesn’t even see me.” he muttered bitterly, fingers tightening around the glass.

He drank like he was trying to drown the jealousy. Smoked like he was trying to burn it out of himself.

But nothing worked.

Because no matter how much he drank, no matter how thick the smoke grew, one thought refused to leave him, she belongs here because he allowed it.

She is safe because he decided it.

And no one—no VIP, no amount of money, no filthy gaze—would touch her without his permission.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

---

The VIP lounge glowed gold and red, laughter and violence mingling in the air as the next game unfolded on the massive screen.

Y/n sat comfortably on one of the plush couches, legs crossed, posture relaxed as if she weren’t watching people gamble their lives below. Her attention drifted between the screen and the conversations around her—until the weight of someone settling beside her shifted the cushions.

One of the male VIPs.

He leaned back casually, pretending interest in the game, gesturing toward the screen as if offering commentary.

“Risky move,” he said, voice smooth. “But I suppose danger makes things more exciting, doesn’t it?”

Y/n hummed, eyes still on the screen. “Sometimes. Other times it’s just unnecessary.”

He chuckled, clearly encouraged. Too encouraged.

Slowly, the commentary shifted. Compliments slipped in between observations. Cheesy pick-up lines masked as jokes, metaphors comparing her to strategy, to luck, to victory itself.

“You know,” he said with a grin, “if life were a game, I’d lose happily just to watch you win.”

She laughed.

Soft. Light. Unbothered.

Across the room, Inho sat rigid in his armchair.

The glass of whiskey rested heavy in his gloved hand, ice clinking softly as he tilted it—but he didn’t drink. His attention wasn’t on the screen. It was locked onto the couch. Onto the man leaning too close. Onto the way y/n’s smile flickered in response.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stand.

To walk over. To pull the man away. To end it.

He imagined it vividly—how easily he could do it. One order. One signal. The man would disappear before the next round began.

But he didn’t move. Because y/n was there.

Because fear didn’t belong anywhere near her.

So he swallowed it. The jealousy. The rage. Let it coil tighter in his chest, sharp and poisonous.

On the couch, the VIP leaned closer, voice lowering.

“If I were a betting man,” he murmured, “I’d say the real prize isn’t on the screen tonight.”

Y/n turned her head slightly, amused. “Careful,” she said lightly. “You might lose more than your money with lines like that.”

She meant nothing by it.

But Inho didn’t hear nothing.

Something inside him snapped.

The glass shattered in his grip with a sharp, violent crack.

Whiskey splashed onto the floor, shards scattering across the marble as red bloomed beneath the black glove—seeping through the fabric, dripping slowly onto the ground.

The room fell silent. All heads turned.

The VIP beside y/n stiffened, pulling back instinctively. Others murmured, some standing, some calling out for guards, voices overlapping in alarm.

“Get a doctor—”

“Call someone—”

“Are you injured?”

Y/n turned too.

Her brows knit together as her gaze landed on him—on the Frontman—standing amid broken glass and blood.

Confusion flickered across her face.

Curiosity.

Behind the mask, Inho smiled.

A slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips—not because of the pain, not because of the attention but because she was finally looking at him.

“Enough.” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The room quieted instantly.

“I’m fine.” He flexed his hand once, blood trailing down his wrist. “I can take care of this myself.”

No one argued. They never did.

He turned, cloak swaying as he stepped away from the lounge, leaving the shattered glass behind. As the doors closed, his steps remained steady, controlled—until he reached the privacy of his chamber.

The moment the door shut, the calm cracked.

He yanked the glove off, blood dripping freely now, staining the floor as he stared at his injured hand with dark amusement.

“She flirted back.” he muttered, low and dangerous.

Not angry at her. Never at her.

Angry at the world for daring to think she was untouchable by him.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the obsession and restraint, one thought echoed louder than the rest, now that she had seen him…there would be no going back.

---

The lounge felt louder after he left.

Y/n remained seated, fingers resting lightly against the arm of the couch, eyes unfocused as the game continued on the screen.

The laughter returned, forced and careless, but her mind stayed elsewhere—on the sharp crack of glass, the blood soaking through black gloves, the way the Frontman had stood there unfazed.

And the way he had looked… calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

Curiosity stirred. Then concern.

