smaragdines

[smaragdines]

headlock (kang daeho x reader)

words: 3.8 k

v. this weather's bringing it all back again

"DO YOU WISH TO PARTICIPATE IN THE GAME? If you wish to play, please state your name and date of birth."

"Is this ddakji man?" 

Gi-hun hadn't expected you to be as composed. Smoke was swirling over your head, you having picked up on smoking again due to being exposed to it the whole time you had been with Gi-hun, the cigarette elegantly held in your one hand, while the other held the phone horizontally in front of your face, the speaker on as to let Gi-hun listen too. 

"The one that approached me in Club Pentagon," you added. 

"Ah, Miss Lee," suddenly came the voice of ddakji man, sounding totally different from the voice you had heard a few seconds ago. "Do you wish to participate in the game?"

"What game?" you asked without waiting for Gi-hun to give you any instructions. 

"The game that you can make a lot of money with," ddakji man said. 

"I am rather interested in another game," you uttered, the tone of your voice changing to something that caused a horrified expression to wash over Gi-hun's face. You were not going over through the dialogue the two of you had planned beforehand. "Would you like to participate in it?"

"I am sorry, Miss, I do not understand."

You definitely understand, you perverted fucker, you thought.

"You know, you haven't really left my mind, Sir. And I think you're really hot -," at least you were a good liar, "so what say you to another kind of game? I have enough space inside of my apartment -"

Suddenly another voice spoke through the phone. "Lee Y/N." 

Gi-hun would recognise it anywhere. It was a dream. Think of it that way. The same voice. The game master.

"Why would you want to do nasty things with a man twice your age?"

"Are you the dog owner?" you asked, not fazed at all.

"The horse owner, actually."

Gi-hun's patience snapped in that moment, for he ripped the phone out of your hand. "Listen here, you fucker, I know what you're doing. You think you're that much better than us "horses", but you're not, because only a piece of trash would do something as inhumane and unlawful as you do. And your ddakji man is as bad as you for wagging his tail like an obedient little dog -"

"Player 456," the game master greeted him. "Long time no see -," Little did Seong Gi-hun know that he was watching him through a camera. "I hear you've been looking for one of my employees."

"I wanted to speak to you, personally," Gi-hun pressed out, his cheeks hollow, eyebrows raised as if conversing with his worst nightmare. 

"Well, I am talking to you now," Front Man replied neutrally. "Did you run out of your faith in humanity or will you continue harassing my employees' workplaces?"

The man next to you exhaled as if tempted to throw the phone against the wall. "Workplaces? Your salesman cons innocent people into deathly games. I would hardly call it workplace. More like a playground for your hellish games. Did you have fun playing the villain?"

"Villain? Hardly. I give those people a chance they couldn't get in any other life."

"People like me get many chances in life -"

"Easy to say as a billionaire," Front Man cut him off. "Say I hypothetically shut the games down - which is what you want, isn't that correct? Do you think that the world is going to change? Do you think trash is going to be more than it can ever be? There are loan sharks, gangs, drug rings - you name it. The trash will wither away through drugs or alcohol, if a bullet doesn't find them first."

Gi-hun stared at you. "Not all of them. Some will turn their lives around."

"Are the odds of that higher than one in 456?" 

Even you felt the weight of that statement

"If I can help them, yes," Gi-hun said.

"Ah yes," Front Man said, "your charity work didn't go unnoticed, Player 456."

He was using his former player number to remind him of what he had lost, how many souls had been left behind in the hall, and to never have him forget that he was one of them - a piece of trash drifting through an endless ocean of helplessness. 

"What do you want from her?"

The chuckle that came from the game master made you shiver in disgust. "Do you think she would make it to the sixth game like that friend of yours? The only thing that killed him was himself - a tragic ending, don't you think? Almost poetic in a way - the way you held him. He must've felt alone and sad when he died."

He was sticking a sharpened knife into Gi-hun's chest and twisting it with no end, as if knowing that each twist made him lose more of his breath. His heartbeat quickened with each and every degrading word coming from the man that had taken everything away from him that he valued. Was he getting off of the pain that he had caused to resurface in the former player or did it merely satisfy him to know that Gi-hun could not spend the blood money in peace? Either way, the sadism wasn't lost on him nor you, and you gently took the phone from his hot shaking hands. 

"Listen here, you asshole," you told the Front Man, "If you want to play dirty, I will do so too. Whatever is it that you're doing to the people your ddakji man lures it - it ends here or I will find you and end it myself, do you hear me?"

"And what will a small and weak girl like you do?"

"I will find your employees and make sure you won't have any left," you threatened. 

Maybe you were even more intriguing than Player 456, "What makes you so sure that there's more than one?"

Gi-hun wondered the same thing.

"You said employees', not employee's," you revealed.

"That is right." You had taken the breadcrumb Front Man had intentionally left for you. "But what makes you think that I can't hire more?"

"You're right. If you want to change the world, you have to change the systems that makes it miserable. I wish to participate in the game."

"Y/N -," Gi-hun pleaded.

"The next time you call us, you can enter the games. However, you must use a different number and do it on your own, Lee Y/N."

Your name sounded foreign as it rolled off of the rich voice of the man that was clearly toying with Gi-hun. 

"How will I get the number?" you asked, returning Gi-hun's shocked stare with a somber one.

You looked determined, your face not a mask of neutrality, but that of someone who knew that they would win whatever it was that they were doing. Like Sang-woo had always been. Confident, to some extent cocky - rightfully so, you knew your skills and talents better than anyone else in the world.

"My employee will make sure you get a new card," came the answer. 

"Please send that pretty one again," you openly asked, "the one that looks like Gong Yoo. I want to talk to him."

"I will send someone else," Front Man said.

"But -"

But Front Man had ended the call. 

Your hand sunk, the phone with it, your eyes scanning the table in front of you as if you would find an answer to all of your questions scribbled onto it somewhere, even scratched into the wood of it. The man next to you exhaled heavily, and you knew what he was going to say.

"Yes, he is too old for me. I wanted to lure him in so you could interrogate him."

A pregnant pause, and Gi-hun nodded weakly. He was paler than usual, the bones beneath his skin more prominent than you were used to, and his breathing uneven. 

"So you were Player number 456 out of 456?" 

The silence was answer enough.

"Have you ever considered just letting it be?"

He broke the silence by snapping his head to you, and if you hadn't been sat next to him, you would've thought someone had snapped it for him, sending him up into heaven, but it had been him, turning his head quickly in a ninety degree angle to completely face you, his expression that of horror.

"Letting it be?" he echoed. "Almost five-hundred people died when I played these games and you want me to let it be?" 

"I fear that you may be underestimating them," you offered an explanation, knowing that there was no changing his mind. "You think you can fight them with guns, but what if they got the police on their side? What if that guy isn't even the game master and only wants you to think he is?"

"The game master is dead," Gi-hun said, his gaze sliding away from you, the twenty yard stare he gave his own hands concerningly long. 

In his head, a thought crossed his mind - what if I let her help me? You had casually mentioned things he wouldn't have come up with without you. It was far too late to push you away, for ddakji man had made it clear that it was personal. He hadn't even asked you for the exact words ddakji man had used, for something told him that you would lie to him as to not concern him any more than he already was. The ticket he had sitting comfortably in his pocket suddenly weighted more than anything else in the world - a one-way to Massachusetts, the flight going tomorrow evening. On Monday morning, the third of September, you would already be in the States, all of the arrangements made for you to continue studying at Harvard. Naturally, you would live under a false name, a false date of birth, even a different eye colour (they could be mistaken for a lighter shade), and you would have to wear a wig or dye your hair completely, including a new haircut. Perhaps shorten it to the length of your curtain bangs? You could certainly wear a bob.

Gi-hun didn't know if he wanted to rip the ticket to pieces or stuff it into your hands and order you to take the plane. You would put up a fight much worse than a few hours ago. Would he be able to hurt you enough to leave? His words meant something to you, he was aware of that instance, and he could say things that would make you turn around and leave for good. But could he live with that? Sending you away, like an unwanted child that couldn't grasp onto why their parent didn't want them? 

His father had left him when he had been young. Could he do something as unforgivable as that to you? 

You had been right. He wasn't your father, and he didn't feel like he could ever be. He was more than an ajeossi, yet less than an appa. And he didn't hold himself highly enough to think that you viewed him as the father you wished you had growing up - someone you could turn to when in need of wise words and experience, someone that would always help you out if you needed it, someone that loved and protected you unconditionally. Yet, Gi-hun sometimes tended to overdo it, for losing you was the only thing he was scared of.

His gambles had lost him everything he held dearly, and he couldn't bear you joining the dead. A gambler would always be a gamble. Which of his gambles would make him lose you for good? 

"If you really want me to go, I will. I will go anywhere, if it helps you," you said, and he swore he saw your lips wobble with the negative emotions that flooded your body. "Just don't... overdo it... you are losing yourself, trying to find whatever had taken your old self away."

Sometimes your way with words reminded him of when Sang-woo would scold him - not rudely nor derogatory, but calmly, poetically, as if knowing that words such as those would actually stick with him. You would've made a great best friend, while growing up, Gi-hun thought. Would Sang-woo have liked someone that could match his wit and intellect shamelessly?

Rip the ticket to pieces or give it to you. Rip the ticket or give. Rip or give. R.i.p. or give. He rummaged through his pocket, pulling out the strip of paper. 

"The flight is tomorrow," he rasped out, "Cambridge... I organised you a spot in a university."

"Lesley university?" you wondered as you took the ticket from his hands, examining the words printed onto the paper. Your sight for blurry, the words fading into syllables, then consonants, vowels, and lastly it all became a conglomerate of black and white. 

"Harvard."

You were crying, he knew it. He felt like crying too. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried where he had not freshly woken up after a nightmare. In fact, they had lessened when he had met you. Would they return once you were in the States, living all on your own again? You would never have to return to Korea again, you didn't even have to study. You could live comfortably, spending the money you would get from his will once he had died. You would get a part, as would Ga-yeong, Mrs Cho, and Kang Cheol. Funny how most of the people in his life that weren't dead were young. Sae-byeok had been young too. Would she have become friends with you?

"You remembered," you whispered, because you didn't trust yourself to speak clearly anymore. You had told him about your childhood dreams once, where you both had had a few sips too much soju intus. "Thank you."

"Of course I did."

And when you threw your arms around him, full on sobbing - why were you crying so much? -, he already missed you despite you still being there.

—————————

SAYING GOODBYE TO NAM-GYU HAD BEEN NOT HARD, for you couldn't find him anywhere. He didn't answer your calls nor messages - they didn't even enter his phone, as if you were texting a dead person (you were convinced that he hadn't died or been stabbed overnight, for one of his coworkers had told you that he had went on a trip for the weekend, accompanied by a guy with purple hair that had been spluttering a mix of English and Korean words that didn't even mean anything particular). 

Mi-na, on the other hand, firstly made inappropriate comments about Gi-hun, as he stood in the doorframe of her dorm, and only became serious upon noticing the look on your face. You looked like a pet owner that had chosen to put their pet to sleep as to end their suffering. She hugged you, cupping your face, bombarding you with questions. All three of you went to eat tteokbokki together, naturally, Gi-hun didn't let the both of you pay, and laughed over the memories you had made. You didn't tell her that you left for safety reasons. Instead, you spoke of how Harvard had reached out to you after one of your professors had recommended you, and asked you to study with a scholarship. 

"Harvard!" Mi-na had exclaimed excitedly. "I knew you could do it!"

The guilt you felt was palpable, but through her genuine exhilaration, your friend couldn't tell, and instead she ordered you to send her some tequila and a cute boy. You promised to do so, and after that, Gi-hun brought you to the airport. You had been there once, a few years ago, holding a similar ticket, but this time, you could live the dream you used to have. But was it still a dream when you didn't even want it anymore? The health system was poor, the elections were coming up - Harris versus Trump -, you feared that the country would go downhill, and you felt like Americans wouldn't be able to understand your culture. You were basking in the Koreans you were still surrounded by, probably listening to the language the last time for an extended period of time. 

