mashed-brainrot

[mashed-brainrot]

AHHH your comments make me blush teeheeeee 🩷

sorry for teasing you when i released chapter one, hope this made up for the wait 😮‍���

──𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 [𝐈𝐈]

❝ every movement hurts. when you arch your back, the stitches pulse in sync with your cunt. you don’t know if you’re moaning from pain or pleasure—everything blurs into a sensation that makes you feel alive. ❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, fix-it fic, smut WORD COUNT: 8.5K WARNINGS: slight squid game spoilers! SMUT, p in v sex, hyun-ju has a penis, AFAB reader, reader has scars and injuries, descriptions of needles and wound stitching, vaginal fingering, reader has masochistic tendencies, reader is a bit feral and hyun-ju tries tame her, injury play (mild), blood kink, sex with feelings, bathroom sex, orgasm via penetration, creampie, happy ending :')

NOTES: this chapter took longer than expect whoops. no beta we die like virgins. anyways, here's the long awaited bathroom sex scene.

✩ CHAPTER ONE | | CHO HYUN-JU MASTERLIST

The alarm is sudden, screeching in your ears like an emergency siren.

The guards come filing into the maze quickly after the timer runs out. They appear like ghosts from secret passageways, guns in their hands aimed ahead of them. 

You and Hyun-ju part away from each other with your hands up just as two guards block the entrance of the hallway with their guns raised. The rest of the guards scatter to fill the maze, gunshots already firing.

You're aware of the mismatched number that you're wearing. Your heart pounds, blood dripping down your side is slow rivulets.

“Exchanging vests in the middle of the game is against the rules,” a circle guard says, their gun raised to your head. 

You exchange a side-ways glance at Hyun-ju, your stomach twisting into knots. A harsh I told you so sits heavy on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. There’s no point in arguing now. At least the other three had a chance to escape. Hopefully they did. 

If you die here, at least you died protecting those who deserved to live. You're no longer a glorified lapdog to an overachieving Russian crime boss. No contracts. No debt. No more back stabbing and blood feuds that have nothing to do with you.

At least your last kiss is with someone you care about. You hope that Hyun-ju feels the same sentiment.

A radio beeps. A monotone voice rings through. “Do not execute Players 120 and 249. Return them to the dormitory.”

Your heart stalls in your chest. Hyun-ju looks just as perplexed as you. 

Without objection, the guards lower their weapons.

That simple, huh? you thought bitterly. 

“Follow us,” one of the guards says, before turning on their heels. 

You walk slowly from one of the hidden doors that the guards came from. The hallway splits open to a white passageway that leads back to the colorful stairs that connect to every room in this place. You focus all of your energy into putting one foot in front of the other. The muscle cramps combined with the stab wound make it hard to do so, however. 

All of the exertion you put your body through catches up to you. Blood seeps through your side in steady streams. Your vision blurs with each limp up the stairs. You’re simultaneously hot and cold all over, your body feeling numb, your eyes closing for a second too long—

You would’ve tripped down the stairs if it weren’t for Hyun-ju staying close beside you. Her arms were quick to catch you, pulling you upright. Pain erupts from your side, hissing through your teeth at the sensation. 

You let out a ragged exhale. “Everything hurts, fuck.” 

“We need to keep going,” a guard says in their steady, monotone voice. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood!” she barks at the masked guards. “She needs medical attention, can’t you see that?”

One of the guards with a circle on its mask walks up to the two of you. They crouch down to move your hand out of the way to inspect the damage. After a few moments, they retrieve the walkie-talkie from their belt. 

“Player 249 received a stab wound to the abdomen, should we administer treatment?” the guard asks. 

The radio beeps before a voice comes through from the other end. “Does she require hospitalization?”

“If you give me some alcohol, needle, thread, and gauze, I can do it myself,” you groan. “Won’t take too long.”

“She says she can do it herself with given medical equipment,” the guard relays. “Do we proceed?”

The person on the other end doesn’t respond immediately. 

Hyun-ju takes off her vest and keeps pressure against your side. It’s hard to keep your eyes open. 

Seconds ticked by before the radio beeps again. 

“Give her the supplies she needs. Take them to the bathrooms, away from other players.”

— — —

The bathrooms are empty as the two of you walk in.

The medical kit the guards give you looks a bit more sophisticated than a simple first-aid kit. It comes with full bottles of various anti-septic solutions, rolls of gauze, needles, and various medical instruments. Forceps, scalpel, scissors—basically enough to perform minor surgery on you if need be.

A sticky note is attached to the top. In neat Chinese characters written in red ink you read: 

To my favorite killer and Player. I spent a lot of money on you and would hate to see it go to waste. 

At the very bottom of the note is a stamped insignia of a peony blossom with delicate flourish surrounding it like a halo.

You click your tongue in disapproval.  

“Who’s it from?” Hyun-ju asks, peering over your shoulder, reading the handwriting. 

“Old connection from China,” you reply with a clipped tone.

The woman who wrote the note—and likely vetted for the two of you to live—is the only person you would consider to be a demon among men. Heartless. Cruel. Cunning. A woman who had no trouble killing her own parents to accelerate her claim of inheritance. She held power between her ruby-encrusted nails and harbored homicide in her heart. The only two reasons she would've kept you alive is to win any bets she may have placed on you and to have you repay her later. Whatever that might entail.

The note doesn’t just serve as a saving grace for your troubles, it’s also the hardest confirmation that the games aren’t just a means to exterminate the poor and to feed the blood lust of the guards. 

You were bet on like the race horse—and by the looks of it, on winning the games.

“Why would they be here?”

“Think about it,” you say, limping further into the bathroom until you reach the furthest sink. “Why would anyone go through the trouble of rigging this whole thing up?"

Hyun-ju shrugs. "To kill people, I suppose."

"Let me rephrase that. Why would you play hide and seek, mingle, or ddakji?” you ask.

Hyun-ju pauses mid-stride, an uneasy feeling settling in her chest. “For entertainment.”

You snap your finger in approval. “For entertainment. That’s what we are to them, and apparently to my old friend from China.”

You spit the word friend like it’s acid.

The underworld stretches far, embeds itself into every facet of society—especially the part of society where the richest and most elite people gather. These people are sub-human. No warmth, or trust, or safety could be found there—nothing to sustain any friendly relationship. You've spent the better part of ten years serving those very people, catering to their blood lust, helping them secure their power with the end of your blade and the barrel of your gun. They may shelter you, give you luxurious gifts, and take you under their wing, but they hold a tight leash on you, shackling and suffocating like you were just a dog.

You hope to get rid of their influence once in for all. To stop bathing in blood and breaking every bone in your body just to survive. You want to live your life. To carry out your childhood dreams of living in a nice house, going to bed with a full stomach, and never having a weapon wherever you go. Living in ignorance of all the horrors of the world. Safe. Happy. Loved.

When you left New York, hope blossomed in your chest. Finally, you would live without a collar held tight around your throat.

All of that seems too naive to dream about in retrospect. You should've known how deep the crime world had seeped into your bones.

Your old boss wanted to keep you by your side, even after you repaid any debt to him. Viggo Tarasov didn't want to give you any freedoms outside of work. It meant giving you pennies of real world currency so that you had to rely on him for food, for shelter, for clothes—all so that you felt dependent on him. It never truly worked. The both of you knew that you were the reason he had any sort of power to begin with. He may be your boss, but you lacked any true loyalty towards him. He feared you for that.

You may have walked out of New York with the blood of a hundred men flowing through the streets, but you left without any real sense of what to do next. It became clear to you just how reckless and foolish you really were.

Your apartment was seized and any money you managed to scrape up was taken. All that was left was a ticket to Incheon you kept in a personal safe at the Continental hotel—the only place that was a haven from violence.

You arrived in South Korea with nothing. In your daze and desperation, a man with a briefcase, charming smile, and two colored squares asked you to play ddakji.

In the end, you won ₩300,000. Barely enough to cover any living expenses in a foreign country.

You agreed to join the games, even though you knew that no one would go around giving money without a price.

"Let's just get this over with," you say bitterly.

You toss the med kit into the sink before peeling away the first layer of clothing. As you pull your arms up, you felt the tear in your body throb, the skin threatening to split further. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to continue.

Whatever straight-faced composure Hyun-ju told herself to keep was thrown out the window the moment you started to undress. With a wince, you discarded the green jacket and stained t-shirt to the side, not bothering to see where they landed.

Hyun-ju is deeply aware of how serious the situation is. 

You were stabbed—thankfully not fatal—but you were still heavily injured. You could barely stand upright.

But she couldn’t stop herself from eyeing you down. Your sweaty skin was illuminated under the harsh glow of the bathroom lights. You heaved in deep breaths, emphasizing your bra-covered chest as you did so. Her eyes traveled down the length of your body, seeing all of the bruises, cuts, and scars that were there.

Each mark along the canvas of your skin had a story behind it. Someone did that to you and you killed them for it. Hyun-ju can practically visualize the mountain of people you laid to rest. It's hard to grapple with someone as ruthless of a killer as you could be so...human. She'd always imagined such people to be cold-hearted and devoid of emotion. The movies painted hitmen as villainous creatures with no sense of humanity left within. She realized now that the movies weren't entirely truthful.

Hyun-ju has seen that ruthless side of you. The way your eyes darken and all hesitation leave your body the moment your knife meets flesh.

She's also seen you cry as you hold a newborn in your hands. Broken, shakable, so out of your element and overcome with emotion that you silently wept.

It's hard to grapple with the dichotomy of you. A seasoned killer with a body count that exceeds most soldiers out in deployment and a woman who can look so feeble and wrecked when the people she cares about are in danger.

Finally, Hyun-ju sees the mess of blood along your side and the wound that caused it. 

It’s deep. The layers of muscle split open with a pool of blood resting inside. Hyun-ju is no stranger to battle wounds, but it didn’t mean she was desensitized to them. She winces at the sight. Her nose slightly scrunched and her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“At least the bleeding stopped,” you mutter harshly, unzipping the medical kit. “Not too deep I hope?”

Hyun-ju bends slightly to get a better look. “I wouldn't call it shallow."

"I stopped the blade from completely going in. He wasn't very strong," you chuckle.

"There's a lot of blood. Are you going to pass out on me?”

You gave her a shake of your head, uncapping the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You dump a bit directly on the wound, letting out a string of curses as you did so. Hyun-ju takes the bottle from your hand and shakes her head. 

“If you’re going to do this, at least be a bit strategic with cleaning,” she says, taking a small cloth and soaking it with the alcohol. “Sit up on the sink so I can get a better look.”

You did as you were told, though the stiffness in your arms made it difficult to do so without saying fuck repeatedly. You sit awkwardly at the edge of the sink, trying not to cave your body inward to minimize the pain. 

There's been many times where you found yourself in a less than ideal setting in order to treat wounds. A back-alley doctor would have you sitting on a stained chair with an IKEA lamp overhead and a rustic tray with packaged surgical supplies thrown haphazardly.

If anything, sitting uncomfortably on a sink in a clean bathroom is a much better setup than what you're accustomed to.

Hyun-ju presses the soaked gauze firmly at your side, feeling you jolt at the contact. You let out a slew of curses in languages Hyun-ju can’t decipher. With as much care as she could, Hyun-ju cleans the wound, wiping away the dried bits of blood around the area. You watch her brows dip in focus as her hand passes over the wound again and again.

You inhale sharply through your nose. “I can do this myself, y'know.”

“I don’t trust that you can do this yourself,” she says, pulling the cloth away to retrieve gloves and suture supplies. “Do you even have medical training?”

The beat of silence was enough of an answer. “Do you?”

Hyun-ju throws the dirty gauze into the sink before she snaps the gloves to her hands. She opens the package for the threaded needle, replying: “My mother was a nurse. I went into medical school, but during my mandatory military service I pivoted careers."

While you tend to close wounds with your bare hands gripping a straight-edge needle, Hyun-ju uses forceps, tweezers, and a curved needle—much like those back-alley doctors you would frequent. Her hands are precise as she places each stitch starting from the center. She goes deep into the wound where the fat and muscle meet. Your teeth press firmly as the needle makes it first pass.

"Was it hard? To switch careers like that?" you ask with a wince.

Hyun-ju shakes her head. "I think I knew deep down that medical school wasn't for me. I had a lot of conflicting feelings about my identity back then and it affected my performance at school. When I went into the military, I hoped it would…fix me. Turns out being around a bunch of misogynistic men twenty-four seven is really bad for your dysphoria."

"Oh, I'm…sorry you had to deal with that."

"It's fine, really." Hyun-ju lets out a weathered sigh, pausing her work. There's a distant look on her face. "Sometimes I catch myself missing my old life. On one hand, I was miserable, but at least I had people to lean back on. I had a good job, I had friends, and I still had my parents' support. I'd always wondered how different my life would've been if I had kept all of those things when I came out. I think about what my life would've been like if I never had my gender dysphoria at all. I hated myself for a long time because of it. A part of me still does."

You're quiet for a moment. It wasn't part of your training to learn to be empathetic. How to comfort someone when they've given you complex trauma or how to say the right things to ease the tension.

Some of the things she said you couldn't really comprehend. You've never been to school. You've always been on your own, even at a young age, so you don't know what it's like to have support. Medical school and military service were almost abstract in nature. Civilian things that you never had the chance to concern yourself with.

But you know what it's like to hate parts of yourself. To wish for things to be different.

"They're missing out on having a good person in their lives," you say. "Don't waste your energy on stupid people who let their ignorance cloud their perception of you. I know my opinion doesn't mean much, but you're easily the most interesting person I've met."

Hyun-ju's face is tinged pink, a bit surprised at your words. "Interesting?" she repeats.

You shrug. "Well, I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you," you correct, to which Hyun-ju's face flushed brighter. "Then you took charge during the rebellion. I never really got the chance to be good. I was conditioned since I was young to be ruthless and I learned to have no regard for human life, not even my own. I've done terrible, terrible things. I thought I was incapable of change. But you gave me the opportunity to be selfless. I realized I still have a bit of charity left in me to be fighting a losing battle for others. You changed a bit of how I saw myself."

The bathroom is silent, your words hanging in the air as Hyun-ju processed what you said.

Her eyes turned a bit glassy, her eyes narrowing a bit as if she didn't believe you. "You think so…highly of me."

Without a beat, you affirm: "I do."

"You thought I was beautiful?" Hyun-ju asks, quieter.

"I'll always find you beautiful," you say without hesitation. "Especially now."

Hyun-ju breaks out in a smile. It never fails to make your heart falter in its pace.

She picks up where she left off—finishing the first round of stitches before working on suturing the top layers of your skin. You watched her work, trying your hardest to remain still.

With the last stitch in place, you let out a sigh of relief. The skin already itches and pulls taut whenever you move. The adrenaline in your system dwindles down, making the pain more apparent. 

You hum in approval. “Looks better than how I do it. One time I had to light the bottom of a fork and cauterize the wound so I could keep fighting.”