Before she could overthink it, she stood.

The guards barely questioned her as she moved through the corridors—being a VIP came with privileges, after all. She stopped in front of a heavy door, hesitating only a second before pushing it open.

Inside, the room was dim and quiet.

He sat on the leather couch, coat discarded, sleeves rolled up as he worked on his injured hand. The mask was gone.

Inho froze the moment the door closed behind her.

For a split second, something raw flashed across his face—surprise, tension—before he looked back down at the wound, jaw tightening.

“It’s fine,” y/n said gently, stepping closer. “I won’t tell.”

She removed her own mask and sat beside him, close enough that he could feel her warmth. Inho stiffened, eyes deliberately fixed on the bloodied gauze in his hand.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, controlled. “You shouldn’t be.”

She reached for the first aid kit before he could stop her. “You’re hurt.”

“I said I can handle it myself.”

Y/n ignored him.

She took his hand carefully, fingers steady as she cleaned the wound. Inho inhaled sharply—not from pain, but from the intimacy of it. Her touch was calm, practiced, unafraid.

He tried not to look at her.

Failed.

His eyes traced her face—the curve of her lashes, the focus in her expression, the quiet confidence she carried so effortlessly. Something in his chest twisted painfully.

“Stay away from them.” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, lifting her gaze to him. “What?”

Realizing what he’d said, Inho pulled his hand back slightly. “Nothing.” A pause. “Thank you. You can go now.”

She didn’t move.

Instead, she finished bandaging his hand, then looked at him fully. “No. You said something. What did you mean?”

He studied her for a moment, weighing something heavy in his mind. Then, calmly

“Stay away from the other VIPs.” he said. “Or you’ll regret what happens.”

Her brows furrowed. “Are you threatening me?” Her tone sharpened. “And who do you think you are to say that to me?”

Inho shook his head slowly. “It’s not a threat to you.” he replied evenly. “It’s a promise to them.”

She stared at him, unsettled. “And who are you, exactly?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “You’ll find out soon.”

He stood, reaching for his mask. As he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

“Are you jealous of them?” she asked, irritation and curiosity mixing as she crossed her arms.

Inho paused at the door.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark, amused—dangerously so.

“Jealousy,” he said softly, “is a very small word for what this is.”

He slipped the mask back on.

And then he was gone—leaving behind silence, tension, and a question y/n couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

---

Two days passed.

And yet his words refused to leave her.

"Stay away from them."

Y/n told herself it meant nothing. A passing warning. An empty display of authority from a man hiding behind a mask. She was not someone who let threats—or strangers—crawl under her skin.

And still… every time a VIP leaned too close, every time a hand lingered on the back of her couch or a voice dipped into something too familiar, her body reacted before her mind could.

She would shift away, smooth and polite.

Laugh lightly, then stand.

Change the subject. Excuse herself. Create distance.

The men noticed. Confusion replaced confidence. Their advances dulled, unsuccessful in a way that left them frustrated and baffled.

Y/n noticed too.

She hated it.

Each retreat felt like surrender, and yet the memory of his voice—low, steady, certain—echoed in her head every time. It unsettled her how easily it guided her movements, how instinctively she obeyed without ever meaning to.

Across rooms. Behind mirrored glass. From shadowed balconies, Inho watched.

He watched her body language change. The way her shoulders stiffened when someone leaned in. The way her laughter became sharper, shorter, more distant.

A slow, dark satisfaction curled in his chest. She was doing exactly as he told her.

Not because she was weak.

Not because she was afraid.

But because something in her had listened.

He knew her well enough now to understand that she would never admit it—not to herself, and certainly not to him. She would call it coincidence. Courtesy. Boredom.

But he saw the truth.

She was aware of him now.

Every step back she took from them felt like a step closer to him, whether she realized it or not. And that stubborn resistance of hers—so sharp, so proud—only made the slow surrender sweeter.

Inho leaned back in his chair, fingers tightening around his glass.

Patient. He could wait.

After all, she was already exactly where he wanted her to be even if she hadn’t dared to look at him again yet.

---

The VIP lounge was thick with low laughter, clinking glasses, and the distant screams echoing from the arena below.

Y/n sat composed on the velvet couch, legs crossed, posture flawless—every inch the calm, untouchable figure the VIPs had come to admire and obsess over.

