In The Pines
synapse: in a place built to strip humanity away, a hardened man and a broken girl find something neither expected—each other. as the games push them to the brink, what begins as survival becomes something deeper because sometimes, the smallest hand can pull you back from the edge.
pairing: hwang in-ho x teen!reader (obviously platonic/father and daughter type bond)
contains: violence, attempted assault, death, blood, pre-front man in-ho, father figure in-ho, during 2015 games
a/n: obviously this is not romantic. this is a father daughter type bond based around joel and ellie from tlou. i really want to write more for this man cuz he’s fine af but my daddy issues scream for him as a dad to cure some of his trauma
here is: in the pines part two
. . .
The dormitory was filled with silence and trembling breaths. No one dared speak above a whisper, like their voices alone might trigger another massacre.
In-ho sat on the lower bunk, his back against the cold wall. His shirt clung to him with sweat, and the metallic scent of blood still coated the inside of his nose. He hadn’t blinked since the game ended.
Four hundred and fifty-six had become two hundred and one.
And yet, somehow, the kid made it.
He’d noticed her—not because she stood out, but because she shouldn’t have been there. A girl, barely old enough to ride the subway alone, with scrapes on her knees and a look in her eyes that said she’d been surviving long before today.
She hadn’t cried.
Not even when the bodies dropped.
Footsteps approached. He glanced up just in time to see her plop herself down across from him on the floor, cross-legged like she was at a sleepover.
“You got a smoke?”
In-ho blinked. “What?”
“A cigarette. You look like you’re dying for one. Figured you might have a spare.”
He stared at her. Her voice was hoarse from screaming during the game, but she held herself like she wasn’t afraid of him. Or anything.
“You’re a child.”
“No shit. Thanks for the observation, Sherlock. And you’re grumpy. This gonna be our thing?”
He didn’t answer. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Y/N didn’t move. She just kept sitting there, arms draped over her knees.
“You didn’t watch me,” she said after a moment.
His eyes opened again.
She was picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “During the game. Everyone was watching the people getting shot. But you were watching who was gonna trip. Who was using bodies as cover. You were looking for weaknesses.”
In-ho didn’t speak, but something in his jaw twitched.
“I was behind you,” she added. “You didn’t notice me, but I noticed you. You were calm. Not normal calm. Cop calm.”
That made him shift, just a little. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah? I think I do.” Her gaze was steady now. “You’re not here just for the money. You’re looking for something. Or someone.”
In-ho finally sat up straighter, leaning forward. “Listen, kid—”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“My name. Since we’re roommates now, figured you should know. Y/N.”
He stared at her.
Then, to her surprise, he said, “In-ho.”
She smiled. “Hi, In-ho.”
He shook his head and leaned back again, muttering, “Goddamn kid.”
But he didn’t tell her to go away.
And that, as far as Y/N was concerned, was a win.
In-ho hadn’t said another word, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the rows of bunks like she was casing the place.
“I counted sixteen guys with twitchy eyes and shaking legs,” she murmured. “Bet they crack by lights out. You think they’ll let us sleep?”
“No.”
She nodded like she expected that. “Should’ve known. Most places that claim to be ‘safe’ usually aren’t. Group homes, shelters… dormitories with masked gunmen. Same shit.”
In-ho glanced at her again.
She was too calm.
“Where are your parents?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She looked over at him, surprised. “You tell me.” When he didn’t respond, she shrugged. “Dad ran off before I could spell his name. Mom’s… probably in a ditch somewhere. Or married to a guy who doesn’t like kids.”
She said it with a smirk, like it was a joke. But it wasn’t.
“I’m not looking for a sob story,” she added quickly. “I’m just here to win. Get out. Get a dog. Maybe a PlayStation.”
He let out a breath through his nose—something close to a scoff. “That simple, huh?”
Y/N looked at him seriously now. “It has to be.” She leaned forward again, whispering like they were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “You’ve got the eyes of someone who thinks too much,” she said. “You keep doing that, you’re gonna break before the sixth game. You need something to keep you going. Like me and the PlayStation.”
In-ho raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gonna keep you alive?”