“A fork?” she asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I closed a bullet hole with a hot kettle once,” you say, pointing to a circular scar on your hip with a jagged edge. “A doctor had to dig out the bullet afterwards. Healing that was a bitch.” 

Hyun-ju scoffs. “So what you’re telling me is that if I hadn’t taken over, you wouldn't know how to close the wound properly?”

You lean back against the mirror, raising your hands in mock surrender. “All I’m saying is that I survived this long with my half-baked medical skills. But thank you anyways. Hurts a lot less when you do it.”

“I wonder why,” she muses, yanking the gloves off her hands and putting away all the supplies. Hyun-ju stands to her full height, her bare hand reaching to cup your injured face. “Are you still dizzy?”

You lean into her touch. The sink isn’t comfortable by any means, the porcelain digs into your ass and your legs are tense to keep yourself from falling. It’s still worth it because your legs are parted just enough for Hyun-ju to stand between them. 

You wonder how she sees you now. Dirty, blood stained skin, black and blue from all the injuries. Completely unappealing by anyone’s standards. 

Hyun-ju holds your face like it’s the last time she ever will. She looks at you like you’re everything to her. 

“If I say yes, would you give me a kiss?” you ask softly. 

Hyun-ju rolls her eyes with a small smile on her face. "You don't have to be dizzy for me to kiss you."

Hyun-ju presses closer, her hips just barely grazing yours. Your head tilts back until it hits the mirror behind you. 

The obnoxiously pink and green bathroom is eclipsed by Hyun-ju. All you see is her. Her beautiful face, her concerned gaze, the soft outline of her lips. The splattering of blood across her face, contrasting her pale skin. 

She leans in close until your lips mold against hers. The kiss is much different than before. Slow, gentle, unhurried. Like you have all the time in the world with her. Your body comes alive at her touch, entirely weak off of the care that seeps out of her. Your lips tingle with how light she kisses you. 

When she pulls away, you let out a soft whine at the loss of contact. 

“I would do anything you ask,” she says against your lips, delighted at how easily you melt beneath her. 

Hyun-ju should've known you would exploit her willingness to appease you the moment the opportunity strikes.

“Anything?” you ask coyly.

You kiss her again, hungry and firm. You feel Hyun-ju’s body react, shivering against your body, pressing into you until there’s no space left. 

The stitches at your side still throb hot and painful, but if anything it sends a sick thrill through your body. You burn with desire, building hot in your core with each second that passed. It pumps through your body, fueling your actions. You shift your hips forward, teetering at the edge of the sink, wrapping your legs around Hyun-ju’s hips to anchor yourself. 

Hyun-ju’s lips part from yours, groaning at the feeling of your warm core against the half-hard bulge in her pants. 

Before transitioning, Hyun-ju would have no problem getting hard and matching her partner's pace during sex. After a few years into hormone replacement therapy however, maintaining erections became a lot more difficult. It would take her a good ten minutes to even get hard enough to pleasure herself.

The first domino to fall—the first ember to the fire in her core—was having you fight earnestly and covered in blood as proof of your devotion to protect her.

Seeing you spread out in front of her now, blood still smeared across your skin, sparked her arousal like never before. Her cock quickly hardens between her legs at a rate she never thought possible.

“The guards…” she mutters, her hands are gripping your waist, keeping you from moving against her. Her eyes drift to the door at the other end of the bathroom. 

Your lips find the hollow of her throat, kissing tenderly. Hyun-ju’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands gripping tighter. You feel the vibration of her moans beneath your lips, encouraging you to keep going. You nip her playfully before letting your tongue glide along the exposed skin, collecting all the sweat and blood with a pleased hum. Hyun-ju shudders, tilting her head back to give you more access.

You trace a path from the middle of her throat to the base of her jaw, sucking the delicate skin. Hyun-ju’s hips involuntarily stutter against your hot cunt, her cock aching, straining beneath the cotton of her underwear and the fabric of her loose pants. 

“We can be quick,” you murmur into her ear, continuing your assault on her neck until every inch of it is covered in red splotches.

Hyun-ju moves again when you suck particularly hard at her pulse point. The bulge between her legs grew harder with each kiss. She feels the blunt edge of your teeth graze her skin, a subtle threat to keep going—a reminder that you're not at all tamed in the slightest.

The only reason your teeth don't tear into her is because you want her. You find her inciting. Worthy to mark, to claim, to moan her name out when her cock brushes against your clit.

“You’re injured,” she counters weakly. It sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself to stop before things get too real. Before all critical thought leaves her completely and she fills her mind with you.

You lean back to grip the edge of the sink with both hands, steadying yourself. A teasing smile graces your face as you grind against Hyun-ju, watching the control slip away from her. 

Her cock strains against her pants, rubbing hard against your needy core. The grip she has on your hips is bordering on painful, but it only fans the flames of your arousal. The pain bites. It burns. It makes your cunt slick in your underwear with each pass against her tent. Hyun-ju bites her lower lip to keep herself from moaning too loudly. 

“Don’t you want to make me feel better?” Your legs tighten around her, dragging your hips from the base of her cock to the tip in slow, precise movements. 

Hyun-ju is breathing hard now, her face flushed, all rational thought dwindling with each roll of your body. "I do—fuck I want to—"

Her words catch behind a loud groan. Her hips match yours, giving you more friction.

"I want you Hyun-ju." It doesn't sound sweet or adoring. You say it like your feelings hurt to speak aloud. A primal urge that you can't help but act on. "I only want you. Only you."

She leans forward, capturing your lips once again. You aren't neat when you kiss and Hyun-ju realizes she doesn't want to be either.

Your lips ache at the contact, parting automatically when you feel Hyun-ju bite your lower lip. You feel her tongue soothe the skin before entering your mouth. The kiss is nothing short of messy and desperate. You don't give her control easily and she's grateful. She finds herself wanting to fight for your submission. She wants you to realize that she's more than capable of taking you on.

One of your hands leaves the edge of the sink, finding the bottom of Hyun-ju’s shirt. Your fingers graze at the skin beneath the cotton before pressing more firmly. Hyun-ju shivers at the contact but doesn’t break her kiss. The muscles of her abdomen flex as you travel further, her sweat gliding beneath your fingers until you reach Hyun-ju’s sports bra. 

You mold your hand against her, feeling the weight of her breast. Hyun-ju breaks your kiss, shoving her face into neck as she moans. Your thumb brushes over her clothed nipple, feeling it harden beneath your touch. Hyun-ju pants in your ear, her cock twitching against you. 

You massage her soft breast, coveting the sounds that come out of Hyun-ju with each roll of your hand. 

You jolt when you feel Hyun-ju’s lips against your neck. A sweet, delicate kiss before Hyun-ju’s teeth sink into your skin—hard. The contrast of the pain sobers you. It clears your mind and makes you aware of how badly you need her. You gasp loudly, your cunt throbbing painfully at the harsh feeling. She licks the mark she gives you, tasting the salt of your sweat—the slight metallic twang from the blood of another player—before moving on to another patch of skin. 

It gets harder to muffle your noises. Your hand leaves her shirt in favor of threading your fingers through her hair. Pulling her close, encouraging her to keep marking you.

Every movement hurts. When you arch your back, the stitches pulse in sync with your cunt. You don’t know if you’re moaning from pain or pleasure—everything blurs into a sensation that makes you feel alive. 

“I—fuck—I need you, Hyun-ju,” you pant helplessly. “I want you—please—”

Hyun-ju is quick to muffle your needy voice with a harsh kiss. “Keep quiet for me, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

She reaches behind you to unclasp your bra before setting her sight downward. 

You kick off your shoes just as Hyun-ju finds the waistband of your pants and underwear. She yanks them off of your body in one motion, revealing you to her wholly.  

There isn’t a part of your body that isn’t marked with an injury of some kind. Faint scars and scabs scattering across your skin like constellations. You haven’t properly showered in days. Blood is still smeared across your entire face.  

Yet Hyun-ju looks like ready to devour you. Her desire for you is palpable, evident in the way her breathing gets heavier, like it’s taking all of her strength to not break you right then and there. You’re spread out for her, cunt glistening and clenching around nothing—all for her and her alone. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, completely and utterly wrecked. 

You're left out of breath, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

Her fingers make tentative contact with your entrance, gathering the slick that has accumulated. A low moan escapes you as your legs spread wider, enticing her—tempting her. 

Hyun-ju’s jaw is clenched tight, muscles in her jaw straining as your cunt squeezes her finger. She slowly inches her way deeper until she’s buried to the hilt. Your warmth envelops her finger, pulsing, before she's pulling back. 

You’re so wound tight that any touch from her sends your body a wave of pleasure. It mixes with the terrible shocks of the stitches, melting any restraint you had left. Your spine tingles with each torturously slow drag of her finger. Arousal drips from your entrance and onto her hand. You bite hard on your lip to keep yourself from making too much noise, but it barely helps. Your hips buck into the pace she gives you, feeling hot all over. 

Usually it’s you that takes reign when it comes to sex. You’re the one setting the pace. You’re the one on top, taking control in every aspect of the deed.  

In the crime underworld, sex isn’t just an act—it’s leverage. It’s a favor. A test to see how easily you break. Assassins don’t make good fuck buddies because you second guess if their affection is genuine or just a ploy to get you exposed. 

Hyun-ju is so apparently not like your past partners that for the first time, sex doesn't leave you with a sense of dread. She meets you where you're at. Her aggressive show of affection doesn't come across as threatening. It's a sign of devotion.

You feel wanted. Not because of whatever power you hold or the favors you can do, but because she just wants you. All of it. Even the monstrous parts that you can never break away from. 

She adds another finger just as she finds that spot inside you that makes you jolt. 

Your head hits the mirror harshly, your hand clasping over your mouth as you whine. Your body tenses up, trying to keep yourself balanced on the edge of the sink. 

You’re trembling. Aching for more.

Hyun-ju can’t get enough of it. The sight of her fingers glistening as they drag out of you, catching the light. The way she’s in control of your pleasure and you give it to her with moans of her name. The pace she’s set for you is barely enough to scratch the itch that you have and it’s clear with the way your hips try to pick up speed.

The sound of your wet cunt fucking into her fingers makes her head spin. 

“You’re sensitive,” Hyun-ju muses. “I wonder if you can last long like this.”

A sharp whine slips between your fingers. You pressed your palm harder against your mouth, trying to muffle any sounds that spill when Hyun-ju hits that spot. It gets harder and harder to remember that there are guards outside that could open the door to the bathrooms at any moment. 

"I never—felt like this before," you say between gasps, slipping out from your hand. A little quiet, a bit scared to say out loud. "You feel so good."

Hyun-ju lets out a moan at that, like she's the one coming undone. Her fingers pick up speed, the sound of it echoing off the tiles of the bathroom. Your body responds in kind, tensing and shuddering with each punctual assault of your cunt.

Her fingers angle just right with enough pressure to make your mouth drop open. Hyun-ju is quick to muffle any noise with another kiss. Her tongue slides along yours, her fingers working you steadily, drawing out your pleasure until you're left a whining mess beneath her.

You grab onto her, rocking your hips, feeling so tense that you might burst every muscle in your body. You're so impossibly close. You tighten your hold onto Hyun-ju, burying your face into her hickey-marked neck, ready to release—

You let out a loud moan, the sound echoing off the colored tiles of the bathroom. "Fuck!"

Hyun-ju stops moving and you're left reeling. The fire that was burning bright and hot loses its momentum, dwindling until there's a sharp ache left behind. The stillness hits you like a slap on the face.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" you growl. "I was so clo—"

Hyun-ju grabs your face, her fingers digging into your skin, your jaw that's bruised and tender caught in her vice-like hold. You let out a pitiful whimper at the dull pain, gripping her wrist tightly.

"Keep quiet," she hisses, her face inches away from yours. She looks frustrated, ready to crush your jaw in her grip if you don't cooperate. "You don't want the guards to come in, do you?"

You're so pent up that you might cum just from Hyun-ju's authoritative tone. The cold air hits your open cunt, you're left heaving, angry with how empty you are.

Hyun-ju's heart falters at the sight of your withering glare, the hard grip you have on her wrist. She keeps you in her grasp, waiting, watching you grow impatient, unable to speak.

It's a dangerous game she's playing; intentionally waiting you out, prolonging your suffering. There's nothing soft or pliant about you now. Your mood was quick to change and your demeanor sharpened in a blink of an eye. In the back of Hyun-ju's mind, she wonders if that rage will turn on her. Does it take effort for you to not tear into her skin right then and there? Is she safe with you in her hands?

She kisses you, a lingering press of her lips against your chapped ones, like she knows exactly what to do to soothe your erratic mind. Your grip automatically relaxes, her hands moving to cupping your face gently. She holds you like that until your breathing evens out and you're no longer huffing like an angry bull.

Your eyes burn with leftover emotion, your fingers itching to take control. "I want you."

"We need to work on your manners," Hyun-ju mutters disapprovingly. "I know you can be nice."

You fume, feeling too much and not enough all at once. You're angry. You're scared. You're wanting something more than just sex, but you don't have a name for what you feel. It's new and it terrifies you.

You're at her mercy and you hate it.

You love it.

It scares you.

You trust her more than anything.

You want her to keep her trapped beneath you, taking her pleasure by your nails and teeth.

You crave that softness and the safety of her alone.

It's hard to not feel overwhelmed. To not bare your teeth when things don't go your way. You're so used to feeling uneasy, waiting for someone to pull the rug beneath your feet to make you off kilter.

You've trained your mind and body to react to the most subtle of threats. You know how to take control of dangerous negotiations. You know how to handle any weapon you can get your hands on.

"Tell me what you need," she says. Hyun-ju holds you closer, tilting her hips against yours. You tremble in her hold, already on the brink of coming undone. "I'll give it to you."

She pulls and pushes you out of your comfort zone, unknowingly spiraling your mind. This care is new to you. It burns you. It leaves you wondering how anyone is afraid of you with how easily you cave into her.

It's hard to let go of that control.

But you can try. For her. You can learn how to love Hyun-ju in the way she deserves.

"You, Hyun-ju," you rasp, longing to feel her again. Chasing her warmth with your hands on her chest, holding her, keeping yourself stable. "I need you. I'll be quiet, I promise. Just please…"

"Please what?" she whispers softly.

Hyun-ju sees the restraint, the effort it takes to not ruin her.

"Please fuck me," you say, swallowing down your pride and your shame, focusing on her. "Fuck me and I'll be yours."

It's the fuse that sets off the bomb. The right combination of words that gets Hyun-ju to pull you off of the sink so she could press you against the wall.

The freezing tiles nip at your bare back, but the sheer fire of your arousal keeps you from shivering. There's no more waiting. No teasing words or leftover anger. No guilt or shame. Just the want of each other. The need to invade the other's space, to feel each other in the most intimate way you know how.

