Revolver | The Salesman X Fem! Reader
revolver | the salesman x fem! reader
*.✧ synopsis: what's supposed to be an early day off with your coworker, gong ji-cheol, turns into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and russian roulette. as danger escalates, so does the magnetic pull between you, blurring the line between survival and sexual desire. *.✧ word count: 7.1k *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, reader smokes descriptive fight scenes, guns, sucking on guns, gi-hun dies instead of the salesman, the salesman is a warning on its own, reader is also craycray like the salesman, use of gong yoo's real name (do let me know if i should not), co-workers eye fucking, sexual innuendoes, tbf its hinted they fuck after the end. 18+ SCENES (no actual smut, just your typical moaning and sucking of the gun). *.✧ note: not my proudest work but i hope u like it! chances of part 2 is close to none btw, I, for the love of god, was stuck for an hour on that goddamn gun sucking scene, but who knows. masterlist | request here
You let out a heavy sigh as you sank onto one of the worn benches in Tapgol Park. The air was crisp, and the faint hum of city life surrounded you. You were currently waiting for Gong Ji-cheol, your one and only co-worker. He had asked you to meet him here, promising to wrap up his final task for the day before heading to his humble home together.
Your cheek throbbed as you pressed a small bag of ice against it, wincing at the sting. The last girl you played against had been a real piece of work. Not only did you lose much faster than usual, but her slap had left an unforgettable impression—literally. It was as if she had mistaken you for her runaway fiancé who had left her high and dry.
“Damn, she packed a punch,” you muttered under your breath, the memory making you scowl.
With another sigh, you brought a cigarette to your lips, holding it between your fingers as you lit it with practiced ease. The familiar burn in your lungs was oddly comforting. Crossing your legs, you leaned back against the bench’s headrest, letting the smoke escape in a slow exhale that curled into the night sky.
‘Where the hell is he?’ you thought irritably, your foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the pavement. Your eyes scanned the park, catching glimpses of couples strolling by and the occasional jogger.
Just as you were about to pull out your phone to check the time, you spotted a familiar figure entering the park. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Gong Ji-cheol strode in with an air of nonchalance, his hands laden with paper bags that seemed ready to burst at the seams.
You didn’t call out to him, opting instead to watch as he navigated the park with his usual flair. His expression was focused as he finished whatever errand had delayed him. You leaned back further, cigarette perched lazily between your fingers, content to let him finish his business before approaching him.
The two of you had met as guards in a sick, twisted game designed to bleed people dry for the amusement of the elite. Starting out as a lowly Worker, you two slowly climbed the ranks—first a Soldier, then finally a Manager. It wasn’t common for guards to bond, no. Trust was scarce in a world built on deception and survival, yet somehow, Ji-cheol had cracked through your armor. Maybe it was his sharp wit, or the way he could read you like an open book, but whatever it was, you found yourself gravitating toward him.
Just as you were about to take another drag of your cigarette, you noticed something unusual: two men standing awkwardly at the park’s edge, their attention locked onto Ji-cheol like predators stalking prey. They weren’t subtle, either, holding up newspapers as flimsy disguises that barely hid their faces.
You cocked a brow, biting back a chuckle at their obvious act. Amateurs. Still, their presence made your senses sharpen.
Your attention shifted back to Ji-cheol just in time to see him come to a halt in the park’s center. He looked at the bags in his hands, before dropping its contents to the ground with deliberate carelessness. One by one, he stomped on the bread he’d been carrying, flattening each loaf under polished shoes.
You’d seen him do it before—hell, you’d done it yourself—but something about the way he carried out the task tonight was different. There was a certain sharpness in his movements, an edge that hinted at more than just routine. Was he putting on a show for the two men who were watching him, or was this his way of venting the frustrations of the day?
Either way, you couldn’t deny that he looked downright intoxicating as he stood there—his jaw clenched tight, shoulders tense with barely contained aggression, and his eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. The raw power in his posture was magnetic, and you felt a jolt of lust rush through you at the sight.
You smirked, taking in the scene. Slowly, you stood, your movements deliberate as you reached for your suitcase. You tossed the cigarette to the ground, watching it fall with the finality of a decision made, before crushing it under your heel with a swift, confident stomp.
With a casual flick of your wrist, you brushed yourself off, smoothing your clothes. Then, you gave a small wave, your fingers barely lifting, but the motion was enough to catch Ji-cheol’s attention. His gaze snapped to yours instantly, the fire of the moment in his eyes briefly shifting to something more focused, more intent. He stomped on the pile of wasted bread one last time, before fixing himself and walking in your direction.
“Good day, [Name]. How are you? Have you finished your rounds?” he asked with a smile, his tone formal, almost mechanical.
You rolled your eyes and stepped closer, brushing back a stray lock of his hair and fixing it with a familiarity that always seemed to catch him off guard. “Drop the formalities, Ji-cheol. It’s me,” you said, your voice soft but firm.
His posture eased, the stiffness leaving his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax in your presence. “To answer your question, yeah, I’ve finished my rounds. It was a fast day for me.”
“Is that so?” he replied, his tone warmer now. But as his eyes landed on the swelling on your cheek, his smile faltered. Concern flickered across his face. “That mark wasn’t on your pretty little face before. Trouble today?”
You let out a soft laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. “This? It’s nothing. Just a parting gift from my last client—a pregnant girl scammed by her ex’s fake cryptocurrency. She was better than I expected, though. Won more rounds than me.”
He tilted his head, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “Did she really win more, or did you let her? I know you, [Name]. You find pleasure in pain—don’t even try denying it.”
You stepped closer, lowering your voice to an alluring murmur, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “Oh, Ji-cheol, pain is only a pleasure when it’s coming from you. You should know that by now.”
His eyes darkened at your words, and a slow, rich chuckle escaped his lips. “Careful, [Name],” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his hand brushing against your lower back. “You keep teasing me like that, and I might just test your theory.”
You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into a sly smirk. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, challenging him.
His lips quirked upward, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’d be surprised at what I can deliver,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.
Before the tension could spiral further, you stepped back abruptly, breaking the moment with a grin. Turning on your heel, you called over your shoulder with playful finality, “Come on. I’m done for the day, and I need a drink—or at least a cigarette that doesn’t taste like stress.”
Ji-cheol let out a chuckle before falling into step beside you, his presence a constant heat at your side. As you walked, a flicker of curiosity tugged at you, and you subtly turned your head to check for any sign of the two men from earlier. But before you could get a proper look, Ji-cheol’s hand reached out, firm but controlled, gently turning your face forward again.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and calm, though there was an edge of authority beneath it. “I know what you saw—I saw them too. Just keep walking like a good girl. Let them think we’re clueless about their little act.”
His fingers lingered for a moment before he let go, stepping ahead of you to hail a cab. The gesture was quick, efficient, and almost as if he’d done this a hundred times before.
When the taxi rolled to a stop, Ji-cheol turned back to you with a grin that was equal parts mischief and charm. “After you,” he said, his tone teasing as he bowed dramatically. He even went so far as to open the door for you, gesturing with exaggerated politeness like a chauffeur entertaining a particularly important client.
You played along, rolling your eyes but stepping into character anyway. “Why thank you, good sir,” you said with a mock curtsey, gathering the hem of your imaginary skirt as you slipped into the cab.
Ji-cheol followed closely behind, settling in beside you as the driver glanced over his shoulder. “Where to?” he asked, his tone flat, his gaze flicking between the two of you in the rearview mirror.
Saying a quick thank-you to the cab driver, you followed Ji-cheol into a narrow alleyway. The quiet buzz of the city surrounded you, but your attention was on your co-worker’s back as he strode ahead.
“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Wanna play a quick game? Whoever guesses why those clowns are following us treats the other to dinner.”
Ji-cheol cast a glance over his shoulder, one brow arched in confusion.
“What? It’s a good pastime, no?” you added, shrugging. “Humor me a bit!”
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he turned a corner. You followed close behind, your grin fading as the sound of hurried footsteps behind you grew louder.
“Hey, you two! Stop!”
“Stop right there!”
Ji-cheol didn’t respond, instead quickening his pace. But you could hear it in his voice when he muttered, “Idiots.”
The chase ended when Ji-cheol led you into a dead-end alley. He stopped abruptly, spinning around with a calmness that felt almost unsettling, while you turned to face your pursuers. They were close now—two men, one in a dark blue shirt and the other in red, both with the kind of looks that screamed trouble.
“Well, well,” you said, tossing your briefcase from one hand to the other. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some company. Lucky us.”
Ji-cheol didn’t say a word. He simply adjusted his grip on his own briefcase, his eyes narrowing in calculation.
The men didn’t waste time, rushing toward you with the reckless aggression of people who thought they had the upper hand. Big mistake.
You locked your focus on the man in the dark blue shirt, narrowing your eyes as you sidestepped his first swing with practiced precision. The moment his fist whizzed past you, you didn’t waste a second. Your briefcase swung through the air, connecting with his ribs with a satisfying thud. He grunted in pain, stumbling back, and you let out a small, mocking laugh.
"Hey, handsome," you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery. "You should really think twice before picking a fight with us. I’m a sucker for a challenge. But..." You grinned wickedly, dodging another wild punch as you leaned back. "...I’ve got a thing for aggressive men, you know? My type."
The man’s face twisted in frustration and fury. His lips curled, and he spat, “Shut up, you bitch!”
You grinned even wider. "Ooh, getting personal, huh?" you teased, barely dodging another wide swing. “You should take me to bed and that’s where I’ll show you how much of a bitch I can be…”
Your dirty quip was abruptly interrupted when the man unexpectedly grabbed your arm, twisting it painfully. You winced as a sharp jolt of pain shot through your body, forcing you to drop your grip on the briefcase. The metallic clatter of it hitting the ground echoed in your ears.
"Hey! That’s expensive, dumbass!" you snapped, frustration flaring. You wrenched your arm free, trying to shake him off, but his grip was firm.
Before you could fully react, the man kicked your briefcase, sending it sliding towards Ji-cheol, who was tangled in his own fight with the man in red. The sound of metal scraping across the concrete grated on your nerves, a surge of irritation washing over you. That briefcase was yours—nothing was going to ruin it, not even this asshole.