“I think people underestimate girls who still want childish things.” She smirked again. “Besides. I’m scrappy.”
She stood up with a grunt and dusted off the seat of her pants.
“Anyway. You seem like a guy who wants to be left alone, so I’ll stop bothering you. Just thought I’d say hi since, you know… shared trauma and all.”
She turned like she was really going to walk away.
And she did.
But halfway to her bunk, some older guy bumped into her hard on purpose. “Watch it, brat.”
Y/N stiffened. She looked like she wanted to mouth off, but silently flipped him off and just kept walking.
In-ho watched the man keep walking too.
Something shifted inside him. Not violently. Not dramatically. Just a slow ignition of something primal and terrifying.
He’d seen girls like her on crime scenes. He’d zipped their bags. Filed their reports. Called names from cracked ID cards no one came to claim.
But not her.
Not this one.
If anyone here so much as touched a strand of her hair again…
He’d burn this whole fucking place down.
He didn’t know why.
Maybe because she reminded him of the boy he used to be. Or the brother he lost. Or maybe because, for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, someone had looked him in the eye and seen him.
She had named him. Spared him the shame of being just “132.”
Hi, In-ho.
She had no idea what she’d just done.
And now he would kill for her.
. . .
The lights snapped off without warning.
A second later, the screaming began.
Metal clanged against metal. Shoes thundered across the concrete. Shadows darted through what little light remained—chaos made flesh.
In-ho was already on his feet, eyes straining in the dark, fists clenched. He’d expected this.
What he didn’t expect was the small voice shouting his name.
“In-ho!”
He spun.
Through the chaos, he saw her. Y/N. Stumbling backward between two bunks, cornered by three grown men who looked less like players and more like predators who’d been waiting for this moment.
“She’s just a kid,” one of them said.
“That’s the point,” another sneered, brandishing a shattered glass bottle.
In-ho didn’t think. He moved.
He lunged into the fray like a reaper, grabbing the nearest man by the collar and slamming him against a post. Someone else threw a punch—he ducked, drove an elbow into the attacker’s ribs, then kicked the third man’s legs out from under him.
The sound of violence surrounded them. People were dying in the dark. But he didn’t care. Not about them.
Only her.
Y/N was frozen in place, eyes wide, back against the steel bars of the bunk. “I—I’m okay,” she whispered, even though she clearly wasn’t.
Then a fourth figure emerged from the shadows, quickly pinning her to the floor.
He hadn’t been part of the first group. No. This one had been watching.
Tall. Greasy. Smiling.
“Hey, sweetheart,” the man crooned. “You don’t gotta be scared. I’ll take care of you…”
In-ho was too far. He saw it happen in slow motion—he couldn’t get there in time.
But Y/N moved.
Fast. Sharp. Terrified.
A glint of silver flashed in her hand.
The fork.
He hadn’t even noticed she pocketed it after dinner.
The man grabbed her wrist, but she twisted—stabbed—right into his neck.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He collapsed with her on top of him, and she didn’t stop.
She kept stabbing.
Over and over, shaking, growling through her teeth like a wounded animal cornered in a cage.
In-ho finally reached her.
“Y/N!”
She didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him.
Just the blood. Just the monster beneath her who almost—
He grabbed her wrists and gently, but firmly, pulled her off.
She resisted at first, like she didn’t know who he was. But when he whispered her name again—
“Y/N. It’s me. It’s me.”
—she finally let go of the fork.
Her hands were soaked. Her whole body trembled as she stared at him with wide, wild eyes.
“He—” she choked, her voice cracking. “He tried to—”
She didn’t finish.
She didn’t have to.
In-ho wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight against his chest. She didn’t resist. She crumpled into him like a collapsing building.
“I got you,” he whispered, over and over, as chaos roared around them. “I got you. I got you. I got you.”
He looked down at the blood on her hands. The way her small fingers curled into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.
That was the moment he knew.
He would never let anyone touch her again.
Not while he was still breathing.
Not even if it meant dying himself.
. . .
The dormitory reeked of sweat, blood, and the sterile tang of iron.
