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≡;- ꒰ ° private player ꒱

frontman ! in-ho x player ! reader

summary: she thought she was here to win the money, but the frontman wants more than her strategy; he wants her. and now she's his hidden prize.

wc — 4.3k

✮ nsfw, dubcon, kidnapping, bdsm dynamics, bondage, domination/submission, control, rough sex, breath play / choking, degradation, possessive language, power imbalance, slapping, verbal ownership, intense emotional manipulation, age gap implied but not explicitly mentioned, read at ur own discretion i beg, there’s a lot going on

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she didn't flinch when the first gunshot rang out.

that's when he noticed her.

player 187. tall. unfazed. too elegant for the dull, teal uniform she'd been given. it hung off her frame like it didn't belong, like she was just visiting. and maybe she was.

her expression didn't change when the man next to her dropped, brains and blood spraying her sleeve. she just ignored it and kept her eyes glued to the finish line.

people screamed. sobbed. ran away. threw up.

she kept walking.

he rewound the footage three times just to watch the way she moved. each step was deliberate, spine straight, eyes forward. not panicked. not praying. calm.

like death wasn't new to her. like she'd met it before, looked it in the face, and decided it wasn't worth being afraid of.

in a place full of chaos, she was composed. stunningly so.

he hated how long he watched her.

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she wasn't here to beg.

she didn't care about second chances or finding herself or doing better if she made it out alive.

she came because she was tired.

not in the dramatic, cry-for-help way. in the quiet, nonchalant way that settles into you after years of drowning in someone else's debt.

her mother owed money to people who didn't give extensions. her father died with nothing in his name but bills and an alcohol problem.

by twenty-eight, she had pawned every bag she owned, drained two savings accounts, maxed several credit cards and sold enough of herself to know there was nothing left.

so when a man in a pressed suit offered her a card and a smile, she took it.

not to win.

to disappear.

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he kept his eye on her after the first round.

she didn't socialize. didn't make alliances. didn't start fights.

she blended in like smoke, slipping between the cracks, always watching everyone else.

during the night riots, she didn't run. she just curled up beneath the bed and waited for the screaming to stop.

the morning after, she stepped over puddles of blood and flesh without blinking.

he told himself he was just curious.

but that didn't explain the way he paused every time her face flickered across the monitor.

or how often he found himself replaying the audio just to hear the way she spoke. quiet. like nothing could shake her.

some players wanted to win the money. some wanted to prove something.

but her?

she didn't want anything.

and he wanted to know why

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game two: dalgona.

a star. bad luck.

he watched her sit, cross-legged on the floor, needle in hand.

she didn't lick the sugar like the others. it felt desperate, undignified.

she didn't panic when the cracks started forming. she just kept scraping. slow, light, patient.

until her hand trembled. just slightly.

the sugar snapped. a jagged fracture right through the center.

before a guard could notice, he stood up from his seat so fast the chair slammed into the wall behind him.

"don't shoot her." he demanded to the guards through his channels.

the room stilled.

guards froze mid-movement. the main handler turned, slowly, like he wasn't sure he heard right.

"sir?"

his voice was low. "player 187. knock her out. make it look clean."

the handler hesitated. "with respect, that violates-"

"i'm not asking."

"the games are supposed to be equal. if we spare her, we break protocol-"

he spoke sharply, voice demanding beneath the mask.

"i can have you killed in an instant. do what i say"

the guards exchanged looks but didn't argue. they followed orders.

because his voice left no room for questions. and because no one ever said no to him.

she collapsed seconds later. a dull thud as her head hit the floor, the fracture in the sugar still trembling in her limp hand.

the other players didn't look twice. to them, it was one more dead girl in a pile of bodies.

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she wakes up hours later, head throbbing.

the bed is soft. the air warm. there's a faint hum of electricity somewhere in the walls.

her robe is silk. her skin smells clean, like she's been washed. her uniform is gone. no shoes. no clock. no doors.

the meal on the table is hot and rich. it's expensive. nothing compared to the cardboard tray of egg and potato she was eating that morning.

she doesn't touch it, she barely looks at it.

instead, she stands, slow and barefoot, and walks to the edge of the room, fingers trailing along the smooth, seamless wall. no windows. no seams. no sound beyond the buzz of lights overhead.

just silence. just waiting.

he watches her from behind the glass.

no mask this time. just swirling the whiskey around the glass in his hand and her name repeating in his head like a prayer.

but she did.

she had the kind of beauty that didn't need effort. haunting. regal. something untouched. she looked like she belonged in a gallery, or a cathedral. not kneeling on concrete, scraping sugar under fluorescent lights.

and the way she watched things. the way she didn't break.

he wanted her. not like the others. not as a player. not as another corpse in a pile of losers.

he wanted her here. where he could see her. where no one else could touch her.

she knows she's being watched. she can feel it. but she doesn't scream. doesn't beg. doesn't pace like a caged thing.

she just sits. waits. like she knows he'll come to her eventually.

