CHAPTER 15 - Once You Go In, There's No Turning Back (hwang In Ho X Reader)

CHAPTER 15 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

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WARNING: 18+ content ahead. Read at your own risk.

——

The alley was silent, save for the slow dripping of water from a rusted pipe. The flickering neon sign of a half-abandoned pawn shop painted streaks of red across the pavement, casting an eerie glow over the lifeless body slumped against the grimy brick wall.

In-ho crouched down, his gloved fingers skimming the bloodstained fabric of the recruiter’s coat. The wound was deep —  clean but ruthless. The work of someone who knew what they were doing. Someone driven by more than just desperation.

Someone like you.

His jaw tightened. Even in the dim light, he could make out the faint smudges of shoe prints leading away from the scene. The fight hadn’t been long. The recruiter never had a chance. 

In-ho pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear. “Clean it up,” he ordered, his voice cold and detached. “No traces.”

A curt response from the other end was received, then the line went dead. He pocketed the phone and straightened, his gaze sweeping the empty alleyway. The city was restless tonight— the streets hummed with distant car horns, the murmurs of late-night wanderers. But the shadows told him what he needed to know.

You were close, as if you were a ghost slipping through the cracks of the city, moving unseen, leaving only a trail of destruction in your wake.

He stepped out of the alley, his sharp eyes scanning the streets. Then, he saw her.

Jun-hee.

She stepped out of a nearby gas station’s convenience store, her figure framed against the glow of the automatic doors. She looked exhausted, dark circles smudging beneath her eyes, her hair slightly unkempt. But what caught his attention was the small bundle in her arms, wrapped in soft yellow fabric.

A baby.

His chest tightened. He lingered in the shadows, unseen as she adjusted the child in her arms, murmuring something softly before disappearing into the night. She thinks he was dead, and for the first time in years, that was an advantage.

In-ho remained in the shadows as he turned back to his car, slipping behind the wheel as he started the engine. He didn’t have time for her. He had more important things to find.

You.

The city stretched out before him, endless roads weaving like veins through the darkness. He drove without direction, relying on something deeper than logic — instinct and memory. He took long roads, passed by streets you used to walk, and places you used to go when you wanted to disappear. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, pulse steady but tense.

He knew you were running. But he also knew you were getting tired.

It wasn’t until he turned onto a quieter street, past dimly lit clubs and bars, that he found you. The bar was a rundown hole-in-the-wall. It was the kind of place that reeked of spilled alcohol, cigarette smoke, and bad decisions. Through the rain-streaked windshield, he saw you. Your head was thrown back, half-empty glass in hand, body slumped against the counter in a drunken mess. Even from the car, he recognized that recklessness, the barely contained fire burning in your veins.

In-ho sighed, pushing the door open. Your figure stilled recklessness, your posture feral like a wounded animal ready to lash out at anything that came too close. Your chair had been knocked over, glass shattered to the floor. Two men held you back, gripping your arms as you thrashed, trying to break free. The bartender looked wary, unsure whether to intervene.

“Let go of me!” Your voice was sharp, slurred but venomous.

“Calm down, lady,” one of the men sneered. “before you do something you regret.”

The moment your eyes met In-ho’s, something in it shifted. The rage, the fire— it was still there. But now, it burned with something else. The entire bar fell silent as in-ho stepped forward.

“Let her go,” he ordered. His voice was calm and cold — but final.

The two men hesitated, their grips tightening as they looked him up and down, sizing him up. In-ho rolled his eyes, pulling out a stack of cash, tossing it onto the counter.

“For the damages.”

The bartender’s eyes widened, nodding quickly before the two men finally released you, muttering curses under their breath as they backed away. In-ho stepped closer as your body wavered, your legs unsteady from the alcohol, and before you could fall, his hand caught your arm, steading you.

