457inho

Latest Posts by 457inho

Idk man… I think the games would have been stopped if this was the conversation Gi Hun had with the Frontman

day 1: yearning

Yet Another Inho Whump Headcanon: Inho suffers from chronic migraines.

Not the kind you can shake off. The kind that burrow in behind your eyes and make it feel like your skull is splintering from the inside. The kind you hide because life won’t slow down for your pain.

It started young. Before Junho ever needed a kidney, before they even knew the full extent of how hard life was going to get. Inho learned early to swallow his pain because his stepmother already had too much on her plate—medications, bills, long shifts at the market, and a fragile kid who needed more than they could afford. Inho was now an adult barely. He didn’t want to be a burden.

Sometimes Junho would find him like that: tucked in the fetal position, drenched in sweat, barely breathing through the pounding in his skull. And baby Junho, bless him, would climb in bed and curl around him, whispering nonsense, trying to “pet the pain away.” It never worked, but Inho would pretend it did.

Inho got good at hiding it. He had to. On the police force, you don’t get to be fragile. You don’t get sick days when your paycheck is feeding three mouths and buying dialysis supplies. He never disclosed his condition—he couldn’t afford the scrutiny. So he powered through shifts half-blind, vomiting quietly in the station bathroom before heading back out to the street. There were days he drove patrol with one eye closed and his fingers white-knuckled on the wheel.

Even from his wife—God, Inho hid it from her too. Said it was stress, just too many hours, said he was fine when he came home with that tightness in his jaw, his body trembling under the blankets. She knew. Of course she did. She’d sit beside him in the dark, quietly massaging his temples, kissing his forehead, running her fingers over pressure points on his brow. She never said anything, just held him like he wasn’t cracking open inside. Inho thinks of her hands even now, sometimes. Thinks of the quiet kindness, the way she never asked for an explanation.

And then she got sick. And the Games came. And everything broke.

Inho fought through the pain the entire time. People think the hardest part of the Game is the violence. But for Inho, it was the nights. The lights, the noise, the cold. He bit into his knuckles until they bled to keep from screaming. Sometimes he’d black out and wake up unsure if it was from a migraine or from sheer exhaustion. He only won because he was used to pain. He knew how to compartmentalize. He’d been doing it his whole life.

When Inho came home and found her gone, the grief screamed louder than any migraine ever had. He howled until his throat tore, and for one small, twisted moment, he was glad the pain in his head was drowned out by the pain in his chest.

But the migraines never left. If anything, becoming the Front Man made them worse. The mask—heavy, suffocating—makes the pressure unbearable. The screens are too bright. The intercoms too loud. He lives in a world of sensory torture, and no one sees it. He’s careful. Clinical. Keeps the lights in his quarters low. Takes his pills in secret. Breeds loyalty through silence. The guards never suspect anything. The Managers know better than to ask why he sometimes retreats to his room, breathing like he’s drowning. And when the VIPs are around, he wears his mask like a wall. They don’t see the tremor in his hands. They don’t notice how often he excuses himself mid-conversation.

And then came Gihun.

Inho, as Young-il, was supposed to monitor him. Test him. Chip away at him. But one night, the mask slipped. The migraine hit like a hammer, and Inho—Young-il—couldn’t hide it fast enough. He curled up in the shadows, fingers pressed hard to his temples, shaking, trying not to cry. Trying to breathe.

And Gihun found him.

Gihun knelt beside him without asking anything. Just placed Inho’s head in his lap and began to gently rub circles into his forehead, along his brow, down the sides of his nose.

“My mom used to say this helps,” he murmured.

Inho wanted to pull away. He should have pulled away. But the pain was too much. And the touch was… kind.

So he stayed.

And in the dark, with his head cradled in the lap of a man who didn’t know who he really was, a tear slipped down Inho’s temple and into his hair.

Because Gihun was comforting Young-il. Not him.

Gihun didn’t know he was touching a monster. Didn’t know the blood on Inho’s hands. Didn’t know the mask behind the man. Inho was glad it was dark. Glad Gihun didn’t see the tear.

Because if he did… he might have pulled away.

Post remake

so... yeah

I had this idea and it made me chuckle.

"A puppet"

nsfw inhun thought

i love the thought of steamy inhun hate sex but a part of me yearns to write a silly borderline crack fic where i really empathise the ‘old man’ in toxic old man yaoi and have them reallyyyyy struggle to fuck.

their first time is just gihun rearranging inho at least fifty times; hands and knees, missionary, cowgirl, side by side—fucking hell even the ‘pillows under the hips’ strategy is used—because gihun keeps slipping out, his knees and back ache, and inho’s ass is tighter than the security on the island if that was even possible.

Okay but… I can’t stop thinking about the three of them—Junho, Inho, and Gihun—just accidentally sharing a bed after everything.

When the island was infiltrated, everything went to hell fast. Gunfire, chaos, screaming—then the bombs.

Junho would’ve died. He knows that.

But Inho got to him first.

He doesn’t remember the explosion itself—just Inho’s body crashing into his, shoving him down, wrapping around him like a shield. The sound tore the world in half, and when it cleared, Inho wasn’t moving.

The burns go straight down Inho’s spine.

Getting off the island was a blur. Gihun helped drag Inho onto the boat, Junho still in shock. Inho came in and out, screaming, sobbing, trying to fight them off. It took hours to treat him—if you could even call it that. They had no real supplies, just water, gauze, painkillers that weren’t strong enough.