You wore a sweater from Gi-hun, the same way he had worn his mother's cardigans after her death, your aviator jacket on top of it. The aviator jacket had once belonged to your father. 

Your suitcase was heavy, your backpack too, and Gi-hun carried both of them through the halls of Incheon Airport. He had driven you al the way from Seoul here, the phones and tablets in his car showing incoming messages of men sending him selfies where they would stand in front of various train stations.

You checked in, handed your suitcase over to the airline, before a stewardess kindly asked you to follow her. Apparently, Gi-hun had booked you business class. 

You turned to him. "Thank you, for everything..." 

You sometimes called him oppa, but you felt like that term didn't even fit anymore. 

"You're welcome, ttal." 

Ttal.

"I will miss you, appa," you returned the affection. "I will call you once I've landed..."

It didn't feel as if you wouldn't see him for a long time. It was like he would ring your bell tomorrow, visiting for dinner, and you would have some of your books crowding the table, and he would help you sort them away, and you would cook for him in return. You had often heard stories from female friends and acquaintances how their fathers had started despising them once they became teenagers and stood up for their mothers. Gi-hun seemed the opposite, for anytime you would speak your mind, he would listen to you and appreciate the words you shared. Hell, you had even urged him to vote for the DPK during the legislative election. 

You had changed his life to something he would've perhaps enjoyed more at any other point of his life. You had given him a will to live, a reason to wake up every morning and continue searching. When he had been at his lowest, the way you had approached him had restored his faith in humanity. 

"I will be there to take the call," Gi-hun said with a finality that made you go on your tip-toes, press a kiss to his cheek and hug him tightly and quickly as to not linger so long to there point where you couldn't let go of him. 

"I know," you whispered, detaching yourself from him. "We will see each other soon, right?"

"Of course we will."

You trailed the stewardess, waving at Gi-hun before leaving it all behind - the memories, the people, the life you had wanted to escape so desperately from and that you had grown attached to so suddenly you didn't want to part with it anymore. Your legs were urging you to turn around, but your head made you follow the woman to the gate. You flawlessly passed the security control and got freshly cooked dinner, a steaming bowl of bibimbap in front of you. The egg had been cooked so perfectly that the yolk was reflecting your eyes as you stared down at it, having lost your appetite upon biding farewell to Gi-hun.

"Thank you," you told the server and picked up your chopsticks. 

You had left him behind half an hour ago and you were already missing Gi-hun. 

You spend the next three hours waiting for your plane to get ready for boarding, and for some reason, it took a particularly long period of time until boarding was started. You and other travelers for business class were led outside, as you couldn't enter the plane through the hall that was connected to the side of the plane and the building. The sun was going down, different shades of yellow, orange, red, and marine blue mixing into a palette of beauty that entranced you. 

Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. You looked up the stairs that led up into the plane. American Airlines, was scribbled onto the side of it. Years ago, you wouldn't have hesitated, for there had been nothing for you to leave behind. Now you left Gi-hun behind, and your intuition was urging you to run over the runway, dodging planes and cars, find a taxi and get back to Seoul. 

You stopped, letting everyone behind you board the plane, as you longingly stared at the horizon. You had gambled before, and if you did now, for the first time you couldn't calculate the outcome. You would be like Gi-hun, and you would bet on yourself, on your success. You could seize the chance and just step into the plane, up the stairs and into the machine. Your gaze fell onto the plane again.

The beautiful weather and scenery was bringing something back again, a sense of longing and worry. It shouldn't be as stunning outside while your feelings were a tsunami.

A little girl was staring at you wide-eyed through one of the plane's windows...

Cars honked, operators were yelling at each other through their ear pieces, and amidst the chaos was your figure, running over the runway. You climbed over the fence, making any athlete jealous with how quickly and smoothly you left the obstacle behind you, onto the side-walk of the busy street, and stopped a taxi. It halted immediately, as if fate had listened to your prayers for once, and you practically jumped into the back seat, throwing your backpack next to you.

"To Seoul," you told the driver, your body breathless and sweaty. 

He just nodded.

"- I will pay you triple if you can make it in less than two hours to the Pink Motel."

"You must be crazy," he muttered as he started the engine and drove through the streets, following each sign towards the center of South Korea. 

In the meantime, you called Gi-hun. He didn't answer. This instance only deepened your worry, as something must've happened.

Anxiety was clawing at you, similar to a beaver nagging on a piece of wood, relentlessly boring his teeth into the sturdy material, of which nothing would be left behind eventually. Perhaps you were a beaver too, for you called and called Gi-hun and he didn't take any call. Usually he took each call of yours. 

Once the familiar streets of Seoul were passing by, you leaned forward, watching the corners you were leaving behind, each of them one step closer to the Motel. 

What if Gi-hun wasn't there? What if he still thought you would board the plane to Cambridge and had thus silenced his phone to any incoming calls? It was possible, sure, but your belly told you otherwise. 

The Pink Motel loomed over you, and you opened the door with the spare key that you knew was hidden in a plant next to the entrance. For someone with security cameras in- and outside, Gi-hun was sometimes naive. 

You took the stairs, up to the familiar fourth floor, your backpack feeling heavier than before.

Room Number 406, 407, 408, 409..., but the door to room 410 stood wide open, a familiar white-toothed smile greeting you.

[smaragdines]

headlock (kang daeho x f!reader)

words: 2.7 k

iv. go ahead and cry little girl

"I WANT YOU TO SEARCH BETTER, MISTER KIM."

"Mister Seong -"

"I cannot have you miss him again. What if he knows where she lives? I doubt he hasn't done a background check on her," Gi-hun exclaimed exasperatedly, the smoke of his cigarette swirling around him a usual reminder of the addiction. 

Mister Kim, the loan shark that had wanted Gi-hun's organs for not paying back his debt three years ago, pushed the bag with food closer to his employer, a forced smile lingering on his lips. "You shouldn't smoke as much, Sir -"

"You should search better," Seong Gi-hun shot back immediately. 

He turned around, putting the cigarette out in his full ashtray. Your body was still calmly lying beneath the sheets, your arms hugging the large pillow and the stuffed animal from your apartment. After the stunt at the club and your heated argument in the car, Gi-hun had made you pack your necessities and temporarily move in with him, for he could go along with his search as long as he knew you where in the motel, safe and sound. And you were, sleeping in his bed like a child that had had a nightmare - meeting ddakji man certainly had been a nightmare for him despite not having experienced it himself for the third time. 

"Every train," he muttered, still staring at you and your chest that calmly rose and fell. "I want you to search each and every train in and around Seoul."

"Mister Seong, my employees cannot possibly -"

"Five billion won for whoever finds it on top of the promised one billion."

Mister Kim's eyes widened, "W-what?"

"You heard me," Gi-hun said, his voice sounding tired. "I will give you five billion on top if you find him. I cannot have him roam these streets, knowing that he has found her -"

"Is she your lover?" Mister Kim carefully asked, nodding towards your sleeping figure. The look the other man shot him made him apologise profusely, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way - your niece?"

"No..." 

Not understanding, Mister Kim just nodded and smiled. "Eat, I brought you this. It's tteokbokki -"

Suddenly, you pushed the blanket off of your body. Upon noticing the guest, you threw Gi-hun's cardigan over your upper body as to not run around the motel in a tank top and sweatpants only. Around him, you wouldn't have cared, for he didn't look at you like that, but for polite reasons, you even buttoned the cardigan to the top. 

"I can draw his face," were the first words you said that made Gi-hun light another cigarette. 

"You will not do that. I remember what he looks like."

"I saw him a few hours ago -"

His tone grew sharper, "Y/N. I won't have you even more involved with this."

"I'm not a child."

"You're acting like one right now."

Somehow that set you off, for your whole life you had to take care of yourself, and in turn be called 'mature' for handling things as a child that no child should've even thought of - "You're not my father!" 

Gi-hun shrugged, playing off the storm that was brewing inside of him. It felt as though a mirror had shattered - one he had spend months crafting and putting together, slowly earning your trust and you earning his - and he had thought it more stable than anything else in this world. Yet, you had thrown a stone at the mirror, uncaring of its shards erupting around the object. 

Mister Kim looked between the two of you, the tension palpable. Now he knew the nature of your relationship, even though he had hoped to find it out in a less explosive way. He noticed how young you were, and how your expression mirrored the stubborn one of Gi-hun, and he felt as if he was looking at relatives. You didn't have the same facial structure, nor did your height match his, but your demeanour spoke of the time you had spend with him, admiring him and learning things from him. Mister Kim had never seen two people look alike as you and Gi-hun did. 

"Maybe I should go - leave you to handle your things -," he intervened lowly as to not get caught in the crossfire.

"Sit down," you ordered him and he immediately sat back down. "I remember every detail on his face. He looks like that one actor - Gong Yoo -, but like he doesn't care about his hygiene. He is four centimeters taller than Gi-hun. One of his eyes is mono-lidded, the other one double-lidded -"

Mister Kim began writing down what you were saying, and you put your hands on your hips in a casual manner, while Gi-hun glanced up at you. Upon noticing his gaze, you took the cigarette from his hands and roughly stuffed it into the ashtray. 

"- One of his eyebrows sits higher than the other and he wears his hair parted. His suit is black... and he talks like a salesman."

"A salesman?"

You looked at Gi-hun. "'Ddakji man' suits him better though. After all, that's his strategy, right? Playing ddakji and threatening people?"

"Inviting them," Gi-hun corrected as to mend the broken mirror - the fact that he would share this with you, no matter how minuscule its nature, made your gaze soften. 

"To do what?" you asked.

"Play children's game. Ddakji is just the appetizer."

"And you won those games?"

Gi-hun nodded, moving to light another cigarette, which you snatched too, stuffing it between your lips before it could even come near his. You exhaled away from him before turning to Mister Kim again. 

"I can come with you -"

"Absolutely not -!"

"Gi-hun, I don't wanna sit around uselessly!"

"I don't want you to put yourself in even more dangerous situations!" came the snappy reply.

"He didn't do anything to me!" Besides threatening you.

"Only over my dead corpse will you search for him."

"I will call the number -"

Gi-hun stood up, the chair uncomfortably scratching against the wooden floor, patting down his pants' pockets in search of the business card. When he didn't find it, his head eerily snapped to you. "Shibal, how did you take it?"

You had never heard him swear before.

"I didn't take anything," you lied poorly. 

"You took the card!"

"Why are you yelling?"

"If you call that number, I will -"

"Bruise me again?"

"Listen, Y/N, I apologised for it," he muttered tiredly, suddenly looking so much older than he was. The smell of cigarettes penetrated your nostrils uncomfortably, as if he had bathed in them. "And I try my best to make it up to you, but I cannot have you running around, looking for him. He is dangerous, because he works for dangerous people, and he would make it personal, if -"

"It is personal," you interrupted him neutrally. 

"... - how do you know?"

"What was the colour of his suit?"

"Grey, why?"

"He wore a black one when I saw him."

Gi-hun sucked his cheeks in as if contemplating something. "How did you know that he wears different colours?"

"He usually doesn't. I eavesdropped on you talking to this gentleman -," you nodded at Mister Kim, who had been eagerly following your conversation, "and you describing him. You said his suit had been grey both times you had seen him. It cannot be a coincidence that he seeks me out and wears a different colour. What colours did the ddakji have?"

"Red and blue," he said, already defeated at the prospect of you analysing the situation. After all, he knew that analyses were your specialty. 

"He has a special set of black and white one," you said, pulling Mister Kim's notes close to yourself, and scribbling down the differences in the colours you and Gi-hun had seen when you had encountered ddakji man. 

"He looks like Gong Yoo," Mister Kim reminded you and you nodded meekly before jotting this and other characteristics down. 

"Like an ugly version of Gong Yoo," you corrected. 

"So you think Gong Yoo is handsome?" was the only thing Gi-hun found enough strength to ask for. 

"He is very handsome," was your cheeky reply.

"He's in his forties!" 