Hyun-ju uses one hand to shove her pants and underwear down, just enough to free herself. The flush head of her cock brushes up against your clit and you bite down your lip to stifle a moan. You feel the press of her cock at your entrance, her pre-cum mixing with your own slick.

The sensation of her stretching you open is devastating.

Your breathing stutters as she presses further, her own sounds of pleasure ringing in your ears. You hand finds Hyun-ju's hair, gathering the silky strands in your fist.

"So fucking tight," Hyun-ju gasps, feeling you pull her deeper. She sinks inch by inch, your body respond in kind. You arch into her, moaning softly. "Relax for me."

"I'm trying," you whine, burying your face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the smell of her. Blood, her skin, her hair, her sweat. "You feel so good, so fucking good."

Her fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip is the only warning you get before Hyun-ju bottoms out in one motion.

You make a sound that's primal, outside of your control, softly echoing off the walls. Your chest is flush against her, suffocating and all-encompassing.

It's sinful the way Hyun-ju looks completely undone by the sight of you. Her lower lip raw from the kissing, her face flushed with arousal.

The need for her claws inside of you.

The first thrust she gives you hurts more than you anticipated. The stretch of her cock agitates the wound at your side, but she hits that spot inside of you that makes the pain burn differently. It wrings out another sound out of you—broken and ruined.

Hyun-ju mistakes the sound as a sign for her to be gentle. She eases out carefully, meeting your hips in shallow thrusts. You can tell Hyun-ju is holding back, not wanting to cause you any discomfort.

It's not enough.

"Faster," you plea, breathless, desperation bleeding from your tone.

Hyun-ju shakes her head. "You're still hurt."

"I can take it," you insist, leaving open-mouth kisses along her jaw. Hyun-ju shudders, her hips still keeping that slow, steady rhythm. "I'll tell you if it's too much."

Hyun-ju slots her lips against yours before pushing deeper, a little faster than before. You gasp into her mouth, the pain slowly ebbing away until you're left with an ache that bleeds into pleasure. Her mouth slides off of yours, only to leave a trail of nips along your marked neck.

The tension in your body builds. It rises and rises, anticipation bursting in every crevice of your tired body. Her cock was made for you with how thoroughly she fills your aching cunt.

"Faster, Hyun-ju."

This time she listens, her hips rutting faster. Her cock slides out more, pressing into your body with harsher thrusts.

"Harder."

She lets out a choked moan into your neck, giving into your commands. Your body, all bruised and marked, eagerly takes her. The ache in your body tenses your muscles, leaving you breathless. Her cock hits you with military precision, perfectly fitting inside of you each time she bottoms out.

"You're taking me so good," she pants, losing herself in you. The sound of her fucking into your wet cunt is music to her ears. "I couldn't stop thinking about how hot you looked, covered in blood. I wanted to pull you into a room and fuck you until the timer ran out."

Your cunt tightens around Hyun-ju at the confession, her hips unconsciously moving faster.

You bury your head into her shoulder, moaning into the fabric of her jacket, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. Each thrust in sync with the involuntary noises coming out of you. It sounds foreign in your ears—all pitched and whiny and so unlike you.

"I wouldn't let them kill you," you gasp without thought. "I would hunt down every fucking player left in these games if it meant you would be safe. I only want you, more than anything."

Hyun-ju moans like your words left her wrecked. Her assault against your hips is erratic. You take each hit and you lose yourself in her.

She's everything you wanted.

"Just like that—" you moan, deep and guttural, "—you don't know what you're doing to me."

Her cock is so deep inside you that it knocks any air from your lungs. It makes your mind fuzzy. You can't tell where she ends and you begin.

"Tell me," she demands, hot and desperate, yearning for your praise above all else.

You shift through the pleasure, gathering whatever erratic thoughts lingering in your head into a coherent sentence. "I would tear through New York City all over again, just to have you come inside of me."

Hyun-ju stutters a moan, your words going straight to her cock, burning a fire in it's path.

"You changed me, Hyun-ju." The words fall out of your mouth without thought, each filled with unshakable adoration. You say it like it's devotion, like a hymn to a god. "I want to bring myself to my knees and have you cum repeatedly until you can't speak."

"More," she hisses, feeling her release draw closer.

"I want to memorize every part of your body better than my own. I'll deny myself pleasure if only to bring about yours."

It's becoming too much for her. Your body pressed against her, your tight cunt wrapping around her like a vice. "Please." The sound of your name on her tongue is warped with ecstasy.

You draw your lips close to her ear, wanting her to listen to every word without fail. "No one will ever capture my mind the way you do. No one will ever get me this wet. No one could ever make me feel like this—only you Hyun-ju."

The confession leaves her reeling. She lets out a broken sound, torn between a pleasure moan and a sob into your skin. Her movements are relentless, her only thought is to wreck you so thoroughly that you'll feel an echo of her after she's done with you. The idea that this untamable, dangerous woman is willing to give into her leaves Hyun-ju feeling weightless.

Drunk off the power over you. Knowing that her feelings burn just as intensely as yours

It's not quite love. Not yet at least.

You don't know how to feel softly, so you give Hyun-ju the closest thing you have. It's a deadly kind of devotion. Possessive, a touch wild, bordering on obsessive. The type of love that can leave marks on her soul, that will haunt her if she leaves.

Maybe you'll learn to love gently, without leaving scars with your nails and marks with your teeth.

Maybe you won't. Whatever the case may be, Hyun-ju accepts it. All of it. All of you.

The scraps of good in your heart and all the bad that fills your body.

You feel Hyun-ju press her forehead against you. So close yet not enough.

"You've ruined me for anyone else," Hyun-ju forces out, almost sobbing into you as the pressure keeps building. "I won't be able to cum without thinking about you."

"Please, Hyun-ju—" You can feel your climax approaching, your body teetering on the edge of an orgasm that will tear you apart. "I'm so close—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You squeeze around her and it's enough for her to fall apart too.

The world blurs into nothing. You break and shatter into a million pieces as you cum hard on Hyun-ju's cock. Pleasure rips into every tight and aching muscle, violently undoing you in a way that makes you wonder how you could have enjoyed sex from any other person before. Your orgasm comes in powerful waves that rocks your body, thoroughly exerting all the energy left in your mangled body.

Hyun-ju fucks you through the painful pleasure in hard thrusts before her own climax following through.

Without warning, she bites down on your shoulder to keep herself muffled. You groan, arching into her, wanting more. She buries herself as deep as she could go as her own orgasm wrings out. Her blunt nails dig into the skin of your hips. Every nerve sparking—a domino effect that has her shuddering with each continual wave of sensation. Once the devastation runs its course through her body, all that's left is the warmth of your sweaty body clutching her.

Your pulse is thundering in your ears. Slowly, the world rebuilds in front of your eyes, bits and pieces of your composure coming back. Hyun-ju eases her teeth off of you and you whimper with the lingering ache it leaves behind. She kisses the mark and the skin surrounding it. Softly. Tenderly. Soothing away the pain she caused.

The tension eases out of your body. You let yourself linger in her hold, feeling her cock soften inside of you.

You want nothing more to stay like this. Keep her trapped in your hold, letting the world dissolve to nothing.

What you want to do and what you should do come at odds.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of the time that's passed since you came inside the bathroom. "We should…"

"O-Oh, right."

You slowly untangle your legs. If you weren't embracing Hyun-ju, your shaky legs would've buckled under your own weight. She tucks herself back into her pants as you catch your breath. You lean against the sink while she finds your discarded clothes along the floor.

Without a word, Hyun-ju dresses you. A bit of shame prickles under your chest, but you're so tired that you can't find any energy to voice a protest. Hyun-ju is careful when she gets your underwear on. When she goes to clasp your bra, her arms embrace you tightly as if putting on your bra was only an excuse to get you close. You lean into her, savoring the close contact before she moves on to the other articles of clothing. She lets you use her for balance when she puts your panties on. Your t-shirt and pants go next, still exhibiting the same attentive care.

"Thank you," you murmur once you're all dressed. Reality settles into your bones, the presence of the guards outside weighing on your mind. You rub your neck awkwardly. "For everything, not just the sex."

Hyun-ju kisses your cheek. Nothing more than a sweet peck of her lips, but it somehow felt more intimate than whatever happened just moments ago. She's prying open your soul with nothing but gentleness, something that you didn't know you were starved of until you've had a taste.

"Don't worry about it," she says simply. "Let's just get out of here."

She takes the med kit into one hand and tugs you along with the other. You let her pull you along, your body barely keeping you steady. Each footstep in sync with your slowing pulse.

The bathroom feels so much larger than when you first walked in. The tiles beneath your feet seemingly stretched twice as long as before.

Hyun-ju anchors you, keeping you moving forward with her. She pushes open the door and leads you out with her head held high.

The two guards don't spare a second glance. You know they see your wrinkled clothes and Hyun-ju's marked neck. Whatever comments they might have are kept to themselves. They take the med kit and march back to the dormitory in silence.

All the other players—nearly half of what you started with in the beginning of the day—stood in two distinct groups. One group illuminated by a saturated blue and the other bathed in a warm red. Everyone turned in your direction when the two of you walked in.

You let out a staggered sigh of relief at the sight of Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee standing in the red group. Their haunted faces instantly brightened, tears of joy pricking their eyes seeing you alive and well.

You glance back at the other players. No one stands on the sidelines.

"Player 120," a guard announces, standing at the front of the room. "Please cast your vote."

You glance up at the large screen above the room.

Twelve votes for continuing the games.

Eleven to stop them.

You and Hyun-ju are the only players left to vote. The deciding factor for this round of voting.

Hyun-ju comes to the same realization, her eyes widening. She gives you a hand squeeze before casting her vote.

The machine beeps and the red group starts to stir with hope.

An even split. Leaving you as the tiebreaker.

"Player 249, please cast your vote."

Players try to voice their opinions—the blue side erupting in threats to kill you when they're let out. The red team begging you to put an end to their suffering once and for all.

There's no hesitation when you walk up to the machine. You slam your hand over the red button, as quick and efficient as your kills out in the maze.

You watch the tally for the red team go up—the number thirteen shining as bright as the hope blooming in your chest.

The agonized players erupt into cheer. The blue players shouting every curse they could at you.

None of them matter.

Hyun-ju is waiting for you with her arms open and the biggest smile you've seen on her face. You crush her into a hug, tears pricking your eyes.

"It's over," Hyun-ju laughs, relieved, exhausted, and ecstatic all at once. "We're going home—we're free."

The rest of your group is quick to hug you too. Geum-ja wails in happiness, Yong-sik grips onto you like you're his salvation, and Jun-hee leans her head against your shoulder, her baby nestled tightly in her arms. You cry into them, overcome with guilt, joy, and everything in between.

Hope no longer feels foolish to hold in your chest. It becomes real. A future with the people you love. A new path laid out where the sun shines brighter, the air is fresher, and every morning sparks you with life instead of dread.

The best part of it all, you won't spend it alone.

For once in your entire, miserable life, your choice to leave felt right. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: hope you guys enjoyed! i plan on writing a full on story about hitman!reader and hyun-ju in the future, after i tackle my grim reaper story. feel free to flood my inbox with thoughts and maybe i'll write more ;) xoxo

[mashed-brainrot]

──𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 [𝐈𝐈]

❝ every movement hurts. when you arch your back, the stitches pulse in sync with your cunt. you don’t know if you’re moaning from pain or pleasure—everything blurs into a sensation that makes you feel alive. ❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, fix-it fic, smut WORD COUNT: 8.5K WARNINGS: slight squid game spoilers! SMUT, p in v sex, hyun-ju has a penis, AFAB reader, reader has scars and injuries, descriptions of needles and wound stitching, vaginal fingering, reader has masochistic tendencies, reader is a bit feral and hyun-ju tries tame her, injury play (mild), blood kink, sex with feelings, bathroom sex, orgasm via penetration, creampie, happy ending :')

NOTES: this chapter took longer than expect whoops. no beta we die like virgins. anyways, here's the long awaited bathroom sex scene.

✩ CHAPTER ONE | | CHO HYUN-JU MASTERLIST

The alarm is sudden, screeching in your ears like an emergency siren.

The guards come filing into the maze quickly after the timer runs out. They appear like ghosts from secret passageways, guns in their hands aimed ahead of them. 

You and Hyun-ju part away from each other with your hands up just as two guards block the entrance of the hallway with their guns raised. The rest of the guards scatter to fill the maze, gunshots already firing.

You're aware of the mismatched number that you're wearing. Your heart pounds, blood dripping down your side is slow rivulets.

“Exchanging vests in the middle of the game is against the rules,” a circle guard says, their gun raised to your head. 

You exchange a side-ways glance at Hyun-ju, your stomach twisting into knots. A harsh I told you so sits heavy on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. There’s no point in arguing now. At least the other three had a chance to escape. Hopefully they did. 

If you die here, at least you died protecting those who deserved to live. You're no longer a glorified lapdog to an overachieving Russian crime boss. No contracts. No debt. No more back stabbing and blood feuds that have nothing to do with you.

At least your last kiss is with someone you care about. You hope that Hyun-ju feels the same sentiment.

A radio beeps. A monotone voice rings through. “Do not execute Players 120 and 249. Return them to the dormitory.”

Your heart stalls in your chest. Hyun-ju looks just as perplexed as you. 

Without objection, the guards lower their weapons.

That simple, huh? you thought bitterly. 

“Follow us,” one of the guards says, before turning on their heels. 

You walk slowly from one of the hidden doors that the guards came from. The hallway splits open to a white passageway that leads back to the colorful stairs that connect to every room in this place. You focus all of your energy into putting one foot in front of the other. The muscle cramps combined with the stab wound make it hard to do so, however. 

All of the exertion you put your body through catches up to you. Blood seeps through your side in steady streams. Your vision blurs with each limp up the stairs. You’re simultaneously hot and cold all over, your body feeling numb, your eyes closing for a second too long—

You would’ve tripped down the stairs if it weren’t for Hyun-ju staying close beside you. Her arms were quick to catch you, pulling you upright. Pain erupts from your side, hissing through your teeth at the sensation. 

You let out a ragged exhale. “Everything hurts, fuck.” 

“We need to keep going,” a guard says in their steady, monotone voice. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood!” she barks at the masked guards. “She needs medical attention, can’t you see that?”

One of the guards with a circle on its mask walks up to the two of you. They crouch down to move your hand out of the way to inspect the damage. After a few moments, they retrieve the walkie-talkie from their belt. 

“Player 249 received a stab wound to the abdomen, should we administer treatment?” the guard asks. 

The radio beeps before a voice comes through from the other end. “Does she require hospitalization?”

“If you give me some alcohol, needle, thread, and gauze, I can do it myself,” you groan. “Won’t take too long.”

“She says she can do it herself with given medical equipment,” the guard relays. “Do we proceed?”

The person on the other end doesn’t respond immediately. 

Hyun-ju takes off her vest and keeps pressure against your side. It’s hard to keep your eyes open. 

Seconds ticked by before the radio beeps again. 

