izzyzt

[izzyzt]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥’𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f/reader — squid game

| Y/N confronts the recruiter after two years, but he turns the tables with a sinister game and a chilling warning: “This is your only warning, sweetheart.”|

———————————————————————————

Y/N slammed the door to the cheap motel room shut, tossing her bag onto the creaky bed. The room smelled like stale air and mildew, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about comfort; it was a pit stop on her endless hunt for him.

It had been two years since she escaped the Squid Game alive, but she was anything but free. The blood money still sat untouched in a locked safe, a constant reminder of the lives she took and the people she lost. And above all, it reminded her of him—the man who started it all.

The man who gave her that damn card.

He had a face she couldn’t forget, one that haunted her even now: sharp features, a smile too charming for someone so cruel, and eyes that sparkled with amusement no matter the circumstance. She didn’t know his name, but that didn’t matter. She’d been chasing his shadow ever since, following every lead, every whispered rumor.

Tonight, she’d finally seen him again—on the subway. He was sitting there, calm as ever, as though the two years of her obsessive search had been nothing but a game to him. She had pushed through the crowded train to get to him, but he slipped out just as the doors opened, vanishing into the bustling platform.

And now here she was, back in this dingy motel, trying to piece together her next move.

But then, a voice she hadn’t heard in two years broke through the silence, smooth and playful.

“Took you long enough.”

Her blood froze.

Y/N turned sharply, and there he was. Him.

He was sitting in the armchair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed. His suit was sharp and pristine, a stark contrast to the shabby room, and his eyes sparkled with an unsettling combination of amusement and mischief.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, her voice sharp and trembling with anger.

He tilted his head, like a curious child trying to solve a puzzle.

“You really should learn to lock your doors, Y/N.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she stepped toward him, her body burning with rage.

“What do you want?”

He stood, taking his time, adjusting his cuffs as though she hadn’t spoken. When he finally met her gaze, his smile widened.

“What do I want?” he repeated, stepping closer. “That’s the wrong question. You’ve been looking for me, haven’t you? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Her rage boiled over, and without thinking, she threw a punch at him.

He caught her wrist mid-air with startling ease, his grip firm yet calculated. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—just smiled as though she’d done exactly what he wanted.

“Now, now,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm. “Is that any way to greet someone you’ve been chasing for so long?”

She yanked her hand free, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “You ruined my life!”

His brow arched as he took another step forward, forcing her to back into the edge of the bed.

“Ruined it?” he echoed, his tone soft, almost pitying. “Or gave it purpose?”

She wanted to shove him again, to scream, but the way he was watching her—calm, unflinching, almost playful—stopped her in her tracks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between his fingers like a magician about to perform a trick.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his voice light and cheerful, as though they were old friends.

Her jaw tightened.

“I’m not playing anything with you.”

He pouted, tilting his head.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. Heads or tails. You pick.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he replied, flipping the coin between his fingers. “Just a simple game. Call it.”

Her hands balled into fists again, but this time she swallowed her anger, narrowing her eyes.

“Heads.”

He grinned, flipping the coin high into the air. It caught the flickering light as it spun before landing neatly in his palm. He didn’t reveal the result right away, instead stepping closer, so close that she could feel his breath against her skin.

“Are you sure about that?” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.

“Just show me,” she snapped.

He opened his hand slowly, revealing tails.

His grin widened as he leaned in, his hands moving to the bed on either side of her, caging her in. The space between them vanished, his presence suffocating.

“Looks like you lose,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle.

“What now?” she spat, refusing to let the proximity rattle her.

His smile softened, but the intensity in his eyes burned brighter.

“Now, we see how far you’re willing to go.”

She tried to shove him away, but he didn’t budge. His gaze never wavered as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You’re messing with my work, sweetheart, and I can’t let that happen.”

Her breath hitched as his hand brushed against her jaw, tilting her chin upward. His grip was light, almost tender, but it sent shivers down her spine.

“This is your only warning,” he continued, his lips barely an inch from hers. “Back off. Or next time, you won’t see me coming.”

With that, he released her and stepped back, adjusting his cuffs as though nothing had happened.

