01 - No Good Deed | Just Another Player. (hwang In-ho X Reader)

01 - no good deed | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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----

The room was dark. Not the artificial, humming darkness of the dormitories. No flickering overhead lights, no sound of desperate breathing in the shadows.

This darkness was deeper, becoming quieter, then still.

Hwang In-ho bolts upright in his bed, breath caught in his throat, chest heaving beneath the black robe of the Front Man. Sweat clung to his skin like blood once did. The black mask sits abandoned on the table beside him, and for a moment, he remembers who he is.

Not Hwang In-ho.

The Front Man.

But the dream, kind of a memory, doesn’t let him go. He can still feel it — the warm pool of his blood beneath him, the shouts, the silence, and the pain.

And then, there was you.

Your gloved hands pressing down his wound with a whisper against the chaos, “If you live, don’t forget who you were.”

In-ho’s hands tremble as he reached for a glass of water beside him. He had forgotten, hadn’t he? Bit by bit, piece by piece, until all that remained was the mask, the control, the machine.

But that voice — your voice — it never left.

He brushes his hand through his damp hair, eyes burning as they stare at nothing. You were just a shadow then, a mask among other masks. A rule-breaker in a place where mercy was punishable by death.

He doesn’t even know your face or your name. Yet your presence lives in the cracks of his memory, in the fractured quiet of his mind that he never allowed himself to touch.

Except in his dreams.

Or nightmares.

He rose slowly, each movement deliberate. There’s something cold and restrained about him now, but the weight behind his eyes was unmistakable. He walked to the system terminal as the soft glow of the screens hummed to life, illuminating the sharp edges of his face, the shadow of grief still etched across his expression.

His fingers tapped on the keyboard as the screen flickered.

Pink Guard Personnel Records: 28th Squid Game

He shouldn’t do this.

He knew he shouldn’t. Everything about the games was built on anonymity, everything encrypted as if you were expected to forget, bury the past six feet beneath protocol and power.

But he couldn’t forget you.

His voice was low, hoarse, as he spoke into the silence. “Who were you?”

The system begins its search as the man behind the mask isn’t the Front Man tonight. Tonight, he’s a survivor… still trying to find the one person who made him feel human again.

Lines of data flicker across the screen — guard IDs, biometric logs, movement patterns, shift schedules. Thousands of entries. Most were clean, categorized, and controlled.

But one file stalls.

ID: P-132-20152745

In-ho narrowed his eyes as he noticed the file. He hovered his hand on his mouse as he clicked, only for the screen to shudder.

ERROR. FILE CORRUPTED. ACCESS DENIED.

He leaned closer as he squinted at the file number. He doesn’t recognize the number, but something about it pulls at him. The timestamp matches the night he was injured. That narrow window between the second and third round.

His fingers fly over the keys as he bypasses standard security. Firewalls resist him, but he wrote the protocols himself. He cracks through the surface code, digging deeper.

REDACTED ENTRY: UNAUTHORIZED INTERVENTION DETECTED.

P-132-20152745: Disciplinary Report - MISSING

Security Footage - DELETED

Status: UNKNOWN

He sits back slowly, the air tight in his lungs, realizing that someone had scrubbed the record.

Not just a name or a face. Just plain everything.

As if that guard never existed.

As if the system had tried to erase the very moment he clung to all these years.

His jaw tightened, rage pulsing beneath the surface. Not just for the system, but for himself for forgetting, surviving, and becoming the very thing he once feared.

Still, there’s a silver of data remaining. A slashed fragment of a voice file that was compressed and corrupted.

Yet, it was still playable.

The static nearly swallows the sound, but in the middle of the distortion, something cuts through.

“—wasn’t supposed to do this…”

“…remember who you are…” “—forgive me.”

In-ho’s eyes closed, his heart pulsing through his chest. Though it was comforting to feel that you were real, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to you.

As his thoughts almost swayed him, he immediately snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a heavy thud. Not from the room, but from the recording.

He sat up as a sharp intake of breath was heard, then another sound that seemed like a hit. Then, another sound that pierces through even the most distorted noise.

A soft, broken whimper. A woman’s voice.

“Please…” A muffled cry as another strike seemed to be done, and then, there was silence.

In-ho froze as his jaw clenched while the recording looped, replaying that single moment of helplessness. Something cold grips his chest, curling around his ribs like barbed wire.

Someone definitely made sure he wouldn’t remember it.

The file ends with one last, choked breath — one that doesn’t quite sound like fear, but grief.

“He wasn’t supposed to see me.”

The silence after felt suffocating. In-ho’s fingers curled into fists as the final realization sank in. This wasn’t just a disappearing act.