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the door opens exactly twenty four hours later. no knock. no voice. just the slow creak of metal and the sound of boots on the hard wood floor.

she doesn't turn around.

she's seated on the bed again, legs tucked beneath her, the untouched meal still sitting cold across the room. she hears the door close. the lock slide into place.

only then does she speak.

"so," she says, calm as ever. "i'm not dead."

he doesn't respond.

she tilts her head. "i figured. the food. the sheets. the silence. you don't give this to corpses."

he steps closer, walking slowly towards her. the heel of his shoes clacking on the floor.

she still hasn't looked at him. not fully. only watched his shadow stretch across the floor, long and sharp.

"are you going to tell me where i am?" she asks.

his voice is low behind the mask. "safe."

she lets out a short breath. something between a laugh and a scoff.

finally, she turns to face him. "that's not an answer."

her expression doesn't change. still unreadable. still composed. her eyes flick briefly over his all-black uniform, the mask, the gloves. assessing. calculating.

he wonders how she'd look if she ever let herself unravel.

he hopes to find out.

"you were eliminated," he says. "officially."

"i noticed."

"but you're not dead."

"obviously."

a long pause.

"why?" she asks softly.

he doesn't answer right away. instead, he watches her. memorizes her. the shape of her mouth. the angle of her jaw. the way she sits like she's still in control.

it stirs something in him. a dangerous kind of hunger.

"i wanted you out of the games," he says at last.

"why?"

"because you would've died."

"so? so did everyone else."

his voice lowers.

"you're not like everyone else."

she narrows her eyes. just slightly. "so what am i, then?" she asks.

he takes a step forward. she doesn't flinch.

"that's what i'm trying to decide."

he doesn't touch her. not yet. but it's taking him an infuriating amount of restraint.

he's close enough that she can smell the clean leather of his gloves. feel the heat of his body through the robe she's wearing.

he's tall. taller than she imagined. there's something coiled in him, barely restrained, like he's fighting an impulse he doesn't fully understand.

she knows that look.

she's seen it before.

but not like this. not with the air this thick. not with the power so one-sided and the silence stretching between them like wire.

"you're not going back," he tells her. "to the games."

she lifts her chin, staring at his mask. "then let me go."

"no." his voice is final. absolute.

her lips part, just barely. "why not?"

he steps closer again. too close.

"because i don't want to."

for the first time, her composure wavers. not fear. not panic. just awareness. the kind that slips beneath the skin and stays there.

he sees it in her eyes. the shift, the flicker. he feels it in his chest like a pull. tight and sharp.

he raises a gloved hand, slow, deliberate. not touching. just hovering beside her cheek.

"you have two options," he says quietly.

her breath catches.

"you can be mine. here. kept and cared for. given everything you could want."

he leans closer, voice thick with something darker now.

"or you can stay in this room alone. forever."

a beat of silence.

"you said you didn't care if you lived," he murmurs. "but you didn't die."

he lets that hang.

"maybe that means something."

she doesn't respond right away. her fingers curl in the silk of her robe.

she stares at him. and for the first time since the games began, she smiles.

not sweet or scared. just the barest curve of her lips. sharp, knowing, and cruelly beautiful.

"if i say yes?" she asks.

he tilts his head.

"then i'll give you everything," he says. "but you'll give yourself to me."

she doesn't flinch. doesn't look away. doesn't cower, or cry, or try to talk her way out of it.

instead, she straightens her spine, regal in silk, and stares him down like she's the one with the upper hand.

"and if i don't?" she asks.

he takes a slow breath.

"then you stay here," he says. "fed. clothed. untouched. alone."

her jaw ticks. she doesn't like that word. untouched. but she hides it well.

he steps closer again. the bed frame creaks just slightly beneath his weight as he sits beside her. not touching. not yet.

but he could. he's close enough to reach out, to slide his glove up her bare thigh and tear the yes out of her with just one command.

but he doesn't.

because he wants her to say it first.