Guards had come hours ago, dragging away the bodies like they were trash instead of people. No one spoke. No one mourned. Death was routine now.
In-ho sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, knuckles split open from punching one of the men last night—he hadn’t even noticed when it happened.
But it wasn’t his wounds he was thinking about.
It was her.
She hadn’t said a word since.
Y/N had curled up beside him after the chaos ended, small and trembling in the crook of his arm, but she hadn’t cried. Not one tear.
Now, in the pale morning light, she was returning from the bathroom—silent, shoulders stiff, face unreadable.
In her hands: a soggy paper towel.
She knelt in front of him without a word.
Carefully—like she wasn’t 14 and covered in the memory of blood—she reached for his hand and dabbed at the torn skin on his knuckles.
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t make a sarcastic remark or complain about the smell. No playful jabs. No “tough guy” jokes.
Just silence.
In-ho watched her, heart sinking like lead in his chest.
She cleaned his hands like it was a chore. Routine. Mechanical.
Her eyes weren’t wide anymore. They were smaller somehow. Hardened. Distant.
And when she finally finished, she sat back on her heels and said nothing.
“Y/N,” he murmured.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his—but it wasn’t her. Not all the way. Something behind them was gone.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice low. Flat. “You don’t have to ask.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” he replied gently. “I was going to tell you… that wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” she said too fast. “It was him. He tried to hurt me. I stopped him. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”
She was trying to convince herself.
“Still,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “I didn’t know it’d feel like that. Killing someone.”
She rubbed her palm against her pants like the blood was still there.
“I thought I’d feel… strong. Or safe.” Her lip trembled, just once. “But I don’t. I just feel less.”
In-ho’s breath caught.
He reached out, slow and careful, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re not less,” he said quietly. “You’re still you.”
But even as he said it, he saw the lie in her eyes.
She wasn’t the same girl who sat cross-legged in front of him cracking jokes two nights ago. That girl had left the second she drove a fork into someone’s neck to save herself.
This one was still here, but she was different.
Harder. Quieter. Changed.
And he hated this place for it.
He hated the guards, the games, the piggy bank that glowed with blood money. He hated the man she had to kill. He hated that he hadn’t seen him sooner. He hated that he hadn’t protected her from everything.
But most of all, he hated how quickly she was adapting.
How quickly she was becoming like the rest of them.
He looked at her small, blood-scabbed hands.
He swore to himself once again, right then—
No matter what, he’d keep her alive.
But more than that… he’d keep what was left of her human.
Y/N sat back, her hands now empty, gaze unfocused as she stared down at the blood-stained paper towel on the floor.
In-ho’s hand hovered above it for a moment before he set it aside. Quiet settled between them like fog, and for once, she didn’t try to fill it with words.
She just waited.
Like she knew there was something he hadn’t said yet.
“You asked me why I’m here,” he said at last, his voice low and rough.
She looked up.
He wasn’t meeting her eyes.
“My wife,” he began, jaw tightening. “She got sick. Acute liver cirrhosis. When we were going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant.”
Y/N blinked, sitting up straighter.
“The doctor gave her a choice,” he continued. “Terminate…and she might live. Or go through with it, and…she probably wouldn’t.”
Y/N’s lips parted. “What’d she choose?”
“You see, my wife is stubborn. She didn’t even hesitate.” He let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh in another life. “Said she didn’t care if it killed her. She wanted to meet our child, even just once.”
His fingers twisted together in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I tried to be strong, tried to raise the money, find a donor, anything. But the transplant…the meds…even just keeping her comfortable…” He swallowed. “I was desperate.”
Y/N’s voice was soft. “So you borrowed money.”
He nodded. “From someone I shouldn’t have. Then one of my oldest vendors offered to help. I thought I could pay it back. Thought I’d fix it before anyone noticed.”
“But they did,” she guessed.
“They thought I took a bribe.” His voice was bitter now. “Didn’t matter that my record was spotless. Or that my wife was dying. My superior didn’t even look me in the eye when he fired me. Just said I ‘should’ve known better.’”
He finally glanced at her.