You flinched, your breath hitching at the touch. You managed to give him a glare despite your legs wobbling. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he guided you towards the exit, his grip firm but careful. The night air was cold against your flushed skin, and you sucked in a breath, trying to gather whatever scraps of sobriety you had left. But before you could twist free from his grasp, he opened the car door and ushered you inside. 

“In-ho,” you murmured, his name falling from your lips like an accusation, more like a plea.

He didn’t answer. He simply closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. You slumped against the seat, eyes hazy, fists clenching at the leather beneath you. As he started the engine, he spared you a glance. “Let’s go.”

The tires rolled over wet pavement, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as he drove. And for the first time in six months, you weren’t running.

The hum of the car engine filled the silence between you, a low vibration that barely reached the surface of your awareness. Your head lolled against the window, the cool glass pressing into your burning skin. You were drunk — far beyond your usual limit — but the fight, the chaos, and the exhaustion had drained what little resistance you had left.

And then there was In-ho.

Sitting there, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Not saying a word. Not asking you anything. Just existing beside you, like he had been pulled from some distant memory and placed into the present.

The weight of it settled over your shoulder.

Six months of running, of hiding, of fighting against the inevitability of his presence in your life. Six months of trying to forget him, only to realize that forgetting was impossible. He had burned himself into your bones, branded himself into the very structure of your being, and no amount of running could erase him.

The streetlights outside passed in soft glows, streaks of golden light washing over his face in fleeting moments. You watched him through heavy lids, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way his lips pressed together in a firm line.

He had aged. Not in years, but in burdens. And maybe, just maybe, you were part of that weight.

A bitter chuckle slipped past your lips before you could stop it. In-ho’s gaze flicked toward you for the briefest second, sharp and assessing, before returning to the road. You tilted your head back against the seat, staring up at the car’s ceiling as the alcohol in your system dulled your inhibitions, loosening your tongue.

“You know…” Your voice slurred, thick with exhaustion and liquor. “I thought about killing you too.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t react.

You laughed, hollow and tired. “I did. I planned it in my head. What I would say and how I would do it. What I would feel when it was over,” you turned your head, meeting his gaze with half-lidded eyes. “But the problem is…”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat.

The problem was that you couldn’t.

Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, the pain, the war that raged inside you every time you thought of him —  he was still him. The boy who had once picked daisies for you, who gave you the paper ring, who memorized the constellations just so he could tell you stories about the stars, the one who taught you games, who had always found you, no matter how far you ran.

Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. Not from the alcohol, but from something much deeper, much more dangerous.

Your voice broke when you whispered, “I missed you.”

The words landed like a gunshot.

In-ho’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. His breath faltered just for a moment, but it was enough. Enough for you to know that it hit him, that he had missed you too.

But he didn’t say anything. He just kept driving, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

You let out a soft sigh, a weary exhale as the weight of the night, the exhaustion, the emotions swirled into something too heavy to hold. Your body sagged against the seat, and before you could fight it, your eyelids drifted shut.

The last thing you felt was the car slowing, the warmth of the heater brushing over your skin, and the lingering presence of him. He was silent, unmovable, but he was there.

——

The weight of consciousness settled slowly, like a fog lifting from the shore. Your head throbbed with the unmistakable ache of a hangover, your body sluggish and warm beneath the silk sheets. A familiar scent lingered in the air — clean, crisp, and laced with something deeper, something that made your stomach twist before you even dared to open your eyes.

The air was thick with the distant hum of the ocean, waves crashing in a rhythmic lull. Then it hit you. The room, the sensation, the unsettling deja vu crawling up your spine.

You were back on the island. 

Your eyes shot open, darting across the dimly lit room. The sleek black walls, the opulent yet sterile furnishings, the single glass of water resting on the bedside table. The weight of reality settled in your chest, heavier than the remnants of alcohol in your system. You swallowed, throat parched, reaching for the water with an unsteady hand. The cool liquid did little to ease the heat rising beneath your skin.

Then, the sound of water ceased. The bathroom door clicked open, steam rolling out in thick tendrils, curling into the room like ghosts of the past. Then, In-ho stepped out.

