Squid Game one shots

❤️‍🩹salesman x reader

You should’ve known better than to talk to handsome men at train stations.

Especially ones in black suits.

Especially ones with a smile like sin.

But here you were—knees bruised from playing ddakji on dirty concrete, breath shallow from laughter and adrenaline, and a red envelope burning in your pocket like a secret you weren't ready to hold.

“You’re a natural,” he said, voice velvet-smooth, crouched across from you. His hair was neatly combed, not a strand out of place, and yet there was something wild in his eyes. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he wasn’t just a recruiter for a game.

Like he was playing a game with you.

“Beginner’s luck,” you replied, brushing dust off your coat. “Or maybe you let me win.”

He smiled. “That would be insulting. I’ve only let someone win once before.”

“And?”

“They fell in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “That a threat or a warning?”

“Both,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You didn’t slap me once.”

“I was aiming for the paper.”

“Still.” He tilted his head, smirk creeping wider. “That says something about you.”

“Yeah? What’s it say?”

He stared at you for a beat longer than necessary. Then said, quieter this time, “That you want something more than money.”

You swallowed.

The air between you tightened, as if the city had gone silent just to listen in.

You stood, brushing off your hands. “Is this the part where you offer me a job?”

“No,” he said, rising with you. “It’s the part where I tell you I’ll be seeing you again.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He stepped closer, closing the space between you until you could smell his cologne—rich, clean, like expensive leather and bad decisions.

“Because I always find the interesting ones,” he murmured. “And you? You're dangerous.”

You laughed. “To who?”

He grinned. “Me.”

---

You didn’t open the red envelope that night.

You stared at it on your kitchen table, fingers itching, heart thrumming.

There was something about him that wasn’t just charming—it was magnetic.

And magnets, as you knew, could pull you in.

Or tear you apart.

You finally unfolded the paper inside.

Coordinates.

And a date.

Nothing else.

You bit your lip.

This was stupid. Reckless.

And yet, deep down, something thrilled you.

Because it wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

It was him.

---

When you showed up at the location, it was an abandoned parking garage. Cold, echoing, full of shadow.

You half-expected no one to be there.

But he was.

Leaning against his car, same black suit, sipping coffee like this was a morning date.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

“I was deciding whether I’m crazy or just bored.”

“Maybe both.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You ask all your recruits out like this?”

He smirked. “Only the ones who slap with style.”

You rolled your eyes. “So what is this really? A test? A trap? Or just your idea of flirting?”

“Can’t it be all three?” he said, offering you a second coffee cup. “I’m versatile.”

You sipped cautiously. It was good.

He watched you drink it, eyes hooded, like he was reading your thoughts.

Then he stepped beside you, shoulder barely brushing yours.

“There’s more to this world than rules and bills and dying quietly,” he said. “You feel that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words.

But your silence was enough.

He smiled, softer this time.

“This game… it’s ugly. It’s violent. But for some people, it’s the only choice they have.”

“And what about you?” you asked, finally. “What’s your excuse?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“I’m not sure I have one anymore,” he said.

And something in his voice cracked—just for a second. A truth slipped through the cracks in his perfect exterior.

He turned away before you could study it.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

“Disappointed?”

He grinned again. “Intrigued.”

---

You didn’t kiss.

But you came close.

Too close.

Later, when you got home, you found another red envelope slipped under your door.

But this time, instead of coordinates, it just said:

“Still want to win? Find me.”

Underneath, a phone number.

You ran your thumb over the ink, heart pounding.

This time, you smiled.

Maybe you would.

Maybe you’d find him.

Maybe you’d play his game.

And maybe… just maybe…

You’d win him, too.