"you said you wanted to disappear," he murmurs, voice low. "i made that happen. no one knows you're alive. no one will find you. not the players. not the men your family owed."

her breath hitches. he keeps going.

"you're free."

a pause.

"but freedom has conditions."

she exhales slowly through her nose. "so does everything."

he reaches for her face.

slow. gloved fingers tracing the edge of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone. she doesn't lean into it, but she doesn't pull away either. it's not affection. not comfort.

it's claiming.

her voice is quieter now.

"what happens if i say yes?"

his thumb drags across her bottom lip. not hard. not soft either.

"then i take care of you," he says.

"you don't lift a finger again. you don't run. you don't bleed. you don't scrape sugar from metal trays or beg killers for a second chance."

his hand dips lower, gliding down the line of her throat. "you belong to me."

she swallows.

"and if i change my mind?"

his fingers tighten. not enough to hurt, just enough to warn.

"you won't."

for a long time, she doesn't say anything. she just looks at him. studies him.

not the man. the idea of him. this faceless thing in black, half-devil, half-god, offering her a golden cage with silk sheets and no exits.

she should be afraid. but she isn't.

there's something wrong with her. maybe there always has been.

finally, her lips part. "i don't want to be caged," she says.

"you won't be."

"but you'll own me."

"yes."

"fully?"

"completely."

her eyes narrow. "and what do you get?"

he doesn't hesitate.

"you."

he says it like it's the only word in the world that matters. and maybe it is.

because the second it leaves his mouth, something inside her cracks open. not fear. not even submission. just understanding.

this isn't kindness. this isn't rescue. this is possession. obsession.

and for the first time since the games began, something twists in her stomach.

not dread.

desire.

his voice dips, low and ragged. "say it."

he moves closer. one gloved hand curling around her waist, fingers flexing just enough to make her breath catch.

"say yes."

she doesn't. not yet.

instead, she rises. slow and graceful, silk sliding down her thighs like it was made to fall for him.

she stands and faces him fully, staring at him with the same defiant calm he's been obsessed with since the first game.

her eyes lock onto his, or where they would be, behind the mask. unshaken and hungry.

"take it off."

a pause. he doesn't move.

"if i'm giving myself to you," she murmurs, voice like velvet, "i want to know who i'm giving it to."

his breath hitches. not from fear. but from need.

because she's right. because she knows her worth. and because even now, bound in this place and wrapped in nothing but silk, she has him on edge.

of course he obeys.

his hands rise to the sides of the mask. unfasten it. pull it free.

it drops to the floor with a soft clack.

she doesn't react. she just studies him. dark eyes, sharp jaw, the quiet, unreadable tension in his face.

he's handsome in a way that feels dangerous. like you shouldn't get too close. like you'll get burned.

she likes that.

"so," she says, her cheeks a visible tint of crimson. "what happens now?"

he raised off the bed, taking one step forward, then another. until she's forced to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

"now," he says lowly, "you learn what it means to be mine."

and then he touches her.

not rough, not yet. just one gloved hand on her jaw, tilting her face slightly, like he's memorizing every inch of her.

then he leans in. his mouth brushes her cheek. her jaw. her neck. never quite kissing. never quite pulling away. just heat, breath, tension so sharp it feels like it might snap.

her breath stutters.

"i've thought about this," he murmurs. "about how you'd taste. how you'd sound."

his fingers slip into her hair, tugging just enough to make her tilt her head back.

"you made me weak," he says, voice tight. "you made me break rules."

she smiles. "you gonna punish me for that?"

his grip tightens. her smile deepens.

he pulls her against him, one hand pressing to the small of her back. their bodies flush. her breath hitches when she feels how hard he already is.

"i should," he growls against her throat. "but you want that, don't you?"

"maybe." she sounds almost amused.

he shoves the robe off her shoulders in one sharp motion. it puddles at her feet. she doesn't cover herself. doesn't flinch. just stands there, bare and calm like she was meant to be seen like this.

his mouth parts. he looks at her like a man starved.

"fuck," he breathes. "you're perfect."

he finally kisses her. full, bruising, with a hunger that feels years deep. she melts into it instantly, lips parting, teeth grazing his lower lip, tongue teasing.

he groans low in his chest and walks her backward until her knees hit the bed. she falls onto it, arms stretched behind her, thighs spread lazily like an invitation.

"take your clothes off," she says.

he does. jacket, shirt, gloves, all discarded fast and rough. her eyes drink in every inch of him. the muscle, the scars, the control he's barely holding onto.

he climbs over her, caging her in.