Someone silenced you, covered you up, and buried your existence under codes and protocols. In-ho scoffed, a smirk forming as if an idea shone all over his face.

They didn’t bury you well enough.

His eyes hardened as he locked the terminal.

You saved him once, now it was his turn.

——

The incinerator hisses as the body bag disappears into flame.

It was either buried or harvested for organs — you couldn’t care at all. In fact, you don’t flinch anymore. You haven’t, in a long time.

The stench of burnt cloth and blood clings to your mask, thick and stubborn, as if even the scent refuses to die here. You stand still, posture straight, hands clasped behind you just as protocol demands.

You were only a pink circle guard. Just another pair of obedient boots, another ghost in the machine.

Your boots echo softly down the corridor. Rhythm is everything here—footsteps measured, spine straight, eyes forward behind a mask that tells the world nothing. Now, you’re Guard 427.

You swipe your card at the checkpoint and enter the security control wing. The guards here don’t speak unless ordered. The walls hum with surveillance feeds, and one screen, larger than the rest, projects the black mask of the Front Man. You’ve worked hard to become invisible. You are precise in your tasks, silent in your duties, unremarkable in your movements. You erase yourself every day, bit by bit, in service of survival.

Still, you remember him. Not as the Front Man. But as Player 132.

He was bleeding when you found him, struggling beneath the weight of survival. You should’ve walked away. Left him to die like all the others. But something in his eyes that night — numb but furious, cracked but not yet broken made you stop.

You knelt. Whispered. Touched his bloodied chest with trembling fingers.

“If you live, don’t forget who you were before they made you fight.”

And now, he sits behind the glass of power, voice modulated, mask unshifting, his judgment absolute. You wondered if he dreams of you, if your voice ever slips into his nightmares. You wondered if, when he stares too long at the monitors, he's chasing something his mind won’t give him.

You kept your head down and your steps even. You cleaned blood off the walls. You followed orders. You pretend you’re not the one he’s unknowingly searching for.

Because if he ever does remember… If he ever sees through the perfect circle painted across your mask, what then?

Would he thank you? Punish you? Undo you?

You weren’t sure. In a place where mercy was a foreign concept, such a situation of his finding you would cause more complications.

The alarm blared. A low tone thrums through the walls, and every Circle in the hallway stops in unison.

“VIP arrival. Level Six. Escort detail.”

Your fellow pink guards peel off wordlessly, boots pivoting toward the service lift that leads to the opulent corridors you’re never meant to see. The ones draped in gold and smoke, the ones that reek of indulgence and blood.

But not you.

Your earpiece buzzes with a separate frequency.

“P-427, Report to Sub-Level Three. Clearance Sigma Red.”

Sigma Red.

You hesitate for half a breath before responding.

“Confirmed. On route.”

It wasn’t your first time.

You walked alone now, past the steel hallways, the flickering fluorescents, the guards who pretended not to see. You made your way towards the door marked only by a red triangle and the faint scent of disinfectant beneath it.

Inside the room was quiet, warmer, and cleaner. There was no briefing. No other guards. Just a room with a solitary mirror and a rack of clean clothing with soft fabric, unlike your uniform.

“Change. Protocol 09 is in effect,” the voice over the intercom says.

You obeyed, not needing to be told why.

You’ve done this before. You remember the way the Front Man had just taken the mask then. How his presence had loomed even before you could name it. The first time, you’d done what you were told because not doing so meant punishment.

You were a standard circle guard who was quiet, efficient, and obedient. Not until that night during the 28th Season where you chose mercy.

He was bleeding out during lights out where his eyes had pulled you in — the hollow ache of someone who wanted to die but was too proud to beg for it. You broke the rules, yet they let you live.

Only so they could strip you down slowly — the escort class.

The lowest, most degrading designation in the hierarchy of this twisted system. You are masked, dressed in thin civilian mimicry, and handed over to the VIPs—not for pleasure, necessarily. Sometimes just for company. Sometimes for cruelty. Always for obedience.

“Escort detail begins in thirty minutes. Await further instruction.”

The door clicks shut behind you. You sat and waited, listening to the hum of the walls as you wondered, what if this is the time he speaks to you? What if he looks at you a second too long? What if he asks your name? And what if you're too afraid to give it?

The walls here were too quiet. No screams, gunfire, and barking orders. Only silence — deliberate, echoing, and unnerving.

The mask stays on. It always stays on. It's the only part of yourself you're allowed to keep. As you sat, the intercom crackled again. A different voice this time. One you know. One you’ve heard before during your disciplinary hearing.

“Protocol 09 in effect,” the speaker hisses.