Y/N glared at him, her chest rising and falling with barely controlled rage.

“I’m not stopping,” she said, her voice trembling with defiance.

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous.

“Good,” he said, walking toward the door. “That makes it so much more fun.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence. On the table by the window, she noticed the coin he had left behind, perfectly balanced on its edge, a taunting reminder that the game was far from over.

[izzyzt]

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 (𝟎𝟐)

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐅/𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐀 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬. |

The roar of the crowd still pulsed through the backstage halls like a living heartbeat. It was 1986, and neon lights buzzed erratically above Y/N’s head as she stepped into the cramped dressing room for her interview. The worn carpet and peeling posters of bands long past couldn’t mask the electrifying energy left over from the concert.

Inside, Namjoon and Jungkook lounged on a scruffy velour couch, exuding the kind of casual confidence only rock stars could. Their hair was teased high in true glam-metal style—Namjoon’s a wild platinum-streaked tangle, a black bandana around his forehead, while Jungkook’s looked as though he’d just stepped off the Sunset Strip: jet-black, voluminous, and artfully tousled. Tattoos and leather gleamed under the flickering overhead light, and a haze of cigarette smoke curled lazily above them.

Namjoon lifted his head first, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noted Y/N’s arrival. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth, carrying the slightest rasp from hours of singing and shouting on stage.

Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, his darkly lined eyes trailing up and down Y/N’s form. “Nice of you to drop by,” he teased, fiddling with the zipper on his ripped leather vest. “Thought maybe you’d lost your nerve and bailed.”

Y/N swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She stepped forward, feeling the weight of their combined gaze pressing down on her. “I’m here to interview you both,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I’m Y/N. Thanks for agreeing to this.”

Namjoon swung one leg off the couch and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You’re welcome,” he drawled, “though I can’t promise we’ll behave.” A lazy grin appeared on his lips, revealing a silver lip ring that glinted under the harsh lighting.

Jungkook reached over to the side table—a makeshift bar cluttered with half-empty bottles—and poured some whiskey into a glass. “Wouldn’t be much fun if we did,” he murmured, tossing a wink in Y/N’s direction. “Drink?”

She shook her head politely. “Maybe later,” she managed, pulling out her notebook and tape recorder. “I’d like to start with the new album—your influences and the vibe you’re going for…”

They bantered about the album, dropping names of 80s metal legends and giving half-teasing, half-honest answers. Y/N tried her best to keep the conversation on track, but the tension in the room was nearly tangible, especially whenever Jungkook’s gaze lingered on her or Namjoon’s smirk curved just a little wider.

Halfway through her question about their wildest tour stories, Namjoon stood up, strolling over to the cluttered side table. He grabbed a glass and filled it with whiskey, all the while tossing her a glance from over his shoulder. “Keep going, sweetheart,” he said, swirling the amber liquid. “I’m listening.”

Y/N tried not to falter as she continued, “What do you think sets you apart from the other bands on the Sunset Strip right now? Is it the lyrics, the… stage presence?”

Namjoon returned, sipping his whiskey with a slow, almost provocative ease. Then, as he passed behind Y/N, he brushed his hand across her shoulder, fingers drifting lightly but purposefully over the fabric of her shirt. A warm jolt shot through her nerves. She forced herself to maintain composure, but her voice wavered on the next sentence.

He dropped back onto the couch, letting his arm drape across the back of it. “We’re not just a band,” he replied, giving her a knowing look. “We’re an… experience. People come to our shows wanting to forget who they are for a while. We’re good at helping them do that.”

Jungkook exhaled a soft laugh, setting his own glass aside so he could lean closer to Y/N. “Some say they can’t tell where we end and they begin,” he purred, dark eyes unwavering. “That we have this way of… persuading them.”

Her pulse hammered. She turned her gaze to Jungkook, pen tight in her grip. “I’ve heard those rumors,” she admitted. “That when people are around you—especially the girls—they can’t say no.”

Namjoon took another sip of whiskey, the silver rings on his fingers clinking against the glass. “Maybe they don’t want to say no,” he offered, a flirtatious edge to his tone. “Maybe we just bring out what they already feel.”