You didn't hesitate. In a flash, your foot shot out, landing a perfect kick right into his shin. He yelped in pain, releasing your arm as he staggered backward. You wasted no time. With a burst of energy, you shoved him hard into the wall behind him. His back collided with a pile of scrap materials with a satisfying thud, the sound reverberating through your body.
You stood tall, brushing off your clothes with an air of nonchalance. As you bent down to retrieve your briefcase, your attention shifted for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of metal—a glint of something sharp catching the light. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized what it was.
The man in the red shirt had drawn a knife. Worse, he was heading straight for Ji-cheol, the blade aimed directly at his back.
“Ji—” you started, your voice cutting through the tension, but your warning was abruptly cut off as something hard slammed into the side of your head.
The world tilted violently. A burst of blinding pain exploded through your skull, and you staggered, your vision blurring. You brought a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt weak. Through your dazed vision, you saw him—a cruel grin on his face, the bloodied stone still gripped in his hand.
Before you could do anything, he struck again, the stone connecting with your skull with a sickening crunch. Pain blossomed across your face, and your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crumpling to the ground. Darkness rapidly encroached upon your vision, and the last thing you registered was the faint, mocking sound of his laughter as everything went black.
Ji-cheol’s eyes snapped to you the moment your body hit the pavement, the sickening thud reverberating in the air. His heart hammered in his chest as his gaze locked onto the sight of you: crumpled on the ground, limp, with blood trickling from a wound on your head. His breath caught in his throat. The man in blue, still standing over you, clutching the stone with a sick grin on his face, and the man in red, knife gleaming, were the last things he needed to process before his instincts took over.
Without thinking, his body moved with a kind of ferocity that stunned even him. His muscles tensed, adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him feel like a machine, unstoppable and unrelenting.
In an instant, he spun around, his hand flying out to disarm the red-shirted man. The knife wrenched from the man’s hand with brutal efficiency, and he followed up with a lightning-fast blow to his temple. The man collapsed instantly, crumpling like a ragdoll, out cold before he even hit the ground.
After dealing with him, Ji-cheol's gaze shifted to the man in dark blue standing with the bloody stone in his hand, looking as if he were ready to take another swing at you.
And that was the last thing he would allow.
He closed the distance in two strides, his fist launching toward the man’s jaw, a punch so hard that the stone slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground uselessly. Without hesitation, His fists continued their brutal onslaught. He delivered blow after calculated blow, his knuckles connecting with the man’s ribs, and face, each hit precise and unforgiving. The man in dark blue crumpled, gasping for breath, barely able to comprehend what had happened to him before another punch landed, and he slumped unconscious to the ground.
Once he was sure that the two were passed out, Ji-cheol immediately dropped to his knees beside you, the panic rising in his chest. Seeing you like this, the blood marring your face—it felt like a punch to his gut. His stomach churned, nausea rising with each passing second as guilt seethed through him like poison.
He reached out with trembling hands, carefully wiping the blood from your face, his fingers lingering on your features, brushing along your jaw and hairline. The blood made it worse—it made everything worse.
His thoughts crashed into him like waves. He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known this was a bad idea, that taking you into this mess had been a mistake. He should’ve canceled the hangout, he should’ve protected you better. But here you were—hurt, unconscious, vulnerable—and it was his fault. Every pained breath you took, every soft exhale he could hear, was a reminder of how badly he had failed you.
“Damn it, [Name],” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with guilt and frustration. His hands moved to gently tilt your head, checking for signs of serious injury. You were breathing, thank God. But the blood on your face made him feel like he was drowning.
His fingers hovered near your lips, then slid down your neck, checking for a pulse. Steady. A little too fast, but steady. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
As he sat there beside you, his body still trembling with adrenaline, something cold and hard settled in the pit of his stomach. The scene around him—the violence, the bloodshed—it was all becoming a blur. There was only one thing that mattered now, and that was you.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, just kneeling beside you, watching for any signs of life, his mind racing. All he could think about was how much he had to make this right. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. Not because of his own damn mistakes.
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Seong Gi-hun.”
Ji-cheol’s voice carried a calmness that felt unnervingly detached, but his words were deliberate, each syllable measured. He stood with an air of nonchalance, a drink dangling loosely in his hand, as if the weight of the situation didn’t faze him in the slightest.
Gi-hun’s sharp gaze fixed on him, his face a mixture of anger and suspicion. Ji-cheol stepped aside slightly, revealing the passed-out figure slumped in one of the chairs behind him. Gi-hun’s eyes immediately darted to them, worry flashing across his features as he took in the bandaged state of their face.
The sight unsettled him. Like a caring father, he instinctively wanted to rush forward, to check if they were alright, to ensure they were still breathing. But he stopped himself, forcing his feet to remain planted as he redirected his focus to the man standing in front of him.
“I hope you don’t mind another visitor,” Ji-cheol added with a faint smirk, watching Gi-hun’s reaction with mild amusement. “Anyways, you should’ve gotten on that plane.”
Gi-hun’s hands curled into fists as he turned back toward the towel he’d been using to dry his hair, his movements slow and deliberate. “I changed my mind when I saw you,” he said, voice low and simmering with anger.
With an approving nod, Ji-cheol tossed his now-empty can into the trash with a casual flick of his wrist. It clanged loudly, the sound echoing in the tense silence. He gestured toward a map pinned to the wall, annotated with markings and notes, pointing at it with his revolver as if he were holding a pointer in a lecture.
“It looks like you’ve been trying hard to find me,” He remarked, his tone laced with mock praise, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the map.
“I wanted to thank you.”
The words made Ji-cheol stop mid-motion, his head snapping toward Gi-hun. He blinked, genuinely taken aback, before narrowing his eyes. “Thank me?” he repeated, the disbelief dripping from his voice.
Gi-hun stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His movements were calm, but there was an undercurrent of malice in every step. Ji-cheol noticed it immediately—the tension in the way Gi-hun carried himself, the suppressed fury barely held in check.
“For inviting me to the game,” Gi-hun said, his voice tight and edged with bitterness. He settled into one of the empty chairs, sitting across from Ji-cheol. The anger burning in his eyes completely contradicted the words spilling from his mouth. “I won. I made it out with a fortune. The decent thing to do would be to thank you for it.” He dragged out the words, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Ji-cheol chuckled softly, a hollow, humorless sound. He leaned back against the table, swirling the liquid in his glass before looking at Gi-hun with feigned delight. “I, no— we—are just messengers who deliver invitations,” he replied smoothly, as if dismissing the very weight of the accusation.
Gi-hun’s jaw clenched as he turned his gaze back to the unconscious figure. The sight of them, bandaged and vulnerable, only seemed to stoke the fire in his chest. He whipped his head back to Ji-cheol, his voice firm and unwavering. “Who had you deliver those invitations? Let me meet him. I have something to say.”
Ji-cheol’s face didn’t change, his expression neutral. “Give me the message,” he said casually, his tone as smooth as silk, “and I’ll pass it along.”
Gi-hun didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as his voice grew sharper. “It’s not something I can discuss with an underling like you.”
For the first time, Ji-cheol’s expression shifted—just slightly. An eyebrow arched, and a flicker of amusement danced across his face as he tilted his head.
Gi-hun pressed on, his voice growing colder. “You prey on people who are hanging by a thread, conning them at subway stations with your pathetic games. Someone like you wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to say.”
The words struck a nerve. Ji-cheol’s smile turned razor-sharp, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes. He straightened up, stepping closer to Gi-hun with calculated precision. “Mr. Seong,” he began, his voice low, the edges laced with venom. “How do you think I got to where I am now?”
“I don’t care how you became their dog,” Gi-hun spat back, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with anger. “Bring me your master. Now.”
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Ji-cheol’s grip tightened slightly, his knuckles whitening as he stared down at the man in front of him. The tension crackled between them like a live wire, each word loaded with unspoken challenges.
But he didn’t break. Instead, he calmed himself down, his lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Seong,” he said coolly, his tone almost taunting. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Gi-hun’s glare didn’t waver. The air between them was thick with unspoken threats, the weight of their animosity pressing down like a storm waiting to break.
You didn’t know what had happened. One moment, you were grappling with the two men who had been tailing you and Ji-cheol, your pulse pounding in your ears as you threw every ounce of strength into your movements. The world had been chaotic, filled with sharp grunts, the scrape of shoes on concrete, and Ji-cheol’s distant voice cutting through the noise. Then, just as suddenly as the fight had started, everything had gone dark.
Now, consciousness crept back slowly, each sensation arriving in fragments. Your head throbbed, a deep ache that pulsed in time with your uneven breathing. Your body felt heavy, as though weighed down by something unseen, and your surroundings were a muddle of indistinct sounds and shadows. Somewhere nearby, a voice pierced through the haze—clear, calm, and chillingly familiar.
“Let’s play a game,” You hear Ji-cheol say, his voice unnervingly casual. The words broke through the thick, suffocating silence, pulling you from the disorientation. Your senses sharpened, snapping into focus as you locked onto the sound of his voice. Slowly, other details began to bleed into your awareness, each one clearer than the last. A faint melody lingered in the air, haunting, delicate, a melody that sent a shiver down your spine. The tune grew clearer with every passing second, and then it hit you—Time to Say Goodbye by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. One of your favorites.
“I’m sure you’ve seen this in the movies,” He continued, his voice floating through the tension of the room. There was no urgency in his words, no thrill of danger—only a casual amusement. It was as if he were describing a mere game, a joke, instead of a life-or-death scenario. “It’s called Russian Roulette.”
The unmistakable click of the revolver’s cylinder spinning sliced through the thick air, sharp and metallic. It was the kind of sound that clawed at your insides. The revolver clicked again, a sound that seemed louder, more pronounced in the silence of the room. Ji-cheol’s voice returned, light and nonchalant. “Usually, you load one bullet, spin the cylinder, and…”
You dared to open your eyes just a crack, curious on what was happening. What you didn’t expect was your gaze being met with the barrel of the revolver, inches away from your face. A rush of anger surged through you, sharp and electric. The nerve of this bastard.
Across the room, Gi-hun stirred. You could hear him, his breath ragged and loud. He moved forward, instinctively, as though to intervene, to stop Ji-cheol, but his feet faltered. He paused, his whole body tight with tension. His eyes locked onto the weapon, his posture rigid.