Gihun's hands shook as he cut away the charred fabric from Inho’s back. Junho held him down—because someone had to—but he couldn’t meet Gihun’s eyes.

They hated him.

Gihun remembered the Mask. The cold voice. The games. The gun in his hand.

Junho remembered the betrayal. The distance. The man who stopped being his brother.

But all of that cracked, violently, when Inho started screaming. Not just noise. Screaming. Gut-wrenching, helpless. The kind of sound that came from somewhere deeper than the burns—like his soul was breaking open.

And suddenly, none of that hate mattered.

Junho’s grip tightened, and not to restrain him—just to hold on. Gihun didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, just kept working, dabbing antiseptic, whispering, “I’m sorry. I know. I know.” Like a prayer.

Inho thrashed. Cried. Begged someone—anyone—to stop. Sometimes he muttered Junho’s name like a child calling for their mom. Sometimes he screamed for his wife, dead and long gone.

They lost track of time. Hours, probably. By the end, Gihun’s face was soaked in sweat. Junho was silent, lips bloodless, knuckles white. Inho was trembling like a leaf, half-conscious and spent.

They didn’t even talk about where he would sleep.

There was only one bed—Gihun’s, barely a double, with a worn mattress and thin blankets. It wasn’t a decision so much as a necessity. Inho was shaking now—not screaming anymore, but trembling like he might shatter. From the burns. From the pain. From the fact that he was still alive. From the fact that his brother and Gihun—who had every reason to leave him behind to die—had chosen not to.

They wrapped him in the blankets, careful not to brush the scorched skin along his back. Inho didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. The tremors wouldn’t stop.

Junho stared. Gihun crouched nearby, silent. It was obvious they weren’t going to fit. Junho mumbled something about taking the couch. Gihun nodded like yeah, of course, he’d take the floor.

But Junho didn’t make it far.

He sat down, leaned back against the wall—and then just looked at Inho. At his bandaged back, his cracked lips, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Junho could still hear it—his screaming.

He could still feel the way Inho clung to him, even while fighting him. So Junho stood up again, quietly. Walked back to the bed. He didn’t ask. Just pulled back the covers and slipped in beside him, moving slowly, cautiously, like the memory of what had just happened might reach out and bite him.

Inho didn’t react—at first. But his shaking slowed just a little.

And that was enough.

Gihun stayed frozen for a moment, watching. He was so tired it felt like he was floating. His whole body ached with everything they’d been through. He told himself he’d stay on the floor. That this was for them, not him.

But then he was moving too.

He told himself it was practical. Inho needed warmth. The room was cold. This was just... a medical decision. He was helping. For Junho.

He was lying to himself.

Inho whimpered in his sleep as Gihun slid in beside him. A soft, cracked sound—like pain trying not to be heard. And then his forehead found Gihun’s neck, instinctively, like a child in the dark.

Gihun flinched. Didn’t pull away.

Junho, curled on the other side, had his face pressed into Inho’s hair now. Not speaking. Barely breathing. Just making sure he was real. That Inho hadn’t vanished into smoke and ash and screams. Gihun’s eyes opened, heavy-lidded, and saw Junho’s face twisted in something too fragile to name. Grief. Hope. Fear.

So Gihun reached over and wrapped an arm around him, too.

No one said anything. No one needed to.

Three men in a bed far too small, holding each other in the dark. Sharing heat. Sharing forgiveness.

They left all the hard conversations for the morning.

bro is scared

I found the perfect reference

if you marry me

would you bury me?

reblog if you love Hwang In-ho

hold your breath and count to 1,000,000 if you don’t love Hwang In-ho

HWANG JUN-HO & HWANG IN-HO

Poem by ultrawistful

ship where one of them is divorced, the other’s partner is dead. two broken and traumatized men finding each other by fate, blood and violence, in a cruel, corrupted world that dooms them to hatred and betrayal and destines them both to be each other’s archenemies. but despite the pain, despite deaths and betrayal looming over their heads, maybe this little moment of soft eyes and gentle smiles is real. maybe, just for this moment, we can pretend the world outside isn’t real and nothing else matters. just for this moment, we can pretend this was another universe where we’re not cursed by blood and suffering, another universe where our love for each other is not doomed or forbidden. just for this moment, we can just be us.

Seong Gi-hun and Hwang In-ho, I love you both with all my heart.

time this was posted: 4:57 AM

we hear gi-hun talk nonstop about how 'smart and cool' sang-woo is in season one, and I feel like jun-ho used to talk about in-ho like that to literally anybody and everybody. "yeah, my brother is the coolest! he's my role model and the reason why I became a cop. he inspired me every day. oh and did I tell you he gave me his kidney and saved my life?!" (jun-ho already told them that at least five times), and now the mention of in-ho's name alone is enough to trigger him, especially when it's kind of confirmed / canon that jun-ho looked up to in-ho.

man, probably wishful thinking, but I need the hwang bros to just not die in season 3 and get to be brothers again :(

Finally decided to watch squid game and the chemistry between these two bewitched me 😊😊😊

Processing that you are gay

My boi's not sure if he wants to kiss or kill him 😗

Spit takes — Gihun’s and In-ho’ moms have the same name?!

Possible spoilers for season 3:

art gallery

gihun with some suspiciously boyfriend-shaped cats hmmm

pointing a gun in the face of a man who is only here because of the plans he's made, accompanied by the lurking presence of his right hand man watching over his shoulder

Obligatory Soulmark AU heh

Also soulmark is supposed to be on the left hand, 🤦🏽‍♀️I’m an idiot lol