“Give her the supplies she needs. Take them to the bathrooms, away from other players.”

— — —

The bathrooms are empty as the two of you walk in.

The medical kit the guards give you looks a bit more sophisticated than a simple first-aid kit. It comes with full bottles of various anti-septic solutions, rolls of gauze, needles, and various medical instruments. Forceps, scalpel, scissors—basically enough to perform minor surgery on you if need be.

A sticky note is attached to the top. In neat Chinese characters written in red ink you read: 

To my favorite killer and Player. I spent a lot of money on you and would hate to see it go to waste. 

At the very bottom of the note is a stamped insignia of a peony blossom with delicate flourish surrounding it like a halo.

You click your tongue in disapproval.  

“Who’s it from?” Hyun-ju asks, peering over your shoulder, reading the handwriting. 

“Old connection from China,” you reply with a clipped tone.

The woman who wrote the note—and likely vetted for the two of you to live—is the only person you would consider to be a demon among men. Heartless. Cruel. Cunning. A woman who had no trouble killing her own parents to accelerate her claim of inheritance. She held power between her ruby-encrusted nails and harbored homicide in her heart. The only two reasons she would've kept you alive is to win any bets she may have placed on you and to have you repay her later. Whatever that might entail.

The note doesn’t just serve as a saving grace for your troubles, it’s also the hardest confirmation that the games aren’t just a means to exterminate the poor and to feed the blood lust of the guards. 

You were bet on like the race horse—and by the looks of it, on winning the games.

“Why would they be here?”

“Think about it,” you say, limping further into the bathroom until you reach the furthest sink. “Why would anyone go through the trouble of rigging this whole thing up?"

Hyun-ju shrugs. "To kill people, I suppose."

"Let me rephrase that. Why would you play hide and seek, mingle, or ddakji?” you ask.

Hyun-ju pauses mid-stride, an uneasy feeling settling in her chest. “For entertainment.”

You snap your finger in approval. “For entertainment. That’s what we are to them, and apparently to my old friend from China.”

You spit the word friend like it’s acid.

The underworld stretches far, embeds itself into every facet of society—especially the part of society where the richest and most elite people gather. These people are sub-human. No warmth, or trust, or safety could be found there—nothing to sustain any friendly relationship. You've spent the better part of ten years serving those very people, catering to their blood lust, helping them secure their power with the end of your blade and the barrel of your gun. They may shelter you, give you luxurious gifts, and take you under their wing, but they hold a tight leash on you, shackling and suffocating like you were just a dog.

You hope to get rid of their influence once in for all. To stop bathing in blood and breaking every bone in your body just to survive. You want to live your life. To carry out your childhood dreams of living in a nice house, going to bed with a full stomach, and never having a weapon wherever you go. Living in ignorance of all the horrors of the world. Safe. Happy. Loved.

When you left New York, hope blossomed in your chest. Finally, you would live without a collar held tight around your throat.

All of that seems too naive to dream about in retrospect. You should've known how deep the crime world had seeped into your bones.

Your old boss wanted to keep you by your side, even after you repaid any debt to him. Viggo Tarasov didn't want to give you any freedoms outside of work. It meant giving you pennies of real world currency so that you had to rely on him for food, for shelter, for clothes—all so that you felt dependent on him. It never truly worked. The both of you knew that you were the reason he had any sort of power to begin with. He may be your boss, but you lacked any true loyalty towards him. He feared you for that.

You may have walked out of New York with the blood of a hundred men flowing through the streets, but you left without any real sense of what to do next. It became clear to you just how reckless and foolish you really were.

Your apartment was seized and any money you managed to scrape up was taken. All that was left was a ticket to Incheon you kept in a personal safe at the Continental hotel—the only place that was a haven from violence.

You arrived in South Korea with nothing. In your daze and desperation, a man with a briefcase, charming smile, and two colored squares asked you to play ddakji.

In the end, you won ₩300,000. Barely enough to cover any living expenses in a foreign country.

You agreed to join the games, even though you knew that no one would go around giving money without a price.

"Let's just get this over with," you say bitterly.

You toss the med kit into the sink before peeling away the first layer of clothing. As you pull your arms up, you felt the tear in your body throb, the skin threatening to split further. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to continue.

Whatever straight-faced composure Hyun-ju told herself to keep was thrown out the window the moment you started to undress. With a wince, you discarded the green jacket and stained t-shirt to the side, not bothering to see where they landed.

Hyun-ju is deeply aware of how serious the situation is. 

You were stabbed—thankfully not fatal—but you were still heavily injured. You could barely stand upright.

But she couldn’t stop herself from eyeing you down. Your sweaty skin was illuminated under the harsh glow of the bathroom lights. You heaved in deep breaths, emphasizing your bra-covered chest as you did so. Her eyes traveled down the length of your body, seeing all of the bruises, cuts, and scars that were there.

Each mark along the canvas of your skin had a story behind it. Someone did that to you and you killed them for it. Hyun-ju can practically visualize the mountain of people you laid to rest. It's hard to grapple with someone as ruthless of a killer as you could be so...human. She'd always imagined such people to be cold-hearted and devoid of emotion. The movies painted hitmen as villainous creatures with no sense of humanity left within. She realized now that the movies weren't entirely truthful.

Hyun-ju has seen that ruthless side of you. The way your eyes darken and all hesitation leave your body the moment your knife meets flesh.

She's also seen you cry as you hold a newborn in your hands. Broken, shakable, so out of your element and overcome with emotion that you silently wept.

It's hard to grapple with the dichotomy of you. A seasoned killer with a body count that exceeds most soldiers out in deployment and a woman who can look so feeble and wrecked when the people she cares about are in danger.

Finally, Hyun-ju sees the mess of blood along your side and the wound that caused it. 

It’s deep. The layers of muscle split open with a pool of blood resting inside. Hyun-ju is no stranger to battle wounds, but it didn’t mean she was desensitized to them. She winces at the sight. Her nose slightly scrunched and her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“At least the bleeding stopped,” you mutter harshly, unzipping the medical kit. “Not too deep I hope?”

Hyun-ju bends slightly to get a better look. “I wouldn't call it shallow."

"I stopped the blade from completely going in. He wasn't very strong," you chuckle.

"There's a lot of blood. Are you going to pass out on me?”

You gave her a shake of your head, uncapping the bottle of isopropyl alcohol. You dump a bit directly on the wound, letting out a string of curses as you did so. Hyun-ju takes the bottle from your hand and shakes her head. 

“If you’re going to do this, at least be a bit strategic with cleaning,” she says, taking a small cloth and soaking it with the alcohol. “Sit up on the sink so I can get a better look.”

You did as you were told, though the stiffness in your arms made it difficult to do so without saying fuck repeatedly. You sit awkwardly at the edge of the sink, trying not to cave your body inward to minimize the pain. 

There's been many times where you found yourself in a less than ideal setting in order to treat wounds. A back-alley doctor would have you sitting on a stained chair with an IKEA lamp overhead and a rustic tray with packaged surgical supplies thrown haphazardly.

If anything, sitting uncomfortably on a sink in a clean bathroom is a much better setup than what you're accustomed to.

Hyun-ju presses the soaked gauze firmly at your side, feeling you jolt at the contact. You let out a slew of curses in languages Hyun-ju can’t decipher. With as much care as she could, Hyun-ju cleans the wound, wiping away the dried bits of blood around the area. You watch her brows dip in focus as her hand passes over the wound again and again.

You inhale sharply through your nose. “I can do this myself, y'know.”

“I don’t trust that you can do this yourself,” she says, pulling the cloth away to retrieve gloves and suture supplies. “Do you even have medical training?”

The beat of silence was enough of an answer. “Do you?”

Hyun-ju throws the dirty gauze into the sink before she snaps the gloves to her hands. She opens the package for the threaded needle, replying: “My mother was a nurse. I went into medical school, but during my mandatory military service I pivoted careers."

While you tend to close wounds with your bare hands gripping a straight-edge needle, Hyun-ju uses forceps, tweezers, and a curved needle—much like those back-alley doctors you would frequent. Her hands are precise as she places each stitch starting from the center. She goes deep into the wound where the fat and muscle meet. Your teeth press firmly as the needle makes it first pass.

"Was it hard? To switch careers like that?" you ask with a wince.

Hyun-ju shakes her head. "I think I knew deep down that medical school wasn't for me. I had a lot of conflicting feelings about my identity back then and it affected my performance at school. When I went into the military, I hoped it would…fix me. Turns out being around a bunch of misogynistic men twenty-four seven is really bad for your dysphoria."

"Oh, I'm…sorry you had to deal with that."

"It's fine, really." Hyun-ju lets out a weathered sigh, pausing her work. There's a distant look on her face. "Sometimes I catch myself missing my old life. On one hand, I was miserable, but at least I had people to lean back on. I had a good job, I had friends, and I still had my parents' support. I'd always wondered how different my life would've been if I had kept all of those things when I came out. I think about what my life would've been like if I never had my gender dysphoria at all. I hated myself for a long time because of it. A part of me still does."

You're quiet for a moment. It wasn't part of your training to learn to be empathetic. How to comfort someone when they've given you complex trauma or how to say the right things to ease the tension.

Some of the things she said you couldn't really comprehend. You've never been to school. You've always been on your own, even at a young age, so you don't know what it's like to have support. Medical school and military service were almost abstract in nature. Civilian things that you never had the chance to concern yourself with.

But you know what it's like to hate parts of yourself. To wish for things to be different.

"They're missing out on having a good person in their lives," you say. "Don't waste your energy on stupid people who let their ignorance cloud their perception of you. I know my opinion doesn't mean much, but you're easily the most interesting person I've met."

Hyun-ju's face is tinged pink, a bit surprised at your words. "Interesting?" she repeats.

You shrug. "Well, I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you," you correct, to which Hyun-ju's face flushed brighter. "Then you took charge during the rebellion. I never really got the chance to be good. I was conditioned since I was young to be ruthless and I learned to have no regard for human life, not even my own. I've done terrible, terrible things. I thought I was incapable of change. But you gave me the opportunity to be selfless. I realized I still have a bit of charity left in me to be fighting a losing battle for others. You changed a bit of how I saw myself."

The bathroom is silent, your words hanging in the air as Hyun-ju processed what you said.

Her eyes turned a bit glassy, her eyes narrowing a bit as if she didn't believe you. "You think so…highly of me."

Without a beat, you affirm: "I do."

"You thought I was beautiful?" Hyun-ju asks, quieter.

"I'll always find you beautiful," you say without hesitation. "Especially now."

Hyun-ju breaks out in a smile. It never fails to make your heart falter in its pace.

She picks up where she left off—finishing the first round of stitches before working on suturing the top layers of your skin. You watched her work, trying your hardest to remain still.

With the last stitch in place, you let out a sigh of relief. The skin already itches and pulls taut whenever you move. The adrenaline in your system dwindles down, making the pain more apparent. 

You hum in approval. “Looks better than how I do it. One time I had to light the bottom of a fork and cauterize the wound so I could keep fighting.”

“A fork?” she asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I closed a bullet hole with a hot kettle once,” you say, pointing to a circular scar on your hip with a jagged edge. “A doctor had to dig out the bullet afterwards. Healing that was a bitch.” 

Hyun-ju scoffs. “So what you’re telling me is that if I hadn’t taken over, you wouldn't know how to close the wound properly?”

You lean back against the mirror, raising your hands in mock surrender. “All I’m saying is that I survived this long with my half-baked medical skills. But thank you anyways. Hurts a lot less when you do it.”

“I wonder why,” she muses, yanking the gloves off her hands and putting away all the supplies. Hyun-ju stands to her full height, her bare hand reaching to cup your injured face. “Are you still dizzy?”

You lean into her touch. The sink isn’t comfortable by any means, the porcelain digs into your ass and your legs are tense to keep yourself from falling. It’s still worth it because your legs are parted just enough for Hyun-ju to stand between them. 

You wonder how she sees you now. Dirty, blood stained skin, black and blue from all the injuries. Completely unappealing by anyone’s standards. 

Hyun-ju holds your face like it’s the last time she ever will. She looks at you like you’re everything to her. 

“If I say yes, would you give me a kiss?” you ask softly. 

Hyun-ju rolls her eyes with a small smile on her face. "You don't have to be dizzy for me to kiss you."

Hyun-ju presses closer, her hips just barely grazing yours. Your head tilts back until it hits the mirror behind you. 

The obnoxiously pink and green bathroom is eclipsed by Hyun-ju. All you see is her. Her beautiful face, her concerned gaze, the soft outline of her lips. The splattering of blood across her face, contrasting her pale skin. 

She leans in close until your lips mold against hers. The kiss is much different than before. Slow, gentle, unhurried. Like you have all the time in the world with her. Your body comes alive at her touch, entirely weak off of the care that seeps out of her. Your lips tingle with how light she kisses you. 

When she pulls away, you let out a soft whine at the loss of contact. 

“I would do anything you ask,” she says against your lips, delighted at how easily you melt beneath her. 

Hyun-ju should've known you would exploit her willingness to appease you the moment the opportunity strikes.

“Anything?” you ask coyly.

You kiss her again, hungry and firm. You feel Hyun-ju’s body react, shivering against your body, pressing into you until there’s no space left. 

The stitches at your side still throb hot and painful, but if anything it sends a sick thrill through your body. You burn with desire, building hot in your core with each second that passed. It pumps through your body, fueling your actions. You shift your hips forward, teetering at the edge of the sink, wrapping your legs around Hyun-ju’s hips to anchor yourself. 

Hyun-ju’s lips part from yours, groaning at the feeling of your warm core against the half-hard bulge in her pants. 

Before transitioning, Hyun-ju would have no problem getting hard and matching her partner's pace during sex. After a few years into hormone replacement therapy however, maintaining erections became a lot more difficult. It would take her a good ten minutes to even get hard enough to pleasure herself.

The first domino to fall—the first ember to the fire in her core—was having you fight earnestly and covered in blood as proof of your devotion to protect her.

Seeing you spread out in front of her now, blood still smeared across your skin, sparked her arousal like never before. Her cock quickly hardens between her legs at a rate she never thought possible.

“The guards…” she mutters, her hands are gripping your waist, keeping you from moving against her. Her eyes drift to the door at the other end of the bathroom. 

Your lips find the hollow of her throat, kissing tenderly. Hyun-ju’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands gripping tighter. You feel the vibration of her moans beneath your lips, encouraging you to keep going. You nip her playfully before letting your tongue glide along the exposed skin, collecting all the sweat and blood with a pleased hum. Hyun-ju shudders, tilting her head back to give you more access.

You trace a path from the middle of her throat to the base of her jaw, sucking the delicate skin. Hyun-ju’s hips involuntarily stutter against your hot cunt, her cock aching, straining beneath the cotton of her underwear and the fabric of her loose pants. 

“We can be quick,” you murmur into her ear, continuing your assault on her neck until every inch of it is covered in red splotches.