"you give in easy," he murmurs.

"not easy," she corrects, breathlessly. "just willing."

"you don't even know what i'll do to you."

"so show me."

his hand wraps around her throat, not tight, just enough to make her breath catch.

she moans at the pressure, eyes rolling backwards and fluttering shut. he watches her unravel under the weight of just one hand and decides he'll never let her go.

his other hand drags slowly down her stomach, between her legs, teasing her until she's gasping, hips arching into him.

"needy," he mutters. "so much for calm."

she claws at his back. "don't tease."

"or what?"

"i'll beg."

"good."

he finally gives her what she wants. fingers deep, rhythm ruthless, choking her with one hand while he ruins her with the other.

she's soaked. so desperate. so easy to break.

he lowers his mouth to her ear. "this is mine now. you understand?"

she nods, gasping. "yes."

"say it."

"yours," she moans. "i'm yours."

he kisses her again, biting this time, like he wants to mark her.

and when she's shaking, legs trembling, throat sore from gasping. he finally pins her wrists above her head, using his belt to tie them tight. she whimpers, thighs already clenching.

he lines himself up and slides in, slow, brutal.

she cries out.

he doesn't stop.

he sets a punishing pace, fucking her into the mattress while his hand tightens on her throat. her wrists pull at the belt, but she doesn't want to escape. she just wants more.

"so good," he groans. "so fucking good."

she's moaning, loud and hard. begging. praising. unraveling.

and when she finally reaches her climax, it's with a scream that echoes in the room like a confession.

he follows after. hard, fast, relentless. hips jerking, body collapsing half on top of her, sweat-damp and breathless.

the silence after is thick.

she blinks up at the ceiling, wrists still tied, lips swollen and red.

"so," she whispers. "do i still get the money?"

he laughs. actually laughs. breath shaky.

leans in. kisses her slow this time.

"you'll get everything."

she's still shaking when he unties her wrists.

but he doesn't let her rest. not really.

his hand catches her jaw, turns her face to him. her lips are swollen, eyes glazed, skin flushed. beautiful. so fucking beautiful.

"you look better like this," he murmurs. "wrecked. marked. used."

she shudders. he feels it.

his thumb drags along her cheek. then lower. to her lips, pressing them open.

"tongue."

she obeys. he slips two fingers past her lips, watching them disappear as she sucks slow and obedient, like she knows who she belongs to now.

"fuck," he growls. "you like being owned."

her lips curl around his fingers.

he pulls them free with a soft, wet pop and grabs her chin tighter.

"on your knees. now."

she slides off the bed, still shaky, pooling around her own thighs, skin shining with sweat.

he doesn't give her time to recover.

he yanks her hair back, not cruel, just rough. enough to make her gasp.

"open."

she does. wide. ready.

his cock is still hard. already aching again. he doesn't ease into it. he claims her mouth, one hand in her hair, the other tightening on her throat as he fucks into it, deep and possessive, groaning when her eyes start to water.

"this mouth belongs to me," he grits. "say it."

she chokes on him, then pulls off just enough to whisper, "yours."

he slaps her face once. not hard. just sharp enough to make her moan.

then he drags her back up and throws her onto the bed again, stomach down this time, one hand pinning her shoulders, the other yanking her legs apart.

"you want to be used?" he rasps, dragging his cock along her slit. "treated like the pretty girl you are?"

"yes— please— "

"you'll take everything i give you. every inch. every bruise. every fucking drop."

he pushes into her from behind, deeper than before, harder, rougher. the bed jerks with every thrust, her breath catching on every slap of skin.

his hand wraps around her throat again, pulling her body up against his chest. his other hand snakes down to her clit, rubbing fast, relentless, until she's screaming, writhing, clawing at the sheets.

"you're mine," he snarls into her ear. "say it."

"i'm yours—fuck—i'm yours—"

"no one else gets to touch you. no one else gets to see you like this."

"no one—only you—"

he fucks her through it, like he's trying to carve his name into her body. she doesn't break. she gives. over and over. legs trembling, throat raw from moaning.

when she starts to come again, he doesn't stop, keeps pounding into her until she collapses, shaking, twitching, drooling into the pillow.

he finishes a moment late. hard, deep, with a low grunt and his teeth in her shoulder.

he stays like that for a moment, panting against her back. their bodies slick and tangled, her skin flushed, his fingers still curled tight around her waist.

then he flips her over.

"i'm not done."

her eyes flutter open. fucked-out. blissed, but smiling.