Across from her, at a calculated distance, the Frontman sat in silence. Mask on. Back straight. Presence heavy.

Inho’s gaze never left her.

He watched the way her fingers tapped absently against her glass. The way her eyes flicked toward the screens but never quite focused. He knew that look now—restless, distracted. Thinking about him, even if she refused to admit it.

The moment shattered when a VIP dropped down beside her.

Too close.

Inho’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.

The man leaned in with practiced familiarity, voice dripping with false concern.

“You’ve been quiet lately.” he said, eyes roaming shamelessly. “Not like you.”

Y/n smiled faintly and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

She felt it then—the weight of Inho’s stare.

She didn’t look at him, but she knew. Knew he was watching how close the man sat, how his knee brushed hers, how his voice dipped lower as he began to flirt.

She should have moved away.

She heard his warning in her head, clear as the day he spoke it.

"Stay away from them."

But pride flared hotter.

She refused to let him think she obeyed him.

So she leaned in instead.

Her lips brushed near the VIP’s ear as she murmured something playful. She laughed softly at his ridiculous joke, fingers briefly touching his arm. The man lit up, encouraged—misreading everything.

Across the room, Inho’s hand curled into a fist.

The sound of his pulse roared louder than the games. Every laugh felt like a blade dragged slow across his chest. He imagined bullets. Red. The man’s head snapping back. Over and over.

He stayed seated. Barely.

Then Y/n stood.

She excused herself with a polite smile and left the lounge. The VIP hesitated only a moment before following her.

Inho rose immediately to follow them.

The hallway outside her quarters was quiet, dimly lit, heavy with anticipation.

By the time Inho reached her door, it was already open.

Inside, the VIP stood far too close, crowding her space. Y/n’s back was near the desk, her hands lifted—not inviting, defensive.

Her voice was firm now. “I said stop.”

The man scoffed. “You were flirting with me minutes ago.”

Inho stepped inside.

The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

The VIP turned sharply. “Hey—this is personal. Get out.”

Inho didn’t even glance at him. His attention was locked on her.

Even through the mask, she felt it—sharp, consuming, furious.

“What did he do?” Inho asked quietly.

Y/n shook her head quickly. “Nothing. It’s fine. You can go.”

He didn’t move.

His voice dropped lower, darker. “Did he try to touch you?”

She hesitated.

Before she could answer, the VIP laughed. “Yeah. I did. What are you gonna do about it?”

The world tilted.

In one fluid motion, Inho drew his gun.

Y/n gasped. “No—wait—please, let’s talk about this—”

He didn’t look at her.

The VIP stumbled back, panic flashing across his face. “You can’t—this is insane—”

Inho spoke calmly, deadly calm.

“I warned you.”

Then he looked at the man. “You don’t touch what’s mine.”

The gun fired.

The sound cracked through the room like thunder.

The VIP collapsed instantly, body hitting the floor with a dull, final thud.

Blood spread across the polished surface. Y/n screamed, hand flying to her mouth, knees threatening to give out.

Inho lowered the gun. He was breathing evenly.

Unbothered.

He turned to her. She was shaking.

He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until her back met the wall. One hand braced beside her head, trapping her in place without touching her.

His presence swallowed her whole.

“No one,” he said quietly, “will ever touch you.”

Her eyes were wide, terrified—and burning with something else she refused to name.

He leaned closer, his masked forehead nearly brushing hers.

“You wanted to call it jealousy?” His voice dipped into something intimate and unhinged. “Then yes.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if smiling beneath the mask. “I am jealous.”

His fingers brushed her wrist—not gently, not rough. Claiming.

“Because you are mine.”

The silence that followed was heavy, irrevocable.

Outside, the games continued.

Inside, something far more dangerous had already been decided.

Series!

Chapter Forty Three: The Edge Of Escape

Pairing: Dark!Inho (Frontman) x Fem!Reader (y/n)

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: Y/n wakes up before Inho, heartbroken yet determined, knowing today she must take a step that could save them all. Meanwhile, Junho arrives with a plan, and Y/n, torn between love and duty, prepares to leave with him—leaving behind the life, memories, and the man she loves.