"So he has experience," you continued joking, knowing that he didn't catch onto it as quickly as you would. "If I got the chance, I'd date him," you added to finally see another expression than melancholy on his face.

And you were successful, for both men looked at you wide-eyed like little boys that had just learned that children weren't brought by birds to their parents but through other activities performed by the parents. 

You giggled to yourself before leaning forwards and squeezing Gi-hun's cheek. "I'm just joking," you squeezed out of your mouth. "If I ever date a guy your age I will make sure to hide him from you -"

"Y/N!"

When you let Mister Kim leave, the tension between you and then man you now lived with having dissipated finally after your jokes, you led him back to the front door of the motel, making sure to leave enough space between Room 410 and you, before you pulled your phone out. 

"I have a recording of his voice, in case that helps you with your search. Anything he said - do not tell Gi-hun. If you do, I will tell on you that you haven't been searching as well as you tell him you do," you said.

"B-but how -?"

"You may fool him, but you cannot fool me. Find that man and end this nightmare or else you will suffer from your dishonesty."

You exchanged numbers, although Mister Kim only reluctantly let you save his number, and you sent him the audio recording while he was still standing next to you. 

Once you returned to Room 410, Gi-hun was nowhere to be found. You scoured the whole fourth floor, halting inside of the room where the familiar stacks of money were situated on the bed. Then you noticed the open bathroom door. Somehow, he had ripped open the walls of the other rooms of the floor. Dozens of guns were lined up on the wall and even in the toilet bowl, luring you in to take one into your arms, feeling the weight of responsibility in your clummy hands. 

After putting it back, you found him talking to someone on the phone, as if he hadn't destroyed the walls of multiple rooms to make a shooting hall out of his property, "- she can cook and clean. Besides, she is the smartest person I know. I'm sure she could help you in exchange for a temporary stay -"

He stopped talking upon noticing your arrival, taking in the way you tilted your head to the side. 

"Y-Yes, of course. Anything you want. I have the resources nowadays...," he continued after having listened to the response on the other end of the line. "Of course I would want her to continue studying. Can you organise a university transfer?"

The mockery, at least that was how you interpreted his face, - Gi-hun was staring you straight in the eyes as he was negotiating your stay in a different place. You felt betrayal - it was clear as day when he analysed the expression on your face. 

"Thank you, I will call you back later. Send your girlfriend my regards, will you? Thank you. See you."

"You can't do that," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"An acquaintance of mine knows how to deal with people that want to be under the radar for some time. He's the most wanted man in South and North Korea. He should know how to hide you without taking your life away from you."

The man couldn't even look you in the eyes anymore, as he was taking your life away from you.

"Where do you want me to go?"

"Russia -"

You scoffed.

Gi-hun hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right - that's too close. What about the US?"

"Over my dead corpse," you mirrored his previous words. 

"California, it is," he then decided nonchalantly.

"You cannot force me to take a plane to America," you disagreed stubbornly. 

"Oh, I can."

"You are not my father, Seong Gi-hun."

"Well, your father is dead, and I am not trying to replace him, but if you're not going to be worried about your own safety, then someone else has to be and that just happens to be me so please just appreciate the effort and do as I say," he explained in a breath, as if having held in this explanation.

For someone he deemed more intelligent and observant than himself, you were equally as stubborn and rigid when it came to your opinion. He was just trying to protect you, because he hadn't been able to protect Sae-byeok from the threat that had been looming over her in the shape of his childhood best friend. This time, the shape looming over the only one he had left - you -, was something he didn't even know the shape of. It could be anyone that was doing these games. He might've walked past the man that had told him to think of the games as a dream that had played out in his favor. The man that called him a horse in a race could've looked him in the face and Gi-hun would never know. He had certainly sent ddakji man to hunt you down - was he looking for another horse to make Gi-hun lose the only thing that made him wake up every morning? 

It was so easy. The fan that hung from the ceiling and the clothes he had would make the perfect spot to just end it like the husband that had won the game of marbles at the expense of his wife's life. 

But once he was gone, you would look for him. You would call him, look for him, hell, you wouldn't hesitate breaking into his Motel. Sometimes he regretted letting you into his life, for you would've been the one to find his corpse and had he not let you in, he could've ended it at some point - too burnt out and exhausted from looking for a trail of biscuits that someone had eaten along the way, leaving no hint of the trail for him to follow. 

And now? Someone had baked new biscuits, leaving crumbs, and they had led to you.

You were his weakness and Gi-hun couldn't have that, for it put you on the line.

"I am sorry," you mumbled, pulling him from his trance. 

"What for?"

"For saying you're not my father... all these months you took all of my debt off of my shoulders and I was disrespectful," you mumbled, your usually so confident and strong voice wavering from the rollercoaster of emotions that you hadn't anticipated to go through during the last twenty-four hours of your life. "I'm sorry, Gi-hun, I really am -"

"Oh, Y/N..."

Seeing you shaking like a scared bunny made Gi-hun pull you into a hug, one that you always wished you would've gotten while growing up. 

He had long speculated as to why you never talked of your parents, and after letting someone do a background check on you, it appeared clearly why you never did. After all, which orphan talked of their parents? Harry Potter, perhaps, but you hadn't been invited into a world that had been concealed from you all your life. On the one hand, you knew so much of the world you were living in - the way you jumped over each obstacle being proof of that -, but on the other hand, there were things you couldn't even fathom in your nightmares. Gi-hun didn't desire for you to be exposed to any of these things - perhaps he not only saw Sae-byeok in you. There was Sang-woo somewhere - a less arrogant one, with a feminine touch when it came to feelings and communication -, but those same looks that spoke of your intelligence without flaunting it. And perhaps Ga-yeong was another person he missed and projected onto you. 

Any normally thinking adult would expect you to come with emotional baggage, and for some time, Gi-hun had feared daddy issues. Yet, you never sought out the attention of older men - it still was a sore topic, though, for you talking about Gong Yoo (even if you had been joking), had made each and every alarm bell ring in his head. Instead, you had gripped onto the love and praise Gi-hun had offered you like a father that had stepped into the hole of nothingness. And he would never knew the extent of how much his affection meant to you.

If one turned the instance around, you also would never know something - that if it weren't for you, he would've joined Sang-woo, Sae-byeok, his mother, and Ali months ago.

[smaragdines]

headlock (kang daeho x f!reader)

words: 5.5 k

iii. and you look half dead half the time

AMERICAN DREAM, THEY CALLED IT.

Or was it delusion? When you grew up, you had eagerly watched American movies, listening to their distinct voices and accent and for a long time you had believed that all Americans were cowboys. Only later in life did you find out that cowboys weren't even originally American, but Mexican, and that Americans were just the descendants of the British and other Europeans. 

While in the orphanage, you used to have a piggy bank made of glass. You would collect each and every won you made — in the hopes of leaving the country one day. 

You wanted to visit Los Angeles, New York City, New Orleans, and then you would study at Harvard, become a doctor and help women give birth to children or abort them if they wished to do so. Back then, Roe v Wade ruled over the whole country, and women had been able to get rid of what could destroy their whole life for various reasons. It was not that you didn't like children. You just valued women's life more over that of something that could be made in a few seconds and dozens of times. 

When you turned sixteen, you had a lot of money saved up, and you had spend it on a flight ticket straight to New York City, leaving you empty handed, for flying across the ocean was expensive, and you had worn your aviator jacket, an old pair of jeans and a backpack with all of your belongings. And then someone had stolen your ticket right from your pocket. A dream shattered, fate interrupted — or perhaps fate intervened? 

A few years later, you sat in the library of SNU, studying medicine. Life had a fun way of giving you what you had wished for — had you just been precise enough, you would've left your old life behind. At the beginning of 2024, you had gambled every second night, playing Texas Hold 'Em with rich men and even richer egos. And now? You had Seong Gi-hun, an enigma, stuff money into you as if you were a piggy bank. You didn't have to gamble anymore. 

The iced Americano that stood next to you reminded you of your eventful night. Droplets of respiration were dripping down the plastic cup, almost in synch with your jawns. You remembered the kind police man, Detective Hwang, that had scolded his coworker for letting you alone in a freezing cell, and you felt bad for not having been able to thank him properly for taking good care of you while you had been at the police station. You made a mental note to buy some biscuits and bring them over. 

Despite the fact that you had made Gi-hun smoke less in the morning than he usually did, he had appeared stressed out, which had been why you had taken the underground to get to your university instead of letting him drive you. He had almost begged you to do so, as if he was scared of someone snatching you off the street. Pff, impossible.

Had he known that you would write a final tomorrow, he certainly wouldn't have let you sleep over. Worry was a weird look on melancholic Gi-hun, so you kept your secrets from him. Even if yesterday's episode had certainly stressed him out, you had at least ensured that he had finally eaten. He was built skinny, but the hollowness in his cheeks hadn't been caused by aging. Besides, smokers were known for eating less. Gi-hun was the worst smoker you had encountered. He smoked so much that you were surprised he hadn't yet coughed his lungs out. Worry plagued your mind, and even though your God had left you long ago, you prayed for him to not bite the dust while in his fifties, because even though you appreciated that he made it unnecessary for you to work while studying, you appreciated the friendship. 

Turning your head, you looked at Mi-na and the way she inspected her nails. Noticing your glare, she smirked. "You done with studying?" she asked sarcastically.

You hadn't even opened your laptop. 

"There's this club I wanna check out. I heard that some famous singer is gonna perform tomorrow. You with me?"

"Which singer?" you asked tiredly.

"I don't know, but Bon-hwa knows someone that works there and said that the singer is very famous and talented."

"BTS?" you wondered aloud. 

"They're on a hiatus because of their military service! I told you a dozen times," Mi-na groaned. "Do you think braids would suit me?"

"Shouldn't you study?"

"How can I study for a final in acting? I'm a natural talent, honey. I'll pass it with flying colours."

"If you say so," you shrugged. 

"What say you to my proposal?"

"I didn't know you were into me," you joked. 

"Not that kind of proposal. You know what I mean," she whined, batting her pretty lashes at you. "C'mon, I don't wanna go on my own. And your hot sugar daddy can bring us home again..."

"I will choke you to death if you call him that again," you growled, suddenly angered by her words. Why was everyone thinking that you were fucking Gi-hun?

You did feel like a sugar baby at times, but you would never admit that out loud - with the lack of giving Gi-hun the sugar. You were the only one getting the sugar. The brand new MacBook, which had only come out a few weeks ago, in a midnight blue shade, was sitting in front of you, having been gifted to you by Gi-hun, was proof of that. He had never pressured nor asked you to thank him, and you did feel bad at times for the money he spend for you. The nature of your relationship certainly appeared weird to others, and even you yourself sometimes questioned when Gi-hun would ask you to repay him. He wouldn't, you knew he wouldn't, but you had encountered so many men that didn't give anything for free, that it was hard for you to have faith in humanity. 

Funnily enough, it was Gi-hun's faith in humanity that had made him not push you away.

Mi-na cowered in her seat, her arms crossed in front of her upper body, and her lip pushed out in a pout. "Alright... but he can still drive us home, right?" 

"I'll have to ask him...," you uttered plainly. 

Your friend squealed at that. "Oh, I cannot wait for tomorrow!"

"Yeah, me neither...," you mumbled. 

After conversing with Mi-na for a while, a glance at the time caused you to leave. You brought some biscuits at a nearby cafe and let the barista wrap them in a fancy foil and band. Then you took off towards the police station where you had been behind the bars not even twenty-four hours ago, praying to find Detective Hwang there. 

Instead, you were met with an unfamiliar face. "Can I help you?"

"Is Detective Hwang here?"

"Detective Hwang?" the man behind the counter repeated. "Jun-ho," he then yelled, "some girl is asking for Detective Hwang!"

You didn't like the mocking tone the officer used, but your bad blood evaporated when Detective Hwang appeared, not in the uniform you had seen him in, but dressed as a civilian. He greeted you with a smile, to which you waved. 

"I wanted to thank you, Sir, for your kindness," you said, awkwardly handing him the box with biscuits. 