No acknowledgment required. They know you understand.

“You aided a player in the 28th Season. Unforgivable.”

A pause, long enough to let the weight settle. “You will not speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone. The Front Man does not know. He must never know. Do you understand?”

You nod silently, because that’s all you're allowed to do now.

“VIPs arrive in thirty. Escort mode active.”

You fixed the mask over your face as you changed layer by layer, its garments feel like silk-wrapped shame.

You remember how, once, your hands shook as they held a bleeding man. The one who now runs the games, one who sits behind a mask of black steel, haunted by something he can’t quite name.

He lives because of you and now you serve because of him.

He must never know.

But you remember.

Every time.

——

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and smoke clung to the velvet of the VIP lounge. The lighting was warm, golden, and suffocating — designed to flatter the depraved. Laughter cuts the air like broken glass. Masks of beasts and emperors lounge across gilded sofas, their voices slurred, their gaze predatory.

One of the VIPs snaps his fingers lazily. You pour his drink, bow just enough, and say nothing — as trained. You don’t speak. You don’t blink too long. You don’t feel.

“You’re quiet,” the VIP, masked as a Minotaur, slurred, brushing his fingers against your mask. “That’s good. Quiet girls know their place.”

You don’t flinch. At least, not visibly.

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you slightly closer, examining you like a possession. “You’re prettier than the last one. I like the silent ones.”

You remain still and silent. Fighting the urge to pull away because if you did, they win. And if you speak, you lose more. Your hands rest on your knees as you lowered your gaze.

“You’re not new, are you?”

The question stung, but you didn’t flinch. You were burning inside, but you stayed silent.

“That means you know not to fight.”

A murmur of laughter from the others. One of them raises a toast. Another gestures toward you and makes a cruel joke about how easily the silent ones break.

But something shifts in the room. The air tightens. The laughter dulls into murmurs.

The door opened, revealing the Front Man.

Black mask. Black coat. His movements sharp and deliberate. Authority trails behind him like a shadow.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You straightened your back, holding your breath as you felt your pulse surge. You kept your head bowed.

He shouldn't be here. Not during the lounge sessions. Not unless something’s wrong. Yet here he is.

He walked slowly through the room silently as if he were observing and calculating something. His presence stills the most obnoxious of the guests. Even the ones who believe they own this place lower their voices when he moves near.

From across the room, the Front Man’s visor tilts toward you. He seemed to see your… situation. But, he doesn’t stop it. He doesn’t speak.

He simply watches.

You don’t know what’s worse. The VIP’s hand curling around your waist…

…or the silence from the one man who might have stopped it.

The VIP’s hand had finally left your side—only because another escort had arrived, younger and easier to control. You’d bowed out with the grace expected of you, even though your fingers trembled behind your back.

“Go help the servers,” one of the Square guards said.

You obeyed.

It was almost a relief to stand by the bar cart again, serving champagne, bourbon, whiskey, gin. Anything they asked for. Anything to stop being seen.

“You,” the Square guard pointed at you. “Pour for the Front Man.”

The air around you dropped ten degrees, but your hands moved on instinct. The Front Man stood near the edge of the lounge, silent and still as the walls themselves. You could feel the room shift around him.

You approached with measured steps, a crystal decanter in hand.

He didn’t look at you when you poured, though you could smell his cologne even beneath your mask. As you were about to finish filling up the glass, he suddenly spoke.

“Stay.”

You froze. You expected to be dismissed. But instead, he stood there, drink in hand, and allowed you to remain beside him. One step behind. Within reach. Claimed without announcement.

“Careful with that one, Front Man!” a portly VIP calls out with a laugh, drink sloshing in his hand. “Keep her too close, and you might find yourself using her for more than just drinks!”

Laughter erupted from his circle as your breath hitched a bit. You didn’t move, and the Front Man didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if he reacted beneath his mask, but he stayed still. There was no reaction and defense.

He sipped his drink slowly, his gaze never leaving the room. Not even a glance toward the man who joked. Not toward you. But then, you felt a sting inside you.

It wasn’t because of the VIP’s words — you’ve heard worse.

But because he didn’t stop it.

You stood at his side obediently, and he let the insult hang there, untouched. You forced the pain down like glass, straightening your spine. Somehow, his silence hurts more than the joke ever could.

By day, you sweep floors, distribute rations, check that the cameras are functioning. Your circle mask stares back at you from polished metal when you pass the infirmary door. You speak to no one. You salute when required. You blend in easily and invisibly.

You are not meant to be remembered. That, too, is part of the punishment.

At night, it changes. The suit comes off. The silk goes on. You trade your mask for another kind — faceless still, but far more exposed. An escort — a role no one envies.