“Especially when it’s something they’re too shy to admit,” Jungkook added. He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, then grinned. “What about you, doll? You manage to say no just fine?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, but she steeled herself. “I’m just here to do my job,” she replied, attempting to sound cool. Inside, her stomach churned with a conflicting mix of attraction and caution.

She continued her questions about the band’s rise to fame, the chaos of touring, and their plans for future releases. The entire time, Namjoon and Jungkook volleyed answers back and forth—sometimes playful, sometimes cryptic, but always with that undercurrent of flirtation that made her breath catch.

At last, with her notebook filled with scribbled notes and her tape recorder now silent, she said, “I think that covers everything I needed… for now.”

Jungkook stood, running a hand through his teased hair, sending it bouncing back into place. “For now, huh?” he echoed, stepping close enough that she caught the whiff of leather and faint cologne. “Does that mean you’ll be back for more?”

Namjoon drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass aside, coming to stand on her other side. “We do have a habit of leaving people wanting more,” he said lightly, turning to face her. The corner of his lip curved. “Speaking of which…”

Y/N blinked as Namjoon extended his hand—a handshake to wrap up the interview. She took it, expecting a quick, polite press of the palms. But he held on, letting his fingers tighten gently around hers. The silver rings pressing into her skin served as a reminder of the power and confidence he radiated.

“You’ve been a delight, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her lips for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze again. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she tried to pull back, but his hand lingered just a moment too long. The warmth of his grip spread through her arm and made her pulse quicken.

Then Jungkook leaned in behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His finger brushed a strand of her hair, twisting it gently before letting it slip away. A heady mixture of smoke, whiskey, and something distinctly him enveloped her senses. “Come back any time, doll,” he whispered, his breath fanning against her ear. “I have a feeling you’re not done with us yet.”

A rush of heat flooded Y/N’s face. She slipped free of Namjoon’s hold and managed an unsteady step backward, her notebook clutched tight. “I—I’ll see myself out,” she stammered, trying to keep her composure. With one last glance at both men—torn leather, teased hair, tattoos, and dangerously inviting smiles—she hurried toward the door.

Just as her hand grasped the doorknob, Jungkook’s voice followed her, laced with lazy amusement. “Don’t forget that drink next time, doll!”

Namjoon added, “And maybe, sweetheart…” He paused, letting the sentence dangle like a tempting piece of bait. “We’ll show you just how persuasive we can be.”

Y/N’s cheeks blazed at his words. Without a response, she slipped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, and it took her a moment to steady her breathing. She could still sense the ghost of their touch—the press of Namjoon’s rings, the soft brush of Jungkook’s fingertips in her hair.

The interview might be over, but something far more had just begun.

The sun had barely risen when Y/N stepped off the rattling elevator and into the cramped newspaper office. the place was a cacophony of clacking typewriters, ringing phones, and the pungent smell of coffee that had been burning on the hot plate since dawn. She clutched yesterday’s edition in her hand—her article about Namjoon and Jungkook’s band was splashed across the entertainment section. The headline boasted some sensational line about rock ‘n’ roll’s new kings and the rumor that nobody could say no to them.

Her boss, Mr. Hayworth, spotted her the moment she walked in. He was a stern-faced man in his fifties with a perpetually creased brow and a tie perpetually loosened around his neck. “Y/N!” he barked over the din, waving her into his cramped corner office. “Close that door behind you.”

She complied, stepping into a space cluttered with stacks of papers, film reels, and an ancient rotary phone perched on the edge of his desk. Hayworth gestured for her to sit, but she couldn’t miss the slight excitement in his eyes. It made her heart flutter nervously—her first piece for the paper had already caused a stir.

“You see these?” he asked, slapping the front page of the entertainment section with his palm. “Your piece on those glam-metal hotshots is selling better than we expected. We’ve had folks calling in, wanting to know more.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She recalled the interview all too vividly: Namjoon’s teasing smirk, Jungkook’s intense gaze, the way they’d both touched her just enough to send her nerves into a tailspin. “That’s… great,” she managed, not sure if she felt relief or dread.