His colleague shifted in his seat in order to see what was going on. 

"You didn't have to...," Hwang Jun-ho muttered, giving you a soft smile and pat on your clad shoulder - this time he didn't see you in clothes Gi-hun had viewed as scandalous (the dress hadn't been as short as he had made it out to be!) and had caused him to give you spare clothes yesterday. 

"And you didn't have to help me out, Detective, yet you did."

"You're just a young girl," he uttered, curiously shifting the biscuits in his hands. "And you said it had been a misunderstanding," he added good-heartedly. 

"Thank you for granting me this second chance," you said, giving him your most toothy smile. "I do not take it for granted."

Second chance, you didn't know it but the phrase had been haunting the man's mind for months, if not even years. Second chance - what about you had made him grant you one? He wasn't God, nor any other transcendence, right? So why had he taken it upon himself to still do it? Surely, your looks and charm played into it - which man wouldn't cave in when seeing a dishevelled, crying young girl? Could Jun-ho forgive his brother? 

Perhaps he had already forgiven In-ho, the mastermind behind a mass genocide, for lying and betraying and shooting his own brother . After all, blood was thicker than water, right? Still, when Jun-ho would look at you, there was a sense of familiarity dawning upon him. It was like he had seen the expression on your face before. Were you related to an acquaintance? Or did you just know someone Jun-ho knew? After all, when someone spend a lot of time with someone, they started to look like them without attempting to. 

And he didn't know it, but you were the key to his search for the island, for you knew the sole survivor of the games he had attempted to put an end to, and he would only find out in fourty-eight hours that had he stayed at the station for an hour longer yesterday, he would've seen Seong Gi-hun again. 

"You shaved off the moustache, Detective," you pulled him from his thoughts. "It looked good on you."

At first he had thought you were flirting - despite the age difference -, but then realised that really it was just your charisma and the way you navigated your words to appear appealing to others.

Jun-ho raised an eyebrow, "It did?"

"Yeah, it made you look like a cool uncle."

"Is that a compliment?"

"When I get older, I want to be the cat-owning aunt, so I think it is."

He chuckled at your macabre sense of humour, because even though you were serious, you had a charming undertone that made those that knew you laugh a lot. 

"So what do you do when you're not in Mia-ri, Y/N? Studying for something? Working?"

"I study medicine to become a gynaecologist," you said, your chest puffing out, knowing that any parents-in-law would take you in with welcoming arms. Yet, you never attempted to date anyone. If he was young, would you have shot your shot with Detective Hwang? He was handsome, sure, and kind, but the way you treated each other could never even evolve into something platonic. 

"Oh, really? Which year are you in?"

He was the first person to not ask for the university, but to ask anything else about your life. 

"Seventh. My lucky number," you said. "Tell me, why did you become a police officer?"

He hesitates for a split second, "My brother is... was one. He was my role model, because we weren't as close in age, and my father had left us." 

"Fighting for the good thing runs in the family, huh?"

You didn't know how wrong you were.

"You could say that."

—————————

DISAPPOINTMENT FLOODED YOUR BODY, as you felt the beat drum in your ears, people screaming with joy and drunkenly mumbling the lyrics to the song the rapper himself didn't even know the lyrics too. Colours blended with each other, as did lights and sounds, when you and Mi-na blended into the crowd of people your age and older, all of them seemingly satisfied with the entertainer's performance. The drink in your hand had already warmed up from your body temperature touching the glass, the straw lying somewhere on the floor as you had lost it back when the music had still been enjoyable, and your mood sour. 

"What's his name again?" you yelled into your friend's ear. 

"Thanos - isn't he great?" Mi-na replied, her drunk smile and dancing a stark contrast to your still posture. 

"He plays the Japanese version of the song despite not even knowing T.O.P.'s part in Korean," you argued, your words lost in a sea of cheers. 

You were convinced that Mi-na hadn't even taken in all of your words, because she had nodded animatedly and cheered with the crowd when Thanos, his purple hair standing out strongly, had stage-dived into a group of girls that were gladly putting their hands on places that made you shiver in disgust. 

"Oh don't be sour because he doesn't know the lyrics to the song of your favourite band," Mi-na then screamed at you, apparently having just processed your words for a period of time that was concerning. 

"They used to be my favourite band," you corrected.

You turned to the bar to put your drink down, and were met face to face with Nam-gyu's cat-resembling sharp features. "Long time no see," he said, a grin spreading on his pink lips. 

Your horrified expression certainly spoke for itself, for the grin even widened upon noting your reaction. 

"How's your life been with that old man?"

You had initially felt guilty when you had blocked Nam-gyu, for he had been fairly clingy despite only being a friend, and had often overstepped the line despite having been warned by you about your boundaries. You had spoken with Gi-hun about your former friendship with the promoter, and had listened to his words of wisdom - after all, he had been on this world for longer than double your age and had seen and experienced far more than you would probably ever do. He had spoken to you about a healthy friendship and how overstepping boundaries without apologising for it was not healthy at all, and how it had caused you to have sleepless nights in a row had been a warning sign. 

Needless to say, once Gi-hun's advice had sunk into you, you hadn't felt as bad anymore.

Yet, when you saw the familiar face of one of the first friends you had, your resolve melted immediately. You climbed over the bar and threw your arms around his neck while the rapper was spluttering free-styled lines somewhere in the background. 

"Hey, hey," Nam-gyu mumbled and if you hadn't been pressed yourself into him, you would've overheard his words. 

"I'm so sorry -," you sobbed, not aware of his wandering hands wrapping around your waist intimately. "I didn't want to cut you out of my life like this, Nam - I just... I missed you and I'm so sorry for doing this and I want my friend back -"

Nam-gyu tilted his head back, looking at the crown of your head, your face buried in his clothed chest. Were you even aware of what you had done to yourself? It didn't take a genius to be aware of what was happened in front of him, he thought, and for someone usually so self—awake and intelligent, you could be so gullible at time. He could tell you any lie in that moment and you would believe it without a doubt. After all, filtering out different tones hadn't always been your strength during conversation.

Funny how he didn't have to apologise nor do much to get you back in his clutches, for you willingly threw yourself back into them like a woman coming back to the husband that beat her every day. Did you even know that you were the woman? 

All of those thoughts flickered through his head, and he carefully cupped your cheeks and tilted your head up to look into your beautiful eyes. "I forgive you, yeodongsaeng," he said, his lips moving as to hide a smirk while talking. "After the performance, the people will be drunk and high and more willing to gamble," he added, insinuation swirling in his tone and squeezing your squishy cheeks together. 

"I stopped gambling," you mumbled, your squeezed cheeks making it harder for you to articulate yourself. 

"You did? So the old man does pay for your bills."

Normally, you would jokingly ask him if he was jealous, but at this height of your emotions, your lip wobbled and you pressed your head against his chest again like a child. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's alright."

You didn't know how long you stayed behind the bar, the barkeepers being forced to round you and Nam-gyu uncomfortably as to serve the guests that were yelling for more alcoholic beverages. Anytime someone would open their mouth to protest, Nam-gyu would give them a death stare that could even make Kim Jong-un cower in fear. 

—————————

HE HAD SEEN MANY PEOPLE LIKE YOU, those who came back to people that had mistreated them again and again, and had never apologised for it nor attempted to make up for it. You were a small and anxious horse, not even trying to be more than you were, as if you had given up on all of your dreams and hopes. 

The jellyfish dress suited you, especially the lilac colour that you had matched your make-up to. A choker sat snugly around your neck, one that would certainly drive 456 into an early grave. 

The man that was watching you spared a glance at the watch around his wrist in boredom, wondering when you would stop following that greasy-haired club promoter like a lost puppy. Hadn't he been the one to follow you like this? - and what had changed the dynamic between you and that druggie-friend of yours? 

He send those that gave him confused stares his charming smile, pearly white teeth almost blinding in the club's lights. His briefcase held in one of his hands, one with his tall and lanky frame, almost blending in with his black suit. 

Only when you and your friend left the bar to go to the bathroom did he move, pushing himself through the masses of drunk and high teenagers and young adults. He thought you would make out with your friend or do other unholy things, but instead you had chosen different paths - he walked into the men's bathroom, you into the women's. Perfect. 

The man in the suit stepped into the women's bathroom, casually leaning against on of the sinks, and stroked his hair in an almost nervous Michael Corleone way. He felt a little bit giddy despite having done this job so many times. Perhaps, the urgency of his employer was what had made his heart flutter due to his nerves. He had to be successful this time - no matter what. 

When you emerged from one of the stalls, you didn't see him at first, the alcohol in your mojito having caught up with you already, and you swayed slightly like a doll that a girl was playing with by only moving her feet. Then you looked at him, giving him a side-eyed glance, and when you turned back to the soap dispenser did you turn to him again, your eyes comically wide and innocent. 

"Hello, Miss," ddakji man said, his usual smile somehow not working to cease the furrow between your brows that had immediately established itself on your face as the realisation had settled in. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Would you like to play a game with me?" 

"Did Nam-guy set you up?"

When approaching potential players, they would always react in one out of two ways - either confused and asking questions, completely ignoring everything he said or straight-up shocked silence. You acted in the first way, not wavering, asking questions as to cease your own confusion. 

"Would you like to play a game with me?" he thus repeated.

He noticed your eyes scanning his fresh suit - one he usually never wore but had put on just for you. "Salesman, huh?" 

The same words Player 456 had used.

"If Nam-gyu has set you up to -"

The words died in your throat when he put his pristine briefcase on the sink, opening it up and revealing ddakji and stacks of money inside. Like a scared bunny, you pulled your nose up, your eyes switching between his face, his hands, and the money. A bunny that knew it had been cornered by a wolf? Or were you already planning to rob him? 

"You seem educated, Miss -" you snorted as he said that, your slutty outfit the whole opposite of what he was uttering to lure you in, "- and I'm sure you've played ddakji before."

He took two of the ddakji cards, one in white and the other in black, revealing stacks of other ddakji cards in red and blue beneath it, and the way your gaze flickered between the red and blue made him realise that you were wondering if he did this often. Perhaps he was underestimating your intelligence. So much that he didn't see your hand moving to your bag and pressing record on your phone as to capture every word he said.

"Play a few rounds of ddakji with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you 100.000 won," he continued, holding the cards out to you.

"Why would you play a game that would make you lose money?" you asked, your eyes narrowing suspiciously, your arms crossing in front of your chest. 

"If you win, you get 100.000 won. If I win, you pay me 100.000 won."

He always withheld this information in the hopes of gaining an impulsive person's interest. Now he knew that he had underestimated you. 

"I'm not into gambling," you then said, moving to walk past him and out of the bathroom.

"Lee Y/N."

He saw your body freeze, and you turned slowly, your face a neutral mask. 

The smile on his face widened, "You used to gamble in this club. What has changed?"

"Who are you?"

"Don't you want to earn easy money?"

You took a step forward, tilting your head upwards as to meet his gaze. "Who - are - you? Are you mad because you gambled all your money away?"

"I don't gamble either," ddakji man replied plainly.

You looked thoughtful for a moment before looking away, "Did Gi-hun pay you to test if I really stopped gambling?"

"I haven't seen him in a long time, Miss. What I do know is that he pays all of your bills and helped you get rid of your debts. I would feel guilty -" he made a condescending tssk-sound, "- having a stranger pay for everything in my life? I would try to pay everything back to him, right?"

You didn't nod, nor did your face move. You stood straight as a statute, your mouth a tight line, and the gloss on your lips reflecting the bathroom lights. The man thought that you were stunning, and some perverted part of his brain wondered how you would look like without any clothes on. 

"What do you want from me?" you whispered. 

"The Pink Motel. Room Number 410."

Your face fell immediately.

"If you want him to stay safe and sound, you will call this number." 

When he stuffed a golden card down your cleavage without touching you, you stood still, not breathing, not blinking, just staring down the man that had lured thousands of players into their death, who had threatened 456 in your presence as he had found no other solution to get you to join the games as per the Front Man'a request. 