No one asks how you ended up there. They already know.

It’s all because you interfered and saved someone you weren’t meant to. You’re not even sure he remembers. Or if he ever knew. Or if he’s simply chosen to forget because acknowledging what you did would mean acknowledging that even he was once weak enough to bleed.

And weakness isn’t allowed here.

Sometimes, when you stand beside his chair in the VIP lounge and pour his drink, you think about that moment in the dark, years ago. When he was gasping, wounded, barely clinging to life behind a player’s uniform soaked in blood. And you chose to help.

That was the night your position was stripped from you.

Because you weren’t always a circle.

Your hands remember how to hold a gun with authority. Your voice remembers how to give orders.

You were a square.

You remember the weight of command.

But mercy is a betrayal in this place, and your punishment is to be seen and not recognized. It is for you to serve quietly the man you once saved and to suffer silently each time he looks right past you.

----

A/N: We're back! This time, it's more of a slow burn type of fanfic so please bear with the story. What did you think of how you're a Pink Guard saving the Front Man back when he was still a player and him trying to find you in the crowd? This whole fic will be based on the events of Squid Game Season 1, as it would be like one of the first years of In-ho as the Front Man. :D

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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The end of Modern Warfare 2...

With Soap, with Price, with the pulling the knife out, with the on the run thing-

I just…

Must aquire Modern Warfare Three.

MUST. AQUIRE. NOW.

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lieutenantbatshit

7 years ago

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lieutenantbatshit

7 years ago

Metal Gear Solid 5 Pixel Gifs

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2 months ago

CHAPTER 17 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

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——

You walked with purpose back to the control room, your steps echoing in the sterile hallways. The adrenaline hadn’t left your system yet. The sickening scene still burned in your memory — the way that guard had defiled a corpse, how he didn’t even have the time to beg before you put a bullet through his skull. You dismissed everyone, seeing it was dinner time for the players.

But your mind wasn’t on him anymore. It was on the larger truth — the rot that had festered in this system long before you arrived.

You returned to the suite where In-ho was already waiting, his mask removed as he sat on the edge of the bed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up the moment you walked in, concern flashing his dark eyes.

“What happened?” His voice was quiet but firm.

You hesitated only for a moment before stepping closer. “In the organ harvesting room,” you started, voice level, though the memory of what you saw still made your stomach coil. “One of the guards was defiling a corpse.”

In-ho stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“I killed him,” you met his gaze without flinching. “I didn’t hesitate.”

His expression darkened, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. “The organ trade itself is something I’ve had to tolerate,” he admitted, exhaling sharply through his nose. “It keeps some of the higher-ups pleased, funds the games even further. But this,” his fingers ran through his hair, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. “This is unacceptable. It’s… disgusting.”

You nodded, stepping closer, placing a hand gently over his clenched fist. He looked at you, his expression softer, but filled with something deeper — an unspoken anger, a silent promise that he would handle it. His free hand reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice quiet now, laced with something tender now.

You hesitated. Your body had been feeling different lately — tired, restless, an occasional nausea curling in your stomach. The signs were there, but you weren’t ready to say them out loud. You weren’t ready to confirm what you already feared.

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

His eyes lingered on yours, as if he could see past the mask you wore. But then, just as quickly, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. His grip on your hand tightened. “I need to make an example out of them,” he muttered, his mind already turning toward the next steps. “The guards think they can do whatever they want. That ends now.”

You watched him, the way his mind worked, the way he was already planning the next move to keep everything under control. For a moment, you thought about telling him the truth. About the possibility growing inside you, the uncertainty that gnawed at you.

But instead, you just leaned into his touch, letting the warmth of his palm against your cheek ground you in the present. “You’ll handle it,” you murmured.

His gaze flickered to yours, something soft breaking through his usual hard exterior. “Of course,” he whispered, his thumb tracing lightly along your jawline before he pulled you into a slow, lingering kiss — one that tasted of quiet promises and unspoken truths.

——

Sleep came to you in fragments, restless and fleeting. The weight of the day sat heavy in your bones, but exhaustion was no match for the thoughts clawing at the edges of your mind. Somewhere beside you, In-ho’s steady breathing filled the quiet room, his presence a familiar warmth. He slept deeply, unaware of the turmoil unfurling beside you.

Then, a sharp wave of nausea twisted in your stomach, dragging you from the fragile grasp of sleep. Your eyes snapped open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the heavy curtains. You swallowed hard, willing the discomfort to pass, but it only worsened. The sickening churn in your gut grew unbearable, forcing you to move.