Warnings: Emotional intensity, tearful and heart-wrenching moments. Mentions of pregnancy and separation anxiety. Suspense and tension related to escape and danger.

Author's Note: Probably, this is the third last chapter of the series :(

Word Count: 3,148

Tag list: Let me know if you want to get tagged.

@salesmancarddd @marymun @astronomicalastro-blog1 @filthygalli @thehellhaveubeenloca @yosoylaprincesa2004 @watasinekoru @nightlark100 @drewstarkeysrightarm @doodle-with-rhy @lunaryoongie @ilovehwanginho @yxluana @sammie217 @sammat97 @alex-17s-world @mObi4girls @maah-sama @grylian @hecticspice @manager016 @mxriesss @christmascoles @nosebeers @carolinevoight @princesscherryblossom15 @frozen-waffle @eviesmoon @startled-cats @retiredpieceofshits @ft-winnow @weakh3rokdrama @bluechaoslizzy @frontwomann @cutecat2005 @starlightlunax @alex110370000 @wanna-plan-world-domination @akiyhara @natalie3657 @hornylittlesimp @lazybum0 @reneejkn @solarpotato @masked-protocol @lindsay00000

Y/n didn’t sleep — not even for a minute.

Her eyes had stayed open all night, tracing the faint glow of the ceiling light, listening to Inho’s slow, peaceful breathing.

Morning didn’t exist in this place, not really; the room had no windows, no sunrise… just a cold system-controlled shift in lighting that only pretended to be morning.

And yet, something about today felt heavier. Final. Inevitable.

She turned her head slowly.

Inho was curled into her like a child, one arm draped over her waist, his face buried against her chest as if she was the only place he could rest. There was no mask, no authority, no darkness in him right now — just the man she loved, clinging to her without even knowing it.

Her heart cracked.

She was going to leave him today.

Not because she wanted to — but because this was the only way he could ever escape the cage he’d built around himself.

She smoothed his hair back, took a trembling breath, and whispered.

“Inho… wake up.”

He groaned immediately, burying himself deeper against her.

“Mhm… five more minutes.” he muttered, voice low and rough with sleep.

“You’re late than usual.” she whispered softly. “You should go. They’ll be looking for you.”

“No.” He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him like she might disappear. “I don’t want to go.”

She forced a small smile. “It’s just the final game. Go finish everything quickly… then we can spend the rest of the day however you want.”

At that, he finally cracked an eye open — mischief flickering through the sleepy haze.

“However I want?” he murmured, fingers trailing slowly down her hip.

She blushed, swatting at him weakly. “Behave.”

He didn’t.

Instead he tugged her closer, lips brushing the side of her neck lazily.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered, voice suddenly softer — too soft. “I’m having a strange feeling today.”

Y/n’s breath caught. “What kind of feeling?”

He hesitated. Then, almost childlike

“…Like if I walk out that door, I won’t see you again.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

“Oh, Inho…” she whispered.

She cupped his face, kissing him slowly, trying to pour every reassurance, every apology, every love she couldn’t say out loud into that kiss. Her hands stroked his cheeks, calming him the way she knew always worked.

He exhaled, melting into her touch, the fear in his body easing under her warmth.

“I’m right here.” she whispered against his lips. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”

He closed his eyes, letting her soothe him, completely unaware that her promises were breaking her in half.

---

Inho stood in front of the mirror, fastening the final piece of the Frontman uniform.

The matte black mask rested on the table beside him — the very last thing he needed to put on.

Y/n sat silently on the edge of the bed, hands curled into the blanket, her heart cracking with every movement he made.

He tightened a strap.

Straightened the coat.

Pulled on the gloves.

Each small action felt like a countdown…

A countdown to losing him.

Her throat burned.

Inho finally turned toward her, fully dressed except for the mask. Seeing her watching him so quietly, he softened. All the coldness of the uniform disappeared for a moment.

He walked to her and leaned down, giving her a gentle kiss — warm, familiar, grounding.

Then he crouched in front of her, placing both hands on her belly.

He pressed a soft kiss there.

“Appa will be back soon,” he murmured to the twins. “Be good until then, hmm?”

Y/n’s chin trembled. She bit her lip hard, trying not to break in front of him.

He stood, sighing, and grabbed his mask.

He turned toward the door.

But before he could reach it—

“…Inho.”