Fresh from the shower, his damp hair clung to his forehead, his expression unreadable, controlled as ever. A dark robe hung loosely over his broad shoulders, barely tied, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, the sharp lines of his collarbones. Water droplets traced slow, lazy paths down his skin, disappearing beneath the fabric that barely clung to his waist.

Your breath hitched. You should have been furious, should have screamed, thrown the glass against the wall, demanded why he had brought you back here of all places. But instead, you sat frozen, pulse hammering against your ribs, fingers gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles turned white.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood here, watching you, his dark eyes scanning every inch of you, reading you as easily as he always had. And despite everything — the pain, betrayal, the war waging inside your heart — your body betrayed you.

You hated how easy it was for him to affect you. How, even now, after everything, he still had this power over you. 

“In-ho…” your voice was hoarse, weak, a plea you didn’t mean to make.

He exhaled slowly, stepping forward. The air between you crackled, charged with something dangerous, something inevitable.

“You sad you missed me,” his voice was low and steady, but there was something else laced in it — something raw. “Do you still?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, to spit venom, to remind him of everything he had done. But the words never came. Because he was already there, standing over you, one knee pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer. The heat of his body seared into your skin, even through the thin sheets separating you.

In-ho’s hand found your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, and you trembled, but not from fear.

“You should hate me,” he murmured, and for the first time in a long time, there was something vulnerable in his expression. “Tell me you do.”

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, you let him.

The moment his lips met yours, something inside you snapped. Anger, longing, grief, and something deeper — all of it collided as you reached for him, pulling down onto the bed. His robe slipped from his shoulders, pooling around his waist, exposing more of him to your hungry, desperate hands.

This wasn’t about forgiveness. It wasn’t about fixing what had been broken. 

It was about claiming what was left.

And neither of you held back.

His hands roamed around your body as his tongue battled yours, fighting for dominance. His grip was tight, but not enough to hurt you. Though you felt his tongue licking your teeth, earning a moan from you as motioned his body on top of you. He slid your shorts down along with your underwear, pulling away from you to look at the view in front of him as you removed your shirt off, his eyes darkening with lust as he removed your bra.

He spread your legs apart, revealing your wet entrance. He looked into your eyes once more, his eyes asking for consent. You gave him a nod before he pulled himself down, his face down your wetness as he grabbed your legs, putting them over his shoulder, squeezing it. You held your breath and looked up, ready for what was coming next.

His tongue swirled around your clit, much to your pleasure. You couldn’t help but let out a moan, much to his liking as he worked his tongue faster. He entered into you with his tongue, sending more pleasure down your spine, gripping the sheets as you cried. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer against him as his tongue continued, feeling your insides clench.

“In-ho…” You moaned out. “I’m close.”

Just when you were about to, he stopped, earning a whimper from you as he pulled away, looking at you intently as he leaned forward. “I’m not done.”

His lips crashed against yours once again, desperate and hungry, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped you. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the solid heat of his body pressing into yours. You melted into the kiss, fingers tangling in his damp hair, the scent of clean soap and something distinctly him flooding your senses.

His hands roamed your body like he was relearning every inch of you, like he had spent every second of your absence memorizing what it felt like to hold you. A broken sound escaped your lips as his mouth traced fire down your neck, nipping and soothing, eliciting shivers that curled deep into your stomach. His name slipped past your lips in a breathless plea, and it was all he needed to hear.

In-ho answered with touch, with heat, with devotion. Each movement was reverent, slow yet burning with a passion that threatened to consume you both whole. He slid his bathrobe away, not letting go of you as he bulged his shaft down to your entrance, your wetness making it easy for him to enter. His manhood fit perfectly onto you, his movement careful at first as you adjusted.

His thrusts were slow at first, but you were too impatient. You clung your fingernails to his back, leaning your head forward as you whispered to his ear, “Faster.”

