#hwang

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Summary: You agree to be a sugar baby for Hyunjin and both of you develop feelings

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 1.6k

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🌱 .・゜゜・ . . ・゜゜・．・ 𓇢𓆸

࣪. 🪵 ︵ֺ︵ ㅤ ㅤ𝜚 ۪ 𑁍ࠬܓ

ׁ  ׅ  ⊹  ☆ິ

𝗈𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾

𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀˓  ㅤ 𔕛ㅤ⠀ ֺ   ⠀⑅

♱𓈒ֺּׅ𓏽｡ﾟ. 𓊑ྀི

Series!

Chapter Twenty Seven: Player 001

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

Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

Summary: Inho decides to join the games and begins to insert himself into Gi-hun’s group, hiding his true nature behind a gentle smile. Later, beneath the dim light of the piggy bank, he lies awake haunted by her, before turning to Gi-hun—manipulating trust through shared grief.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and death themes. Mentions of manipulation, obsession, and stalking. Disturbing/unhinged inner thoughts. Sexual/dirty thoughts. Psychological tension.

Author's Note: Finally, the wait is over guys, inho joined the games! I guess this is the longest chapter of the series I've written so far hehe, anyways, enjoy!

Words Count: 3155

Tag list: Wanna get tagged in LBH fics or the series? Lemme know below.

@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

The dormitory was quieter than it had been moments ago, the air still carrying the echo of panicked breathing from the first game.

Gi-hun sat on the edge of the bunk bed, Y/n pressed close beside him, their shoulders brushing. Across from them, Jung Bae sat stiffly, eyes narrowed in disbelief as though he had just been told the most ridiculous lie of his life.

“You… you actually joined before?” His voice cracked in between astonishment and horror. “Not just joined—you won?”

Both Gi-hun and Y/n nodded silently. Jung Bae’s mouth opened again but no words came out. His fingers flexed restlessly against his knees. Finally, he found his voice. “Then—then what the hell happens now? What’s going to happen to us?”

Gi-hun leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his expression darkened by memory. “What happens now… is that we have to find a way to end this. Somehow. Before it’s too late.”

Before Jung Bae could respond, the heavy groan of metal echoed through the dormitory. The massive steel doors at the front of the hall slid open, the clanging sound sending a shudder down every player’s spine. Guards in pink filed in, rifles raised with mechanical precision.

“It is time for voting,” one of them announced through his mask, voice hollow, emotionless. “If you wish to leave, press X. If you wish to stay, press O.”

But before the players could react, the guard raised a gloved hand. “First… see the prize.”

The lights snapped off, plunging the room into darkness. A low hum filled the air, followed by the creaking sound of something lowering from above.

A spotlight burst to life, cutting through the shadows. Suspended high above the dormitory was a massive glass piggy bank, glittering under the harsh light as money poured into it from hidden chutes.

Gasps filled the room. Dozens of necks craned upward, mouths falling open as stacks upon stacks of bills accumulated, filling the transparent belly of the piggy bank. The cash shimmered in the glow, hypnotic, surreal.

The guard's voice boomed again. “For every player eliminated, the prize money will increase. The total prize…” The spotlight widened, illuminating the screen above the vault. Bold numbers lit up:

₩456,000,000,000.

A collective hush fell over the crowd, broken only by ragged breaths. Eyes widened, some with greed, some with despair. The sight of so much money twisted stomachs, set hearts pounding.

“Voting will begin now,” the guards ordered. “Starting with Player 456.”

All eyes shifted to Gi-hun. His jaw clenched as he looked around the room, meeting gazes—some hopeful, some hostile, some already lost in the glow of money.

“We have to vote to leave!” he spoke up, voice urgent, rising above the uneasy silence. “If we stay, we’ll all die here. Don’t you understand? This isn’t a chance at life—it’s a slaughterhouse! I have been here before, trust me!”

“Shut up!” a man barked from the crowd. Player 100, old and grumpy, his face twisted with contempt. “Easy for you to say. If you won before, you’ve already got your fortune stashed away somewhere. Now you come back here, stopping us from winning ours?”