Hayworth’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But it’s incomplete.” He jabbed a finger at the article. “You barely scratched the surface of that band’s history. Readers want the juicy details—childhood stories, drama, any scandal we can dig up. They want the real dirt.”

Y/N swallowed. “You… want me to go back?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Hayworth’s mouth—a rare sight. “That’s exactly what I want, kid. We’ve had calls from rock magazines asking who got the scoop first. That means we’re onto something big. And I want you to go deeper.” He plucked a half-crushed pack of cigarettes from his desk, tapping one out. “You’ve got the rapport with ‘em now—so use it.”

Y/N’s mind flicked to the image of Jungkook leaning in, the smell of his leather vest and whiskey, and Namjoon’s lingering handshake, the heat of his rings pressing into her skin. Her pulse kicked up at the memory. “Sir, they’re not exactly… easy to handle,” she admitted carefully. “Last time, I barely—”

Hayworth waved her off. “Figure it out. They like you, or they wouldn’t have given you anything. Go find out how they got started, what makes their fans so obsessed, and if these rumors about ‘nobody saying no’ are true.” He lit the cigarette and pointed it at her. “That’s a killer angle. People eat that stuff up.”

She knew arguing was pointless; the paper needed another front-page splash, and she was the one who’d opened the door. Still, a twist of anticipation curled in her stomach. Was she ready to face Namjoon and Jungkook again? She could still feel the crackle in the air from that dressing-room encounter—how close they’d gotten, how part of her didn’t want to leave.

Hayworth glanced at the clock on the wall. “No time to waste. They’re still in town for a few days before heading to the next city, right?”

Y/N nodded, resigned yet tingling with something she couldn’t fully name—excitement? Fear? Both? “I’ll get in touch with their manager today,” she promised, rising to her feet.

“Good. And Y/N?” He gave her a curt nod of approval. “Don’t hold back this time. The bigger the story, the better for all of us.”

She stepped out of his office, her mind whirring with possibilities—and the memory of two rock stars whose teasing smiles and confident touches had left her sleepless the night before. Another interview, she thought, pressing the folded newspaper to her chest. Guess it really wasn’t over after all.

[izzyzt]

Entwined in Shadows (01)

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐅/𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐀 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬. |

The TV glowed in the dimly lit room, flickering with scenes of chaos and adoration. A headline scrolled across the bottom of the screen: “Black Viper: Rock’s Most Infamous Duo Takes Over the World.”

The footage was raw, capturing Namjoon and Jungkook in their element. On stage, Namjoon prowled like a predator, his long hair whipping around as his guitar screamed through the crowd. Tattoos snaked across his forearms, catching the stage lights as he moved. Beside him, Jungkook stood like a storm waiting to break—his dark eyes lined with kohl, lips parted as he screamed lyrics into the mic. His shirt hung loose, barely concealing the inked canvas of his chest.

The clip shifted to street interviews. A reporter held a mic out to a young man in a leather jacket, his expression shifting between awe and unease.

“Black Viper? Man, don’t ever leave your girlfriend near them, because she won’t be your girlfriend anymore,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head.

The screen cut to an older woman who leaned into the mic conspiratorially. “I heard they share girls,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “It’s in all the stories. Once you’re in, you’re theirs. No going back.”

Backstage chaos filled the screen next—broken bottles, laughter, and women hanging on their every word. Namjoon leaned back against a wall, cigarette in hand, his smirk a challenge to the camera. Jungkook, seated on a couch, toyed with the rings on his fingers before flashing a devil-may-care grin.

The voiceover returned, more chilling than before:

“Black Viper isn’t just a band—they’re a force of nature. Loved, feared, and utterly untouchable. But for anyone who dares to step into their orbit, the line between thrill and danger blurs fast.”

Y/N sat stiffly on the couch, watching the clip. Her pen hovered over her notebook, trembling slightly. This was what she was walking into. Her assignment wasn’t just a profile—it was survival.

As the segment ended, the screen went black, leaving the room eerily silent. For a moment, Y/N’s reflection stared back at her. This wasn’t just a job. It felt like stepping into the lion’s den.