“Hey—” Gi-hun’s voice cracked, faltering under the pressure. “Don’t do this—”
Ji-cheol silenced him with a smoothness that only made the threat more chilling. His voice slipped through the air like silk, but it carried an edge that cut deep. “...And pull the trigger.”
The sound of the revolver’s cylinder clicking into place reverberated around the room. Ji-cheol’s finger tightened on the trigger, and for a split second, the world seemed to freeze.
Your eyes remained steady, focused, determined. Your pulse quickened, but you forced it into submission, grounding yourself in the stillness of the moment.
Click.
The sound was deafening in its emptiness, an echo that reverberated in your skull, louder than any bullet could ever be. The revolver hadn’t discharged. Ji-cheol lowered the revolver with a smirk, his gaze flicking between you and Gi-hun. His movements were unhurried, his demeanor calm, as though this had been nothing more than an amusing game.
“And before the next round,” Ji-cheol said smoothly, the revolver spinning in his hand with a sharp flick of his wrist, “you spin it to reset the odds back to one in six.”
The metallic click of the cylinder spinning reverberated through the air, the sound sharp against the eerie backdrop of soft music. It was a calculated move, each spin designed to remind everyone in the room of what was at stake. Ji-cheol’s grin stretched wider as he leaned back, as if savoring the power he held.
Gi-hun’s face was carefully neutral, but his body betrayed him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that you thought his teeth might crack, and his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against the edge of the table. He exuded frustration and unease, barely restrained beneath his calm facade.
“But,” Ji-cheol continued, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with malice, “I like to make the game a little more interesting.” His tone was playful, almost conversational, but the words carried a sinister edge. “Because you’re special, Mr. Seong.”
“Cut to the chase,” Gi-hun snapped, his voice hard and brimming with irritation. He was done playing along, his patience stretched to its limit.
The salesman chuckled, low and mocking, clearly reveling in the tension that crackled in the room. He thrived on it, his grin widening as though Gi-hun’s defiance only added to his amusement. “Fine,” he said, the word drawn out, almost lazy. “We’ll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over. What do you say?”
For a moment, silence stretched taut, the weight of Ji-cheol’s words pressing down like a physical force. Gi-hun hesitated, you could see the gears turning in his head, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The hesitation was brief, but it felt eternal. After a while gave a sharp nod. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice tight, his resolve brittle but intact.
“Wonderful.” Ji-cheol’s tone was dripping with delight as he placed the revolver in the center of the table. The polished metal gleamed under the dim light, catching your eye like a predator’s snarl. With another flick of his wrist, he sent the revolver spinning.
It slowed, the barrel’s alignment seemingly random until it stopped. The revolver’s menacing end pointed directly at Gi-hun.
Gi-hun’s hand moved toward the gun with a reluctant slowness, as if even touching it might curse him. His fingers trembled when they wrapped around the handle, and he lifted it with a carefulness usually reserved for handling fragile, dangerous things.
The room felt smaller as he raised the revolver to his temple, the weight of the weapon mirrored by the crushing silence that followed. His breaths came quick and shallow, each inhale louder than the last as he steadied his hand. The barrel pressed into his skin, a cold kiss of steel. He hesitated, his knuckles white as his grip tightened.
Just pull it, get it over with. You could almost hear the mantra running through his mind, though the beads of sweat rolling down his temple betrayed the fear he tried to mask.
Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, He squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The sound was deafening in the stillness, a hollow, empty note that echoed in your chest. Gi-hun released a shaky exhale, his body sagging slightly as relief flooded through him. For a brief moment, the gun felt lighter as he carefully set it back on the table, as though handling a venomous snake.
Ji-cheol didn’t wait. The second Gi-hun’s hand left the revolver, he snatched it up, his grin unwavering. He pressed the barrel to his temple with none of the reluctance Gi-hun had shown, but there was something in his movements—subtle, fleeting—that contradicts with his confidence. His hand trembled just slightly as he adjusted the weapon, his knuckles tightening.
He took a long, measured breath, his cocky grin faltering for a brief moment as a flicker of uncertainty passed over his features. Then, with an almost feral determination, he pulled the trigger.
Click.
The sound hung in the air like a thunderclap, Ji-cheol’s shoulders visibly relaxing as his grin returned, sharp and triumphant. He laughed softly, the sound devoid of any real humor, before setting the revolver back in the center of the table. His gaze flicked to Gi-hun, and his eyes were practically alight with sadistic glee.
Gi-hun’s expression tightened, it was his turn again. As his hand started inching toward the revolver, Ji-cheol raised a hand suddenly, halting him mid-motion.
“Wait,” He said, his voice lilting with a mockery that sent a chill down your spine. His gaze shifted—predatory and deliberate—landing squarely on you.
“[Name], would you like to join us?”
Ah. Ever the gentleman.
A low groan escaped your lips as you finally stopped your act, breaking the stillness with a deliberate slowness. Your head throbbed as you shifted upright, every movement calculated, every second drawn out. Gi-hun’s gaze landed on you with a mixture of disbelief and shock, his mouth parting as though to ask how long you’d been awake.
You met his eyes with a faint, sardonic smile, dipping your head in acknowledgment. “How thoughtful of you, Ji-cheol…” you murmured, your voice light but edged with mockery.
You didn’t wait for anyone to respond. Your hand reached for the revolver on the table with a startling calmness, fingers curling around its weighty grip. The tension in the room thickened, every breath measured and shallow as you lifted the weapon.
The barrel’s cold steel kissed your temple, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your heart raced, the adrenaline flooding your veins almost intoxicating. Was it courage or recklessness driving you? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the here and now—the sharp, electric rush that drowned out everything else.
Your finger tightened on the trigger.
Click.
The empty sound was deafening, a hollow echo that filled the room. Your breath slipped out, slow and steady, though you weren’t sure if it was relief or something far darker that made your chest feel so tight.
Lowering the gun slightly, you glanced at Ji-cheol. The edges of your lips quirked upward, your expression sharp, your voice cutting through the silence with quiet venom. “... Allow me to return the favor,” you said.
Before anyone could stop you, your finger pulled the trigger once more.
Click.
The second dry sound rang louder than the first, and you felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. Gi-hun’s voice erupted in the stillness, a harsh, disbelieving shout. “Are you insane?!”
His words crashed into you, but they were distant, unimportant. Your focus stayed locked on Ji-cheol, and the smirk plastered across his face. It had widened—twisted with something primal, something that mirrored his love for chaos.
But as you shifted the gun in your hand, as the barrel turned from yourself to your lovely coworker, the room seemed to shift. Ji-cheol’s composure faltered, his smirk flickering like a flame about to die. The odds had changed, and now they were against him.
For the first time, his confidence wavered.
“Come on, Ji-cheol,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock affection. The words rolled off your tongue with an ease that felt unnatural, but the thrill of the moment made it all too satisfying. “Don’t tell me you’re scared now?”
For the first time, the salesman hesitated. His usual cocky demeanor faltered, the confident smirk slipping away as doubt crept into his eyes. Was this how it ended for him? Was he about to face the cold reality that he had pushed things too far?
His gaze fixed on you, wide and searching. You could practically see the wheels turning in his mind, but there was no escape. Your words had hit him where it hurt. The balance of power had shifted, and he could feel it. It was a strange feeling, one he hadn’t experienced with you before.
“What’s the matter?” You pressed, your voice now almost playful, but laced with venom. You could see the shock in his eyes, the disbelief that you—someone he thought he knew—had turned the tables in such an intimate, dangerous way.
He stared at you, mouth agape, unable to form words. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling, as if trying to figure out how to respond. Slowly, you stood up, each motion deliberate, your legs aching from the stillness. But the tension, the palpable charge between you two, made your body feel alive.
In all honesty, you were annoyed. Your day has already been a mess, from the last heated match to the delay in the promised hangout to the injury that will definitely cause weeks to heal from. You just wanted peace—just a moment to collect yourself. But instead, here you were, playing this twisted game because of your annoying coworker.
You moved closer to him, your presence towering over him in a way that felt almost suffocating. With a push of your hand, his back hit the cold wall with a thud. The barrel of the gun remained unwavering, still aimed to his face, as you maneuvered yourself closer, your body brushing against his with precision.
One leg was planted firmly on the ground while the other was pressed between his legs, the proximity undeniable, intense, and erotic. You could feel the heat of his body beneath your fingertips, the tension radiating from both of you. Your breath was shallow now, your senses heightened in ways that made you almost dizzy. You leaned closer to him, your mouth dangerously near his, your lips only inches apart. Your breath mingled, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.
Then, using the barrel of the gun, you tilted his head back slightly, forcing his mouth open just enough for you to slip the cold steel inside. Below you, Ji-cheol's body started to shake, and you felt it. The tremor in his form wasn’t just from fear. There was something else there—something deeper, primal, as if the situation was pushing both of you to the edge of something neither of you could fully comprehend.
The power was in your hands now.
A part of you reveled in it—how easy it was to rattle him, to strip away the confident exterior. But that other part of you, the part that longed for release from the mess of emotions you were drowning in, just wanted it to be over.
You pulled the trigger, the sharp sound of the click ringing in your ears, and for a moment, everything went still.
Click.
It was a dud.
The tension broke, but only for a moment. Your gaze immediately snapped towards Gi-hun. The final bullet was in play, and you could feel the man's eyes burning into the back of your neck. His hands trembled violently, his whole body shaking with anticipation, fear, and death.
Without removing yourself from Ji-cheol, you extended your arm out, offering the revolver to Gi-hun, expecting him to take it and end it all. To live up to the end of his deal. However, any possibility of that happening changed when his wide-eyed stare locked with yours, and you saw the raw terror in them—something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t just afraid of the situation, but of you.
“What's wrong, Mr. Seong?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, though there was a sharpened edge to it now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Gi-hun opened his mouth to speak but faltered. His lips parted, then pressed together tightly, as if wrestling with the storm of emotions raging inside him. You could feel his hesitation thickening the air between you both, a heavy tension that pushed you closer to the brink. Finally, he stood, his anger spilling over, his voice rising.
“You’re insane!” he snapped. “If you hadn’t pulled the trigger twice— if we followed the damn order, you would be the last one to shoot. You’re the one who’s supposed to die!”