"you're insatiable," she whispers.

he grabs her face. kisses her hard.

"you don't get to tease me like that and not suffer for it."

he reaches for the belt again.

this time, he ties her wrists and her ankles, spread wide, helpless, completely under him.

"look at you," he breathes, admiring her like artwork. "fucking perfect."

"you like seeing me like this?"

"i like owning you like this."

he leans in again, lips brushing her throat.

"you asked me what happens now," he whispers. "i'll tell you."

a kiss to her collarbone. slow. deliberate.

"you don't get to leave. not ever."

a kiss to her nipple. he bites it, just enough to make her gasp.

"you don't get to say no."

a kiss lower. between her thighs now. he doesn't touch. just breathes.

"you're mine to keep. to ruin. to love. to break."

she moans, thighs twitching against the restraints.

"and if i disobey?"

he looks up and smirks.

"then i'll fuck the obedience back into you."

she's trembling.

spread out like an offering, wrists and ankles tied, lips swollen from kissing and biting and begging. her skin is flushed, streaked with sweat and slick. every inch of her is a map of him now. his hands, his mouth, his bruises.

his.

he doesn't rush.

he just watches her breathe for a moment. watches her tremble.

then he lowers himself between her legs, slow and deliberate, like he's about to worship her. or devour her.

he doesn't start soft.

his mouth meets her like he's starving. tongue dragging through the mess he made, lips sealing around her clit, sucking hard.

her whole body arches, mouth falling open in a wordless cry.

"too much," she whimpers. "can't—"

"you can."

his voice is rough against her skin. "you will."

his hands grip her thighs, holding her open, refusing to let her run. he keeps going. relentless, merciless, tongue moving in tight circles while her legs shake and her moans break into sobs.

"you gonna cum like this?" he murmurs. "with your hands tied and my tongue inside you?"

she nods frantically. "please, i can't—i need to—"

"then do it."

his teeth graze her. "cum for me, pretty thing."

and she does.

loud and gasping, thighs twitching, head thrown back, screaming like she's been split open.

he doesn't stop. not until she's sobbing, raw, breathless, undone.

then he rises to his knees, grabs her hips and slams back into her like he's possessed.

she screams again. higher, wilder. every thrust punching the air from her lungs. her wrists strain against the belt, but she doesn't want escape. she wants more.

"look at you," he growls. "still so fucking tight. still so wet."

"fuck—" she chokes. "you feel—so deep—"

he pounds into her harder. faster. the bed slams into the wall with every thrust. her eyes roll back, jaw slack, drool glistening on her chin.

"mine," he snarls. "say it again."

"yours," she moans. "yours, yours—fuck—don't stop—"

he doesn't.

not until she's close again. sobbing, writhing, clawing at the sheets with her tied hands.

he grabs her throat one more time.

leans down.

mouth at her ear.

"cum again for me. now."

she shatters.

her legs try to lock around his waist, unable due to the restraints. her whole body seizing with the force of it. she sobs, desperate to claw her nails into him. not words anymore, just broken gasps and gasping moans.

he groans deep in his chest.

slams into her one last time.

and then he's gone. spilling inside her with a snarl, hips jerking, hand still wrapped tight around her throat like he's branding her with it.

when he finally stops, he stays there. buried deep, panting, forehead pressed to hers.

her body's trembling.

he kisses her. slow this time. soft, like he hasn't just destroyed her.

"you did so fucking good," he whispers. "you took everything."

she nods weakly. dazed. blissed-out. gorgeous.

he unties her wrists. her ankles.

and pulls her into his chest, holding her tight. her breathing slows. her lashes flutter. she starts to drift. warm and ruined and safe in his arms.

he brushes a hand through her hair.

presses his lips to her temple.

"sleep, baby," he murmurs. "i'm not done with you."

tomorrow, he'll start again.

maybe slower. maybe rougher.

maybe he'll tie her to the chair and make her watch herself in the mirror.

maybe he'll fuck her in the mask.

either way.

she's his now.

and he's never letting her go.

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a/n: lol. i actually write this a while ago but didn’t have to courage to post it because i think i got a bit out of hand, but fuck it i’m in too deep now

i know this idea is SO over done. there’s so many fics with the concept of him falling for a player and getting kidnapped but like i said i wrote this a while back :’)

#squid game #frontman x reader #squid game fanfic #frontman #hwang inho #lee byung hun #in ho squid game #lee byung hun x reader #hwang in ho #isthistia #smut #frontman smut #in ho smut #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader

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