Hyun-ju moves again when you suck particularly hard at her pulse point. The bulge between her legs grew harder with each kiss. She feels the blunt edge of your teeth graze her skin, a subtle threat to keep going—a reminder that you're not at all tamed in the slightest.

The only reason your teeth don't tear into her is because you want her. You find her inciting. Worthy to mark, to claim, to moan her name out when her cock brushes against your clit.

“You’re injured,” she counters weakly. It sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself to stop before things get too real. Before all critical thought leaves her completely and she fills her mind with you.

You lean back to grip the edge of the sink with both hands, steadying yourself. A teasing smile graces your face as you grind against Hyun-ju, watching the control slip away from her. 

Her cock strains against her pants, rubbing hard against your needy core. The grip she has on your hips is bordering on painful, but it only fans the flames of your arousal. The pain bites. It burns. It makes your cunt slick in your underwear with each pass against her tent. Hyun-ju bites her lower lip to keep herself from moaning too loudly. 

“Don’t you want to make me feel better?” Your legs tighten around her, dragging your hips from the base of her cock to the tip in slow, precise movements. 

Hyun-ju is breathing hard now, her face flushed, all rational thought dwindling with each roll of your body. "I do—fuck I want to—"

Her words catch behind a loud groan. Her hips match yours, giving you more friction.

"I want you Hyun-ju." It doesn't sound sweet or adoring. You say it like your feelings hurt to speak aloud. A primal urge that you can't help but act on. "I only want you. Only you."

She leans forward, capturing your lips once again. You aren't neat when you kiss and Hyun-ju realizes she doesn't want to be either.

Your lips ache at the contact, parting automatically when you feel Hyun-ju bite your lower lip. You feel her tongue soothe the skin before entering your mouth. The kiss is nothing short of messy and desperate. You don't give her control easily and she's grateful. She finds herself wanting to fight for your submission. She wants you to realize that she's more than capable of taking you on.

One of your hands leaves the edge of the sink, finding the bottom of Hyun-ju’s shirt. Your fingers graze at the skin beneath the cotton before pressing more firmly. Hyun-ju shivers at the contact but doesn’t break her kiss. The muscles of her abdomen flex as you travel further, her sweat gliding beneath your fingers until you reach Hyun-ju’s sports bra. 

You mold your hand against her, feeling the weight of her breast. Hyun-ju breaks your kiss, shoving her face into neck as she moans. Your thumb brushes over her clothed nipple, feeling it harden beneath your touch. Hyun-ju pants in your ear, her cock twitching against you. 

You massage her soft breast, coveting the sounds that come out of Hyun-ju with each roll of your hand. 

You jolt when you feel Hyun-ju’s lips against your neck. A sweet, delicate kiss before Hyun-ju’s teeth sink into your skin—hard. The contrast of the pain sobers you. It clears your mind and makes you aware of how badly you need her. You gasp loudly, your cunt throbbing painfully at the harsh feeling. She licks the mark she gives you, tasting the salt of your sweat—the slight metallic twang from the blood of another player—before moving on to another patch of skin. 

It gets harder to muffle your noises. Your hand leaves her shirt in favor of threading your fingers through her hair. Pulling her close, encouraging her to keep marking you.

Every movement hurts. When you arch your back, the stitches pulse in sync with your cunt. You don’t know if you’re moaning from pain or pleasure—everything blurs into a sensation that makes you feel alive. 

“I—fuck—I need you, Hyun-ju,” you pant helplessly. “I want you—please—”

Hyun-ju is quick to muffle your needy voice with a harsh kiss. “Keep quiet for me, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

She reaches behind you to unclasp your bra before setting her sight downward. 

You kick off your shoes just as Hyun-ju finds the waistband of your pants and underwear. She yanks them off of your body in one motion, revealing you to her wholly.  

There isn’t a part of your body that isn’t marked with an injury of some kind. Faint scars and scabs scattering across your skin like constellations. You haven’t properly showered in days. Blood is still smeared across your entire face.  

Yet Hyun-ju looks like she's ready to devour you. Her desire for you is palpable, evident in the way her breathing gets heavier, like it’s taking all of her strength to not break you right then and there. You’re spread out for her, cunt glistening and clenching around nothing—all for her and her alone. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, completely and utterly wrecked. 

You're left out of breath, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

Her fingers make tentative contact with your entrance, gathering the slick that has accumulated. A low moan escapes you as your legs spread wider, enticing her—tempting her. 

Hyun-ju’s jaw is clenched tight, muscles in her jaw straining as your cunt squeezes her finger. She slowly inches her way deeper until she’s buried to the hilt. Your warmth envelops her finger, pulsing, before she's pulling back. 

You’re so wound tight that any touch from her sends your body a wave of pleasure. It mixes with the terrible shocks of the stitches, melting any restraint you had left. Your spine tingles with each torturously slow drag of her finger. Arousal drips from your entrance and onto her hand. You bite hard on your lip to keep yourself from making too much noise, but it barely helps. Your hips buck into the pace she gives you, feeling hot all over. 

Usually it’s you that takes reign when it comes to sex. You’re the one setting the pace. You’re the one on top, taking control in every aspect of the deed.  

In the crime underworld, sex isn’t just an act—it’s leverage. It’s a favor. A test to see how easily you break. Assassins don’t make good fuck buddies because you second guess if their affection is genuine or just a ploy to get you exposed. 

Hyun-ju is so apparently not like your past partners that for the first time, sex doesn't leave you with a sense of dread. She meets you where you're at. Her aggressive show of affection doesn't come across as threatening. It's a sign of devotion.

You feel wanted. Not because of whatever power you hold or the favors you can do, but because she just wants you. All of it. Even the monstrous parts that you can never break away from. 

She adds another finger just as she finds that spot inside you that makes you jolt. 

Your head hits the mirror harshly, your hand clasping over your mouth as you whine. Your body tenses up, trying to keep yourself balanced on the edge of the sink. 

You’re trembling. Aching for more.

Hyun-ju can’t get enough of it. The sight of her fingers glistening as they drag out of you, catching the light. The way she’s in control of your pleasure and you give it to her with moans of her name. The pace she’s set for you is barely enough to scratch the itch that you have and it’s clear with the way your hips try to pick up speed.

The sound of your wet cunt fucking into her fingers makes her head spin. 

“You’re sensitive,” Hyun-ju muses. “I wonder if you can last long like this.”

A sharp whine slips between your fingers. You pressed your palm harder against your mouth, trying to muffle any sounds that spill when Hyun-ju hits that spot. It gets harder and harder to remember that there are guards outside that could open the door to the bathrooms at any moment. 

"I never—felt like this before," you say between gasps, slipping out from your hand. A little quiet, a bit scared to say out loud. "You feel so good."

Hyun-ju lets out a moan at that, like she's the one coming undone. Her fingers pick up speed, the sound of it echoing off the tiles of the bathroom. Your body responds in kind, tensing and shuddering with each punctual assault of your cunt.

Her fingers angle just right with enough pressure to make your mouth drop open. Hyun-ju is quick to muffle any noise with another kiss. Her tongue slides along yours, her fingers working you steadily, drawing out your pleasure until you're left a whining mess beneath her.

You grab onto her, rocking your hips, feeling so tense that you might burst every muscle in your body. You're so impossibly close. You tighten your hold onto Hyun-ju, burying your face into her hickey-marked neck, ready to release—

You let out a loud moan, the sound echoing off the colored tiles of the bathroom. "Fuck!"

Hyun-ju stops moving and you're left reeling. The fire that was burning bright and hot loses its momentum, dwindling until there's a sharp ache left behind. The stillness hits you like a slap on the face.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" you growl. "I was so clo—"

Hyun-ju grabs your face, her fingers digging into your skin, your jaw that's bruised and tender caught in her vice-like hold. You let out a pitiful whimper at the dull pain, gripping her wrist tightly.

"Keep quiet," she hisses, her face inches away from yours. She looks frustrated, ready to crush your jaw in her grip if you don't cooperate. "You don't want the guards to come in, do you?"

You're so pent up that you might cum just from Hyun-ju's authoritative tone. The cold air hits your open cunt, you're left heaving, angry with how empty you are.

Hyun-ju's heart falters at the sight of your withering glare, the hard grip you have on her wrist. She keeps you in her grasp, waiting, watching you grow impatient, unable to speak.

It's a dangerous game she's playing; intentionally waiting you out, prolonging your suffering. There's nothing soft or pliant about you now. Your mood was quick to change and your demeanor sharpened in a blink of an eye. In the back of Hyun-ju's mind, she wonders if that rage will turn on her. Does it take effort for you to not tear into her skin right then and there? Is she safe with you in her hands?

She kisses you, a lingering press of her lips against your chapped ones, like she knows exactly what to do to soothe your erratic mind. Your grip automatically relaxes, her hands moving to cupping your face gently. She holds you like that until your breathing evens out and you're no longer huffing like an angry bull.

Your eyes burn with leftover emotion, your fingers itching to take control. "I want you."

"We need to work on your manners," Hyun-ju mutters disapprovingly. "I know you can be nice."

You fume, feeling too much and not enough all at once. You're angry. You're scared. You're wanting something more than just sex, but you don't have a name for what you feel. It's new and it terrifies you.

You're at her mercy and you hate it.

You love it.

It scares you.

You trust her more than anything.

You want her to keep her trapped beneath you, taking her pleasure by your nails and teeth.

You crave that softness and the safety of her alone.

It's hard to not feel overwhelmed. To not bare your teeth when things don't go your way. You're so used to feeling uneasy, waiting for someone to pull the rug beneath your feet to make you off kilter.

You've trained your mind and body to react to the most subtle of threats. You know how to take control of dangerous negotiations. You know how to handle any weapon you can get your hands on.

"Tell me what you need," she says. Hyun-ju holds you closer, tilting her hips against yours. You tremble in her hold, already on the brink of coming undone. "I'll give it to you."

She pulls and pushes you out of your comfort zone, unknowingly spiraling your mind. This care is new to you. It burns you. It leaves you wondering how anyone is afraid of you with how easily you cave into her.

It's hard to let go of that control.

But you can try. For her. You can learn how to love Hyun-ju in the way she deserves.

"You, Hyun-ju," you rasp, longing to feel her again. Chasing her warmth with your hands on her chest, holding her, keeping yourself stable. "I need you. I'll be quiet, I promise. Just please…"

"Please what?" she whispers softly.

Hyun-ju sees the restraint, the effort it takes to not ruin her.

"Please fuck me," you say, swallowing down your pride and your shame, focusing on her. "Fuck me and I'll be yours."

It's the fuse that sets off the bomb. The right combination of words that gets Hyun-ju to pull you off of the sink so she could press you against the wall.

The freezing tiles nip at your bare back, but the sheer fire of your arousal keeps you from shivering. There's no more waiting. No teasing words or leftover anger. No guilt or shame. Just the want of each other. The need to invade the other's space, to feel each other in the most intimate way you know how.

Hyun-ju uses one hand to shove her pants and underwear down, just enough to free herself. The flush head of her cock brushes up against your clit and you bite down your lip to stifle a moan. You feel the press of her cock at your entrance, her pre-cum mixing with your own slick.

The sensation of her stretching you open is devastating.

Your breathing stutters as she presses further, her own sounds of pleasure ringing in your ears. You hand finds Hyun-ju's hair, gathering the silky strands in your fist.

"So fucking tight," Hyun-ju gasps, feeling you pull her deeper. She sinks inch by inch, your body respond in kind. You arch into her, moaning softly. "Relax for me."

"I'm trying," you whine, burying your face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the smell of her. Blood, her skin, her hair, her sweat. "You feel so good, so fucking good."

Her fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip is the only warning you get before Hyun-ju bottoms out in one motion.

You make a sound that's primal, outside of your control, softly echoing off the walls. Your chest is flush against her, suffocating and all-encompassing.

It's sinful the way Hyun-ju looks completely undone by the sight of you. Her lower lip raw from the kissing, her face flushed with arousal.

The need for her claws inside of you.

The first thrust she gives you hurts more than you anticipated. The stretch of her cock agitates the wound at your side, but she hits that spot inside of you that makes the pain burn differently. It wrings out another sound out of you—broken and ruined.

Hyun-ju mistakes the sound as a sign for her to be gentle. She eases out carefully, meeting your hips in shallow thrusts. You can tell Hyun-ju is holding back, not wanting to cause you any discomfort.

It's not enough.

"Faster," you plea, breathless, desperation bleeding from your tone.

Hyun-ju shakes her head. "You're still hurt."

"I can take it," you insist, leaving open-mouth kisses along her jaw. Hyun-ju shudders, her hips still keeping that slow, steady rhythm. "I'll tell you if it's too much."

Hyun-ju slots her lips against yours before pushing deeper, a little faster than before. You gasp into her mouth, the pain slowly ebbing away until you're left with an ache that bleeds into pleasure. Her mouth slides off of yours, only to leave a trail of nips along your marked neck.

The tension in your body builds. It rises and rises, anticipation bursting in every crevice of your tired body. Her cock was made for you with how thoroughly she fills your aching cunt.

"Faster, Hyun-ju."

This time she listens, her hips rutting faster. Her cock slides out more, pressing into your body with harsher thrusts.

"Harder."

She lets out a choked moan into your neck, giving into your commands. Your body, all bruised and marked, eagerly takes her. The ache in your body tenses your muscles, leaving you breathless. Her cock hits you with military precision, perfectly fitting inside of you each time she bottoms out.

"You're taking me so good," she pants, losing herself in you. The sound of her fucking into your wet cunt is music to her ears. "I couldn't stop thinking about how hot you looked, covered in blood. I wanted to pull you into a room and fuck you until the timer ran out."

Your cunt tightens around Hyun-ju at the confession, her hips unconsciously moving faster.

You bury your head into her shoulder, moaning into the fabric of her jacket, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. Each thrust in sync with the involuntary noises coming out of you. It sounds foreign in your ears—all pitched and whiny and so unlike you.

"I wouldn't let them kill you," you gasp without thought. "I would hunt down every fucking player left in these games if it meant you would be safe. I only want you, more than anything."

Hyun-ju moans like your words left her wrecked. Her assault against your hips is erratic. You take each hit and you lose yourself in her.

She's everything you wanted.

"Just like that—" you moan, deep and guttural, "—you don't know what you're doing to me."

Her cock is so deep inside you that it knocks any air from your lungs. It makes your mind fuzzy. You can't tell where she ends and you begin.

"Tell me," she demands, hot and desperate, yearning for your praise above all else.

You shift through the pleasure, gathering whatever erratic thoughts lingering in your head into a coherent sentence. "I would tear through New York City all over again, just to have you come inside of me."

Hyun-ju stutters a moan, your words going straight to her cock, burning a fire in it's path.

"You changed me, Hyun-ju." The words fall out of your mouth without thought, each filled with unshakable adoration. You say it like it's devotion, like a hymn to a god. "I want to bring myself to my knees and have you cum repeatedly until you can't speak."

"More," she hisses, feeling her release draw closer.