The words hit you like a slap. It was true after all. But his fury, his concern—it didn’t matter. You were the one who risked it, and you were the one who will be rewarded. The game had already ended, and there was no turning back now. His words, even if they were meant to stop you, only served to push you further, deepening the anger seeping in your chest.
“And you think that’s my fault?” you said, voice cold as ice, your gaze never wavering from his. The words stung, but you didn't flinch. “You think I give a damn about that?”
Without warning, you aimed the revolver at him and fired. The final click rang out, breaking the heavy silence with cold, brutal finality.
The room held its breath. Gi-hun’s body jerked once, his wide eyes still locked onto yours in disbelief as the realization hit him. His legs gave way, and he collapsed, blood beginning to pool beneath him. There was no more struggle, no more fight. Just the soft, final exhale of his breath, leaving the world in silence.
Below you, the voice of your coworker pierced the thick air, a low murmur in your ear. “Well done, [Name].”
You turned to him. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous—something like admiration, but tinged with something possessive.
You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a tangible pressure. The heat between your bodies simmered, an undeniable force that threatened to pull you closer. You didn’t need to say anything, because at that moment, everything was clear between you two.
“Really?” you said, your voice lowered in a husky sultry tone, as if you were challenging him. Your fingers tightened around the revolver, the weight of it no longer heavy, but oddly comforting.
Without a word, Ji-cheol moved with swift precision. One moment, you were standing tall, the next, his hands were beside your head, pinning you against the wall with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.
“Don’t think for a second I’m done with you, [Name],” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else in it now—a layer of hunger, an edge that felt almost possessive.
Slowly—as if to test him—you raised the revolver to your lips, your eyes never leaving his. Ji-cheol watched with intensity as you seductively sucked on the gun's barrel. His eyes trailed down, watching as saliva began dripping on your hand as you swirl your tongue around the barrel with such intensity that he wished you were doing it to him instead.
Watching his throat constrict as he swallowed deeply and feeling his bulge harden on your thigh. You pulled the gun out your mouth with a satisfying pop before throwing it to the ground. Without wasting any time, Ji-cheol immediately grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. And instead of hurt, his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through your body.
He placed his knee up against your crotch—the action earning a low, hungry moan from you—before using his free hand to pull your body closer to him, his hard bulge colliding with your thigh. Ji-cheol released a low, and drawn-out moan before leaning in closer, his breath, which was just a hair away from your lips, was weak and warm—full of yearning and lust.
“You’re playing with fire, and I can’t promise you won’t get burned,” he murmured, the words dripping with an unsettling mix of desire and threat.
The heat in his voice made your pulse quicken in excitement. Your body responded to the proximity, to the rawness of the moment. Every inch of you was alive, and Ji-cheol, for all his calm control, couldn’t hide the dark hunger in his gaze. You could see it, feel it, as though it were an invisible thread pulling you together.
For a fleeting moment, it was almost as if the rest of the world had disappeared. It was just you, Ji-cheol, and the dangerous, magnetic pull between you both. With his lips hovered just inches from yours, you knew this was the moment that would change everything between you two.
More Posts from Wqnsho and Others
Can I please have a maybe headcanons, frontman meets the reader, who is an ordinary, unremarkable person, but he likes them? (Note: The action takes place OUTSIDE of his games....)
hii!! request granted!
read it here ༊*·˚
hopefully it was to your liking, tysm for the support!
ᥫ᭡。 flicker.
⟢ pairing: kuroo x fem!reader
⟢ summary: when you’re young and in love, it’s easy to forget that life can be far crueler than it should be at 18. but it’s also easy to forget that life can work in wonderful ways too. sometimes, you just have to wait a little for it.
⟢ cw: fluff, mild hurt/comfort, breakups, exes to lovers, mutual pining
⟢ wc: 5.1k
⟢ a/n: a slightly edited repost of a fic I wrote a couple of years ago :3
The last moment you spent with Kuroo was unremarkable.
“Swap.”
“But I like this one.”
“You know the rules.” With a resigned sigh you hand him your can of lychee soda, gingerly taking his bottle of aloe vera juice. Eyeing the cloudy, slightly greenish liquid, you grimace before you reluctantly raise it to your lips. You take a sip and wrinkle your nose in disgust.
“I can’t believe you actually like this shit.”
“Don’t be dramatic, you’ve just got childish taste buds. Besides, it’s good for you”
“I do not!” you scoff, hitting his shoulder lightly.
“Uh-huh. And this is coming from the girl who drinks artificially flavoured sugary juice.”
“Give it back then if you don’t like it,” you huff, making a grab for it.
“No.” He holds the can out of reach of your outstretched hand, which is not much of a feat considering how long his arms are. “It’s mine now.”
“But you don’t even like it!” you whine.
“Don’t care,” he shrugs, taking a sip.
“Even if all your teeth fall out from the sugar, old man?” You raise an eyebrow challengingly.
“I’ll get dentures,” he grins, throwing you a teasing wink. “I’m sure I can make the fake teeth work. Anything’s possible when you look like this.”
“Oh, shut up will you.” You scowl at him, slumping back down on his bed beside him and sipping at the remainder of his drink in annoyance, pushing down the strong urge to spit it at him. It would be funny, and maybe start a gross little war between you, but you’re not really in the mood for that right now.
Silence falls between you again, an obnoxiously frequent visitor on this clear, starry night. Your head falls on Kuroo’s shoulder just as his arm finds your waist and tucks you closer into his side, fingers tracing shapes over your hip. A few months ago, he would be laughing nervously and trying his hardest to play it cool, all while a hot blush lit up his cheekbones and ears. There’s very few traces of that shy boy left. You miss him a little.
“Feels weird now that we’ve graduated,” you muse. “It’s all downhill from here.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he scolds lightly. “We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us!”
“Here we go.”
You groan as he starts his rant about life and things that are too abstract and far away into the future for you to think about. Turning your head, you watch him excitedly talk about possibilities and plans and your heart weighs down in your chest.
This will be the last time.
“Tetsu,” you interrupt quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to forget me after I’ve left.” You can feel how Kuroo tenses all of a sudden, the lines of his body stilling as his grip on you tightens protectively. Defiantly.
“Woah, woah, woah- why would I do that?” he asks worriedly. You sigh heavily, sitting up so that you can look at him. He knows why. You’ve had this conversation before, several times in fact.
“To make it easier. For both of us. We’ve talked about this before, and I’ve been thinking that it would be best.” you tell him gently, even though every cell in your body tells you not to.
“But I don’t want to forget you,” he says stubbornly. “And who exactly is this easier for? Don’t you even want to try making this work long distance? I think we can do it.”
“I don’t want to end up resenting you.” Kuroo’s brows pinch together. “What if I neglect you, or you neglect me? What then? What if we start hating each other?”
“You won’t! We’ll call and text everyday, it’ll be like you never left! That’s what technology is for, sweetheart.”
“But we’ll only manage to squeeze in a couple of hours each day at best because of the timezone differences and even then we might not manage that! You know it doesn’t make sense,” you point out. Your tone softens as you take his hand in yours, running your thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “You’re usually so logical, Tetsu, this isn’t like you.”
Kuroo sighs, tugging you in to rest against his chest. It’s so natural now, so effortless, how you fall into each other’s embrace. Like being there was written for you from the start.
“Not always. Love isn’t logical y’know. You taught me that,” he murmurs into your hair. “Love tells me that I should keep you here, safe in my arms, not let you go halfway across the world for university.”
“Tetsu, you know-“
“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. I’d never hold you back, no matter what. But you can’t ask me to be logical when every cell in my body refuses to let you go. You can’t ask me to forget you because I would never be able to. How could I ever forget someone I love?”
You cling to him more tightly, cursing every divine power that has decided to wedge itself between you. Why the fuck has life led you in this direction? It’s cruel. Unfair.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” you mumble.
“I’m not. And despite what you say, I know you won’t forget me either. Doing this now, or before you leave, or not at all, is going to hurt us at some point.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
You sit up to look at him again, meeting melancholic eyes that mirror your own turmoil. Tenderly, he brushes your hair back, long fingers lingering on your cheek.
“You might be right about the long distance thing not working,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to give up on us but… I guess it makes sense to. We’re young, we’ll be busy - how many high school couples even last a long distance?”
“Not many, I don’t think.”
“Right. Then, for tonight, I want you to pretend with me. Let’s pretend that you’re not leaving me next week, and that we’ll see each other tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that.”
“Will that help?” you ask sadly. He smiles ruefully and shakes his head, his dark hair bouncing with the action.
“No. But I don’t wanna be sad about you going just yet.”
And you do just that. You talk and laugh, share stories and snacks, holding onto each other all the while through kisses and giggles. It’s pure bliss, this little bubble you’ve blown around yourselves in Kuroo’s bedroom.
But it’s sullied by the ticking of the clock on his wall that you can’t help but repeatedly glance at. And as thatclock nears midnight and you know it’s time to leave, your heart begins to ache desperately.
His hands rest on your hips as you stand before his closed door. When your lips meet, it’s not like your usual goodbye kisses, which are sweet and chaste. This kiss quickly becomes a deep, needy, yearning thing that you can’t pull yourself out of. You drown in the sensation of his slightly chapped lips, get lost in the taste of his still-shy tongue, melt right into the contours of his body.
You don’t even realise the two of you are crying until you pull away. You’re breathless and sobbing a little, clinging to him so tightly you’re sure it hurts him, but it doesn’t matter.
Leaving hurts more.
“I don’t wanna go,” you whisper. “I wanna stay with you.” He kisses your tears away, resting his forehead against yours and squeezing your frame.
“I’m not dying or anything, why are you crying?” he teases wetly.
“You’re crying too, dumbass.”
“So what if I am?” he sniffles, pressing tender kisses to your forehead. “My pretty girl’s leaving me forever.”
“I don’t want to, Tetsu.”
“I know, but you’ll be okay, baby. We’ll be okay,” he says, shushing you gently, but neither of you believe it for a second.
And why would you?
You’re 18. Young and stupid. Freshly graduated with the world at your feet and the whole of adulthood stretching on before you, a winding path that you can’t fully see.
And yet, this is your world, right here in your arms.
All this time, he has been by your side, naturally, but he won’t be following you into the great unknown, as much as he wishes he could. He’s seeing you off on your journey now, parting ways with you as he embarks on his own, in a different direction, even though he wants you to stay with him. He watches you from the front door as you leave, blowing you a kiss and yelling his love after your retreating figure.