Carefully, you peeled back the silk sheets, mindful not to wake In-ho. Every small shift of the mattress felt like a risk, but he didn’t stir. His face was soft in the dim light, his mask stripped away in the safety of sleep. For a fleeting moment, you lingered, watching him who looked so peaceful and unguarded.

Then, another wave of nausea struck, violent and unrelenting. You pushed yourself off the bed, your bare feet barely making a sound against the cool floor as you rushed toward the bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, you slammed the door shut with the softest click possible, locking it before stumbling towards the sink.

The nausea tore through you mercilessly. You barely had time to turn the faucet on, letting the rush of water mask the sound as you collapsed in front of the toilet, retching violently. The bitter taste of bile burned your throat, your entire body shuddering as you gripped the porcelain edges for stability.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to breathe through the dizziness. Your heart was racing, hammering against your ribs like it knew the truth before your mind was ready to accept it.

This had been happening for days. The fatigue, the strange unease in your stomach, the shifts in your appetite.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand, staring blankly at the water swirling down the sink drain. You wanted to deny it, but the thought had already taken root, curling around your mind like a vice. It explained too much.

Your fingers fumbled to turn off the faucet, your breathing unsteady. For a moment, you just stood there, gripping the counter with white-knuckled hands, trying to center yourself.

Then, you left the bathroom. Your steps were slow and calculated as you pushed open the door and stepped back into the bedroom. In-ho hadn’t moved. He lay still in the moonlight, his dark hair tousled, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.

You hesitated, watching him.

You weren’t ready to tell him. Not yet, anyway.

Quietly, you slipped out of the room, the soft hum of the facility filling your ears as you padded through the halls. The guards stationed outside immediately straightened at the sight of you. Their red masks reflected the dim hallway lights, their bodies rigid with attention.

You exhaled, trying to steady yourself. “I need you to do something for me.”

The two guards exchanged a glance before one of them nodded. “Anything, Overseer.”

You swallowed, forcing your voice to remain firm. “Get me a pregnancy test,” you paused for a moment. Then, with a sharp edge to your words, you added, “And do not let In-ho know.”

The guards hesitated for just a second too long, as if processing your request, but they knew better than to question you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You turned on your heel before you could see their reaction, your pulse thrumming violently beneath your skin as you strode back toward the bedroom. Every second felt like an eternity. You climbed back into bed, lying stiffly beside In-ho, your back turned to him as you stared blankly at the darkness.

You barely noticed when the guard returned. A soft knock at your door. A small package slipped into your hands, no words exchanged. Then, you went to the bathroom again.

You tore open the box with shaky hands, your breath coming in uneven bursts. The instructions blurred before your eyes, your mind already lost in the storm of possibilities.

Minutes passed.

An eternity.

And then, there it was.

Two lines.

Positive.

Your stomach lurched, but this time, it was nausea. It was fear.

Your grip tightened around the small plastic test, your knuckles going white. The world felt too small, too suffocating. The air in the bathroom suddenly too thick.

You were pregnant.

With In-ho’s child.

You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the result, unable to look away. For a long time, you stayed there, your reflection in the mirror staring back at you, eyes wide and unblinking. You should feel something — relief, dread, hope, or even terror. But all you felt was the weight of the unknown, pressing down on you like the walls were closing in.

And for the first time in a long while, you had no idea what to do.

The walls of the bathroom felt too tight — the fluorescent light suddenly too harsh against your skin. You grabbed the pregnancy test with an unsteady grip, shoving it into the pocket of your robe before stepping out of the bathroom, heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs.

In-ho was still asleep. His dark hair spilled across the pillow, his breathing deep and undisturbed. The weight of him, the sheer presence of him, made something heavy settle in your chest. Carefully, you slipped past him, reaching for the heavy balcony doors and pushing them open. The cool night air hit you like a wave, crisp and briny from the sea surrounding the island. The sky stretched infinitely above you, speckled with stars that seemed far too serene for the storm raging inside you.

You gripped the balcony railing, your knuckles turning white.

You’re pregnant with In-ho’s child.

A child that would be born into this — this hellish, blood-soaked world.

Your stomach twisted as you stared out at the dark waves beyond the facility, the gentle crash of the tide doing little to soothe the panic bubbling beneath your skin.

Would this child be raised in the shadows of this place? Would they ever see the real world, or would they only know the cold walls of the Overseer’s domain?

Then, there was the other thought — the one that coiled around your chest like a vice.

In-ho lost his wife. He lost his unborn child.

You never asked him about it in detail, never pressed when you saw the way his gaze darkened at the mention of his past. But you knew it haunted him. And now, here you were, carrying his child. The thought alone made your stomach lurch.