Murmurs of agreement rose. “Yeah, why should we listen to him?”

“Rich bastard trying to scare us out of money!”

The argument swelled into chaos, voices overlapping, shouting over one another. Greed clashed with fear, hope with despair. Some players looked ready to lunge at Gi-hun, their faces flushed with rage.

The guards moved in instantly, rifles raised, barrels gleaming under the cold light. “Silence!” one barked. The shouting stopped abruptly, cut off like the snip of a thread.

Y/n leaned in, placing a gentle hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder. Her touch was soft, grounding. “It’s useless,” she whispered, her voice carrying sadness and resignation. “Go… vote.”

Gi-hun swallowed hard, nodded once, and stepped forward. His palm hovered over the glowing X, his heart hammering, before pressing it firmly. A red light blinked.

One by one, players were called. Fingers pressed buttons, screens lit up. Slowly, the tally grew—first leaning toward O, then balancing again as more X votes were cast. The dormitory pulsed with tension, every vote shifting the air like a storm about to break.

When her number was called, Y/n rose on trembling legs. She stood before the buttons, the glowing O and X burning into her mind. For one second—just one fleeting second—her finger hovered over O.

A part of her still ached, a hollow in her chest whispering his name, pulling her toward the one person she both hated and longed for. A part of her wanted to stay… to see him again.

But reality crashed into her, heavy and merciless. She pressed X, the red light flashing sharply. She turned away quickly, hiding the turmoil in her chest.

The voting continued, the tally rising higher and higher until it was 182-182.

One vote left.

The air grew thick, suffocating, as the guard’s voice rang out. “Player 001. Step forward.”

The room shifted. Every eye followed as the final player stood. His footsteps echoed unnaturally loud in the dormitory, each step slow, deliberate. His shadow stretched long under the harsh light, swallowing the ground ahead of him.

He walked to the front and stood before the console. His gaze flickered upward to the screen, then down at the buttons.

The silence was deafening.

When his gloved hand pressed O, the light flared blue.

“Majority has decided to stay,” the guard declared. “All players will continue.”

The announcement rang hollow in Y/n’s ears, drowned out by the icy chill crawling down her spine. She stared at the man standing at the console—Player 001.

Something about his presence struck her like a blow. The way he carried himself, the tension in his shoulders, the oppressive weight of his silence—it was all too familiar.

When he finally turned, their eyes met.

Her breath caught. A shiver ran down her body so violently she almost stumbled. His gaze burned into her, dark and sharp, piercing straight through her skin to the very core of her.

No… it can’t be.

Y/n tore her eyes away, heart hammering wildly, and hurried back to the bunk bed. Gi-hun’s hand found her knee, grounding her, steadying her trembling frame.

But across the room, Player 001—In-ho—remained frozen, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the sight of her leaning so trustingly into Gi-hun’s touch.

A storm raged inside him. Every muscle in his body screamed to move—to tear her away, to crush his mouth against hers until she broke, until she remembered who she belonged to.

To drag her back to the darkness of his room, where he could strip her bare and remind her with every desperate thrust that she was his, only his.

But he held himself back. His face remained expressionless, unreadable beneath the dim light. For now, he would wait. He would watch. He would win their trust, win this game.

Because Gi-hun wouldn’t let her fall into danger. Not here.

And that meant In-ho would bide his time.

For now.

---

The dinner was filled with the clinking of chopsticks against metal trays, the dull murmur of voices rising and falling, and the occasional bark of a guard when someone lingered too long in line.

Tonight’s meal was plain — a scoop of rice, a boiled egg, and a bottle of water — but after the chaos of the first game, no one dared complain.

Y/n sat with Gi-hun and Jung-bae, their trays lined up neatly on the edge of the bunk bed. Jung-bae was still dazed, muttering now and then about how real it all felt, how close he had been to death.

Y/n barely touched her food. Her stomach was knotted tight, the heavy atmosphere gnawing at her nerves.