And what he saw wasn’t judgment.
It was understanding.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him like he was a failure.
She just asked, “Is she…?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “When I joined this place, she was still holding on. I just… I thought maybe if I won, I could give her a second chance.”
His voice cracked for the first time.
“I didn’t want this life for my kid,” he whispered. “I didn’t want them to be raised without a mother. Or worse… not be born at all.”
Y/N’s breath hitched.
She stared at him, wide-eyed—not in pity, but something deeper. Like she’d just found the last good part of this place and it happened to be him.
Without saying anything, she reached for his hand.
And this time, he let her hold it.
“You know,” she murmured, “if your baby’s anything like you… he or she’s gonna be okay.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and saw not just a kid, but someone trying to believe there’s still something worth saving.
He gave her a small nod.
But inside, something else burned.
A vow.
If he couldn’t save his wife… if he never saw his child…
He’d save her.
This girl who cleaned his wounds and carried his secrets and still had blood under her nails. This girl who should’ve been at a school desk, not stabbing a man to death to stay alive.
He couldn’t undo what she’d done.
But maybe he could keep her from doing worse.
Maybe, in the end, saving her could be enough.
. . .
The lights never truly turned off anymore—not after that night. It had only been a day since then, more people died and there was only eight of them left.
They only dimmed to a sickly hum, casting long shadows across the room filled with rusted bunks and broken people.
In-ho sat on the floor, back against the metal frame of the lower bunk. His knuckles were still raw, his eyes heavy, but he didn’t let himself sleep.
Not while she was here.
Y/N had crawled into his bunk without saying a word. She hadn’t asked for permission. She hadn’t needed to. She just curled up, back to the wall, and passed out the second her head hit the thin mattress.
It had taken her three whole minutes to start twitching in her sleep.
Nightmares, probably.
She hadn’t talked about that night again. The man. The fork. The blood on her hands.
She hadn’t needed to.
He saw it in the way her shoulders stayed tensed even while she slept. In the way her fingers still curled like she was holding a weapon.
Quietly, gently, In-ho stood.
He pulled the thin blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it behind her back to keep her warm. She didn’t stir.
Then he lowered himself back to the floor, knees pulled up, eyes scanning the room. Watching. Waiting.
If anyone even looked at her wrong again, he wouldn’t hesitate.
He’d kill them before they got close.
He was supposed to be a police officer. A protector of the law. But right now, the law didn’t mean shit.
Not in here.
Here, he was just a shield with a heartbeat.
Time dragged. He rubbed his tired eyes, almost drifting off, until—
She mumbled something.
He turned.
Her brow furrowed in sleep, her lips parting.
“…Appa…”
His breath caught.
He froze, as if the floor might crumble beneath him.
She shifted, curling into the blanket, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.
“Appa…” she whispered again, softer this time. Like a memory she was chasing in a dream.
In-ho swallowed hard.
His throat burned.
He hadn’t heard that word in months. Not from his wife. Never from his unborn child. Not even from his own mind—he’d buried it, shut it away to survive this place.
But here it was again.
From her.
She didn’t even know she’d said it.
And he wouldn’t tell her.
But he reached up—slowly, with trembling fingers—and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.
His voice barely escaped him, a whisper only the dark would hear.
“I’ve got you, baby girl.”
And for the rest of the night, he didn’t close his eyes.
He kept watch. For her. For the child he never got to hold. For the piece of himself he thought was long dead.
Now tucked under a threadbare blanket, breathing soft and even, calling him appa in her dreams.
And maybe… maybe that was enough to keep him going.
. . .
The dormitory was silent again.
Too silent.
In-ho stood in the middle of it—alone except for the sleeping bodies around him, blood beginning to pool beneath their bunks. The air smelled of iron and death. Again.
He was still holding the knife.
His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as he looked down at the last man he’d killed—still curled under his blanket, eyes open now, but empty. He had barely stirred. Same with the rest.
It had been easy.
Too easy.
Four lives taken in under five minutes. Silent. Efficient. Controlled.
It wasn’t like the other times. This wasn’t defense. This wasn’t panic or fear.