Would he be happy? Would he be terrified? Would he see this as a cruel twist of fate, a ghost of his past resurrected in your womb?

Or worse — would this child be doomed from the start?

You exhaled sharply, running a hand down your face, overwhelmed.

“You should be more careful.”

The voice startled you. It was low, calm, and familiar. Your head snapped to the right, eyes locking into the figure standing a few feet away.

Gi-hun leaned against the railing, dressed in his usual black suit, a cup of tea held loosely in his hands. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes were already studying you. You didn’t even notice him there. How long had he been standing in the shadows?

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the only sound being the distant crash of the waves. You swallowed, trying to mask your unease. “What are you talking about?”

Gi-hun let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Noticed you haven’t been yourself lately.” You froze as his gaze flickered down your stomach. “I’m not the only one who noticed.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, gripping it tightly, as if you could shield yourself from his knowing stare. You wanted to deny it, to brush past the topic, but the look in his eyes told you he wouldn’t buy it. Gi-hun took a slow sip of his tea and then exhaled. “Does In-ho know?”

Your throat went dry. You didn’t answer him, and your silence was enough of an answer for him.

Gi-hun hummed, setting his cup of tea down on the railing, his fingers tapping against the porcelain. His eyes flickered toward the horizon, but you could feel his attention still on you. “You haven’t told him,” he murmured, almost to himself. His tone wasn’t accusatory — just an observation, spoken with quiet certainty.

“It’s none of your business.”

Gi-hun let out a breathy chuckle. “Maybe not,” he turned slightly, his gaze finding yours again. “But you’re standing here, looking like the weight of the world is crushing you. And I think we both know that it is.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling your chest tighten.

“You’re scared,” you flinched, but his voice remained steady and measured. “Scared of what this means. Scared of what it will do to In-ho. Scared that you’ll lose this child the same way he lost his first one.”

A lump formed in your throat. He wasn’t mocking you nor was he prying. He was just stating the truth that you had been trying to outrun since you first saw the result of the test.

Gi-hun leaned against the railing, his expression unreadable. “You know, for all the blood on your hands… you still hold onto things that make you human,” his gaze flickered downward, just briefly. “And this? This is the most human thing that could ever happen to you.”

You exhaled shakily, your mind spinning.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” He asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

The question slammed into you harder than any bullet ever could. You had spent months surviving, fighting, killing — but this? This wasn’t something you could fight your way out of.

This was life.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “No.”

Gi-hun nodded, as if he expected that answer. He didn’t press. Instead, he straightened himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “You should tell him soon,” he murmured. “Secrets have a way of eating people alive. And something tells me that this isn’t one you can keep forever.”

You watched as he turned, picked up his tea, and walked away, disappearing from the balcony as he went back to his room. The wind blew through your hair, the cold air biting against your skin.

You placed a hand over your stomach, your fingers trembling.

Tell him.

The thought alone made your pulse race. Because once you told him, there would be no going back.

——

The morning sun cast a pale glow through the tinted windows of the conference room, stretching long shadows across the polished table. The air inside was thick with unspoken weight, each of you seated in your designated places. In-ho was at the head of the table with you at his right, while Gi-hun was across from you. The three of you, the orchestrators of the games, gathered for another day of calculated cruelty.

A digital screen hummed to life at the far end of the room, displaying live footage of the contestants inside the dormitory. The uneasy silence stretched as you and In-ho studied the screen, watching the slow build of tension amongst the players. The numbers were dwindling, but something was different this season. There was more desperation and paranoia present.

In-ho tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, his mask placed beside him. “We need a contingency,” he said. “The moment they turn on each other, we set the special game in motion. A purge, disguised as an opportunity.”

Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips. “Encouraging savagery before they even step onto the field. Smart.” He reached for a tray beside him, grabbing one of the drinks set out for the meeting. But instead of taking a sip, he slid it across the table — right in front of you.

Your brows furrowed as you glanced down at the cup. It was different from the others. A light, warm shade. You could smell the faint scent of ginger and honey.

You blinked.

This wasn’t coffee. It wasn’t alcohol. It wasn’t even tea.

It was a pregnancy-safe herbal drink.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze, meeting Gi-hun’s eyes. The smirk on his face wasn’t cruel, but it held something else.

In-ho must have noticed your hesitation because his eyes flickered between you and the cup before settling on Gi-hun. His voice was calm, but his words carried sharp edges. “What is this?”

Gi-hun tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Something nutritious. For someone who should be careful with what they drink.:

The room fell silent. Your throat tightened as you felt In-ho’s gaze shift to you. You could feel his heavy and piercing eyes on you. Your fingers curled against your lap, pressing into the fabric of your pants.