Her voice cracked.

He paused immediately and turned.

Y/n got up slowly, and then—

without a single word — she walked straight into him and hugged him tight.

Both arms around him, face pressed into his chest, holding him like she was holding on for dear life.

He froze, surprised by the intensity of it.

“Hey…” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

She shook her head against him, her fingers clutching his coat.

Her voice was barely a breath.

“I just… I just needed to hug you.”

He pulled back slightly to look at her.

Her eyes were glossy.

Her lashes were wet.

She looked like she was breaking.

“Y/n…” his voice softened, worried. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m okay,” she lied softly. “Just… emotional.”

He cupped her cheeks, wiping her tears gently with his thumbs.

“You’re scaring me.” he whispered.

She swallowed hard, then forced herself to look into his eyes — the same eyes that once held nothing but shadows, now soft only for her.

“Inho…” Her voice trembled.

“I need you to know something.”

He frowned slightly, waiting.

“I love you.” she whispered. “So much. And I’m… I’m doing everything for you. Everything.”

His brows drew together in confusion.

“Y/n… what are you talking about?”

She shook her head quickly, not letting him question it.

“Just remember it.” she begged. “Please. That I love you so much.”

He exhaled, realizing she was overwhelmed, maybe afraid for him. He brushed her hair back gently.

“Of course I know.” he whispered. “You love me. And I love you too. More than anything.”

A tear fell silently down her cheek.

He kissed it away.

“Hey,” he whispered, trying to lighten the moment. “It’s only the final game. I’ll be back before you start missing me.”

She let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway through.

He kissed her forehead.

Then her lips.

Slow, lingering… like he wanted to take a piece of her with him.

When he finally pulled back, he placed the mask over his face.

The transformation was instant — her lover disappearing behind the cold, faceless Frontman.

He opened the door.

Paused.

Looked back at her one last time.

She whispered, voice cracking. “Come back to me.”

He nodded once, firm.

“I will.”

Then he stepped out and the door shut behind him with a soft click that felt like a knife going through her chest.

---

The heavy metal door shut behind him, sealing him inside the private observation room.

Silence greeted him—thick, cold, familiar.

Inho exhaled slowly and walked toward the leather couch where he always sat to oversee the game.

But today… he didn’t sit immediately.

His mind was too full.

Full of her.

He finally lowered himself onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. The dim lights reflected softly off his mask until he pulled it off and placed it beside him.

For a moment, he simply stared into the empty screen ahead.

Why was she acting like that?

The way she hugged him…

the way she cried…

the fear in her voice when she told him she loved him…

It echoed in his mind like a whisper he couldn’t forget.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe she’s stressed.” he murmured to himself. “It’s the pregnancy… hormones… this place…”

He leaned back, eyes softening.

Today was the final game.

After this, there would be peace for a while.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Maybe after the game ended, he should take her away.

Far away from this island.

To somewhere she loved — the place she once talked about with sparkling eyes.

A country she always said she wanted to visit someday.

He imagined her in a warm sweater, walking down quiet streets, holding his hand, laughing.

He imagined her eating food she loved, shopping, resting, smiling — free from all the darkness around him.

Maybe it would cheer her up.

Maybe it would make her feel safe again.

It would be good for her health too… and the babies.

His hand stilled.

The babies.

Their babies.

His chest softened with a warmth he still didn’t fully understand, one he never thought he’d feel in this lifetime.

Then… suddenly… a thought hit him.

A quiet, soft, almost shy idea.

He sat up straighter.

A trip.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

And then—

Maybe it was finally time.

His heart gave a small, uncharacteristic flutter as he stood up quickly, almost impulsively.

He walked toward a wall panel, pressing a sequence of buttons only he knew.

A small hidden drawer slid open.

Inside it, under a folded cloth, lay a small velvet box.

He stared at it for a long moment before picking it up gently.

The ring.

The one he had bought years ago, the day he realized what he felt for her wasn’t just admiration… wasn’t just fascination…

It was love.

Back then, she was only Junho’s friend.

He watched her from a distance, always planning to propose someday — someday when their worlds aligned, when fate allowed it.

But fate had dragged him into darkness long before he could give it to her.

He opened the box slowly.

The ring glimmered under the dim lights — simple, elegant, breathtakingly beautiful.