And with that, he thrusted faster. Harder. You felt your breasts jiggle as he noticed, cupping one breast with his hand as he continued to thrust into you and held your waist as if it was a handle. You closed your eyes, feeling the sensation of pleasure around your body only for him to grab your jaw, much to your surprise. “Look at me.”

You didn’t waste time. You open them, locking your eyes with his as you see him look at you with lust all over his face, his breath hitching with low moans. He trusted harder, enough to feel your cervix as he let out a groan, like an animal ready to shed its beast.

“Fuck,” he groaned, continuing his thrust. “You feel so good, baby.” He leaned forward again to kiss you, his tongue battling for dominance as you whimpered through his mouth, much to his pleasure.

He worshipped you, whispered your name like a prayer as if you were something sacred, something he had lost and was afraid to lose again. You felt his grip on your waist tighten, feeling his pulse down much faster this time. You could also feel your insides clench once more as you moaned louder, holding back your climax.

In-ho seemed to sense this as he circled your clit with his finger which made your back arched. “Cum for me.”

The smell of sex and sweat filled the air as you let out a whimper, with In-ho continuing to look at you with lust, biting his lip as you came, but that didn’t stop his thrust into you. Your legs shivered, feeling your insides come with pleasure, the sensitivity of your clit unbearable.

And then, at last, he came into climax, pushing one last thrust onto you enough to reach your cervix, spilling all his cum inside as he let out a moan. His head was motioned upward, closing his eyes as you felt his juices inside you.

You both finally shattered, tangled together beneath the dim light of the room, pleasure washing over you in waves, you realized something else.

No matter how far you ran, how much you tried to fight it —  you would always find your way back to him.

Because despite everything, you belonged to him. And he was yours.

——

The room was silent except for the lingering echoes of your shared breaths, the warmth of his body still seeping into yours. In-ho collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his skin damp with sweat and satisfaction. The space between you felt heavy — not with regret, nor with shame, but with something deeper, something raw and unspoken.

Your fingers ghosted over your stomach as you lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. The heat of his presence was everywhere on your skin, in the sheets, in the very air you breathed. You turned your head to look at him, his profile sharp against the dim lighting of the room. His lips were parted, his expression unreadable as his chest slowly rose and fell.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. But then, the question, the one that had been burning inside you, finally escaped your lips.

“Why did you keep looking for me?”

In-ho didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his fingers reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was softer than you expected, almost hesitant, as if he feared that you would slip away again if he wasn’t careful.

“Because you were never meant to disappear,” he murmured, his voice deep and quiet. His thumb traced along your jawline, a gesture so tender that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I thought I could move on. That you had made your choice, and I had to respect it. But everywhere I went, I saw you. I felt you. You haunted me, even when I tried to forget you.”

His eyes, dark and full of unspoken emotions, searched yours.

“I thought I had lost you forever,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t accept that. No matter where I looked, I always hoped I would find you waiting for me.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You had spent nights watching him from the shadows, knowing he had been looking for you, feeling that same pull but never daring to step forward. You had chosen exile and revenge. And yet, here you were, right where you had sworn never to return.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally whispered the question that had been haunting you since that day.

“Then why did you shoot me?”

In-ho’s body tensed beside you. His expression didn’t change, but you could see the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets.

“You could have killed me,” you continued, your voice barely above a breath. “You pulled the trigger, In-ho. Why?”

His jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering toward the ceiling before he finally turned back to you. “I had to,” he said, his voice controlled but laced with something deeper — regret and pain. “They wanted you dead.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. 

“I made a deal,” he continued, his fingers brushing over your wrist, as if grounding himself in your presence. “They saw you as a threat. The only way to prove my loyalty was to eliminate that threat. If I had refused, someone else would have done it. And they wouldn’t have stopped at a single bullet.”

A chill ran down your spine. “So, you—“

“I didn’t kill you,” he said firmly. “I made sure of it. The shot was meant to take you down, nothing more. It was the only way to buy time, to convince them that you were no longer a problem.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets. “And what was I supposed to do? Just lay there and bleed while you carried on with your life?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I was always going to come for you.” His hand slid to your waist, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “They gave me a choice,” he murmured. “Kill you or offer you something more.”