He leaned forward, staring down at you and the grin you had deemed handsome initially looked fake and like it belonged to one of those dolls you would hate to have in your house. 

"W-who are you?"

But he had left already, leaving you alone, trembling and scared. Shaking hands grabbed onto your phone and ended the recording before dialing the only number you had memorised.

"Yes?"

"Please come and get me. I'm at Club Pentagon," you whispered into your phone despite no one being around you besides the exhale of Gi-hun on the other end of the call. 

Outside of the bathroom, there was no one - no trace of Nam-gyu, but instead you found Mi-na, still near the bar, shit-faced as usual, and talking to one of the barkeepers. You forced her to leave the club with you as Thanos had ended his performance long ago - and you couldn't help but wonder for how long you had actually been in the bathroom. 

It didn't even take Gi-hun twenty minutes to find you between hookers, gamblers and drug dealers, your young faces standing out among those that society frowned upon. 

When he went in to hug you, you held up a hand as if to ask him to not touch you. He lowered his arms in disappointment and concern. "Are you okay?"

You just shook your head and aided Mi-na's body, which was in need of balancing due to the owner's intoxication. Gi-hun followed you towards an empty parking lot where he had parked his car and opened the doors for you. You slipped Mi-na into the backseats and followed as to keep an eye on her and ensure that the car stayed clean. 

While you did so and put on your friends' seatbelt, he wondered if this could've been his daughter, had she stayed in Seoul. She would always be aware of others' feeling and actions and make sure everyone was happy, and you were often like this too. No, you hadn't woken him up, for worry if his plan would succeed had kept him up all night, and he'd rather lose sleep than be subjected to another dream where the game master would hold up Sang-woo's and Sae-byeok's heads - beheaded -, and he would wake up screaming and crying and throwing up like a child with a fever.

A never-ending fever, it seemed.

Once he sat behind the wheel and was driving your friend to her dorm, he stretched his free hand back to you, and you took it, your cold hand wrapping around his little finger as to ground yourself. It was something he had sometimes done with his daughter, and the fact that you hadn't done this before with him yet knew what he had offered you and took him up on that offer made his heart swell in his chest. But then you looked up, your gazes meeting through the rear-view mirror for a second, and a few shorter strands of your hair had fallen over your forehead, and he thought that he saw Sang-woo's empty eyes staring back at him as if asking "Why had you not saved me?"

In that moment, he thought you looked half dead.

Gi-hun blinked and continued driving despite his quick heartbeat. 

You brought Mi-na to her dorm and put her to bed, while the man leaned in the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching you help her stumble through the small room and into her sheets. 

"Y/N," she groaned.

"It's okay. My 'hot sugar daddy' brought you home. Sleep," you said. "I'll see you in class on Monday."

Mi-na nodded, sinking back into her plush pillow, already knocked out. 

You turned to Gi-hun. "Can we go and get some food before -"

But he had already pulled out something dark green wrapped in a plastic foil. "I got you an onigiri," he said, handing it over to you. 

You took it and hugged him immediately. And he didn't know that you did it because your emotions were bursting through your body, tears already building inside of your eyes, and thus you had moved as to hide them from him. A rustle came from your cleavage, the card having been bent by the quick movement, and Gi-hun looked down at the card that had slightly slipped up, the shapes on it familiar. He took it without you noticing and stuffed it into his pocket. Confrontation could wait until you were in the car.

And, in the car, you hadn't been reading for the tsunami that your closest friend had turned into. You had just sat down in the passenger seat when his hands had grabbed onto your bare arms, squeezing and shaking you while he was bent over the console, his eyes as wide as saucers and his tone that of a lunatic.

"Where did you see him?!" he roared desperately. " What did he tell you?! And why did you take the card?!"

"W-what -", the tears you had suppressed before were now running down your cheeks in a river, "G-Gi-hun, I-"

Not even a full sentence left your mouth when he pulled out the card he had taken from you, holding three funny shapes printed onto it into your face - circle, triangle, and square. 

"Where was he?!"

"W-who? Who?!"

"Who? Who? What are you? An owl? Ddakji man!"

Your chin tilted itself closer to your neck like an animal attempting to hide a vulnerable spot. "Who?"

"The ddakji man in a suit! With the briefcase, ddakji and money!"

The realisation that flickered over your scared features was proof enough for him that you had seen him. 

"Why did you say yes to him?! And where did he go?!"

"I- I don't know," you stuttered out, grimacing as his grip didn't falter and instead got even stronger. 

"I need to know where he is! This might've been my only chance!"

"Chance to do what?!"

But he let go of you, turning to the window by his side, pulling at his hair like a desperate man that had lost everything that he valued. "You don't understand," he muttered. His head snapped back to you, the way you cowered on the seat and had red bruises forming on your upper arms. "Y/N, I -," he reached out to you, causing you to flinch and press yourself into the window on your side, "you don't have to understand, but please, please -"

You shook your head, your lips pressed together as the tears came in a never ending storm. Your hand went to the door as to open it, but he had locked it. "Open the door," you ordered. He didn't bulge. "Open the door!"

"Y/N, I'm sorry -," his eyes couldn't stray from the bruises he had inflicted upon you in his frenzy, feeling like a child that had destroyed its favourite toy, and he knew that his past self would've never done something as violent as that, and that thought alone caused him to gulp deeply, "you have to understand -"

"That you're stalking a stalker?" you asked bitterly. "Please open the door -"

"He is a bad person, Y/N, you have to understand that -," you pulled your hand away when he attempted to gently take it into his own, "- and he does this thing to innocent people that leads them to -"

You choked back a sob. "People that are as innocent as you? I saw the guns you collect, Gi-hun. And the money stacked on the bed. Don't tell me you're innocent."

You scolded him the way his mother would in the same situation, and the neutral tone in your voice killed him, because you were never neutral when you talked to him. 

"I'm not innocent, but you are -," you scoffed at that, "- and I want to put an end to it. He knows who you are, because otherwise he wouldn't approach you, and that endangers you." 

Gi-hun purposely didn't mention that the ddakji man was as on the lookout for those in debt, and that factor alone had urged Gi-hun to pay off your debts right after meeting and befriending you. 

He felt like his father - there was no denying it -, having disappointed the child in his car and hurt it instead of doing what a father should do - protect it at all cost, make it feel loved. You shaking like a prey faced with its predator spoke volumes of his failure. 

"Is that why you have so many cameras in your room?"

He ignored the question, instead staring you deeply in the eyes, "Whatever happens, don't call that number and don't enter those games."

"Even if he threatened someone I hold dearly?"

Gi-hun hesitated at that, his stare questioning, "Who could he have threatened?" 

And perhaps he held himself too lowly to even imagine himself to be someone you actually genuinely cared about, someone you would do anything in the world for - even enter those games, because knowing that your hesitation had endangered him would be something you couldn't live with for the rest of your pathetic life. 

Then the realisation dawned upon him despite his doubts. "Oh, Y/N..."

You let him take you into his arms and be hugged by him. 

You had speculated what was keeping your father figure up all night and all day, on his toes, always glancing behind him even when he was in his room in the Pink Motel, different theories stringed together, each as probable and realistic as the others to you, for the only clues you had were that he had been on the lookout for someone that had either made him lose something he valued or done something equally terrible to fuel a fire of vendetta in Gi-hun's formerly forgiving spirit. The smoking, which had increased again in the past few days despite your good start, was contributing to your assertion that the search had been stressing him out. And those calls with someone that sometimes visited Gi-hun - as if he was a Don talking to those inferior to him that did his evil bidding. You had checked him for tattoos one day, your search thankfully proving to be fruitless. At least you knew that he wasn't in any gang. 

What you didn't know was that he his fate interwoven with something much worse than gangs.

[smaragdines]

MASTERLIST

Minors, do not interact!

headlock - kang daeho x f!reader

can also be found on Ao3: herosheaven

i. cigarettes and bibimbap

ii. you better bark

iii. and you look half dead half the time

iv. go ahead and cry little girl

v. this weather's bringing it all back again

vi. I just killed a man, she's my alibi

vii. I know who you pretend I am

viii. monitoring you, like machines do

ix. throw a stranger an unexpected smile

x. listen close, follow my instructions

xi. his voice means to deceive you

xii. don't know where you are right now

xiii. through the vent, keeping your composure

xiv. I did it all on no drugs

xv. I did all of this sober

xvi. I did it all for us

xvii. and their violence causes silence

xviii. you know you're better than this

xix. killshot

xx. still with you

xxi. you still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

xxii. if I can't have you, no one can

xxiii. I don't believe any of it

SEASON 3:

i. I'll sink my teeth in disbelief (will be posted after the release of S3)

[smaragdines]

headlock (kang daeho x f!reader)

words: 4.4 k

ii. you better bark

"GI-HUN, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

Concern was lingering in your voice, and for a moment, Gi-hun blinked as if the closing and opening of his eyes would make him wake up from the nightmare-ish hell that he found himself in. Yet, you remained unfazed, as you braided your hair next to him, the green a stark contrast against your innocent skin, while the other players around you woke up and conversed with each other. 

Gi-hun didn't dare to look down on himself, almost as if he knew that he would be faced with the familiar number printed onto the tracksuit. 

You fully turned to him now, your eyes wide and questioning. You wore a soft frown that looked weird on you as you somehow always had a pleasant expression on your face when you looked at him - like he was something you enjoyed directing your gaze too, similar to a painting that had captivated you and would hold onto your attention for a few minutes. He often mistook your admiration for staring, thinking that you saw beneath the layers of skin and knew what he really felt, the melancholy and the depressing thoughts in his head; all swirling and twisting and turning and forming the plan he had been working at to make it come true and now it had worked. He found himself back in the games in order to stop them, but the number 457 printed onto your tracksuit was what made it a nightmare.

"Y/N, whatever happens," he said lowly and if you didn't lean closer to him, you would've overheard his words easily, "listen to what I tell you and don't stray from my side, okay? I can get us out of here." 

You nodded, confusion etched onto your features. "Are you alright, oppa?"

"Yes, yes, I'm —"

He swore he only blinked for one second, but when he opened his eyes again, you were on the floor. 

Sand was lying all around your body, an opened metal tin next to you, and a broken dalgona — precisely, an umbrella — and the needle still held between your thumb and pointer finger. Blood was gushing out of your head, your once sweet face destroyed by the bullet that had pierced through your forehead. The red body liquid flowed down your face, hiding your still opened eyes like a curtain of red. 

His jaw clenched, and then Gi-hun opened his mouth to scream as your dead body was lying in front of him, unmoving, cold, and somehow he felt alone despite the hundreds of people around him that were attempting to carve out their shapes under time pressure. His scream bursted eardrums around him, spit flying out of his mouth, and someone pushed his head to the ground when he tried to scramble to his feet and let his anger out on the guard with the triangle on his mask, his gun still smoking from the bullet he had shot at you. 

His head painfully collided with the sand in a movement that he knew he had experienced before when he had felt the urge to kill his childhood best friend three years ago, and back then he had to watch as Sae-byeok's body was carried into a casket that was too pretty to have someone in there that had been subjected to such violent games.

This time, he screamed and cried and wailed like never before as two guards grabbed onto your lifeless body, your head dangling from side to side from the movement. The casket was too big for your body, he thought, and you would freeze on your own, as you always did. 

Black, neatly-polished shoes stepped into his line of vision, and trailing his eyes upwards, he was met with a geometrical mask, the head of the game's master tilted downwards as if to condescendingly look down at him. A silver gun was aimed at his head, and in that movement he wished that he would just shoot him and put an end to the misery that his life was. 

That way, he wouldn't be alone anymore. A ringing came from somewhere in the distance as if mocking him.

Gi-hun awoke with a scream, drenched in sweat and tears that were wetting his hollow cheeks. He stared at the ceiling, which seemed unfamiliar for a second, but then recognised it, for he had glued a poster of Seoul's underground system onto it to remind himself of his goal every morning when he woke up and just wished that he had died in the rain. 

The ringing continued.