"I want to memorize every part of your body better than my own. I'll deny myself pleasure if only to bring about yours."

It's becoming too much for her. Your body pressed against her, your tight cunt wrapping around her like a vice. "Please." The sound of your name on her tongue is warped with ecstasy.

You draw your lips close to her ear, wanting her to listen to every word without fail. "No one will ever capture my mind the way you do. No one will ever get me this wet. No one could ever make me feel like this—only you Hyun-ju."

The confession leaves her reeling. She lets out a broken sound, torn between a pleasure moan and a sob into your skin. Her movements are relentless, her only thought is to wreck you so thoroughly that you'll feel an echo of her after she's done with you. The idea that this untamable, dangerous woman is willing to give into her leaves Hyun-ju feeling weightless.

Drunk off the power over you. Knowing that her feelings burn just as intensely as yours

It's not quite love. Not yet at least.

You don't know how to feel softly, so you give Hyun-ju the closest thing you have. It's a deadly kind of devotion. Possessive, a touch wild, bordering on obsessive. The type of love that can leave marks on her soul, that will haunt her if she leaves.

Maybe you'll learn to love gently, without leaving scars with your nails and marks with your teeth.

Maybe you won't. Whatever the case may be, Hyun-ju accepts it. All of it. All of you.

The scraps of good in your heart and all the bad that fills your body.

You feel Hyun-ju press her forehead against you. So close yet not enough.

"You've ruined me for anyone else," Hyun-ju forces out, almost sobbing into you as the pressure keeps building. "I won't be able to cum without thinking about you."

"Please, Hyun-ju—" You can feel your climax approaching, your body teetering on the edge of an orgasm that will tear you apart. "I'm so close—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

You squeeze around her and it's enough for her to fall apart too.

The world blurs into nothing. You break and shatter into a million pieces as you cum hard on Hyun-ju's cock. Pleasure rips into every tight and aching muscle, violently undoing you in a way that makes you wonder how you could have enjoyed sex from any other person before. Your orgasm comes in powerful waves that rocks your body, thoroughly exerting all the energy left in your mangled body.

Hyun-ju fucks you through the painful pleasure in hard thrusts before her own climax following through.

Without warning, she bites down on your shoulder to keep herself muffled. You groan, arching into her, wanting more. She buries herself as deep as she could go as her own orgasm wrings out. Her blunt nails dig into the skin of your hips. Every nerve sparking—a domino effect that has her shuddering with each continual wave of sensation. Once the devastation runs its course through her body, all that's left is the warmth of your sweaty body clutching her.

Your pulse is thundering in your ears. Slowly, the world rebuilds in front of your eyes, bits and pieces of your composure coming back. Hyun-ju eases her teeth off of you and you whimper with the lingering ache it leaves behind. She kisses the mark and the skin surrounding it. Softly. Tenderly. Soothing away the pain she caused.

The tension eases out of your body. You let yourself linger in her hold, feeling her cock soften inside of you.

You want nothing more to stay like this. Keep her trapped in your hold, letting the world dissolve to nothing.

What you want to do and what you should do come at odds.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of the time that's passed since you came inside the bathroom. "We should…"

"O-Oh, right."

You slowly untangle your legs. If you weren't embracing Hyun-ju, your shaky legs would've buckled under your own weight. She tucks herself back into her pants as you catch your breath. You lean against the sink while she finds your discarded clothes along the floor.

Without a word, Hyun-ju dresses you. A bit of shame prickles under your chest, but you're so tired that you can't find any energy to voice a protest. Hyun-ju is careful when she gets your underwear on. When she goes to clasp your bra, her arms embrace you tightly as if putting on your bra was only an excuse to get you close. You lean into her, savoring the close contact before she moves on to the other articles of clothing. She lets you use her for balance when she puts your panties on. Your t-shirt and pants go next, still exhibiting the same attentive care.

"Thank you," you murmur once you're all dressed. Reality settles into your bones, the presence of the guards outside weighing on your mind. You rub your neck awkwardly. "For everything, not just the sex."

Hyun-ju kisses your cheek. Nothing more than a sweet peck of her lips, but it somehow felt more intimate than whatever happened just moments ago. She's prying open your soul with nothing but gentleness, something that you didn't know you were starved of until you've had a taste.

"Don't worry about it," she says simply. "Let's just get out of here."

She takes the med kit into one hand and tugs you along with the other. You let her pull you along, your body barely keeping you steady. Each footstep in sync with your slowing pulse.

The bathroom feels so much larger than when you first walked in. The tiles beneath your feet seemingly stretched twice as long as before.

Hyun-ju anchors you, keeping you moving forward with her. She pushes open the door and leads you out with her head held high.

The two guards don't spare a second glance. You know they see your wrinkled clothes and Hyun-ju's marked neck. Whatever comments they might have are kept to themselves. They take the med kit and march back to the dormitory in silence.

All the other players—nearly half of what you started with in the beginning of the day—stood in two distinct groups. One group illuminated by a saturated blue and the other bathed in a warm red. Everyone turned in your direction when the two of you walked in.

You let out a staggered sigh of relief at the sight of Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee standing in the red group. Their haunted faces instantly brightened, tears of joy pricking their eyes seeing you alive and well.

You glance back at the other players. No one stands on the sidelines.

"Player 120," a guard announces, standing at the front of the room. "Please cast your vote."

You glance up at the large screen above the room.

Twelve votes for continuing the games.

Eleven to stop them.

You and Hyun-ju are the only players left to vote. The deciding factor for this round of voting.

Hyun-ju comes to the same realization, her eyes widening. She gives you a hand squeeze before casting her vote.

The machine beeps and the red group starts to stir with hope.

An even split. Leaving you as the tiebreaker.

"Player 249, please cast your vote."

Players try to voice their opinions—the blue side erupting in threats to kill you when they're let out. The red team begging you to put an end to their suffering once and for all.

There's no hesitation when you walk up to the machine. You slam your hand over the red button, as quick and efficient as your kills out in the maze.

You watch the tally for the red team go up—the number thirteen shining as bright as the hope blooming in your chest.

The agonized players erupt into cheer. The blue players shouting every curse they could at you.

None of them matter.

Hyun-ju is waiting for you with her arms open and the biggest smile you've seen on her face. You crush her into a hug, tears pricking your eyes.

"It's over," Hyun-ju laughs, relieved, exhausted, and ecstatic all at once. "We're going home—we're free."

The rest of your group is quick to hug you too. Geum-ja wails in happiness, Yong-sik grips onto you like you're his salvation, and Jun-hee leans her head against your shoulder, her baby nestled tightly in her arms. You cry into them, overcome with guilt, joy, and everything in between.

Hope no longer feels foolish to hold in your chest. It becomes real. A future with the people you love. A new path laid out where the sun shines brighter, the air is fresher, and every morning sparks you with life instead of dread.

The best part of it all, you won't spend it alone.

For once in your entire, miserable life, your choice to leave felt right. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: hope you guys enjoyed! i plan on writing a full on story about hitman!reader and hyun-ju in the future, after i tackle my grim reaper story. feel free to flood my inbox with thoughts and maybe i'll write more ;) xoxo

[mashed-brainrot]

AHHHH I BINGED THIS WHOLE SERIES ITS SO GOOOOD!! lol you got the dialogue down cuz i swear this was how me and my girlfriend were when she started transitioning 😭 i love this so much ❤️❤️❤️💕💕💗

Sunflower, in a field of roses.

🌻 MASTERPOST (ONGOING) 🌻

Cho Hyun-ju x fem!reader

This fic is about two girls slowly realizing they're each other's safe place. And then wrecking each other. Lovingly.

Summary:

Hyun-ju is trying to survive. Trying to make ends meet, trying to bloom –even when the world feels like concrete and depression.

A new job in a warehouse's quiet, fluorescent-lit packaging department isn't glamorous, but it is something. A way to stay small, stay safe, and stay tucked –literally and figuratively– as she supports herself through her journey.

Then you walk in.

Sunlight in human form. All fluttery lashes, warm perfume, vibrant nail polishes, and smiles that don't know when to quit. You're soft. You're also loud. You apologize too much and laugh at your own jokes.

And Hyun-ju? She wants to be you. She wants to be with you. She's not sure which will break her first.

What she doesn't know? You might just do her the honor before she decides.

Warnings:

(implied!blonde!reader but not really mentioned beyond the second chapter)

slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, flirty menace x silent pookie who's actually a menace too, co-worker tension, mutual pining & mutual sapphic awakening, pre-op!Hyunju, early transition, gender dysphoria & euphoria themes, smut later on, age gap (not the main focus), mentions of financial insecurity, soft-dom/switch dynamics, menstruation talk, body talk, emotional vulnerability, fluff & comfort, some crappy background characters, pre Squid Game

Author's note:

Hi!! This is my first w|w fic to post and I wrote it with my whole soul!!

Yes, the reader is bubbly and hyper fem on purpose (everything else is blank tho). Oh, and she's not necessarily short, just in comparison to Hyun-ju. Also, we don't know if Hyun-ju had top surgery. But she's on hormones and her chest's definitely doing ✨that sexy thing✨ iykyk.

(If you're a homophobe or a transphobe, I will block you.)

CHAPTER 1: SOFT SPOKEN

CHAPTER 2: CLOSE QUARTERS

CHAPTER 3: ACCIDENTS

CHAPTER 4: THE LINE BETWEEN

CHAPTER 5: SLEEPOVER

CHAPTER 6:

CHAPTER 7:

CHAPTER 8:

CHAPTER 9:

CHAPTER 10:

**new chapter every Wednesday

You can always ask to be added to the taglist! Just shoot me an ask or reply ♡

Support your gal who's currently trying to survive uni (and her feelings). Every penny/euro means the world. Thank you so much! CLICK HERE [PayPal Link]

My Squid Game masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Taglist: @euryalex @hyunjusbiggestfan @applepie1000 @vexineew @relaps3 @unjuuu @shamidreamer @onlysarang @deltamoon666 @radioloom @lunaryoongie @uccidila @thatfictionalwh0re @energeticsirens @cinnamoncandy @littleblindchannelfan @ricearoni84 @ehuiaki @marytargaryen @fonderaura @jayysnotjoyful @danielleeess @sukunasthighmarkings101 @thewrongalice02 @sxmnc @st4r-c0r3 @kikibunnyy @chocolategiverzombie @anillodepapel @yosoylaprincesa2004 @boxaru

[mashed-brainrot]

AWWW thanks for tagging me!! 🥹 means the world that you like my silly lil fics 🩷

It really do be like this

[mashed-brainrot]

don't turn your back is fucking brilliant, thanks for this piece of art 💙

thanks a bunch anon i hope u like the next chapter!! 😻💕💕

[mashed-brainrot]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[mashed-brainrot]

me looking in the mirror after writing smut

looking at myself in the mirror after reading smut

[mashed-brainrot]

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

[mashed-brainrot]

another peek at my hyun-ju smut

read part one here: [don't turn your back]

bandaging wounds, bathroom sex, slight masochist tendencies (reader), hyunju has a penis, feelings, their kink is loving sex with blood all over them, happy ending :)

EDIT: SMUT POSTED CHECK PINNED POST

[mashed-brainrot]

──𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 [𝐈]

❝in any other circumstance, she would’ve taken your worries with soothing whispers. she would care for you, nurse you to health, tell you that everything would be okay. none of that softness is shown in her now. she needs you present, in the moment, and ready to fight.❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, fix-it fic, everyone i care about lives ending WORD COUNT: 9.7K WARNINGS: slight squid game spoilers! graphic descriptions of violence/gore, canon divergence, afab reader, reader is an ex-hitman (john wick inspired), reader is stated to be an american but race/skin color/body type is not specified, mentions of childhood bullying relating to transitioning, unrealistic depictions of labor/birth (canon), bonding over killing someone, porn with plot except the smut comes in the next chapter.

NOTES: i am so normal about cho hyun-ju. anyways, here's a fic where player 100 gets brutally murdered, you cry with a baby in your arms, and player 333 gets tagged teamed by two bad bitches. it got so long that i had to split the smut to another chapter hope yall don't hate me :')

✩ CHAPTER TWO | | CHO HYUN-JU MASTERLIST

The colored ball in your hands weighs nothing. The plastic object is cheaply made with seams where the plastic came off of the mold. If you exert just a bit of pressure, you could make a dent in this ball.

You didn’t choose the color. There was a fifty-fifty chance of getting red or blue.

There are a hundred more like it in the outside world, but in here? This ball determines your fate in the next game.

Simple objects, like the plastic ball in your hands, are no longer just a ball. 

It’s the team you’re playing. A team that will become your entire identity, consuming the last bits of your own worth until you’re nothing but a plaything. Your humanity is stripped away as you’re forced to play in another set of deadly games. All because you’re stuck in a room full of gambling addicts and sociopaths who think they’re the ones to beat the odds and survive another round. Just one more. One more game. One more person eliminated. Another faceless player with their names replaced with numbers, branded like cattle. 

Because to the guards, you’re nothing more than livestock. Fodder to whoever set the games in motion to feed their bloodlust. 

Your plastic ball is blue. 

Your vest is blue.

Your team is blue. 

And for the next thirty minutes, you are nothing more than that. You are nothing more or less than the color of your vest and you will be hunted down by another set of face-less players—the red team. Similarly dehumanized, except they have the advantage of being armed. 

You automatically search the crowd until you find Cho Hyun-ju. A stranger to you for most of the games until the rebellion. She doesn’t look any more confident than you, but there’s hope in her face. You’re on the same team. She can help protect you. 

You have nothing more than your teeth and the key in your sweaty palms to defend yourself with.  

At least, until someone agrees to switch places. 

— — —

“No, you won’t be able to do it. How could you kill a person with this?” Geum-ja holds her knife in shaking hands with a trembling voice, looking around the room towards the blue-vest players. “Even as a kid, you’d always let other people beat you up like a fool whenever you got into a fight.”

Yong-sik sits still beside his mother, equally as terrified. “What about you? Could you go and kill someone like that? Dad beat you all the time and you couldn’t even fight back.”

Hearing them go back and forth made your heart heavy. 

It’s an impossible decision. No one wants to trade with them, which means that they have to make the hard decision themselves. No matter what, they’ll be on opposite teams and possibly have to encounter one another. 

The two of them, though loud and co-dependant, are the reason why it’s bearable to even continue in these games. Their love for one another binds them together and you can see how many sacrifices they made that led them here. They’re good people. Much better than you’ll ever be. A mother shouldn’t have to make the decision to have to kill someone or have her do-gooder son kill someone in her place. 

You clutch your key in your hand. Although some people argued that being on the blue team is easier, you would much rather not be a target to Nam-gyu and the other blood-thirsty players. You’re dehydrated and hungry as it is. Weakened and without proper rest. It’s barely been a month since you left New York City and you still carry the injuries that came with that departure. 

