Hannibal × 2.13 "Mizumono" Squid Game × 2.07 "Friend Or Foe"

the pink soldier watching front man in his pookie era will never not be funny to me because look at this shot right here lmaoooo he’s literally like “are you okay boss” 💀😭😭😭

hi! do you have any bottom inho fic recs? ❤️

like a good, good dog

*trigger warning: non-con, NSFW, dead dove do not eat

"Come on," Thanos — Player 230 — said, "I see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. A blind person could see you've been yearning for each other. Don't look at me like that, I'm just doing you both a favor here."

"What did you just say?" Gi-hun asked.

"You heard me. Fuck 001. Or die."

In a Truth or Dare game, Gi-hun landed himself with the most absurd dare. In-ho realized the price of his undercover mission may be higher than he thought when he was getting fucked at his own game. Figuratively and literally.

Ghost of the Longing

Young-il's ghost would not stop haunting Gi-hun. Gi-hun would not stop claiming the ghost as his.

In other words, Gi-hun fucked Young-il's ghost.

wrap my name across your mouth when i let my feelings down

“You haven’t eaten all day,” In-ho reminds him, a note of desperation in his voice. “Let me feed you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s eyes are unfocused and bloodshot, he notices. There are dark circles underneath them. In-ho chastises himself for not considering the fact that his companion might be sleep deprived.

“Uh, yeah,” Gi-hun awkwardly rubs at his neck with his right hand. “I could eat.”

bonus

Overthrown

*no smut for this one, so it’s not that kind of bottom, but In-ho’s injured and Gi-hun takes care of him

Seong Gi-hun isn't the only enemy the Front Man has. It takes him too long to realize that.

Or, Front Man's right hand man, the Officer, with the help of the Soldiers, plans to take him down. In-ho has been too blind to see the betrayal coming.

(Ironic enough, it turns out the one who's too trusting isn't Gi-hun.)

BRO HIS EYES ARE UP THERE????

# an average day in Squid Game

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.

Processing that you are gay

The reason why I love InHun—aside from the incredible chemistry—is the dynamic. The frontman, a cold-hearted guy who's lost every ounce of hope in humanity, joined the games as Youngil because he was so pissed that a random dude held on to his stupid heroic beliefs until the very end of the first game. His only purpose was to witness him break, to see him become as hopeless as he is, to see the world the same way he does—only for Gihun to prove himself stronger than that, showing Inho that not even the worst monstrosities of human nature can make him lose hope. Inho hasn't seen anyone else believe in goodness and fight for it as much as Gihun has, and I believe a part of him admires him for it.

release their bathroom scene

Someone on Twitter asked for domestic InHun 🧡🫶

I love AUs so much where they're just domestic and happy under normal non life threatening game circumstances HAHAHWGDJSB🧡

"Chasing Ghosts"

"How much can you change and get away with it. Before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of mvrder?"

- Richard Siken

They wish they had more hands if that meant they'd be able to hold each other harder, longer... But which ones aren't real? That's not for me to decide.