His phone, where was his phone? Which of them? The familiar tune told him that you were calling him, for only you had his private number. It was almost sad how the only incoming calls ever came from you. Not from his mother, his daughter, his friends — hell, what friends? 

Ringing, right. Gi-hun sat on his elbows, groggily looking around. He sniffed and wiped the tears away. He could cry later. You were more important. 

He took the call without looking at the screen of the phone and felt his heart almost drop when you were crying on the other end of the line.

"Oppa," you whined into the telephone, "oppa, Nam-gyu forced me to play a round of poker with some Americans at a club and then someone caught wind of it and talked about it on the street and then there was some fight over drugs and somehow the police stopped the fight and entered the club and they arrested me and some other woman and they took my money and put me in a cell and —"

Only you could get yourself arrested on a Wednesday... night, as he realised when he checked the time. 

"Y/N, talk slower. Where are you?" he said despite the inner turmoil he felt as a consequence of his dream.

"At the police station near Ssangmun-dong. Please," you whispered pitifully, "get me out of here... I have classes tomorrow..."

"I'll be there in half an hour," he said tiredly, "you're not hurt, are you?"

"No, Detective Hwang has given me water and a jacket because I've been thirsty and it's freezing cold here," you explained. 

Gi-hun didn't even know who that was, but nodded along as if you could see him. "Alright. Anything else you need?"

"No, just... can I sleep over at yours?"

"You know I don't like it when you're here, because it's —"

"— dangerous, I know," you said. "Please, oppa. Just this once," you begged. 

And you knew him well enough to understand his loud sigh as him giving in. You squealed on the other end of the line and he could almost see the smile on your face. "See you in a few."

"See you," you joyfully said and ended the call. 

Gi-hun almost regretted agreeing to it, for he knew that you were aware of what you had to say to make him give in. You certainly had him wrapped around your finger. 

With an exhausted grunt, he raised himself to a full sitting position and took a swing of the opened water bottle that sat on his nightstand next to the dozens of phones he owned. Perhaps cleaning the clothes from the floor was proper if you would come over. By cleaning, he understood pushing them under the bed carelessly and throwing the used cigarettes away that were crowding his ashtray. Before leaving, he turned off the lights. 

The police station where he had sought help years ago and had been denied said help greeted him with its cold lights, the police officer sitting behind the main desk looking up with a bored expression on his face. 

"I'm here for Lee Y/N," Gi-hun said. 

"You have to pay the bail first. And I need your ID." 

Gi-hun carelessly handed his ID and what he knew was too much money over. Years ago, he would've tried to talk his way out of paying the bail and nowadays he had no problem with spending dozens of won on you. The officer looked up upon seeing the stacks of bills, and nodded conspicuously as if promising silence on his side. He then left his seat to walk to the cells in the back. 

He emerged with you following him, a black leather jacket loosely hugging your frame, your hair disheveled and your eyeliner smeared across your cheeks. Beneath the jacket, you only wore a pale pink minidress that would send your parents into a coma with how short and tight it was. But what almost sent Gi-hun into a coma were the red bruises around your neck. You shook your head when you noticed his gaze and took the jacket off. 

"Where did Detective Hwang go, Sir?" you asked the police officer that had led you to Gi-hun, your face pulled into an almost sad expression. "He was so kind to me and I couldn't even thank him..."

"I'll give him the message, Miss," said the officer and took the jacket that you took off. "And his jacket. Have a nice night!"

"You too!" you said as if you had been conversing with a hotel's staff and not with an officer after having been incarcerated for hours. Funny how much kindness money could buy you.

You sighed deeply once you let yourself fall into the passenger seat of Gi-hun's Honda, immediately putting your seatbelt on and flipping the sun visor so that you could see the state your face was in through the small mirror. 

Gi-hun sat down too, watching you calmly wipe the smeared eyeliner off of your cheeks as if you hadn't been at the police station. "So what did you actually do?"

"Nothing. They confused me with someone," you lied smoothly. 

"And who could that be?" he asked, instantly catching onto it. 

"I don't know, ask Detective Hwang. I think the crying was what made him take pity on me." 

"You gambled again, didn't you? Nam-gyu didn't force you to do it. You blocked him weeks ago. You went by yourself." 

You turned your head away from him, the side-view mirror suddenly appearing to be more interesting than the interrogation you had to go through. 

Seeing as he wouldn't get anything out of you, he put a hand on your shoulder, "If you don't want to give me an answer, that's okay. But I don't want you to go to Mia-ri on your own. Especially dressed like that."

"There is nothing wrong with the way I dress," you exclaimed, the tone of your voice wobbly. 

"There is nothing wrong with the way you dress. But there is something wrong with men that will get the wrong idea. I don't want you to subject yourself to such dangers."

"Men?"

"Men."

You laughed bitterly, "I wish there were no men in the world."

"Me too," Gi-hun uttered with a small smile. 

You suddenly turned to face him, "But then you wouldn't exist!"

The smile remained on his face, but he looked down at your exposed thighs and thought that you must be freezing in that flimsy piece of cotton. So he exited the car again, went to the trunk, and returned with spare clothes — sweatpants and a sweater —, before handing you both and staying outside to smoke for a bit. Having been granted some privacy, you slipped into the clothes and out of the dress, the comforting smell of a kind of wood and nicotine (you couldn't even believe that you were thinking nicotine was calming, as you normally despised the stench despite having smoked in your past) eloping you like a warm blanket. An old hair tie that you had left behind some weeks ago was in the glovebox and helped you with gathering your hair into a ponytail. 

Once you were done, you didn't signalise it to Gi-hun yet, but instead watched as he resumed smoking outside. You had seen him go through packs of them in days, at least one of them per hour. You didn't want to imagine how many he smoked when he was on his own doing God-knows-what. After you had met him four months ago, he hadn't changed much. But what you had seen was how he would act when he thought you weren't watching him. His face would look so hollow, and his lip would sometimes tremble as if he was at the verge of tears. You didn't know what had happened to him, but the fact that you were aware that you cheered him up massively made you crave being near him. One could call it a hero complex, and perhaps you thought you could save him by lighting his day up, and that was okay because sometimes everyone needed a sunshine in their life. 

————————— 

A YOUNG WOMAN. What was so special about you that Seong Gi-hun kept you around him? Did he want your romantic attention? Or did you want his? The way you always called him "oppa" made it seem that way — even though the term would usually be used between same-aged partners.

What did you have that made Gi-hun not push you away like he had done with everyone around him? Did he see you like a daughter? One that he could actually protect and be around? 

Seong Gi-hun couldn't be the person to hold up a relationship — that was how he had lost his wife and friends in the first place. Maybe that was it. He didn't uphold the relationship. 

You did. You would call him and ask him for help and then you would spend time with him as if you didn't have any friends besides the old melancholic man. Broken Seong Gi-hun. Winner of the 33rd Squid Game. 

Hwang In-ho still couldn't believe nor understand Gi-hun. At the verge of victory, he had asked to stop the game. No one had ever done that. Selfishness was the thing that made people successful. Had Gi-hun's pathetic friend not stabbed himself, both would've went home with nothing and Gi-hun would've been happy about it because he wouldn't have been alone. He would've went home a loser but hand in hand with his childhood best friend Cho Sang-woo. 

Sang-woo had been one of the most cunning contestants the games had ever seen. Had he seen the paintings on the walls? If you were in the games, would you have seen the paintings? 

In-ho didn't have to be there to know that Sang-woo had guessed the Dalgona game. Sang-woo had come up with the trick that had made his team consisting of weak and female players win a game of Tug of War against a team of strong men. Sang-woo had tricked his naive partner in marbles. Sang-woo had pushed the glassmaker. Sang-woo had killed Player 067. And he would've killed Gi-hun if he had been in his place. 

But he didn't because he hadn't been in Gi-hun's place. Gi-hun was so stupidly naive that it hurt In-ho immensely. How could he have thrown away billions of won just for the sake of friendship and humanity? It sounded like a childish fantasy. Like the end of a Disney movie. The power of friendship conquers all, or something like that.

You weren't like Gi-hun. You were like Sang-woo and Player 067 and perhaps Gi-hun saw that too, because he let you in. He let you into his life and even let you manipulate him. 

You hadn't been forced by that druggie to gamble. You had played voluntarily — but not in the way you used to do. You had been sitting there and provoking the other players, all men of course, and luckily for you, someone had called the police (that certain someone had been you) to break up a fight that druggie friend of yours had started and to arrest you and the dealer. You hadn't even won one round. You knew how to win every round. 

You did it to have Gi-hun bail you out of a cell, because of course he would fall for it, and then you would sleep over at his. In-ho wondered if you wanted to seduce him. Were you after his money after all? He thought you were, because he didn't know you. Who wouldn't use a gullible old man to get to his money? Many women had tried it with Oh Il-nam, even with In-ho despite the killing looks he had send their way. 

You were a university student after all. You needed the money — for a new laptop perhaps? Gi-hun had gifted you one of those expensive American ones with the keyboard that lit up against the dark colour of the notebook. To pay off your student loans? Gi-hun had done so behind your back and once you had found out, you had asked him to take the money you wanted to use to pay him back. Gi-hun refused, because of course he did. Gi-hun had even paid the bills for your apartment without you having to ask for it. 

Perhaps you did get affectionate with him like a lover. Gi-hun must've been craving the touch of a woman — even if he didn't seem the type to let someone that could be his daughter into his bed. Did you sleep with him? You certainly were pretty. You looked young. Was Gi-hun into that? Or was it really just platonic? He didn't look at you the way In-ho had looked at his wife. In-ho couldn't place the looks Gi-hun would send you. They were loving, of course, but not the loving you would see from couples. And the way he always gave in to your requests — who would bail someone out of jail in the middle of the night? Only a lunatic would.

Gi-hun must've certainly left a sense of sanity in the arena with Sang-woo's dead body. 

Naturally, once In-ho had caught wind of what Gi-hun was doing once he had found a purpose in life, he had warned his ddakji men. They would avoid the groups of thugs that were searching the train stations in Seoul, and try to recruit people in other places — parking lots, alleyways, red-light districts. It was safe to say that the ddakji man that would usually con people at underground stations was now instead following another target. One that In-ho genuinely wanted to know more of. 

It would be entertaining to see a smart horse in the games again. You would always be nothing but a horse in a sea of other horses that wanted to be much more than what they were, but to see you try and be more than that would certainly entertain In-ho and the VIPs. They would bet on you the way all of them had bet their money on Player 218 — Cho Sang-woo. If you joined the games, the Front Man would ensure that you would get the number 218. For his amusement, of course. You wouldn't die a pathetic death like that North Korean girl 067. You would make it to the last game like horse number 218. 

If you were faced with 456, would you kill him? Or would he even sacrifice himself? Like a good old man should? Let the younger take over. And if In-ho was in the games, would you act around him the way you didn't with Gi-hun? Would you admire him? He didn't even know why, but suddenly you had sparked In-ho's interest. Now he desired to see Seong Gi-hun and you up close. To get to know the horse he had very graciously let into his game and the only cat he had let into his life after the games.

Would Gi-hun manage to warn you of the dangers that lay ahead if you were to join the game? Or would he keep his secrets like the always did? 

In-ho called his most professional ddakji man, a 1,80 meter tall and very handsome man that looked like he could be an actor. He wore his hair in a neat side-part, his face cleanly shaven and his smile calculating — one of his best soldiers. He had been a circle guard and worked his way up the ranks like a good soldier should. When he entered the dimly-lit room, he bowed respectfully. "You asked for me, Sir?"

"Do you have any recent news on Lee Y/N?"

"She is with 456 at the moment, Sir," answered the ddakji man. 

He was one of the dogs In-ho had raised. He wasn't like the horses, for his life wasn't endangered. He was the dog that called the horses. He put a mask on his face and did whatever his master told him. He ran, barked, and wagged his tail for the Front Man. Ddakji man was nothing more than Front Man's dog and In-ho looked down on him for it.

"Good. Do a background check on her. I want to know more about her degree, her inner circle, her family and past. Everything there is." 