The scrape of footsteps pulled her attention up.

Player 001.

He approached their group slowly, carrying his tray with one hand. All three of them looked up at once. His eyes flicked toward Gi-hun briefly, but then locked on Y/n. That stare dug under her skin, hot and cold at the same time.

“Would’ve been home,” Gi-hun muttered bitterly, glaring at him, “if you pressed X.”

For a moment, it was like the man didn’t hear him at all — his gaze still clung to Y/n, drinking her in, devouring every detail. But then he blinked and turned his attention to Gi-hun, slipping an easy, almost boyish smile onto his face.

“I heard you say you’d been here before,” In-ho said evenly. “I pressed O because… I figured you might be useful. Someone who knows the games can help us survive.”

Jung-bae’s eyes widened, his chopsticks pausing midair. “He’s right” he said quickly, latching onto the logic. “If Gi-hun already knows what comes next, we’ve got an advantage.”

The moment the words left his mouth, others nearby picked up on them. Players shuffled closer, curiosity flickering in their eyes. “What’s the next game then?” one asked, leaning in.

Gi-hun sighed, shoulders heavy. He looked around at the eager faces before lowering his voice. “Dalgona. We’ll have to cut shapes out of honeycomb candy. Carefully. One mistake and… you’re done.”

A ripple of nervous chatter passed through the crowd. Gi-hun was quickly surrounded, answering questions, warning them of the difficulty. His voice faded into the buzz of the room.

But Y/n wasn’t listening.

She was watching Gi-hun explain, yes, but she felt it again — that burn on the side of her face, like eyes scraping over her skin.

In-ho hadn’t moved. He sat beside them, rice untouched, staring at her profile as if nothing else in the room existed. His eyes traced her eyelashes when she blinked, the slope of her nose as she breathed, and finally… her lips.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his throat bobbing as if he could taste her memory.

Eight years. Eight years since those lips had trembled under his kiss, since her soft gasp had broken against his mouth.

Eight years since she whispered love she thought he didn’t hear. And now she sat a breath away from him, so close he could almost reach out and drag her into his lap, tilt her chin back, and devour her until she forgot her own name.

He wanted to grab her by that delicate throat and feel her pulse hammering against his palm. He wanted to whisper filthy promises into her ear, promises she’d curse him for but beg him to keep.

The obsession inside him snarled. She was right here, after all these years — and she was smiling at Gi-hun.

Y/n’s chest tightened. She could feel the stare, suffocating in its intensity. Her fork hovered above the rice, her hand trembling slightly. Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head—

But In-ho’s eyes had already shifted, his face composed into polite indifference, as though he’d been listening to Gi-hun all along. A smooth deflection. A game he’d perfected.

Y/n blinked and looked back to her tray, cheeks warm, silently cursing herself for imagining things.

A faint smirk tugged at In-ho’s lips as he turned back to his food. He relished her doubt.

Soon, the robotic voice announced the lights out. The players shuffled away in pairs and clusters, muttering nervously about the next day. Y/n stood, gathering her tray.

As In-ho moved past her, heading for his own bunk, she murmured under her breath, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“We’d be home if you pressed X.”

He paused mid-step.

Over his shoulder, his eyes caught hers. That smirk was back, sharper this time, curling with something cruel.

Still stubborn, he thought. Still so sure she can defy me.

A dozen filthy, violent ways to silence her smart little mouth flashed through his head. His jaw clenched. Not here. Not yet. For now, he would let her think she was safe.

He turned away and walked to his bunk, his mind replaying every way he would eventually make her beg for him again.

---

The dormitory was eerily quiet. Rows of bunk beds stretched out under the dim, sterile lights, but the only true glow came from the glass piggy bank above, suspended like a grotesque chandelier.

The mountain of money inside cast a faint golden shimmer across the walls, glinting every time someone shifted in their sleep.

Y/n lay on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. Her breathing was steady, but her body was tense — anyone looking closely would see the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled against the blanket as though she could anchor herself against nightmares.