This is what it means to grow up.
This is goodbye.
And you both fucking hate it.
It takes a good while to nurse your broken hearts, made more difficult by the fact that you have to adjust to new environments and new people as you heal. But you grieve and you grow and the years pass by in the blink of an eye.
Seven years have passed since that tearful night. Seven years of study, study, study and then work, work, work. You moved back to Japan a year or so after graduating university, homesick from so many years away. You visited during that time of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as living out your daily life in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo.
And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you dreamed that you would bump into him. Wishful thinking perhaps, but you couldn’t quite tamp down all of your feelings towards the rooster-haired captain. There’s still a small flame flickering in the depths of your heart just for him and it’s this very flame that keeps you warm on some nights.
You wonder if that same flame burns in his own chest for you.
The convenience store is a welcome reprieve from the summer heat that bears down on you intensely. The sounds of passing cars is muffled as the doors slide shut behind you, leaving only the whir of the air conditioner and the gentle warble of a pop group playing quietly over the radio to accompany you.
You drift towards the back where the fridges are situated, absently inspecting bags of snacks as you pass and touching a box of pocky before changing your mind and continuing on. There’s a blast of cool air when you pull the fridge door open and hold it there with your hip as you scan the selection of beverages on display. There’s one in particular that catches your eye, conjuring a memory forth from the depths of your mind.
With a nostalgic smile, you reach in and grasp the can of lychee soda, only for your hand to bump into one much larger than yours.
“Ah, sorry about that,” says a smooth, deep voice. The sound sends a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the open fridge.
But it can’t be, can it?
Hopeful curiosity lifts your head to look for the owner of the voice, and you have to crane your neck a little just to look up at his face. Dark hair, still messy, but more tamed than it was in his youth - now it looks deliberate. Sharp jaw, elegant nose, and those eyes, warm hazel - almost amber, and strangely feline in shape. He doesn’t look the same but he doesn’t look different either. Just a taller (somehow) more handsome and mature version of his younger self. In a suit no less, only it’s paired with volleyball shoes.
You would probably laugh out loud if your mouth didn’t feel so dry, like you’ve just eaten a fistful of sand as you gape up at him with a mix of shock and wonder.
“I must be dreaming right now,” you whisper to yourself and the man sniggers, still inspecting the can in his hand.
Oh. That’s still the same.
“Are you talking to-“ he falters as his eyes flick to your face. “-me.”
His face mirrors your own and you’re not sure how long you stand there, fridge wide open, until someone mumbles an ‘excuse me’ and shakes you from your respective trances. You wait for them to leave before you dare to look at each other again.
“Tetsu?” It feels a little foreign saying his name again after so long. And yet, the weight of it sits familiar on your tongue, the roll of each syllable feels natural as it passes your lips.
He says your name and you wonder if it tastes the same to him, if it reminds him of home the way that his does for you. “Is that you?”
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting.
“Hi,” he says, sounding as dazed as you feel. “Almost didn’t recognise you. You look… different.”
“So do you. It’s been a while,” you offer lamely. He was never this hard to talk to, but you suppose that time is a thief that is impossible to catch, stealing the ease that you built your relationship on.
“Yeah. It has.”
“Seven years,” you murmur with a touch of melancholy.
“Where did the time go?”
You both fall silent, there in the snack aisle of a convenience store in Tokyo, in the middle of summer, wondering what you should say next. Wondering what is appropriate after so much time has passed.
Because you’ve both grown. A lot. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You’re hardly the same people you were seven years ago. It’s stupid of you to even entertain the idea that he could fall in love with you again, but you entertain it all the same.
You’d never admit it aloud, but on some of your loneliest nights, you fantasise about what could happen if you met again. How you’d fall back together so easily, how you’d be so in love, the way that you used to be. Maybe you’d move in together, get a pet together, maybe you’d get married and have a family. Maybe you’d grow old with the only boy you’d ever loved so earnestly, so boundlessly, despite being so young.
It’s Kuroo that finally breaks the silence.
“Let’s catch up,” he says, with a crooked grin. “For old times sake.”
You pay for your drinks and head back out into the sun. It’s odd, you think. Tokyo is familiar and Kuroo is familiar, as well as the drink in your hand but it still feels strange to you. You’re in a different part of the city because of your new job and the brand of soda you like has changed their recipe.
And then there’s Kuroo.
His gait is, regrettably, longer than it used to be, as is the height at which you stand next to him. He sounds different, dresses different, he even smells different. Back then, he used to smell like far too much body spray and his grandma's honeysuckle detergent. Now? The scent coming off him is expensive and thoroughly masculine - you might even dare to say it’s incredibly sexy.
You cast him a sideways glance, belatedly noticing the can that he sips at. It’s identical to yours and you can’t help but scoff aloud.
“I thought you said that stuff was full of sugar?” Kuroo turns to look at you curiously as you both slow to a stop and point at him accusingly. “Remember? You used to nag me for drinking it.” Your lips push out in a pout at the memory of his lecture, and he laughs.
The sound transports you back to high school, to a time where you’re still boyfriend and girlfriend, two peas in a pod, no longer clad in office wear but in your school uniforms. Kuroo’s hair is horrendous, tangled hopelessly by the wind that blows through it. You’re holding hands and bickering, but still laughing. Always laughing.
“That’s cos you used to drink it every day,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in that goddamn smirk. “And it’s addictive.”
“Oh is that right? Well, I did tell you as much back then. How the tables have turned!” you proclaim triumphantly. He rolls his eyes, amused by your smug expression.
“I’m not addicted to it,” he says, quirking his brow challengingly. “I still don’t like it.”
“Oh really? Then why did you get it?” You narrow your eyes at him as he shakes his head, smile softening.
“It’s a secret,” he says, tapping his nose with a wink before he continues to walk. Your eyes narrow in a glare as you jog after him and attempt to fall back in step with him.
“Oi, slow down! Long legged bastard,” you grumble under your breath.
“What did you just call me?” he asks quietly. You freeze, clapping a hand over your mouth as realisation dawns on you. You can’t joke with him like that anymore. Not after you put millions of miles between you. What boundaries lie there now?
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” He cackles at the look on your face, doubling over right there in the middle of the street. You fix him with a deadpan look, arms folded over your chest, thoroughly unimpressed.
“I’m kidding, relax! God, you should see your face, baby!”
This time, you both freeze, and the illusion shatters. A soft pink stains his cheeks as his ears and brain catch up to his tongue and heart. 25, and he’s still not immune to blushing. 25, and it still makes him look hopelessly sweet. 25, and it still makes your heart swell.
“I didn’t- shit, I’m so sorry! It just slipped out,” he yelps, panic widening his eyes. You’re not quite sure what to say to him. The pet name echoes in your ears and thunders in your chest, reawakening butterflies with Kuroo’s name scrawled across the delicate wings. Your own cheeks feel warm.
“Easy mistake to make,” you say, biting back a shy smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s call it even.” He clears his throat nervously and sips at his drink to give himself something to do, your own fingers fiddling with the carrier bag in your hand until he finally breaks the stifling silence.
“I er, I know a pretty good ice cream place about 5 minutes away from here. We can catch up there?”
“Sounds good.”
Your walk resumes and you’re both quiet again, but this time, it’s comfortable. The little bell above the door chimes and he follows in behind you to stand at the counter, poring over the selection behind the glass.
Kuroo has brought you to a quaint little spot, tucked away between an electronics shop and a bakery. Inside, it’s cool and vibrant, the pastel palette running through the airy space brightening your mood a little. It doesn’t take either of you long to make your choices, taking your cones and finding a little booth in the back to sit at.
Perhaps it’s a little odd for two adults in their mid-twenties to be sitting in an ice cream parlour, nibbling at ice cream cones and searching for something to say that sounds half-way cool and nonchalant. But Kuroo did say this was for the sake of old times, and what better way to plunge you into the past than a quiet booth and some ice cream.
“So…” you start, but you don’t know how to finish.
“So…” he copies, drawing the word out. You raise an eyebrow at him, licking at your ice cream and he mirrors you, holding the expression before you both snort and burst into laughter.
“Fucking hell, stop making it weird!” you giggle.
“I’m not!”
“You’re making that face!”
“Speak for yourself! Look, I just didn’t expect to run into you of all people on my way home. I’m still processing it,” he says with a grin.
“Neither did I!” His eyes soften as he smiles, crinkling at the corners.
“So how have you been?”
And just like that, you feel right at home again. You talk and laugh, smile brighter and bigger than you have in years. The cones have long since been polished off and you’re still occupying the booth, any concept of time tossed out the window. It’s not long before your catch-up of the present bleeds into reminiscing on the past.
“And then Bokuto slipped and fell right into you!”
“I remember that, I would’ve fallen flat on my face if you hadn’t caught me. You never did let that go, I swear, you gloated about it for ages,” you complain, pouting in annoyance.
“You have to admit that line was pretty smooth!” He puffs his chest out a little with pride and you roll your eyes.
You mock his deep timbre. “‘Are you falling for me?’”
“It was cool!”
“It was cheesy!” you both laugh at the memory, letting the feeling of nostalgia linger over you like a warm blanket just a little while longer.
“We had some good times together,” he hums and you nod, smiling wistfully at the memories you’ve been submerging yourselves in.
“We did.”
“I miss those days.”
“Me too.”
“No, I mean when we were together. I really loved you,” he says quietly, warm eyes burning with sincerity.
“I did too.” You heart thuds heavily in your chest at the implications in his gaze but you force yourself to rein it in and squash the hope that flutters there. “But we were so young. Immature. Naive.”
“So?” He almost sounds offended. “Does that mean it didn’t count or something?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” You shake your head and sigh. “I’m just saying, I’m sure you’ve dated other people since then and fallen in love again. Real love, not the silly delusions of a teen.”
“Our love was real.”
Your breath hitches then at the fire in his eyes, a fire that you recognise, the same as the one that burns quietly in the depths of your heart. You try to shift his attention.
“Aren’t you dating anyone right now?” you ask hesitantly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.
“No,” he says fiercely, but then he cools a bit and leans back in his seat. “No. I’m not. I’ve tried, but… Nothing ever stuck. How about you?”
“I tried too,” you murmur. “But I couldn’t love them in the right way, I guess.”