"I already did one, Sir," came the immediate reply. In-ho could almost see him wag his tail upon noting his employers' surprise. "She doesn't have many friends besides some acquaintances from her university. She studies medicine in the hopes of becoming a gynecologist. There isn't much about her family — almost as if she never had one."

"A North Korean refugee?"

"She has no accent, Sir. I think she is trying to break free from them."

Hwang In-ho almost laughed, "How terrible can they be?"

"I killed my own father."

Trauma dump on a Thursday morning that In-ho didn't need. 

"Anything else on her past?"

"A history of a nicotine addiction."

"She doesn't smoke nowadays," In-ho noted.

"She stopped when she met 456."

"And the gambling?"

"Not an addiction. She did it to pay her bills and loans."

"Do you deem her a well-fit player?"

Surprised at his superior asking for his personal opinion, ddakji man straightened, an almost arrogant expression covering his face. "I think she would do well - given that she manipulates 456 and seems to be intelligent. She of course has no debt anymore, but that could be arranged, Sir," he answered. 

"Keep your eyes on her. And report to me if you find out anything new on what goes on between her and 456."

You better bark.

"Yes, Sir."

Ddakji man left, running and barking like his master had told him.

—————————

AT FIRST YOU DIDNT RECOGNISE WHAT HUNG FROM THE CEILING.

And when you did, your head shot towards Gi-hun's sleeping figure. He had thrown his blanket off his body, and was lying in a fetal position on his bed. You had fed him with tteobokki you had bought on your way to his — the Pink Motel — which was empty with the exception of you and Gi-hun. Naturally, he had protested, claiming that he was an adult and could feed himself, but you didn't trust him to actually eat the rice cakes that were drenched in gochujang and had neatly cut up green onions sprinkled on top of it. You had even found a cup of ramyeon in one of his cupboards and devoured it with your tteobokki — your favorite combination, as you realised upon tasting the delicacy that any mother would frown upon and call junk food. 

The innocence of seeing your friend sleep didn't match the map of Seoul's train stations that hung above him, nor did it explain the guns you had found in one of the rooms together with what you assumed were billions of won stacked onto a bed. A painting of a lotus flower had nicely hung above it — the only normality about the room. 

Yet, the money had bothered you the most. You knew he used to gamble a few years ago, and once you were a gambler, you sort of always stayed one. You didn't have to sit at a poker table or bet on horses to be a gambler, for Gi-hun would gamble with his life when he went hours without eating or drinking and lived off of his cigarettes. You had seen such habits in him and reoccurring gamblers at clubs and casinos. You thought that maybe he had won the money through a gamble and was attempting to finally rid himself of what one would normally classify as a gamble. Nonetheless, your concern for him grew, for the thought didn't leave you that maybe, just maybe, the money had something to do with the underground of Seoul and the small yellow card that lied on his nightstand. A circle, triangle and square were printed onto it in an almost childish pattern. 

What if the money was directly linked to what had happened to him? You hadn't known him before whatever had happened to him, however you knew that no one came into this world sneaking and smoking their lungs out. One would stumble through life and then gain their footing once they became an adult, still not knowing if they did everything right and what they wanted to be. When you were younger, you knew who you wanted to be. You wanted to be a doctor — to help people. Your inner empath craved the feeling of being useful to those that were in need of your help. 

Now you didn't know what you wanted. And you didn't know if you were doing things right. Did Gi-hun know what he wanted? Did he know that the things he did were right? 

You sat down on the corner of his bed and threw his blanket over him again, his hands automatically accepting the warming fabric you offered his body. Unfortunately, as you assumed he had been unfamiliar with the notion of someone else putting a blanket on his cold body, his eyes flew open, staring straight at you. 

"Sleep. I just couldn't fall asleep yet," you said warmly. 

Gi-hun grunted once he recognised your face. "Don't you have classes?"

You giggled, "In three hours I'll have to get going..."

"I remember why I hated school," he grumbled lazily. 

"I can wing it. All-nighters are easy when I have caffeine intus."

"You can't live off of caffeine."

"You can't live off of nicotine."

Gi-hun was silent at that, looking for words to counter your argument, and failed at doing so. 

"And now you're silent because you know I'm right," you added pettily. 

"Smart-ass... come here."

"What?"

"Come here." 

Gi-hun patted the empty space next to him. 

You obliged, left a respectful distance between each other, and thanked him when he threw one end of his blanket over you. 

"Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Gi-hun."

And if you overslept your first class that day, that was okay because Gi-hun didn't smoke as much as he usually did when the two of you woke up.

[smaragdines]

headlock (kang daeho x f!reader)

words: 4.1 k

i. cigarettes and bibimbap

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"It was a dream. Think of it that way."

After those muttered words, escaping the mouth of the person that had been the reason for the unaliving of four-hundred and fifty-five people with friends, with families, with lives - and Gi-hun would never know all of their stories besides fragments of Sang-woo's -, nothing had felt real. All seemed to be a dream, his vision, his hearing, his smelling, all appeared to be packed in cotton wool. An invisible wall between Gi-hun and those continuing to live their lives. 

A normal Wednesday morning. People going to work. A crowded underground station.

In Seoul lived ten million people, yet it had never felt as empty. Or perhaps the emptiness was eating Gi-hun alive. No one else seemed to suffer around him - strangers laughing, talking, and living. He suddenly despised loud noises for they overstimulated his brain.

He had no one. His daughter? On the other side of the world. His mother? Dead. Died alone. His best friend? Killed himself. Sang-woo could've went home with Gi-hun. Poor but happy, but instead had chosen to make Gi-hun rich but sad. 

At least that was the only word that came to his mind. Sad, was that what it felt like? What was he sad about?  The deaths? The game makers winning? Was he pitying himself and his loss of innocence? Or was he sad because he was left alone on this world? The way he was born, alone, and would eventually die, alone too. 

Wednesday evening, and the conversation with Oh Il-nam still haunted his mind, as did the things that the man in the car had told him. Calling him a horse - a horse that, despite no advantage when compared to the other horses, had survived. One out of four hundred and fifty-six. He had entered the games with less than a quarter of one precent of a chance. Lucky, perhaps he had been lucky all along. Lucky for not suffering from whichever demons had driven Sang-woo to suicide. Lucky for winning the money. Lucky for being dumb Seong Gi-hun.

Wednesday dusk, and Mister Kim would report that their search for ddakji man had been unsuccessful again. His men had roamed the subway station as ordered, checking any salesman with a briefcase - yet none seemed to be him. None conned innocent people into a deathly game as ddakji man had. 

Wednesday night, and he had been craving ramyeon more than ever before. The smell of gochujang lingered in his nose as he devoured the tteokbokki flavoured noodles in a corner of the convenient store. 

He half-forced and half-stuffed the noodles into his mouth, as he had felt dizzy all of a sudden, the malnutrition having caught up with him. One might call it an obsession, and maybe that was the exact thing that it was, but Gi-hun couldn't care less what someone thought of his behaviour, as he was trying to save thousands of lives. He was trying to play the hero - not for rewards or admiration or anything. 

It felt more akin to a personal vendetta - the deep urge to get vengeance for all of the lives that had been lost at the hands of the men in pink tracksuits. Vengeance for the guilt Gi-hun was living with. Vengeance for the blood money that had been safely secured in a bank account for a whole year and was now towering on top of a bed in the Pink Motel - which he had brought with a fraction of aforementioned money. The drawing of a pink flower hanging above the bed was innocent enough if it weren't for the stack of bills right beneath it. 

Somehow the picturesque scenery was haunting Gi-hun, even as he ate his ramyeon, multiple kilometers away from the motel. 

A couple of young adults entered the convenient store, their voices vibrant and so full of life that Gi-hun felt jealousy rise in his throat. When he turned around to scan them, suddenly caring about the people surrounding him, his eyes fell upon a man that had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his lower face pulled into a grimace that reminded the middle-aged man of Freddie Mercury. He was stepping left and right around you, occasionally poking your shoulder as if to get your attention. He didn't realize that he was being watched.

However, you, his entourage, did. 

You turned so suddenly, the impact of your movement making your hair almost backhand your companion, and you stared at Gi-hun. Your makeup was subtle, a sleek eyeliner and mascara as well as soft blush and a lipgloss as shiny as water, and the gloss moved underneath your lips as you sent Gi-hun a kind smile as if you hadn't just caught him staring like a creep. 

Your companion whispered something to you upon noticing Gi-hun too, which you immediately brushed off. You mumbled something that caused him to scoff loudly and suck his upper lip over his front teeth in an almost comical way. 

Having been caught, Seong Gi-hun turned back to his ramyeon, which suddenly tasted even worse. He dumped the rest of the noddles into a trash can, gathered his cigarettes and left the store. Smoking had become more of a habit than before the games, and he would feel strangely connected to Sang-woo each time he lit a cancer stick, the nicotine calming him as if he knew that his smart best friend was next to him and would figure out the next steps for him. Thus, when he had stepped outside and stuffed a cigarette into his mouth, his mood worsened upon discovering that he had left his lighter somewhere. Internally, he debated whether he should go back inside and buy an overpriced lighter.

He almost scoffed. Even when he was swimming in money, he still couldn't bring himself to buy expensive things. The mindset of a poor, desperate man had never left him - the same way ddakji man hadn't. 

"Do you need a lighter?"

Had you approached the Gi-hun before the games, he would've flinched. He didn't, and turned to you, your entourage nowhere to be seen.

He just nodded in response, not expecting you to whip out one with Hello Kitty printed on the plastic around the lighters' body. You held it at him like a gun, making an almost noiseless "pow!"-sound before holding it out to him, your lips curled upwards. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, nodding at you as if adding more weight to his gratefulness. 

"You didn't finish your ramyeon, Sir," you then said, your head not turned to him anymore and instead watching something in the far distance. "They don't taste as well on their own. You need to add protein and some greens. I enjoy a hard-boiled egg and some coriander sprinkled on top. Helps soothe the burn and satisfies the body for a longer period of time."

He didn't know why you were talking when he appeared to not be listening at all, almost caught up in a trance as his shaky hand lit the cigarette lowly hanging from his mouth. The first exhale was shaky and uncontrolled, as if giving a desperate man water for the first time in his life. 

Still, you continued: "You should really check out that restaurant right around his corner -," you gestured in a direction, "they spice up your ramyeon really well for fair prices -"

Interrupting your rant, the door opened again and your companion stepped out, a glass bottle of soju held between his upper arms and chest, "You've already robbed an old man! One is enough for a night - or are you trying to eat ramyeon with him -?" 

You threw an empty plastic bottle in his direction, which didn't even remotely fly near him, and sheepishly turned to Gi-hun. "Don't listen to him. He does drugs."

"And she gambles," your entourage said. 

Gi-hun's eyes suddenly fell upon the bag you carried around - small, black, and rectangular and it appeared to be full of something. Full of money perhaps? 

"Gambling is a bad addiction," he uttered drily, taking an inhale of nicotine before blowing it away, carefully directing the smoke so it didn't blow into your pretty face. 

You tilted your head to the side, a smirk on your face, "Like smoking?"

And for the first time in God-knows-how-long, Gi-hun chuckled, low and not for a long period of time, but he did and that fact surprised him. "Yes," he admitted, "like smoking." 

"Then why should I listen to a smoker?" 

Your tone wasn't rude, it was more curious than anything else, innocent, and perhaps there was a lilt of an argumentative note swinging in your voice. Was this what it felt like to argue with a teenager? Was this what Gi-hun would've talked about with his daughter if he had taken the plane to Los Angeles? He blinked, as he wondered if you would talk to your father the same way you did right now. Did the malnutrition go into his head, messing with his brain to make him think things like that? Also, had he been so deprived of normal, detached from any non-business-concerning-the-games conversation that he started overthinking everything? He wanted to ask if he even seemed like a normally functioning human, but couldn't bring himself to utter any words like that.

"I could stop smoking right now," he decided to say.

"And I can stop gambling, Sir. I know when to stop," you replied, ignoring the man you had come with. 