Perfect for her.

Inho’s lips curved into the smallest, softest smile.

“Maybe now is the right time.” he whispered.

She was carrying his children.

She loved him.

She stayed by his side despite everything.

He closed the box, holding it carefully, almost reverently.

He imagined kneeling before her on their trip, holding her hand, placing the ring on her finger.

He imagined her shocked expression turning into happiness — eyes wide, lips trembling, cheeks warm.

He imagined her crying from joy, not fear.

Laughing, not trembling.

Leaning into him, not away from him.

He imagined their future — a home, a family, peace.

He whispered into the empty room.

“I’ll give you and the babies everything. I’ll give you the best life I can… I promise.”

A soft, rare smile touched his face — a smile that reached his eyes.

He had no idea, no clue at all…

that while he was planning a proposal, she was planning an escape.

---

The dormitory was filled with a heavy, suffocating silence.

One by one, the remaining players stepped forward to vote.

Inho stood beside the VIPs, mask on, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back.

But his heartbeat… it was off.

He could feel it.

Something wasn’t right.

The first player voted.

X.

Then the second.

X.

Murmurs rippled through the VIP lounge.

Glasses paused in midair.

Chests leaned forward.

Another player.

Another X.

A VIP groaned behind his gold mask.

“Are you kidding me? We came here for a bloodbath.”

Another added, annoyed, “What’s the point of a final if no one’s dying?”

Inho didn’t respond. He was too still. Too quiet.

His eyes narrowed behind the dark mask as each light on the screen flickered red.

X.

X.

X.

He felt a pinprick of cold at the base of his spine.

This wasn’t normal.

The players should have been desperate for the prize.

Greedy.

Ambitious.

Foolish enough to fight to the death.

But this—this unity?

This collective decision?

It was impossible.

Suspicious.

The final player stepped forward. Everyone held their breath.

A long pause. Then—

X.

Silence hit the room like a punch.

The VIPs erupted instantly.

“What the hell—?!”

“This is absurd!”

“They can’t end it like this!”

“You assured us a finale worth our time!”

The VIP room exploded with complaints.

“What a disaster!”

“I wanted blood!”

“This season is ruined!”

“They actually chose to walk away?”

Inho didn’t flinch. He didn’t react.

But his jaw tightened behind the mask.

The lead VIP scoffed and flicked his hand dismissively.

“Well… rules are rules, I suppose. If they all vote to end the game, the money is split.”

Another groaned. “What a pathetic ending.”

Another huffed, lifting a champagne glass carelessly.

“What a waste. I expected more from these games.”

Inho’s fingers curled slightly.

Rules were rules— yes.

But this…

This made no sense.

His thoughts began to spiral.

Who convinced them?

Why now, right before the final?

Was it coincidence…or something else?

A knot twisted in his stomach.

He stood completely still, hands clasped behind his back, face hidden behind the obsidian mask.

He stared at the screen, jaw tightening behind the mask.

Something must’ve happened among them,

he reasoned.

A conversation.

A strategy.

Maybe they panicked.

Maybe they plotted.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing calm into his posture as the VIPs ranted behind him.

“Rules are rules,” one of them grumbled.

“They can leave with the divided sum.”

“Yes,” another sighed. “Though far less entertaining.”

Inho bowed his head with disciplined control.

“Preparations will be made.” he said flatly.

But inside?

There was a dull throbbing frustration.

The final game… canceled.

This wasn’t the ending he’d prepared for.

Not after months of planning.

Not after the tension of the previous rounds.

Still, he composed himself.

The players would leave. He would return to Y/n soon.

And once today ended, he planned to take her far, far away.

The ring in his pocket suddenly felt heavier, almost warm, and the thought softened the sharpness inside him.

Soon.

He would finish everything today.

And then he could finally give her a life outside of these walls— the life she deserved.

---

The announcement echoed across the arena, metallic and final.

“The Games have officially concluded.”

One by one, the bodies of the surviving players were escorted through a different corridor—now dressed in their own clothes, each injected with a sedative before entering the transport vans.

They slumped unconscious in their seats, heads resting against the cold metal walls as guards buckled them in.

Just like when they were brought here…they were leaving now.

They would wake up in the same world that had forgotten them long before Squid Game ever did.