In-ho didn’t look away from you. His voice was quieter this time, but no less intense. “Are you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. For a moment, you thought about lying. You thought about deflecting, about pretending this wasn’t happening.

But there was no running from this. Not anymore.

“Yes.”

Silence.

You could feel Gi-hun watching, his expression unreadable. But your focus was on In-ho.

His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His fingers twitched against the table, tightening into a fist before relaxing again. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t relieved.

He was stunned.

His breath was slow and controlled. But his eyes held something fragile… and raw.

“Out,” In-ho said, his voice calm but final.

Gi-hun sighed, standing up from his chair with an exaggerated stretch. “Well, I’d say that’s enough emotion for one morning,” he downed the last of his drink, tapping the rim of the cup against the table. “Congratulations, by the way.”

You shot him a glare, but he only smirked. Then, with a final knowing glance at In-ho, he turned and strolled out of the conference room, leaving you both.

The door clicked shut behind him.

In-ho turned to face you further as the look in his eyes silenced you. There was no fury nor accusation.

Just something fragile.

Something like fear.

——

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I’m aiming to finish this by the next five chapters, After that, I’ll be focusing on doing oneshots and maybe a new series soon. I’m curious about what you guys are expecting at the ending of this series, so please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

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my kind of distraction (hwang in-ho x reader)

Hii!! I Was Wondering If You'd Be Interested In Writing A Young Inho X Reader, Something Fluffy, Maybe

Tags: university!au, inho x reader, enemies to lovers, young in-ho, fluff

Summary: You first meet In-ho at a convenience store, unbeknownst to you that he was also party of the police academy you were training for. On your first day of training, you meet In-ho again and think of him as someone who's arrogant during trainings, as he would criticize you whenever you were partnered with him. Over time, you found yourself looking forward to your trainings together. And when you successfully anticipated his next move, for the first time in a while, he smiled.

A/N: I know I used a Mr. Sunshine GIF for this AU, but it's the perfect scenario of what I pictured in my head. I'm sorry this took awhile as I am still grieving over my father, but here it is! 🫡

----

The fluorescent light cast a stark, sterile glow over neatly stacked shelves, the faint beep of the cashier scanning items, and the quiet hum of refrigerators lined with colorful drinks. As you entered the convenience, the smell of instant noodles, cheap coffee, and something fried from the food warmer near the counter reached your nose.

The ground beneath your feet was steady, yet it felt as if you’re walking on air, one breath away from something bigger than your grasp. You took a big step out of your comfort zone, entering the police academy with no connections - just pure luck. For the past few days, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you made a great choice, that it was enough. Enough to prove the fear doesn’t get to hold you back. That growth isn’t meant to be comfortable.

You sighed as you grabbed an instant ramen on the shelf, with a soda in a can at hand. You had to eat something, at least. The nervousness in taking it all by yourself, taking control of your life, was starting to get to you. At least, in this way, you felt normal.

You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you round the corner of an aisle, trying to get to the cashier, and see him standing by the refrigerated section.

Tall. Composed. Effortlessly self-assured in a way that feels almost deliberate.

He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate in his movements. His fingers graze over a row of canned coffee, seeing it labeled as Americano as he plucked one off the shelf with a kind of precision that suggests he does this often. There’s an air of distance about him, something cold and untouchable, like he exists in a space just slightly apart from everyone else.

Even as another customer brushes past him, murmuring a quiet sorry, he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t shift, doesn’t react. He simply steps back as if it’s expected, as if the world should move around him rather than the other way around. The cool blue light of the fridge highlights the sharp angles of his face. You shook your head, an attempt to shake him away from your thoughts as you noticed yourself staring. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Or maybe he has, and he just doesn’t care.

And then, as if sensing your stare, he lifts his gaze and meets yours.“You see something you like?” He said, voice low and edged with a quiet arrogance.

You snapped away from your thoughts immediately as you felt your throat tighten, caught between embarrassment and irritation.

You open your mouth, ready with a sharp retort, but then he turned away. He walked past you without a glance, the scent of coffee and something clean lingering in the air as he passed. It should be unremarkable, just another fleeting moment in a late-night store.

But something about him stays with you. You don’t know why yet.

Not yet, anyway.

But one thing’s for sure - that annoyed you more than anything else.

——

The universe had other plans. The kind of plan that didn’t think of you, that didn’t care for your feelings.

“Hwang In-ho.”

You snapped your head up just in time to see him forward as you stood in formation on your first day of training at the police academy, listening to the instructor call out partner assignments. You nearly feel your stomach drop as you see him, the man you met at the convenience store.