You knew the consequences of getting out of the crime underworld, trying to rid yourself of a path that was forged through countless lives and debt that rose higher than skyscrapers. The Russian mob is ruthless and as their top hitman, you had to be just as bad, if not worse. 

Your boss gets to sit in his chair, puffing exotic cigars and sitting in hours-long business meetings while you got your hands dirty. He points his finger and expects to roll over. He barks an order and you obey without mercy. He asks for an entire family to be wiped out and it’s you that has to remember their bloodied faces. 

Geum-ja went into debt trying to pay for Yong-sik's mistakes. Yong-sik sticks by his mom like a shadow with each game despite the fact that she’s a liability. They bicker. They argue. They curse at one another. But their love for one another is pure, it’s just been tainted by the bad cards they’ve been dealt with. Had Yong-sik’s dad stayed faithful and never abused him, perhaps he wouldn’t have a bad gambling habit; Geum-ja wouldn’t have agreed to be in the games in hopes to pay off her son’s debt. 

They’re good people and you’re painfully not. They deserve to win and you’re going to help that happen. 

You walk up to them in measured steps. Their bickering dies down when you stop in front of them. 

“I’ll switch with you, Ms. Jang,” you say, steady and confident in your decision. “That way you and Yong-sik can be together. If you stick together as a group, you have a much better chance at fending off the red team.”

Geum-ja looks between you and her son, as if she couldn’t believe the offer you were giving her. “A-Are you sure?”

“I’ll feel better knowing the two of you are together.”

Her frail hands grasp your forearms, relieved and thankful. “Find us when you’ve passed.”

You nod, taking off your vest before handing it to her. 

You pretend to not feel the burning stare of Hyun-ju as you place the red vest on your body.

Though the vest is a single layer of polyester, it still feels weighted. The knife in your hand brings more ease to your bristled nerves. You can manage this. Being on the red team gives you more control. It’s easier to align yourself with the hunter rather than the hunted. 

Without much thought, your feet carry you across the room to where Hyun-ju is. She sits on the floor, watching you approach her. 

Any words you wanted to say die on your tongue the closer you get. It’s hard to keep your heartbeat level whenever you’re in the same space. You hope your face doesn’t betray your rampant thoughts. 

You settle down next to her, mindful to keep a breath of distance between the two of you. 

Before the rebellion, you couldn’t bring yourself to be near her. Of course you’ve taken notice of her—a tall, beautiful, striking woman will always make your head turn—but you’ve kept your distance. After the first game, you didn’t want to form attachments if the people around you are just going to die anyway. 

You heard Hyun-ju talk about her struggles transitioning. Her goal to move to Thailand. Her voice as it holds hope of making something out of her life. You pretended like her words didn’t affect you. You ignored the way you saw a bit of yourself in her—wanting to move to another country to start fresh and leave everything behind.

You planned on keeping a low profile, staying silent and isolated so that it wouldn’t hurt seeing people die left and right. 

But Seong Gi-hun starts a rebellion and the striking woman from before is holding a gun in her hands like it’s rightfully hers. She stands tall and battle-ready, fighting for a chance to end the games once in for all. 

It was a stupid plan. 

Yet you grappled a gun from one of the guards and took down a few of them before they retreated. You watched as Cho Hyun-ju explained the basics of handling a MP5 with such power in her voice that you couldn’t help but listen, even though you could take apart your gun with your eyes closed. 

Even though the rebellion didn’t work, you found yourself sticking by her and talking to her instead of listening in on her conversations like a creep. 

You exchanged names. You gave her a piece of your past: you were a contract killer and you had to wipe out all of the rival gangs in New York City in a single night. You came to South Korea with nothing more than the clothes on your back and an aching body. 

In turn, she gave you pieces of her life. She laid down in the same bed, talking to you until exhaustion took over. 

“Five minutes until the games begin!” the automated voice over the speaker says in a deceivingly cheerful tone.  

For a moment neither of you say anything or look at each other. The chatter of the room and your own heartbeat drowns out anything in your mind. 

Hyun-ju finally tilts her head towards you. “It’s nice, what you did for Yong-sik. It should be easier to be on the blue team.”

You hum, twirling the knife in your hand in a practiced motion. The awkward hilt makes it hard to balance, but you manage. “I’ll come find you guys. I know you’re probably gonna stick by Ms. Jang and Jun-hee. After I eliminate Player 100, I’ll try to make my way to you.”

You lazily point your blade to said Player on the other side of the room. He catches your small smirk and hardened stare and scurries away like a cornered rat. 

Hyun-ju lets out a small chuckle at the scene. “Do me a favor and drag out his death a bit, yeah? He’s part of the reason why we haven’t had a majority vote to leave.”

“Will do, Sergeant,” you say in mock salute. 

It’s moments like this—wher Hyun-ju crinkles her nose and rolls her eyes—that the world silences and time stops. For a second, it’s just the two of you. No guards holding sub-machine guns and the walls don’t stink of sweat and blood. Hyun-ju looks at you with that small, shy smile that emphasizes how beautiful she is. She’s smiling because of something you said. She’s happy—even for this split second—because of you. 

She looks at you with such softness that it makes your stomach twist into a million knots. You’re so used to feeling like you’re nothing, that you’re a robot made for killing, a monster with no will of their own. Yet from the moment you made yourself known to her, she makes you feel seen. She talks to you like your words matter. She makes you crave a life outside of mafia work and blood money. 

Hyun-ju’s smile falters, but she doesn’t look away from you. Her mouth opens, hesitating, unsure. Then, she says, almost whispering: “When this is over—if we get out of here…do you…?”

A pause. You wait for her to finish but the words don’t come out. Her breath is held in her lungs and you see her body getting tense. 

“Do I…what?” you ask, soft and nervous. Pretending that your heart is not thundering underneath your ribs.  

She doesn’t respond immediately. Still hesitant, tense. Looking at you, making sure she’s making the right decision. As if you’re worth something to her, despite only knowing each other for less than twelve hours. 

“Do you want to get food together?”

You have a strong suspicion that she changed her question, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you gave a small smile. “I would like that. Especially if it was with you.”

You watch as her breath hitches—just barely, but you’re close enough to notice anything. You see the apples of her cheeks redden a touch, her throat constricting as she swallows down her nerves. 

She opens her mouth to speak but the alarm blares, signaling the blue team to enter the arena first. 

— — —

The sudden buzz of the alarm sets your heart in motion. 

“Red team, please enter the arena.”

The knife is a comforting weight in your hands. Familiar. You feel a lot safer with a weapon in your hand. 

You walk in an uncoordinated line as all of the red team is being pushed into the arena. You hear the subtle gasps and comments before you can see the maze itself. 

The lights dim, the hallway narrows, and suddenly you are faced in a dream-like space. 

Twinkling stars are painted against a deep blue background. The walls are split perfectly horizontally with uniform stone walls. Some of the walls show small yellow houses next to child-ish drawings of trees, others show neatly drawn graffiti in Korean. All the players are taking small steps, scanning the room, huddled together as if they were the prey themselves and the real predators are lurking around the corner. 

You shift your weight between each leg. You hold the knife tighter. You force the muscles in your arms and legs to relax. A small, yet effective routine to get you into the mindset needed for survival. 

Killing people is your home turf. It was your occupation long before you came to South Korea. At least your old boss had some decency when it came to carrying out hits—effective with as little mess as possible. Fast, clean, surgical. 

It’s easy to compartmentalize your feelings, boxing your empathy in the recess of your mind until you’re safe. Just kill one person and you pass. Just one and you can live for another day.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the speakers blare out.

The timer starts. 

The world suddenly moves, the crowd disperses and you find yourself running past every one with one objective: to kill someone and regroup.

— — —

In ten years, you’ve killed around three hundred and fifty people on record. Your boss only cares about the people he personally requested to be killed off and didn’t bother keeping track of other casualties. 

The true number of people dead by your hands is around two thousand. Casualties that either got in the way of killing your target or retaliated when you did so. 

Some of your kills occurred in the safety of a tall building with a bolt-action sniper rifle trained onto your target. You would sit in one spot, waiting for your victim to come marching into view before you exhaled and took the shot. Glass would shatter, people would scream, and by the time someone looked to the building next to them, you were already on the street with your gun packed neatly into a briefcase. 

However, if your boss needed large scale extermination, he found it more efficient to get you up close and personal. 

There were times where you found yourself cornered and unarmed. Gunfire would blare into your ears, your limbs are shaking with adrenaline, and you’re severely outnumbered. You would find your magazine empty, your knife too slick with blood to hold properly, and the feeling of death looming over you.

But you always found yourself alive despite the odds stacked heavily against you. 

Some people call it “complete immersion”. Others describe it as a spiritual experience where your soul exists outside your body. 

You see it as a way for your sub-conscious to completely take over your body. Your body feels feather-light. Time slows down until you are perceiving the world through a distorted lens. Your body is suddenly optimized to exhale right when you exert yourself. Every sense blurs into one cohesive feeling. You don’t falter. You don’t hesitate. You don’t think before you strike. 

The other red players are skittish, their movements sluggish and their bodies untrained. They only use their sight to navigate the maze before them.

You stopped when the maze fell too silent. None of the other red players are nearby—you’ve outran them once the timer started. It gives you a chance to catch your breath. You try to steady your heart and listen to your surroundings. 

Heavy breathing. Shuffling feet. A muttered curse. Anything to reveal the location of one of them—a blue player.

Just one. After that, find Hyun-ju—

Faintly, barely audible, you hear the scrape of shoes against the concrete floor.

The moment you saw a flash of blue and grey hair in the corner of your eye, there was nothing that could stop you. 

Player 100 may have had the initial advantage of having a two minute head start, but that did little to help him escape from your heightened awareness. He might’ve gotten lost and made his way back to the entrance of the maze. Whatever the case, he won’t escape you.

He ducks past a corner and it sets you into motion. 

You’re running at full speed. He may be out of sight, but you hear which door he opens. You can see the ends of his heel when he runs around a corner. You don’t let the screams of other players distract your focus. 

He knows to keep making sharp turns in hopes of shaking you off. You would have to remedy that. 

You pick up the pace until you have him in sight. 

Everything dulls in your ears. The screams, the thundering noise of your footsteps, the maniacal laughter of Nam-gyu somewhere nearby. 

All of it quiets when you throw your knife in a deadly line, straight into the back of Player 100. 

The force of your throw buries your knife in the flesh of Player 100, all with way to the hilt. He lets out a pained scream as he tumbles to the ground. 

He writhes on the ground trying to reach for the knife. With a shriek, he pulls the blade out from his lower back, pointing it towards you. You don’t pause. You keep walking forward, closing the distance. 

“P-Please!” Player 100 begs. Tears springing from his eyes and snot trailing down his face. 

Despite him holding the weapon, he knows you’re more than capable of taking him on. 

There’s no way he could win a fight against you. Not at his age and lack of experience.

You walk, slow and methodical. Keeping eye contact as you back him into a corner, cataloging every expression he makes. 

Blood pumps through your body. It pulses hot in your ears, under your skin, burning in your veins. 

You need to make this quick. There’s no telling where Hyun-ju and her group are. With an elderly and pregnant woman, they can’t be too far. You have to kill Player 100 if you have any chance of finding them, or worse if another red player finds them first.

“I-I’ll give—give you anything, please!” he begs again, the knife trembling as he speaks. He’s full on sobbing in front of you. “It’s money, right? I’ll give you half my share! No, I’ll give you seventy  percent! Anything! All of—”

All at once your body moves, quick as a whip. Player 100 swings the blade blindly, closing his eyes hoping he will hit something. Your movements are precise as you twist his blade-holding hand, hearing the soft clank as the weapon hits the floor. 

Player 100 may be old and inexperienced, but that doesn’t make your job any easier. You’re still weakened. Hungry and exhausted. Player 100 kicks, writhes, scratches like a wild animal. He tries to buck you off his body, but you’re not letting him get any advantage over you. You secured both of his hands before slamming your forehead into his nose. You hear a loud CRACK and the feeling of his blood dripping down your skin. 

He’s hyperventilating now. You’re fully on top of him, seated in the middle of his chest, feeling each quick rise and fall of his chest. Your forehead is throbbing, a phantom sensation of his nose still present on your heated skin.

“P…P…lease…”

“Just one more game, right?” you say in a mocking tone, barely holding in your anger. You pick up the discarded blade beside you, holding it tightly in your hand. “Who cares if more people die? At least it’s not you, is that what you’re thinking?”

He violently shakes his head, sobbing words out but it’s unintelligible to your ears. 

You suck your teeth, “Bet you’re wishing you voted to get out, huh?”

You pressed the blade into the folds of his neck and in one swift motion, you sliced his throat. No fanfare. No wasted breath. Zero hesitation because you’ve done this countless times to an unimaginable number of people. 

The blade is so sharp that it cuts through Player 100’s fat and muscle like silk. Blood splatters across your body, your face, every surface that faces him. The blood is thick. The metallic smell hangs in the air, coating your body, filling up every space between you two. 

His eyes go wide. He makes a gargling noise and continues moving for a few more seconds. You watch motionless, silently observing the struggle leave his eyes. 

“Player 100, eliminated!”

You stand on steady legs. The warmth of his blood still lingering on your skin. 

— — —

“Player 249, passed!” a distant speaker says, muffled but still audible. 

Hyun-ju would be lying if she said she wasn’t straining her ears, listening for your number to be called off. Her shoulders relax and she lets out a heavy sigh of relief. 

She stands guard of a room that’s painted in childish drawings of shapes with a large rainbow on the walls. Geum-ja and Yong-sik are comforting Jun-hee as her stomach pains worsens. 

“That’s (Name)’s number, right?” Yong-sik asks, a sprinkle of hope in his voice. “Do you think she’s gonna find us?”

“I’ll kill her if she doesn’t,” Jun-hee huffs out. 

“Do you think the speaker goes off in proximity to the killings?” Geum-ja looks at the timer on the wall with a worried look on her face. “Only five minutes passed. If she’s found a blue player already, that means red players are close. I think we should move.”

“What about Jun-hee?” Yong-sik asks. 

Jun-hee lets out a sharp gasp, holding her stomach. “I…I should be fine. I can manage a few more minutes. I hope.”

The three of them look to Hyun-ju for the final verdict. 

While Geum-ja is correct for assuming the red players are nearby, that also means you are close as well. The odds for you to find them are higher if they decide to camp in one spot, but so are the chances of another player finding them. Hyun-ju and Yong-sik are the most capable of fending off attackers, but he won’t be much help if they face off against a group of red players. 

Hyun-ju opens the door slightly, keeping watch of any movements. “Jun-hee, are you sure you can walk?”

Jun-hee stands a bit straighter, gripping Yong-sik’s shoulders to keep herself steady. “I can.”

“You and Ms. Jang should stay between me and Yong-sik,” Hyun-ju says. “We keep going until we find another room.”

The three of them gather around Hyun-ju as she takes one last look into the hallways. When the coast is clear, they walk out, gripping onto one another. 