Not the way I loved you.
The air between you becomes heavy with words unsaid crowding the tips of your tongues all at once, piling against your teeth and begging to break free. Kuroo calls your name, and your belly flutters in the way that it used to.
He calls out to you again and it’s so soft, so Kuroo, that your heart aches. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to keep speaking with bated breath. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yeah.”
He sucks in a shaky breath and adds another secret to the pile housed deep in your heart, still kept firmly under lock and key.
“I drink them when I miss you.”
You pause, brow furrowing in confusion.
“Drink what?”
Kuroo’s expression turns exasperated as he runs a hand through his neater-than-it-used-to-be hair. The blush from before returns, tinging his ears red with embarrassment.
“The lychee soda.”
Oh.
Oh.
“So… today?”
He nods sheepishly, covering his face with his hand.
“How was I supposed to know I’d bump into you?” he mumbles again. You say nothing, marvelling at the man before you instead. Still as sweet as the day you met him. Years have passed, and so many things have changed. And yet, somehow, Kuroo remembers you the way that you remember him.
No, not remember, he misses you the way that you miss him, still finding comfort in the warmth of that flame, just like you. Still finding solace in bubbles and sugar.
“Tetsu-”
“Weird right?” he chuckles humourlessly and you shake your head no.
“No, it’s not weird. Not really,” you say, fiddling with the napkin in front of you. “You did say you wouldn’t forget me.”
“True,” he hums.
“And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t forget you either.”
“You didn’t?” A warm flush creeps up your own cheeks this time as you nod and give in a little.
“I missed you, Tetsu. I know it’s been such a long time, and holding onto hope that I’d see you again is probably really fucking stupid, not to mention unhealthy, but-“
“I couldn’t help it,” you say simultaneously.
Slowly, identical giddy grins spread over your faces and you find yourselves giggling like teenagers all over again.
“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Kuroo says suddenly with that lopsided grin that you fell in love with all those years ago.
“On a date?”
“If you want it to be. Or even just as friends. But seeing you again, it’s just-“ you halt him with a raised hand, a teasing grin playing at your lips as your head cocks to the side.
“Tell me about it on our date, yeah?”
And he does.
The date with Kuroo is truly magical. He’s a picture perfect gentleman, coming to pick you up with a bouquet of fresh, red roses in hand and a happy grin on his face. It seems that both of you have dressed to impress, Kuroo dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and charcoal trousers whilst you spent hours scouring your wardrobe for the perfect dress. It’s honestly a little ridiculous when you think back on it since you knew each other so well already, so why would you need to impress each other?
But that was then, and this now.
There seems to be a goal in Kuroo’s mind as he helps you out of his shiny black Jaguar, leading you into a fancy looking restaurant. It’s clear he’s spared no expenses for the occasion. You eat and drink and laugh, allowing yourselves to get pulled back together again, like magnets. The flames in your hearts burn brighter, more fiercely with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth spread throughout your bodies, lapping gently through your veins.
As the night draws to a close and he drives you home, full, content and sleepy, you feel more whole than you’ve felt in the entirety of your adult life. You glance to the side, taking in his beautiful profile, that exquisite jawline and the curve of his lips that you want to feel on yours again.
You wonder if they taste the same as they did back in high school. If they still taste like the gum he used to chew or those ghastly health drinks he was obsessed with. Sometimes, he’d chase you around campus right after eating mackerel for lunch, threatening to kiss you with the strong flavour of fish still lingering in his mouth. Are his lips still a little chapped? Does he still grin into his kisses as his fingers rest on your cheek? Make that sweet little humming noise in the back of his throat that sounds like laughter? Does he still wear a goofy smile when he pulls away?
All thoughts of kissing him are shaken from your mind as he kills the engine and walks you all the way to the front door of your apartment. You unlock the door and turn to say goodbye, a little sad that the night has to end. Kuroo rests his arm against the door frame above his head, car keys dangling from his hand and a lazy smile sitting comfortably on his handsome features.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says.
“Me too.”
“I guess I’ll see you soon?”
Those words should be followed closely with a goodbye, but Kuroo lingers, as does his gaze, flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again.
“Kiss me if I’m wrong,” he says after a beat of silence. “But you kissed me on our first ever date, didn’t you?” You hum thoughtfully, an impish grin rounding your cheeks.
“No, actually I didn't. It was the second date and it was on the cheek cos you looked like you were ready to pass out when I got close to your lips.”
“I did not!” he whines indignantly.
“Did too,” you shrug.
“That’s bullshit,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I’m wrong so now you have to kiss me.”
“Real smooth, Tetsuro.”
“I know, now if you’ll let me, I want to overwrite that first kiss.”
“How? We’ve kissed a million times before,” you argue.
“That was then, this is now. We’re restarting this whole thing,” he insists.
“We are?” You raise an eyebrow in question and he simply nods, cocksure and firm.
“We are.”
“Says who?”
“Me.” Kuroo takes a step forward and suddenly there’s very little space between you. “So? Will you let me have a redo?” he murmurs.
“You can try. The first time was pretty sweet. It’d be pretty hard to top it.”
“Challenge accepted, baby.”
With that, his hands slip around your waist and pull you flush against his firm body. When his lips slant down over yours, you still have to reach up to meet him, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet after seven years apart.
He is all you remember and so much more, so much better than before, as if that were even possible. You learn that he tastes sweet like dessert, but he still tastes like your Tetsu. He grins against your lips as you press closer and you praise whoever the fuck convinced him to regularly use chapstick because his lips are so soft and pliant against yours. His kisses are dizzyingly good, addictive and sensual, his fingers resting against the back of your neck whilst his palm sits along the curve of it. You sigh into his mouth, one of relief, because you’re finally home.
Where you belong.
As fate intended.
When Kuroo pulls away, there’s a sparkle in his eyes and he smiles so sweetly you think that sugar will never taste the same again. He brushes a stray lock of your hair back, letting his thumb linger over the warm apple of your cheek.
“Can I say something?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to warn you, it’s a little unconventional for a rebooted first date,” he chuckles.
Then, his expression becomes a little more serious. “But I really, really fucking love you and I don’t think I ever stopped.” Your heart swells and spills over as his grip on your waist tightens.
“I love you too,” you say, and you really can’t resist so you tug him back towards your lips and kiss him again.
“So.”
Again
“So.”
And again.
“So much.”
Fate nods and lets you love him all over again.
no more what ifs
pairing: akira kurusu / ren amamiya / joker x gn!reader
summary: a look inside akira's diary reveals all the thoughts the boy has had about you, including his feelings for you..
"oooh, what's this~?"
akira and you had been waiting for the rest of the phantom thieves to join the two of you at leblanc and while you were upstairs, in his room, you were checking out the interior, when you came across a little notebook.
"huh?"
akira had been too busy looking at his phone, exchanging messages with ryuji in the group chat, to notice the little book in your hands. by the time he looked up and spotted it in your hands, it was already too late and you were flipping through the pages of it.
"w-wait, that's not something you should be seeing!"
he shouldn't have said that, because now you knew you had to find out what he was keeping a secret in here!
"is this a diary?"
you turned one page after another at a rapid speed, just glancing at the pages, before moving on to the next one, before you found a certain side that caught your attention.
"you looked so pretty today, y/n. i could barely look at you, without my face turning red. though i wished i could see you like this more often. your beauty had me captivated and i could swear i feel in love with you even further"
you quietly read the words out loud, your cheeks turning red as you realized what you were just reading. was this a confession?
"y/n, give me that!"
akira had gotten up by now, quickly snatching the notebook from your hands. his face almost had the same color as yours – a dark red! just by seeing your face, akira knew that you had read at least one of his confessions he had written down in his notebook.
"s-sorry, i… i didn't know that you…"
"can we just… forget about this?"
akira sighed softly and stepped back, letting himself fall onto his bed.
"n-no, i–"
his eyes widened as you told him no. why wouldn't you want to forget this? it was absolutely embarrassing, having his crush find out he liked them thanks to his unfiltered thoughts being written down like this.
"i don't want to forget…"
"and why wouldn't you…?"
akira could swear that your red cheeks darkened even more.
"because… what you wrote there was really sweet. and… sometimes, i have similar thoughts. about you…"
now akira was the one who could swear his cheeks somehow got even more red.
"you do…?"
he got up from his bed again, slowly walking towards you.
"i do…"
the gap between you closed and akira now stood in front of you, smiling down on you.
"then… would you mind if i… kissed you?"
if you had flipped down a few pages further, you would've seen more of his unfiltered thoughts about you, including a detailed paragraph about how kissable your lips looked.
"only if i get to read a bit more from your diary~"
akira chuckled and leaned in, his lips hovering close to yours.
"deal~"
he whispered, before gently pressing his lips onto yours.
— caramel frappucino.
✩ description. in which sakusa kiyoomi tries not to fall in love with the girl who spilled her favorite drink on him or;
sakusa being your breakfast buddy until you both realize your feelings and eat together for every meal
✩ pairing. sakusa kiyoomi x reader
✩ genre. college!au, enemies?? to lovers, friends to lovers, lovers to friends, crack, fluff, angst to the bones
✩ warnings. swearing; angst; basically my madness showing itself from time to time
✩ disclaimer. pictures used are not mine and are all credited to their owners. haikyuu characters are owned by haruichi furudate.
✩ status. ongoing 📝
TAGLIST CLOSED
✩ TABLE OF CONTENTS:
00 – introductions
y/n’s squad || sakusa’s squad
01 – let the clowns be
02 – pokemon macaroons
03 - don’t leave me on read
04 - something called love
05 - don’t miss me too much
06 - just us two
07 - am i doing it right?
08 - see you at 8
09 - mom, i think i’m in love
10 - code red
11 - she’s a psycho
12 - are you asking me on a date?
13 - that sounds desperate
14 - ship: sailing soon
15 - be a man
16 - please don’t be sakusa kiyoomi
17 - i’m just her friend
18 - let’s go out
19 - you were right, tooru
20 - the truth untold
21 - our love wasn’t meant to happen
22 - too early to break my heart
23 - damn you, tetsurou
24 - you like y/n
[...]
the prince.
₊˚ ᗢ suna rintarou x figure skater! fem! reader.
⤷ suna has been leaving practice early and the team starts to wonder why.