This was strategy.
This was survival.
This was what Oh Il-nam wanted—what the masked old man offered. A chance. A deal. An out.
There couldn’t be a final game with only two players left. Not according to the rules. So if In-ho eliminated the rest before sunrise, it would end.
They would win.
She would win.
And right now, that was the only thing that mattered.
He turned slowly, knife still trembling in his hand, and walked to the last occupied bunk.
Hers.
Y/N was curled on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, the other loosely holding the edge of her blanket. Her lashes fluttered every now and then—dreams, maybe. Nightmares. He hoped not.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t hear the wet sounds of his blade in the dark.
Didn’t smell the blood.
Didn’t see him become something else entirely.
He dropped to one knee beside her bunk, lowering the knife to the floor.
And for a long moment, he just looked at her.
She was older now. Not in years, but in her eyes. In the way she held herself. In the way she moved. She hadn’t called him appa since that first week—but he still heard it when she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that felt safe.
He wondered what she’d say when she found out.
If she ever did.
Would she understand? Would she hate him?
Would it matter?
He reached for the blanket and gently pulled it higher, covering her shoulders. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh—but didn’t wake.
His hand hovered over her hair, then dropped.
And then he sat beside her bunk on the floor, back to the steel frame, knees drawn up.
The knife stayed by his foot.
He didn’t cry.
Didn’t tremble.
Just stared ahead at the far wall, coated in shadow, until morning would come. Until the loudspeakers would crackle to life and declare them winners. Declare them alive.
And maybe when she asked what happened to the others, he would lie.
Or maybe she’d just know.
But for now… for these last few hours…
He sat in silence, a blood-streaked guardian in the dark, keeping watch over the only person left worth saving.
Even if it meant damning himself to do it.
Soon, the overhead lights flickered to life with a low, electrical hum.
In-ho didn’t move.
He hadn’t slept. His back ached from the concrete, his hand still curled near the knife, dried blood crusted beneath his fingernails. His eyes were open, locked on the far wall, but he wasn’t really seeing it.
He was waiting.
For the moment she’d look at him and see what he’d become.
A sharp crackle from the speakers broke the silence, followed by the cold, sterile voice of the announcer:
“Players 045, 177, 229, and 412 have been eliminated. The game is over.”
The words echoed off the dormitory walls like a funeral bell.
Y/N stirred beneath the blanket, groggy, confused. “What…?
She sat up, blinking into the harsh light—and then she saw them.
The beds.
Empty.
Or stained.
Bodies gone, but not the aftermath.
Her breath caught as she looked around. Then—
Her eyes landed on him.
In-ho didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
He waited for the inevitable shift in her face. The betrayal. The fear. The look that would gut him more than any blade ever could.
But it never came.
Y/N looked at him for a long moment. At his blood-splattered suit. His still body. The knife by his foot.
And then—she crawled down from the bunk.
Slowly. Quietly.
She sat beside him on the floor.
Their knees touched.
She reached for his hand.
He hesitated—but only for a breath—before letting her take it.
Her fingers curled around his.
Then, softly, her voice broke through the suffocating quiet. “That wasn’t your fault.”
His throat clenched. His jaw locked to keep the tremor from escaping.
But she wasn’t done.
“You’re not less,” she whispered. “You’re still you.”
The words echoed in his mind like a mercy he didn’t deserve.
The same words he had once spoken to her, when her hands were shaking and covered in blood. When she had looked at him like she didn’t recognize herself.
And now she was giving them back.
To him.
Not with pity. Not with fear.
But with something closer to faith.
Her thumb brushed the back of his hand, slow and grounding.
“I know why you did it,” she said, still looking ahead, not pressuring him to speak. “And I’m glad you did.”
He closed his eyes.
A tear slipped out before he could stop it.
But he didn’t pull away.
She didn’t let go.
And in that moment, In-ho wasn’t just the man who killed four people in cold blood. He wasn’t the monster the Games had tried to shape him into.
He was her protector.
Her family.
And the last flicker of humanity still burning in his chest stayed alive—because she let it.
Because she saw him.
And still chose to hold his hand.