Across the room, on a lower bunk, In-ho lay flat on his back. His mask of indifference was gone; the moment he was sure no one was watching, his eyes found her. They didn’t move. Not once.

The glow from the piggy bank painted her face in fragments of gold, tracing the curve of her cheekbone, the slope of her throat, the outline of her lips slightly parted in sleep. It was enough to hollow him out.

Every breath she took was agony. He wanted to feel it warm against his chest, against his mouth. He wanted to slip into that bunk, press his body against hers until she woke — until she remembered exactly who he was without him saying a word.

His mind, long starved and festering with eight years of silence, spun images with merciless clarity.

Y/n beneath him, pinned down, trembling against the thin mattress as his hand muffled her gasps. Her wrists caught above her head. Her voice breaking as she pleaded, not because she didn’t want him, but because she knew she was powerless to stop him.

The thought of it made his jaw tighten, his knuckles flexing against the blanket. He could almost taste her.

He shifted slightly, keeping his expression blank in case anyone stirred. But inside, he was unraveling.

She looked so small, so unguarded in this place that devoured weakness. She didn’t belong in this dormitory among desperate strangers again. She belonged with him — locked away, chained to his side, never again slipping through his fingers.

He pictured himself standing over her, dragging her from this bed, her bare feet scraping against the cold floor as she struggled in vain. The look on her face when she realized there was nowhere left to run.

A low, dark satisfaction curled in his chest. Eight years. He had waited, searched, dreamed, starved for her. And now fate had dropped her right back into his hands.

In-ho exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay still, to keep the monster in his chest caged for now. His eyes remained on her as the dormitory finally sank into silence.

Above them, the piggy bank glowed on, casting long shadows across the room — shadows that seemed to reach for her just as hungrily as he did.

His eyes didn’t leave her, not even for a blink. The way her blanket slipped just enough to expose her collarbone was torture.

It made his mind lurch back to nights when he’d blindfolded her, forced her to explore him with trembling hands. How her fingers had clutched at his shoulders, his chest, his throat — desperate and obedient at once.

Inho’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, recalling the sound of her voice then. The way she moaned when he dragged his mouth along that exact same curve of skin now gleaming under the dorm’s dim light.

Soft at first, then broken when his hand slid lower, gripping her hip, guiding her until she gave in.

He could almost feel her thighs tightening around his waist again, her nails raking his back while she gasped his name — not his face, never his name, but him.

The memory burned through him, twisting with the sight of her lying defenseless now. His fingers twitched against the thin mattress. He could touch her again, right here. Slide his hand under her blanket, relearn every inch of her. Make her body remember him before her mind did.

The image of her moaning under him, trapped and trembling, threatened to rip a sound out of his own chest. He shut his eyes for a second, forcing it down.

Not yet.

But soon.

---

The glow from the piggy bank above cast faint golden shadows across the dormitory, most of the players already curled up in uneasy sleep.

Gihun sat hunched forward on a bench near the bunks, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him an answer.

Inho’s gaze lingered on Y/n one last time before he rose from his bed. His movements were casual, calculated — the steps of a man who wanted to look harmless.

He approached quietly and sat down beside Gihun, close enough to startle him out of his thoughts.

“You really weren’t bluffing, were you?” Inho’s voice was low, curious. “You’ve played before.”

Gihun turned his head, studying him with guarded eyes. “Yeah. I was here three years ago. Number 456, same as now.” His voice carried the weight of exhaustion, but also conviction.

In-ho tilted his head. “Then… why are you back?”

For a moment, Gihun didn’t answer. His jaw worked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he exhaled through his nose. “To stop it. To end these games once and for all.”

That answer was everything In-ho expected — and dreaded. He masked his true reaction with a small, sympathetic nod. “Brave of you. Most people would never come back here by choice.”

“And you?” Gihun countered after a moment. His eyes searched Inho’s face. “Why risk your life in this hell?”

In-ho’s pause was deliberate, like a man hesitant to reveal too much. Then he let out a quiet sigh, lowering his gaze as if confessing something painful.