Your heart pounded. “And what was that?”

In-ho exhaled. “A place by my side,” he admitted. “If you had stayed, if you had chosen it… you wouldn’t have had to run.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it held no humor. “So, that’s what this was all about,” you muttered. “They wanted me to play their game. And you,” you swallowed, searching his gaze. “You wanted me to accept it.”

In-ho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I wanted you to live,” he corrected. “I still do.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and unshakable. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then, In-ho sighed and sat up, pulling you with him. “Come,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. “I want to show you something.”

You hesitated before following, your legs still weak from exhaustion. He led you to a door on the far side of the room, pushing it open. The dim glow of the overhead lights illuminated a walk-in closet, spacious and meticulously organized.

At first, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. There were racks of suits in sharp, expensive cuts, neatly pressed dress shirts, an array of polished shoes lining the shelves. Everything was cold and precise, just as you would expect from a man like In-ho.

But then, your eyes drifted to the opposite side of the closet. You let out a small gasp.

It was yours.

Your clothes, perfectly arranged, as if you had never left. Dresses, coats, shoes — all in the styles and colors you used to favor. There were accessories, neatly placed in velvet-lined drawers. Even your perfume, the one scent you had stopped wearing long ago, rested on a mirrored tray as if waiting for you to pick it up again.

You took a shaky step forward, reaching out to touch the fabric of a coat you recognized from years ago. It wasn’t just new clothing, there were things from your past, things you had left behind. Trinkets, personal belongings, reminders of a life you had abandoned.

You turned to In-ho, your hands trembling at your sides. “What… what is this?” You asked.

He stood there, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read. His dark eyes flickered with anticipation. Finally, he spoke. “The organization was impressed,” he said, his voice even and deliberate. “Six months, and no one could find you. Not the recruiters. Not even me.” He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You made yourself a ghost, slipping through cracks, killing off our men, leaving no trace but whispers in the streets. Do you know how rare that is?”

“They don’t see it as a threat?” You asked cautiously.

“They did,” In-ho admitted, tilting his head slightly. “At first. But then, they saw something else.”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“They saw potential,” he said. “The kind that can’t be trained, can’t be forced. You survived the games. You survived me. And then you disappeared into the world like you were never here.” He let the weight of his words settled before he continued. “So, they decided to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

In-ho exhaled slowly before stepping forward, closer than before. His hands slipped into his pockets as he studied you, as if gauging your reaction before saying the next words. “They want you to join the upper ranks,” he said. “Not just as another piece in their game, but as one of the overseers.”

Your breath hitched. “The overseers,” you echoed, as if saying the words aloud would make them more real. 

“Yes.”

You searched his face for deception, but there was none. Just the cold, hard truth.

“You want me to accept it.”

In-ho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing against yours, a light touch that sent an unexpected shiver through your spine.

“You have nothing left out there,” he murmured. “You’ve been running for six months. And for what?” His thumb ghosted over your wrist, slow and deliberate. “You belong here.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “I belong nowhere,” you muttered.

“Then make this place yours,” he continued smoothly. “Take the power they’re offering you. No more running. No more hiding. No more being hunted.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking into your skin like ink spreading through paper. 

For months, you had fought against this, against him, against the very thing he was offering you now. But you had seen the world outside. And all you found there was blood, loneliness, and an endless chase that led nowhere.

This was something else. This was control.

And so, after a long, heavy silence, you lifted your chin and met his gaze. Your lips parted, and the single word that left them sealed your fate. “Fine.”

For the first time in a long time, a ghost of smirk touched In-ho’s lips. “You won’t regret it,” he murmured.

You weren’t so sure about that. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because once you go in, there’s no turning back.

——

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A/N: The more I write, the more ideas this series gives me. Expect more updates as I have the others drafted already, yay! 😅 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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