He was rolling over the soles of his feet, back and forth, while keeping his attention on you in a way that even made Gi-hun feel uncomfortable. Why would you walk around at night with such a creepy companion? 

"When do you stop?" 

When would the games stop? 

"When I know that I have no chance of winning."

Another exhale, his eyes were squinting at your face, which was only visible due to the bright light of the convenience store shining at you. Were you even over eighteen? "When do you have no chance of winning?"

"When my calculations say so," you explained cryptically. 

"Fucking genius," your entourage muttered before raising a hand and for a second Gi-hun thought he'd hit you, but instead he ruffled your hair and messed up the carefully styled curtain bangs that had framed your face. 

"I calculate my chances. Wouldn't wanna be ripped off by a man," you specified for the man you didn't know. 

"Instead you rip 'em off," Gi-hun said.

"Only the really rich ones," you corrected. "I wouldn't want to drive a gambler into a deeper misery."

Oh, you would've ripped off Gi-hun in another life. 

"So you only rip off those that deserve it?" he wondered, not expecting you to continue conversing with a depressed old man.

"No, I rip off those that can handle it."

"Their egos can't handle it," your entourage said, almost joyfully. 

"Because they're men. You couldn't handle it either when I won my first round against you, Nam-gyu."

"That was one time!"

"That's what they all say."

Almost insulted, he pulled a face at that, holding the soju tighter to himself. "I'll wait in the hallway."

"You sure as hell won't sleep over in my apartment."

Now actually insulted, Nam-gyu held out the soju, "I brought this!"

"I'm not a politician," you commented on the attempted bribery. "Go to your own home or back to the club." 

Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest so tightly that Gi-hun almost worried about the bottle of soju still held by him. But then the young man scoffed loudly and turned on his heel, walking into the darkness of the empty street. 

"He can handle it," you told Gi-hun upon noticing his expression. 

"Is he your friend?" he inquired, taking another drag of his cigarette - again, carefully directing the smoke away from you and when you noticed, he saw that your eyes shone brightly. 

"Acquaintance," you corrected. "He works at the club where I make money."

"Where you make money by gambling?"

Sensing what he was subtly asking, you nodded energetically. "Yes, only gambling. Do you have any experience in it?"

"Do I look like it?"

You tilted your head to the side, your lips pressed onto each other in thought as you took in his obsidian clothes that were matching the colour of his hair. "You look like you might be acquainted with gambling - the legal kind. Horse betting perhaps?"

Gi-hun tilted his head to take a closer look at your youthful face, and he couldn't help but notice, when his eyes strayed over your appearance, that you wore an aviator jacket that was sitting loosely on your body. It was made of actual dark brown leather, as he realized upon further inspection, and the inside had a beige fluffy teddy material that rubbed against your neck. Some of your hair had been captured under the jacket when you had thrown it on, other strands were dangling down. He couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity displayed as you wore a piece of clothing that clearly wasn't your size and had perhaps been left behind to you by a relative. 

After his mother's death, the middle-aged man had worn her cardigans in the hopes of basking in her familiar smell, and despite the fact that he had been wearing the wool out, he had worn it until the smell had faded into nothingness - as had her face. The only thing that reminded him of his past life was the memory of her voice, her smell, even her food and the way that she would always lovingly give him more garlic than herself, for she knew had known that he loved garlic. How could he forget her face then? He had seen it for over four decades, yet it had left his mind. 

He didn't even know why the melancholy was suddenly rising inside of him, blocking his throat as if he was on the verge of tears. Was it because you reminded him of people he knew that had left him long ago? Or was it how you talked - as if he was a normal human being and not the "trash of the world," as the leader of the games had insinuated. He was Gi-hun, not the broken man. Seong Gi-hun, not the billionaire. Gi-hun, the normal man he had always wanted to be.

Instead of letting his emotions get the upper hand, he reminded himself to continue the conversation: "Now what do you know about horse racing, young lady?"

"Not much," you admitted, stuffing your freezing hands into the pockets of your jacket, "I don't like putting my faith into the hands- or rather, hooves of another."

Again, Gi-hun's mouth twitched in amusement, the melancholy he had felt only a few second ago having evaporated into thin air. "I used to bet on horses," he said as to keep the conversation going, his head turning to the empty street ahead of you.

"See, horse betting is an interesting thing, Sir, for it can serve as an allegory for capitalism. You know how some YouTubers make videos where they let some poor people compete and have only one come out as the winner? And then people can bet on who will win? We are the rich people's horses. Other rich people bet on us to win, because someone must win and it's fun to leave it up to chance whether your horse wins or not. It's very popular among American YouTubers," you explained, being encouraged by his thoughtful silence. "I think it's barbaric though. Why rub it into our faces that we will never have the upper hand? We're horses in a sea of horses. What makes us so special that we hope to win? Because we think we're deserving of it? Would that mean that we say our life is more miserable than others, thus make us deserving of it? But, chances that we win are so low, so why should we follow the horse betting system when we could become the ones that change the system? Because to them, we will never be anything else than horses." 

Gi-hun almost gaped at your explanation, but caught himself instantly, "That's a very philosophical and very..." 

"- anti-capitalist," you said.

"Yes, a very anti-capitalist take. Do you study philosophy and politics?"

"I don't need to study those to understand that our world is shitty, Sir," you said, giving him a bitter smile. 

"You're young and the world is wide," Gi-hun uttered.

"You're talking as if you're on the death bed... although, if you smoke another cigarette, you might be one step closer to it."

He lowered the fresh cigarette that he had held between his fingers, the old one having been empty of nicotine already. 

"Didn't you say you could stop smoking right now?" you continued and the man didn't know if he wanted to laugh or be insulted.

"If I stopped smoking, then you should stop gambling."

You took a step forward and took the cigarette from his hands, stuffing it between your lips. When he merely stared at you with an open mouth, you gestured towards your lighter that was clutched between his fingers. "Bills don't pay themselves on their own," you muttered, and exhaled a shaky breath when he had lit the cancer stick for you. Once your middle and pointer finger took it from your mouth, there was residue of your pink gloss staining the paper. "If you're offering to be my sugar daddy, I would acquiesce that offer."

Gi-hun found himself blushing - gosh he couldn't remember that ever happening before -, and stuttered out whichever words came to his mind first: "I m-mean, I could help you out financially... I have some money to spare."

He didn't mention that it was bloody money, which he didn't use for any selfish reasons, but instead to fight those that had given it to him.

"Good one," you said, stubbing the cigarette out on a lamp post. "I guess you'll stay a smoker and I a gambler."

You stuffed your hands back into your warming pockets, sending him a warm smile as if thinking that it was the last time you'd see him. 

Watching you departing felt weird, Gi-hun realised, for he mulled over how you had lifted his spirit, made him feel as if the weight of the world was not burdening him. He thought that he wouldn't meet anyone like that ever again - after all, who desired to hang out with an old melancholic horse? 

He followed you, taking large strides with his long legs, and gently put a hand on your shoulder. 

You turned around immediately. "So you wanna stop smoking, huh?"

"Yes- I, err, no, - I... I didn't even ask for your name...," he stuttered out, the courage suddenly leaving him. He knew what picture he portrayed - a man asking a girl for her name. Ha! He would be lucky if she didn't mistake the interest for bland flirtation.

"Lee Y/N, Sir," you told him, "what's yours?"

"Seong Gi-hun. Nice to meet you."

"Seong? Your last name is 'last name'?" you asked, that already familiar smile forming on your lips. 

"Funny coincidence, right?" Gi-hun said awkwardly.

"If it cheers you up, I have one of the most common last names so people always ask me if I'm related to someone. Who knows, maybe I once crossed paths with a relative and flirted with them?"

Your macabre sense of humour did cheer him up, as he matched the joyful expression on your face.

"You don't have the face of someone that smiles a lot," you mentioned then. "And you didn't finish your ramyeon back in the store," you repeated the second thing you had told him that night.

Had he? It suddenly felt like he had eaten those noodles ages ago.

"I have some leftovers that I can throw together to make bibimbap. Do you want to join me for belated dinner, Seong Gi-hun-ssi?"

He raised his eyebrows at your apparent naivety. "I could be a murderer."

"Then it's a good thing I know how to defend myself."

Out of all the things Gi-hun had imagined to see at your apartment, it hadn't been a man sleeping on your doormat. 

Nam-gyu, the man that had pestered you inside and outside the convenient store right around the corner of your apartment, was snuggling with the half-empty bottle of soju, his hair covering his sleeping face, and his snoring had been so loud that one of your neighbours had stuck her head out and scolded you before her eyes fell upon Gi-hun, and he wanted the floor to swallow him whole when your neighbour pulled a disgusted face before slamming the door to her apartment shut.

"Hey, Nam," you said, your foot pushing the sleeping man's legs slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh?" whispered the drunk, his voice groggy and his eyes small. 

"I told you not to come here. Did you not listen to me?" you asked calmly.

"Uh huh," he mumbled sleepily before suddenly sitting upright. "The floor is not very nice..."

"Why are you here?" you interrogated him, not bothering with helping him stand up. 

"I was worried about you —"

"Bullshit," you cut him off. "But now that you're here anyways, you can have some food with us... you scrounger." 

"You know I love your cooking," Nam-gyu commented as he raised himself back on his feet and shot Gi-hun a look. "What's the old man doing here?"

"He's my sugar daddy. So if you wanna stay the night, I recommend you use your headphones."

At that, Nam-gyu pulled a disgusted face that resembled your neighbours and you giggled to yourself as you opened the door to let a dizzy Nam-gyu and an embarrassed Gi-hun inside. You ordered both to take off their shoes before you took off into the kitchen. 

Your apartment was small, Gi-hun thought, and you didn't own many shelves, trinkets or pictures. Only one - of your parents. On the first look, he spotted that you were a copy of your mother, the same stunning bone structure and innocent smile that lit up the whole room. Did they know that their daughter was gambling to make a living? 

You sat both down in what he guessed was your living room and bedroom at the same time, a short couch and loveseat offering three seats exactly for you and your visitors and you brought both of them a cup of tea before entering the kitchen again and turning on the stove. 

"So you're rich, huh?" Nam-gyu asked Gi-hun, while he was blowing air onto his tea as to aid its cooling process. He had folded his legs on the couch as if he wasn't in your apartment for the first time. 

"She was exaggerating," Gi-hun muttered, keeping his eyes on the kitchen door frame, almost longingly staring at it as if you would pop out of it immediately. 

But you didn't, because you were preparing food. Maybe he should've went home. 

"What does she see in an old man then?" continued the interrogation of Gi-hun.

Gi-hun just sighed deeply, sensing that Nam-gyu would relentlessly question him. Turning his head to the young man that tried to hide his overbite by sucking his upper lip over his protruding teeth, Gi-hun wondered if Nam-gyu was your boyfriend - mayhaps, he had judged too quickly and taken your body language as a clear rejection of Nam-gyu. After all, he had been clinging to you like a lost puppy, or a child that had lost their mother in a grocery store and after finding her, was not straying from her side. 

"Are you jealous?" he chose to ask the young man. 

"Of a frail man? No, not really."

Were all young people this disrespectful nowadays? 

You entered the room again, balancing three steaming bowls on your hands and arms, and you nodded when Gi-hun thanked you for the bibimbap you had thrown together. Warm rice was the base with various steamed vegetables neatly assorted around it - paprika, zucchini, carrots, and you had even added mushrooms and thinly sliced chicken strips. On top was an egg, the yolk yellow and beautifully runny. 

He noted that Nam-gyu didn't thank you, nor did he even wait for you to sit down and instead already dug into his food. 

You gave Gi-hun a smile before gesturing towards his bowl. Of course, he was the oldest - he had to start. When had he been the oldest at a dinner table besides back when he used to live with his daughter and ex-wife? 

There was something peaceful about eating food that someone else had cooked for him, even if it could never match his mother's skills, but he felt the love that had went into the meal and at a time where his obsessive behavior had been controlling every part of his life, something akin to a friendship was healing.