The guards moved with mechanical efficiency, loading the vans and sealing the doors. Engines rumbled to life, headlights sweeping as each vehicle prepared to drive the players back to their starting points—scattered across the city, returning as ghosts with bulging bank accounts and no explanation.

Inside the glass viewing tower, the VIPs were gathering their things, draped in their ornate robes and animal masks. The mood was soured—disappointment thick in the air.

“A boring finale.”

“What a waste. No spectacle at all.”

“That’s the trouble with free will… the herd always disappoints.”

In-ho stood still, hands clasped behind him, listening in silence as they complained. He didn’t care about their irritation; he never had.

But this year, it grated more than usual. Maybe because they sounded so… shallow. Loud. Detached in a way that made him feel more detached from them.

One of the VIPs patted his shoulder as he passed.

“Frontman, the next season better deliver something spectacular. We rely on you.”

In-ho bowed slightly, the mask hiding the mild exhaustion tightening his jaw.

“I always deliver.”

The VIP gave a satisfied hum and walked toward his private boat.

The marble corridor leading to the exit platform filled with footsteps and muffled chatter. One by one, escorted by attendants, the VIPs boarded their respective rides—yachts, helicopters waiting like beasts in the fog.

Inho stood at the edge of the platform, watching the last of them depart.

The engines roared.

Lights cut across the water.

The fog swallowed everything.

And then… silence.

For the first time in days, silence.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders lowering as the weight of hosting the season settled in his bones. There was nothing suspicious in his mind, no twist, no warning bells.

Just the standard aftermath. The emptiness that always followed the end.

He turned away from the now-empty docks. The guards awaited his orders. The island was starting its transition from arena… back to ghost land.

The Games were over.

But his role never ended.

---

A soft knock at the door broke the silence of y/n’s room.

Before she could rise, it opened just enough for Junho to slip inside, shutting it quietly behind him. His face was sharp with focus, breath steady, voice low but urgent.

“Everything is ready.” he whispered.

“All the guards are occupied. Security is in post-game protocol. The players vans have already left. This is the best window we’ll ever get.”

Y/n swallowed, her fingers curling slightly on the blanket draped over her lap.

Her heart knew this moment was coming.

But her chest felt tight… painfully tight.

Junho stepped closer, his eyes searching her face. “We have to move now.”

She nodded slowly, though her gaze drifted around the room—the place that had become both cage and comfort.

The neatly-made bed where Inho held her the night before.

The little basket of baby toys he had arranged clumsily but earnestly.

The folded blankets he insisted on picking himself.

The soft, quiet mornings where he clung to her, as if afraid she would vanish.

A lump formed in her chest.

He would come back and go insane when he realized she was gone.

He would tear the island apart.

She knew it. She felt it.

And yet…staying was worse.

For her.

For the babies.

Even for him.

Jun-ho quietly placed a folded slip of paper on the desk. His handwriting was sharp but shaking with emotion.

'Hyung… I’m taking her with me. You can hate me later.'

He didn’t let her read the rest.

“Let’s go.” he whispered.

Y/n placed a hand over her stomach, breathing deeply as she took one final sweep of the room—a goodbye carved into her bones.

Then she nodded.

Junho opened the door.

They stepped into the hallway.

The world outside her room felt colder than usual. Quieter. As if the island itself was holding its breath.

Junho led her through dim corridors she had never walked before—maintenance tunnels, back staircases, narrow service halls with peeling paint and low ceilings.

Every few steps he would glance behind them, listening for any sound that didn’t belong.

Their footsteps were soft.

The walls hummed with distant machinery.

Somewhere far away, guards voices echoed faintly, too busy with end-of-season protocols to notice two ghosts slipping through the veins of the island.

Y/n held onto the railing as they descended a narrow metal stairwell.

Her heart pounded—not from fear of being caught… but from leaving behind the only person who had ever looked at her like she was something worth holding.

Still…she kept walking.

Because love wasn't safety.

And safety wasn’t here.

Jun-ho reached the lower exit—a service door near the cliffs. He pressed his hand to the scanner he’d hacked earlier.

The red light flickered… then turned green.

The lock clicked open.

He looked at her.

“Once we step outside,” he whispered, “there’s no turning back.”