“ah, i should start heading out for today.”
suna slings his bag over his shoulders, tugging on the straps as his other hand grips his phone. he’s seen typing a quick message to someone and hitting send the moment his blond-aired teammate walks over to him. from the corner of kita’s eyes, he notices suna’s lips curl into a small, fond smile. it seemed almost uncharacteristic for the boy. so much so that the miya twins are quick to be at his side, leaning over his shoulder with gleaming interest for his friend.
as of recently, suna has been leaving practice a lot earlier than usual. the first time it happened, he hurriedly ran to the locker rooms to change, rushing out of the doors with his shirt still halfway across his torso. the second time, he left when kita turned around to give an earful to atsumu about not taking care of his health. this was the time aran finally noticed something was different about suna, and he reacted with a simple sigh and wave. the third time, he was caught by their coach and forced to give a half-assed apology before running off again, still not learning his lesson. no matter how often the boys see it, they’re always surprised by how fast he can run, especially when he’s putting his mind to something.
this time will be different though. before he could turn around to make a jog toward the door, atsumu stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder. a glimmer of mischief shining through his hazel-colored eyes. “where do you think you’re going this time? don’t think we haven’t noticed you cutting practices early! you got a lot of nerve buddy.”
osamu wipes the sweat off his brow, coming up to suna, “it’s unlike you to leave early. do you have somewhere to go? afterschool program?”
“maybe he’s going out to see a girl!”
the boy in question looks off to the side, eyes flickering back and forth from his phone to the court. the team had paused their game just to hear what he had to say. he awkwardly clears his throat as he turns away, a faint red tint forming on the tips of his ears, “yeah. i wanted to watch my friend’s performance tonight.”
the miya twins grovel, somehow losing a mysterious bet they’ve made in their heads. kita slowly approaches suna, patting him on the shoulder. it’s a surprise, they all thought. to think that this stoic, snarky, sarcastic man had friends who could tolerate his bratty attitude was nothing short of amazing. in all their time of being together, in the same classes and lunch table, atsumu and osamu did not see it coming. perhaps if they were observant as kita, they might have noticed the way suna would smile at his phone, seemingly texting someone on the other line.
the blond-setter points at him accusingly, “you got friends outside of me and samu? you cheater!”
“this is quite the news…”
“i wonder what he’s watching…”
the man in question was an incredibly sly, albeit lazy boy. the longer he stays in the game, the more he begins to slack off. it was obvious the way his shoulders began to roll back and he took a more relaxed position in front of the net. it’s only when kita is brought into the game that he straightens up his back. aran points out that suna didn’t attempt to hide anything and would have more than likely answered their questions had they asked. the middle blocker never attempted to hide his conversion. it’s so painfully obvious how criminally online he is.
“man, now i’m curious!” atsumu comments, slapping him on the back a few times, “you wouldn’t mind if we join your friend’s little performance?”
“tsumu, you can’t just invite yourself.”
“huh? i just wanna meet them thats all! what if they’re also a volleyball player!”
“he would have said game instead of performance, you egghead.”
“who the hell are you calling an egghead?”
suna remains quiet before pocketing his phone. tugging on his bag, he resumes his walk to the door. “it’s fine. i don’t think my friend would mind.” he certainly would. but he pushes this thought down his throat. if anything, it might help to bring more people for support. he looks back at atsumu and osamu, narrowing his eyes with annoyance laced in his gaze, “just don’t cause trouble for me.”
the rest of the team quickly packed up their belongings, with kita waving them off with a simple goodbye. he says he should stay to clean up the gym while they meet suna’s friend. it was only a few days before their next game, and he thinks they deserve some level of rest. it would also be nice of them to send photos. he’s also quite curious to know who is this mysterious friend.
“i’m surprised you got such a close friend! it doesn’t seem like you talk to them in person.” omimi scratches the back of his neck, fiddling slightly with the ends of his hair. “do they go to a different school?”
“they don’t come to class,” suna replied, tucking his hands into his pocket as they continued down the road.
“so they just skip? how unfair is that!” atsumu huffs, tucking his arms over his chest. if he had the option, he’d ditch the drab books and play volleyball every day. osamu gently punches him on the shoulder, snickering about how it’d make no difference in his grades if he skipped class. the two begin to bicker as aran jogs a little faster to meet with suna.
the dark-haired boy lets out a hum, shifting his head from side to side.
“a prince, i guess.”
ice crackles underneath the thin blade, a snappy yet crisp sound echoing in the open air. a figure waves elegantly through the frigid platform. the shimmer from their ruffled clothes waves back and forth in the air, tempting the audience to lean forward as they raise their arms, performing a triple axel with a slight wobble in their toe. they ignore this flaw, choosing to continue with their program as if nothing happened. sliding left and right, they glide easily across the ice as their hands trail from the vein on the side of their neck, tracing it down to their ribcage.
the prince was not an unfamiliar name. rumors quickly spread at the beginning of the year that a new transfer student would be attending. whispers came from all directions. most of them coming from the ice skating club. they were described to be a professional figure-skater. a whole league of their own compared to the boys’ volleyball team. having won several out-of-country competitions, they came back to japan a kissed hero. it was a shame that on the first day, they were excused from classes for the rest of the semester.
despite not attending class, it was evidence there was a star lingering amongst them.
however, the volleyball team was met with a lot more than just one surprise tonight. they learned very quickly the moment they entered the skating rink, the prince was not a prince, but a lady. she slid across the field with enough grace to match a swan. yet the crunch of shaved ice and precise jumps remind them of the careful footwork of a mountain goat. every move performed was planned. every sweat poured onto the ice was a sign of their meticulous work. in other words, they were flawless tonight.
“man, i wonder how easy it’d be to do those jumps,” atsumu says, looking out to the crowd and back to suna. the middle blocker doesn’t break from the scene in front of him. the team notices the way the skater’s arms move smoothly alongside their skates, almost as if they were one flowing piece in the wind. their facial expression was concentrated, with only a thin trickle of sweat dripping down their chin.
everyone was standing behind the glass, eyes were blown wide as they were met with a sparkling scene. the slow build-up of the song brought everything together. they couldn’t hold back their gasp as they watched the skater perform a double axel followed by a triple salchow, with another jump far across the rink. a jump they could only imagine doing in their dreams. they were starting the second half of their program, yet they’ve performed this many jumps already. it was getting impossible to hide the smile on suna’s face.
“i doubt it.”
figure skating is one of the most rigorous sports anyone could play. not only do you need the mastery of ballet, but training and practice could last months before you are even ready to perform competitively. nothing slips past the judges. not a single step should be wasted unless called for. everything should be perfectly calculated by their choreographer weeks in advance. from the movements of their fingers to the tilt of their neck, only those who were dedicated to this sport can see the small details. while a volleyball player can get away with slipping on the ground, it is a fatal mistake in figure skating.
not to mention, injuries were common in every performance. you might be friends with someone one hour, before they collapse on the ground, being wheeled to the hospital after straining their muscles. it was intense.
you finished your performance, breathing heavily as you waved your arms above your head. although the ice was cold, your body was warming up from the inside out. it was burning with passion. and you lived for these cheers. you could feel it all in the tips of your fingers. this was going to be the start of something great this year. finally able to rest, you turned your head, noticing a very familiar face in the crowd, leading to you excitedly skating towards them.
“rin!” you jumped into his open arms, letting him twirl you around as his teammates stared in disbelief. the cold expression you had on the ice had completely melted away the moment you saw your best friend. “you made it! i got worried you might not be able to see the beginning of my program.”
(l/n) (y/n): professional figure skater, representing japan in the grand prix. her most notable achievement was winning gold in the junior grand prix two years ago, with her main focus being to conquer the senior division by her third year in high school. she transferred to inarizaki in hopes of finishing her education and taking lessons from another coach, but her training program had been more demanding, making it difficult for her to attend classes.
so how did you meet suna? it was very simple. he and you met in kindergarten, having been paired up together because of the latter’s extremely bratty behavior. you were the definition of a picture-perfect child. however, hanging out with him during recess completely changed that perception of you. you would always spend time together, whispering to each other in class. even when it was mandatory nap time, he would always find a way to lay his thin mat next to you, poking the center of your palm to keep you awake.
such antics led to you being a little more rebellious and open-mouthed with your opinions. he gave you the confidence to speak to your parents about your dreams. while he wanted to continue playing volleybal, you wanted to be a figure skater. just like your grandmother when she was a young girl. unfortunately, she got an injury during the semifinals that permanently withdrew her from sports entirely. it was a tragic event that affected your family for years. they wanted you to do anything but figure skating.
your mother, although hesitant at first, could not deny you this wish. not when young suna held onto your hand tightly as you began to sob in front of her, claiming with all your heart that you would, without a doubt, come home with gold between your teeth.
from there, when you were both in middle school, he would always be by your side. he went out of his way to save up his allowance from his mother to attend your competitions. to him, these small things were nothing in comparison to seeing your smile. when you looked back at him after performing your first free skate program, despite missing several of your jumps and hitting the ground with your cheek, you waved and smiled. even when you formed bruises behind the back of your knee, or sprained your ankle, he was always there to wrap gauze around it, laying on your stomach to keep you from leaving your bed. even when you moved away to a new city, crying into your pillow about how hard it is to make new friends in the ballet studio, he was there to comfort you. even when you didn’t make it to first place like you promised him, he was always whispering to you about how great you were to him.
although the distance was far, your heart was close to him.
so the volleyball team was left in awe, looking at the sight of a very soft, domesticated suna holding onto his childhood friend. he holds you tightly as he presses his forehead against yours, not minding the thin layer of sweat and warm air. squeezing your waist, he wonders about the perfect time to say how he feels.
but perhaps it could wait once the two of you make it to the peaks of your career.
He’s so crazy I can’t take him anywhere 🤪
❝ IN WHICH the vc of the girls vbc gets added by mistake to the boys vbc gc ❞
PLAYLIST
MEET THE CHARACTERS
INTRO ; the dick talk
✧ ˚ · . part I . · ˚ ✧
UNO ; the gustavo protection squad
DOS ; cheer up mattsun
TRES ; a warning and a worried iwa
CUATRO ; the wrath of watari
CINCO ; dick to spare?