“I… I have an old mother. She’s sick. Treatment’s expensive, and I’ve got nothing else. I can’t just watch her fade away.”

The lie slipped from his tongue with ease, practiced and smooth. And just as he predicted, he saw the shift in Gihun’s eyes — the softening.

Gihun nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I know what that’s like. My mom… she died because I didn’t have the money to help her. If that’s your reason, I get it. Really.”

In-ho’s lips curved into the faintest, almost sad smile. Inside, he was smirking. Hook, line, sinker.

Gihun was exactly as malleable as he remembered — a man led by compassion, someone who could be bent in the right places. Someone he could use.

But outwardly, he just patted Gihun’s shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. “Then maybe… we can look out for each other in here.”

“Yeah,” Gihun said, almost relieved at the suggestion. “We’ll need allies.”

Inho’s eyes flicked up, just briefly, to the bunk where Y/n lay asleep. His hand clenched and released.

Oh, I’ll look out for her too. More than you ever could.

to imagine that gihun might've tried to get comfort by the touch of this object, given by the person who he trusted and loved so much but who also hurt and betrayed him more than anyone ever has. to imagine that he was aware of him being the same person he felt haunted by for years, still not able to help himself but feel like he's the only person in that cruel place he currently feels connected to and to be someone he can still hold onto in a way, because of the words he said to him when they faced each other.

now what if i said i believe gihun's love for inho intensified when he found out youngil is the frontman.

he never had a face to the frontman, yet every of their interactions felt personal and close to the point they quickly started to interact so naturally and familiar with each other. also thinking about the fact that the first two times he interacted with the frontman, each time he could hear his real voice that gihun, knowing the person he is, immediately connected with something human.

what also made me think (something i had already mentioned in an older post) he sensed humanity in the frontman was when he directly told him he couldn't forgive him for what he's doing when they were talking on the phone. you don't tell people who you think can't be saved anyway that you can't forgive them, because if you thought that, you would know they wouldn't ever want nor need your forgiveness in first place.

---

when gihun met youngil, he instantly felt a closeness to him, what i think was partly also caused through him subconsciously sensing the similarities between how youngil and the frontman talked to him. and when these two personalities connected to who he saw during the confrontation, both youngil and the frontman sitting as one person in front of him, no matter how much it hurt, infuriated or even frightened him for a moment, it's maybe exactly that what deepened everything he felt for him. the love he felt for youngil that came from deep trust, admiration and a feeling of closeness such as all the dark emotions towards the frontman including his strong obsession and that unexplainable drive to specifically find him that felt so personal and that he couldn't let go of over the years, increased everything he felt for him at that very moment. it would also explain how quickly his anger had calmed and how he could accept the truth so fast. it couldn't just be youngil he thought about in the moment he held the dagger, when just right before that it was him as the frontman who he saw. when right before he made the choice not to kill him, knowing he was the reason he was still out there having his eye on him, only because he decided to let him breathe. he saw one of inho's darkest moments when he shot jungbae in front of his eyes and was immediately confronted with that when inho apologized and mentioned jungbae. and it seems like even that wasn't enough for gihun to let go of what they had. its like everything shattered and clicked into one all at the same time when he saw youngils face appearing behind the dark mask.

a part of gihun definitely knew the moment he saw youngil, that there was something deep reaching and sinister about him. but it was both that and also all of his trusting qualities what kept him drawn to him.

i just love to over analyze every scene and maybe this seems like a big stretch to some, but i'm a firm believer of inhun fitting the red string theory. all of these details can't be a coincidence to me, because when you look at the context of it, it makes more than sense.

i love that inho's wrist is showing when he hands gihun the knife, gihun seeing the vulnerability in the action and remembering how despite everything it's still a person in front of him

even without gihun knowing about inho's entire story, they were more connected in this moment than it seemed. i like to think that gihun and inho stayed awake for the rest of the night, sharing another moment like the other times before where they indirectly look at each other through gihun staring at the camera while inho looked at his screen, remaining in each other's minds.