He was composed as ever, his expression still unreadable.

“And you,” the instructor continues, turning toward you. “You’ll be working with him.”

Your gaze stayed still, trying not to show any emotion from what you felt from your first encounter with Hwang In-ho. You avoided his faze as he walks over to stand beside you; something flickers across his face. A moment of quiet recognition.

His eyes drag over you as if to assess you, tilting his head a bit. Then, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“You again,” he murmured, just low enough that only you can hear.

You straighten your shoulders, trying not to let his arrogance under your skin. “Guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

In-ho smirked, his gaze lingering longer before he looked ahead again, completely at ease. “Try to keep up.”

For the past few months, you trained with In-ho. As much as you wanted to think of him as your equal, you can’t help but feel the rivalry between you two. Beside you, In-ho was already prepared, his stance immaculate, and his confidence radiated like an invisible force.

The sound of boots scraped against the floor echoed in the small, sparse room. You and In-ho stood in the center. The air was thick with anticipation, and despite the calm exterior, you could feel the adrenaline humming through your veins. Today’s training was all about speed and precision - drawing the weapon fast enough to stop a threat before it had a chance to react.

In-ho had already settled into his stance, the gun at his side, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the space like he could already predict what would happen next. His usual cocky smirk was there, though this time, it had a sharper edge to it.

“You ready to keep up?” In-ho asked, his voice almost mocking.

“Just don’t slow me down,” you replied. You tried to ignore the way his words grated against you. You knew he was trying to test you. Drawing the weapon wasn’t just about speed - it was about control, about making every move count without wasting time.

In-ho turned his head, his eyes glinting with that same arrogant fire. “You should be thanking me for this. You’ll never get this fast on your own.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t respond. It wasn’t worth it. You knew what you needed to do.

“Go.”

Your fingers shot to the grip of the gun, a smooth, practiced motion - except it wasn’t quite smooth enough. Your hand fumbled slightly at first, a split-second delay in pulling the gun free, and that split-second was enough for In-ho to draw your gun away.

In-ho lowered his gun with a grin, his voice dripping with that all too familiar smugness. “You might want to work on that. A slow draw will get you killed before you even start.”

You felt the heat of frustration surge in your chest, but you swallowed it down. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, he was right. Yet you didn’t want to lose this time.

“Let’s do it again,” you said, steadying your breathing.

In-ho gave you a cocky nod, clearly entertained. “Fine. But don’t take too long. I wouldn’t want you to waste all my time.”

You took a step closer, not missing a beat. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to waste more time on me,” you teased, leaning in just enough for him to notice the playful glint in your eyes. “But I think you’re already getting a little distracted.”

In-ho’s expression faltered for a moment, his usual confidence slipping as he caught the shift on your tone. His eyes lingered on you, just a fraction longer than what was considered normal, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something else behind his gaze.

At that moment, you knew you caught him off guard.

In-ho’s expression shifted, his confidence momentarily shaken as he cleared his throat. “You think you can distract me that easily?” A tight chuckle escaped from his lips.

You shrugged with a smirk. “I’m sure you can handle it. But I think you might be a little more… interested in what I can do.”

In-ho’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. For a second, you could see him caught between his usual arrogance and the curiosity that had crept up into his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice, something more amused than irritated.

“Ready for round two?” You challenged, giving him a wink, this time with more confidence than before.

“Go.”

The signal came again, and this time, you were ready. Your hand shot to the holster, faster, smoother, pulling the gun with fluid motion from him. You pointed and aimed at In-ho, sending his arms up in surrender.

For a moment, the room went still. In-ho was caught off guard, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a flicker of surprise. You couldn’t help but grin, your finger resting lightly on the trigger, though you weren’t about to fire.

“You were saying?” You asked, your voice low and teasing.

In-ho blinked, the smile creeping back onto his face, only this time, it was different. There was something more impressed in it, a quiet acknowledgement of the thought that you just won.

“Guess I underestimated you,” In-ho said, his cockiness returning, though with a slight edge of admiration.

You lowered your gun, placing it on your pockets as you wiped your sweat away with a face towel. “You do that a lot, don’t you?” A soft chuckle escaped from you.

To your surprise, he smiled. “You’re full of surprises.” His voice was almost softer now, a subtle warmth in his words.

You felt your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he looked at you - something disarmingly genuine in the smile that reached his eyes. As you tried to steady the racing of your heart, you swallowed as you let out a small grin. “You have no idea,” you replied.

In-ho watched you for a moment longer, the smile still playing at the corners of his lips. He seemed to favor the tension between you and him before giving a slight nod. “I think I’m starting to.”

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