SEIS ; a new bump in the road
SIETE I ; how to become rich
SIETE II ; free spirit
OCHO ; the comeback
NUEVE ; akui
NUEVE EXTRA ; professional editor y/n
DIEZ ; the life of an influencer
ONCE ; hidden emotions
DOCE ; distrust
TRECE ; rest in piss
CATORCE ; unbreakable bond
QUINCE ; careless influence
DIECISÉIS ; who you truly are
DIECISIETE ; stuck on a loop
DIECIOCHO ; seeing the vision
DIECINUEVE ; reasons to be happy
VEINTE ; love comes unexpectedly
✧ ˚ · . part II . · ˚ ✧
VEINTIUNO ; king yahaba
VEINTIDOS ; why him
VEINTITRES ; the effectiveness of time
VEINTICUATRO ; my favorite place
VEINTICINCO ; see you soon!
VEINTISEIS ; seijoh’s golden trio
VEINTISIETE ; *growls*
VEINTIOCHO ; bffs
VEINTINUEVE ; the calm
TREINTA ; road to summer camp!
TREINTAIUNO ; private school tingz
TREINTAIDOS ; the dynamic duo
TREINTAITRES ; ghostbusters!
TREINTAICUATRO ; stupid y/n
TREINTAICINCO ; kissed by the moonlight
TREINTAISEIS ; so far yet so close
TREINTAISIETE ; tales of a lost heart
TREINTAIOCHO ; a big mistake
TREINTAINUEVE ; the seijoh vibe
CUARENTA ; opposite ways
CUARENTAIUNO ; not the same
CUARENTAIDOS ; it’s all over
CUARENTAITRES ; comfort in the chaos
✧ ˚ · . part III . · ˚ ✧
coming soon
SQUID GAME MASTERLIST ☄. *. ⋆
REQUEST HERE | TAGLIST HERE
> HWANG IN-HO | THE FRONTMAN | PLAYER 001
crossroads [20.3k words] wherein after losing his wife, hwang in-ho buried his emotions. but when he meets you, a player in his deadly games, his carefully guarded walls begin to crumble, forcing him to confront feelings he thought he’d left behind. soju [3.7k words] wherein after rescuing a stranger late at night. hwang in-ho finds himself sharing soju with the girl he just saved. under the glow of the convenience store, an unexpected bond forms, offering a fleeting escape from his solitude. second chance [21.7k words] wherein hwang in-ho joined the games with one goal: to monitor and manipulate seong gi-hun. but everything changed the moment he saw his childhood friend among the players—a face he never expected to see again.
upcoming work wherein seong gi-hun's unserious cousin somehow manages to get in the game and catches the attention of their uncle's arch nemises.
> KANG DAE-HO | PLAYER 388
resurface [10.1k words] wherein after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. as past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive
upcoming work wherein resurface gets a part two :D
> GONG JI-CHEOL | THE SALESMAN
revolver [7.1k words] wherein a supposed an early day off with your coworker, gong ji-cheol, turns into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and russian roulette. as danger escalates, so does the magnetic pull between you, blurring the line between survival and sexual desire.
> CHOI SU-BONG | THANOS | PLAYER 230
upcoming work wherein korea's favorite "ship" reunite in the squid gamez (based on the alien couple, park bom and t.o.p, i miss them so much)
and more in the future !!
clueless, kuroo tetsuro
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kuroo tetsuro has a thing for girls with long hair. so what if you're a girl with long hair? that doesn’t mean anything!
➼ pairing! kuroo tetsuro x fem!manager!reader
➼ warnings! none, just fluff and humor. maybe ooc because i haven't written in years??? unfortunately, because this is based on the scene of kuroo and yaku arguing about their preference, this is really for my long haired girlies 😣 i apologize to the short haired readers
➼ word count! about 1.4k
➼ author’s note! "haikyuu renassiance!" we all cheer in unison. anywho, this is my first time posting in two years. please be nice to me 🫡
"So, you prefer girls with short hair then, Yaku?" Kai asks, shedding off the white button-up of his school uniform and revealing his black practice t-shirt. The three third-year Nekoma players had found themselves in an empty classroom, deciding to use it as a makeshift changing room. Luckily for them, they had all worn their clean practice clothes under their school uniforms. Doing so allowed them to save time and cut back the number of minutes they were already going to be late to practice, thanks to Yaku getting distracted by a group of girls, which Kai noted all had short hair. Hence, his question.
Yaku paused his work of ridding himself of his tie to send Kai a proud grin, pointing towards him with both hands, “Yesss!
"And you, Kuroo?" Kai turns to him, now curious to know his captain's answer as well.
"Long." Kuroo's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. Still, he glances at Yaku, as if daring him to try.
Yaku only snorts, shaking his head in amusement as he too turns to look at his captain, "Like that wasn't obvious."
"Ehh," Kuroo's eyes narrow, head craning down to peer at the libero, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Yaku starts, taking a step closer as he peers right back up at Kuroo, "Everyone knows you have a crush on our manager, who just so happens to have the longest hair I've ever seen!"
"Ehh?" Kuroo repeats, louder this time as he cranes his head down even more, "Who says I have a crush—"
"Hey!" The door to the classroom slides open with a shocking force, startling the boys and drawing the attention of all three of them to it. Kuroo and Yaku both grow rigid as they find you standing in its opening. Quiet pants slip past your lips, and you take a moment to catch your breath as you stare at the three of them before you begin speaking, "There you guys are! I've been looking for the three of you everywhere."
"Hello," Kai greets kindly, the only one not left in a stupor at your sudden appearance, smiling as you make your way into the classroom. "We apologize, we're running a bit late."
"Yeah," You huff, coming to a stop a few steps away from them as you cross your arms, "It was your guys' turn to set up the nets. So when you guys didn't show up in time to do so and none of you answered your phones, Coach sent me to find you guys. Didn't know I'd be going on a wild goose chase."
Your words leave you in a huff before your eyes land on Kuroo, raising an eyebrow at the captain. His shoulders tense even more at the sudden eye contact and he's quick to snap his head in the other direction. Kuroo suddenly feels warm, realizing how you could have easily heard the conversation transpiring between the three of them. Stupid Yaku, Kuroo curses the libero in his head, doesn't even know what he's talking about.
"Sorry, Y/N." And of course it’s Yaku who disrupts his thoughts, pulling Kuroo's eyes to him just as he sends you an innocent smile, "We got carried away, talking."
There's a teasing tone to Yaku's voice, and Kuroo knows it's directed at him. Why is he friends with him again?
"I don't even want to know," You speak, and Kuroo can envision you shaking your head at the three of them, "Just get dressed and get to the gym as quick as possible, please."
All three boys give some noise of recognition in response to your words, and Kuroo takes the chance to glance at you then. He's quick to regret it. Your hand rises just as he locks eyes with you, reaching up to tuck some of the more unruly pieces of your hair (which most likely came undone due to your seemingly frantic search of the three third years) behind your ear and out of your face. Kuroo's eyes follow the movement of your hand, trailing downwards and taking in the long strands of hair that fall well past your shoulders. Once again all too aware of the conversation he was just having with his teammates, the tips of his ears burn as he pulls his gaze away from you once more. He shakes his head, trying to get Yaku's words out of his mind. Just because he liked girls with long hair, and just because you so happened to be a girl with long hair, did not mean he liked you.
Right?
A snort of laughter suddenly leaves Yaku, having caught the interaction, and Kuroo turns to him with a heated glare. You don't miss the exchange between them either.
"Are you two having one of your petty arguments again?" You accuse, eyes glancing between Kuroo and Yaku who are suddenly staring back at you like two deers caught in headlights. "Seriously, you've been fighting like this since first year. What topic could you guys possibly still be discussing?"
Yaku's smirk returns as he glances at his captain with an all too knowing look before he turns back to you, "Well, if you really want to kn—"
"Nope!" Kuroo is quick to interject, speaking for the first time since you entered and drawing your attention away from Yaku and back to the captain himself. Your eyes widen as he begins to take long strides in your direction. "No arguing here!"
Your lips part, confusion taking over your features at the odd behavior your captain is displaying. You don't get the chance to say anything, however, as Kuroo makes a show of glancing at the clock on the wall before turning back to you with a dramatic gasp, "Oh, would you look at the time! We should really be heading to practice."
"You still have your school shirt on, Kuroo.” You point out when he stops in front of you, pointedly glancing down at Kuroo's attire, which consisted of his practice shorts and white button-up, with his red school tie hung loosely around his neck.
"I'll just change it once we're in the gym," Kuroo responds, waving away your interjections before he drops his hands onto your shoulders and forces you to turn around and back toward the door. You attempt to dig your heels down when he begins to push you in the direction of the door, but you're truly no match for his strength. Stupid volleyball training.
"Kuroo," You voice your protests, attempting to swat at his hands in order to get him to release you. Once again, your attempts remain futile, "Let go of me!"
"No can do! As captain and manager, it's our job to be on time to every practice. What would our team do without us?" Kuroo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he's scolding you. He turns back to Kai and Yaku, flashing them a warning smile, daring them to say another word. Yaku merely watches on with an unamused look, while Kai holds a placid smile. There's extra sweetness in his voice as he practically chirps out, "Bring my stuff to the club room, will you?"
"I was on time!" You retort, not giving Kai nor Yaku a chance to respond to their exasperating captain as you send them a pointed look, all the while succumbing to your fate and allowing Kuroo to push you out of the classroom. After all, he did have a point. It probably wouldn't be long before Lev managed to push somebody's buttons (most likely Yamamoto’s) one too many times and ended up in hot water. "The only reason I'm not there right now is because I came looking for you guys!"
"Ah, now is not the time to deal blame, Y/N. Our juniors are waiting on us." Kuroo argues back, shaking his head as he removes one hand from your shoulder to slide the door shut behind the two of you. Still, Yaku and Kai face the door as the sound of your guys' bickering persists. It grows quieter and quieter with each passing moment, and it isn’t until they can no longer hear your guys' voices does Yaku glance away with a shake of his head.
"He's clueless." Yaku deadpans, glancing back down at his tie as he continues to work on untying it.
Kai nods, neatly folding his button-up before placing it in his bag. "Completely."
Begging for a part 2 for Resurface pls I need to be fed a happy ending 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
will def do! after I finish my requests and other fics.
if you want, I can tag you !! do leave your username if u want :>
tysm for the support
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