Hyun-ju keeps watch, twisting her head and straining her ears for any noises. “Yong-sik, keep an eye out for any red players.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he says, gripping onto Jun-hee tighter. 

They slowly, but surely, make their way through the maze. They flinch when they hear the screams of fellow blue members, but Hyun-ju keeps them focused. 

The maze is meant to imitate safety—childish drawings, soothing colors, a soft glow to the poorly-drawn stars that are reminiscent of a night light. It mocks Hyun-ju. There is no safety, not when another blue player screams helplessly, their cries echoing off of the walls. 

They turn a corner and are met with carnage. Another player. Geum-ja and Yong-sik make a startled gasp, rightfully appalled by the scene. Whoever killed the player gave them no mercy or dignity in death. Multiple lacerations across the body—too many to be considered accidental. 

Darkened blood is pooled beneath the body. It should’ve been out of place in a maze filled with childhood nostalgia and soft lighting. But it doesn’t. The blood is smeared on the floor, mirroring the novice paintstrokes of the stars above them. The blue vest blends with the night sky and dim atmosphere. 

Hyun-ju gives a moment of pause for their fallen teammate, but nothing more. It’s only a matter of time before Jun-hee gives into the growing pressure in her stomach. 

The four of them maneuver past crooked hallways and open doors with bloodied knobs. Their eyes purposefully avoid the corpses of fellow players, a reminder of what their fate would be if their luck would run out.

Because that’s all this game is. Only those without empathy have the true advantage in this maze. It would be easier for Hyun-ju to drop her hands and find the exit herself. 

But she can’t. Not when these people beside her had given her hope to live outside of the games. Not when they bestowed kindness for a girl who has been harassed and belittled for being her true self. 

Hyun-ju makes a sharp turn, pulling the rest of her group with her movements. She presses a finger to her mouth. 

A low hum of voices and the sounds of steady footsteps. Not hurried or rapid. Slow, steady, calm. 

The group of red players walk past their hiding spot without a second glance. 

None of the voices sound like yours. 

Jun-hee makes a sharp sound, dropping Hyun-ju’s hand to clutch her swollen belly. “I don’t…I think I need to rest.”

“There’s a door here,” Yong-sik says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “I think it’s a square lock.”

Hyun-ju grabs the respective key from the collection around her throat. Geum-ja and Yong-sik form a protective guard around Jun-hee, keeping a lookout while Hyun-ju twists open the lock. 

“Shit!” Yong-sik says, grabbing Hyun-ju’s sleeve.

“I knew it!” a low, unfamiliar voice rings through the narrow hallway. “Guys! I found some!”

A red player, brandishing a knife like it’s a toy. His smile is too wide for Hyun-ju liking and from the looks of it, he already killed someone. 

“Get inside!” Hyun-ju says, never looking back from the man. 

The other red players—their voices eerily joyous—step into view. Blocking the entrance to the hallway. Cornering them. Each of them with blood on their faces, eager for more.

One of them points to Hyun-ju and the door. “Now, now. There’s no hiding from us. Just let us kill you and we won’t make it hurt…that much.”

Hyun-ju’s heart pounds in her chest. She’s confident she can take on one or two of them, but there’s four grown men wielding knives. Overly-eager to spill more blood and Hyun-ju is certain that is only to fill their bloodlust and less so the need to get more money. 

“I won’t let you,” Hyun-ju says. The odds are stacked against her. There’s no way she can feasibly take them down. Even if she did, would she be too injured to continue on? 

That earns a hearty laugh from the group of players. It rings through the maze with tears in their eyes and mocking faces. 

Hyun-ju has been faced with this before. Her whole life she’s been met with humiliation left and right for being too feminine, too weak, too wrong. It’s the same laughter that precedes every tragedy in her life. 

Now that childhood shame, that ridicule, has come back to haunt her. To kill her. To put an end to her winning streak. To snuff out the hope of a better life. To kill the only people in her life that care about her. 

Her hand closes to a tight fist. She doesn’t cower under the predatory gazes of the bloodthirsty men in front of her. 

She will protect the people she cares about, even if it’s the last thing she does. 

Another pair of footsteps can be heard. 

Hyun-ju can’t see the other person, but she hears the sound of someone hitting the hilt of their knife against one of the men’s necks. 

Player 019 falls to the ground, their weapon clattering on the floor until it halts in front of Hyun-ju’s feet. 

The laughter stills. 

Hyun-ju’s heart falters at the sight of you. 

She almost didn’t recognize you. Blood is smeared messily on your face, like you tried to wipe it off but there was too much of it. You stand tall, defiant, and so eerily calm that it sobered up the rest of the men standing. 

“What are you doing?” one of the men asks. “You can’t attack us, we’re both red players!”

You don’t look at him. Or any of the men. You don’t give them a response as you slowly walk towards Hyun-ju. 

Hyun-ju should feel threatened by your unblinking stare. You still look tense, ready to strike at a moment's notice. 

A hand grabs your shoulder roughly, taking your attention off Hyun-ju. 

“Answer me when I’m—”

You don’t waste a second before twisting the man’s arm behind his back and kicking his legs from under him. Before he has a chance to recover, your knife is pressed hard against his throat. Even if you’re not physically strong enough to hold him down, your knife keeps him from moving. 

You twist his arm further and he shouts in pain. 

The hallway falls silent, save for the harsh breathing of the man in your hold. 

“That’s true, I shouldn’t be attacking you guys,” you say, “but I don’t really care.”

Your knife momentarily leaves the man’s throat, only for your blade to make harsh contact with the side of his neck. Player 336 slumps on the floor, unresponsive at your bloodied feet. 

“Player 336, eliminated!”

You look at Hyun-ju. 

She gives a curt nod.

Hyun-ju grabs the blade by her feet just as 172 lunges at her. She narrowly dodges his attacks as he swings his blade uncontrollably. She brushes past him, curving her arm in a deadly arch before slicing 172’s rib. He howls in pain, clutching his side. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it’s enough for a bit of blood to appear on his side. 

Hyun-ju can hear the sounds of your fight but there’s no time to check when 172 lunges at her once more. She waits until the last second before dodging out of the way, slamming her blade into the man’s chest. 

Warm blood gushes into her fist, but she keeps going. The two of them topple to the ground with Hyun-ju on top. She uses both of her hands to press deeper, ignoring the choked sounds of 172. There is little resistance against the blade as it makes contact with his organs. 

Hyun-ju stands, pulling up the blade as she does so. She turns and stabs the neck of 019—still passed out—for good measure. 

“Player 172 and 019, eliminated!”

A high-pitched shriek and the sound of a blade ripping through flesh—

“Player 296, eliminated!”

You appear beside her, bloodied some more, gripping two knives. Uninjured and out of breath. 

There’s something truly unsettling about you. 

While the group of men are fascinated by death and are eager to chase that high, they are nothing more than children playing make believe. 

You are the real deal.

Blood coats your knives and four bodies surround the two of you like trophies. 

Hyun-ju isn’t looking at you—Player 249. The girl who switched places with Yong-sik so he could be with his mom. The girl who took arms and fought in Gi-hun’s rebellion. The girl who dreamed of moving to a new country to start fresh. 

Hyun-ju is faced with a hitman who is more than confident in her ability to take down a group of armed men. A killer soaked in blood; a true monstrous predator. 

“Are you okay?” you whisper to her. Deceivingly vulnerable. Like you didn’t kill two men in cold blood a moment before. 

Hyun-ju crosses the distance between you two, enveloping you into a hug. You’re overwhelmed by her—the smell of her sweat and blood, the warmth of her body, her heart beating out of her chest. You stand rigid, completely blindsighted by her affection. 

The two blades in your hands fall to the concrete floor. You return her hug earnestly, gripping her jacket, breathing in her scent. Relieved that she’s alive. 

“I’m okay now that you’re here,” she murmurs into your jacket. 

You can’t help but smile at that.

— — —

Any relief you feel quickly evaporates the moment Jun-hee’s water breaks. 

Despite Jun-hee going into active labor a few weeks earlier than expected, she kept apologizing for her inconvenience. Yong-sik gave her his jacket to bite on to muffle her screams, but you can still make out the words “sorry” being yelled over and over again. 

You stood against the doorway the whole time to “keep watch”, but really you felt…uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right to be in the presence of someone’s birth when you took the lives of so many people. It’s an intimate moment, one where you felt like your presence was invasive. 

Hyun-ju lets Jun-hee strangle her hand as she pushes the baby. You hear the muffled sobs escaping Jun-hee and your heart breaks with each one. Hyun-ju is whispering encouraging words and Jun-hee looks ready to kill someone. 

With less than fifteen minutes left on the countdown, Jun-hee gives birth to a baby girl. Hyun-ju is first to hold said baby, with tears and a smile that reaches her eyes. The baby coos and wiggles in the messy swaddle of Yong-sik’s jacket, healthy as it could be given the circumstances. 

Hyun-ju looks up at you, baby in her arms and eyes shining brighter than the poorly drawn stars outside, and you can’t help but melt. 

“Would you like to hold her?” she asks, rocking the baby in her arms. 

You open your mouth to protest, but Hyun-ju is already at your side. She helps you adjust your arm to support the baby’s neck and watches your reaction. 

You probably look stupid with your mouth slightly agape and your eyes wide. You’re covered in foreign blood. There’s a knife sheathed in your pockets. You wiped out entire families. You’ve taken joy from others. You shouldn’t be holding something so delicate, so purely innocent. 

You’re so still that Hyun-ju is certain your heart is stalled too. You’re aware of all eyes on you, watching intently.

The baby is warm and tiny. Her face is bright pink and her dark eyes are trained on you. Then she wiggles in your rigid hands, making the smallest huff of annoyance before she lets out the tiniest yawn you have ever heard. She closes her eyes, comfortable and protected, falling asleep in your arms. 

Hyun-ju watches your lip tremble. 

These past few days have been draining. You’ve kept your composure, keeping your mind focused on surviving. You’ve gotten sliced, shot at, beaten within an inch of your life—none of that got an emotional response from you. But this?

A tear falls. Then another. 

“I-I don’t…” you whisper to yourself, holding the baby tighter. “I don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t be holding her.”

Geum-ja walks up to you, her hands gentle as she grasps your shoulders. “You protected this baby. You killed for her—both you and Hyun-ju. That alone makes you more worthy than any of us.”

“Which was totally badass by the way,” Yong-sik interjects. “It was something out of a Hollywood spy film. The way both of you took down those men—just wow.”

He tries to shadow box to prove his point, but the movements are so awkward that it knocks out the sadness in you. You chuckle softly, tears still flowing down your face.

The baby in your arm starts to move again. Geum-ja is quick to take the baby, leaving your arms and your chest empty. Your hands linger onto the swaddled baby as much as you could.  

“She’s probably hungry,” Geum-ja says, passing the baby back to Jun-hee. “Best we get it over with so she doesn’t cry and alert any red players.”

You wipe away your tears, trying to get your shit together. The game isn’t over yet. There is no telling how much longer you can stay in this room. 

Distantly, you can still hear the echoes of speakers, though the walls do a good enough job at muffling any attacks. There’s no telling how close an enemy player is by the sound of attacks alone. You got lucky with Player 100 and the gang of men from before. 

“There hasn’t been any break between elimination announcements,” Hyun-ju mutters beside you. “Do you think—”

“Player 014, eliminated!” a disembodied voice echoes, loud enough to draw attention from everyone in the room. 

The hollow feeling in your chest hardens. The speaker was definitely closeby. A red player is not too far from your hideout.

Yong-sik curses from his spot, running a hand through his greasy hair. Geum-ja squeezed Jun-hee’s shoulders, trying to remain calm. 

You look at Jun-hee’s weary face, exhaustion written clear on her. “She won’t be able to keep up with us if we leave.”

“I know.”

You turn to fully face Hyun-ju. She’s got a determined look on her face that you’ve seen a few times during the rebellion—the same face she made before running after Dae-ho to retrieve the magazines. 

She makes a half step towards the door but you’ve already got your back against it with your arms crossed over your chest. 

Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee look at the two of you apprehensively.

Hyun-ju’s mouth is set in a hard line. “Move.”

“I’ll go find the exit,” you say, chin held defiantly to Hyun-ju. “If I go, none of the other players will target me.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You’ll need the keys to open any doors.”

You held out your hand, eyeing the layer of necklaces hidden beneath Hyun-ju’s tracksuit. “You’ll put yourself in danger if you walk out, even with a knife.”

“Then we switch vests.”

Yong-sik raises his hand like a nervous student. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Yeah, it is against the rules,” you parrot to Hyun-ju. 

Hyun-ju rolls her eyes at your stubbornness. “Ten years as a hitman, yeah?” she asks rhetorically. “Between the two of us, you have a better chance at keeping the other three safe from attackers. You stay, I go.”

“Do we have to split up?” Geum-ja asks. “Wouldn’t it be better if we move together? Or stayed?”

Hyun-ju sighs, her patience wearing thin. “Jun-hee isn’t in good health to move quickly or for long distances. If there’s a bigger group than before, we could easily be overwhelmed while moving between rooms.” 

“I don’t think I can fight while simultaneously keeping you three unharmed if we leave,” you admit with a tight voice, a bit of shame spilling out.“But if we knew where the exit was, maybe you guys would have a chance.”

Hyun-ju nods in agreement. “I should at least try to find the exit so that we have a plan if things go bad. Since (Name) is more experienced in fighting, she should be protecting you guys. I’ll take her red vest so I won’t be hunted when finding the exit. Is that clear?”

Everyone nods except you. 

Your arms are still crossed in front of you. You would feel better if Hyun-ju was with the group and you went out to the maze. But she had a point. You had experience with these things. Unequal fights. Groups of men twice your age and of different weight classes. That’s familiar to you. 

But the bravado you held in the beginning of the game has been thrown out the window. Your composure is barely there. It shattered the moment you held Jun-hee’s baby and now you’re left open and vulnerable. 

You had always faced imminent death every time you had a mission. This is the first time that fear extends towards others and it scares you. Sure you had to protect your boss when he went to business meetings and cover for him when shit hit the fan, but you didn’t care about him personally. 

If Hyun-ju were to die out there? If any of your newfound family were to die? You would hardly have any strength left to carry on. 

“I don’t…I don’t like this at all,” you mutter. “Maybe we can camp here. Both of us can stay together and take down anyone that comes—”

Hyun-ju grabs the collar of your tracksuit forcefully, yanking you towards her with a strength that left you blindsighted. Your sentence cuts short, lodged in your throat. You blindly grasp onto her forearm, keeping yourself upright.

“We don’t have time to argue.” She lets out a ragged exhale. “Do you seriously want to risk that? If the exit is nearby we can leave this game early.”

You know it’s stupid. It’s selfish to keep her near. You don’t want to lose her. You don’t want to sit in a box, covered in blood, waiting in suspense between muffled walls, not knowing if a nearby scream is hers or not. 

Hyun-ju can see it again—the slight tremor in your lips. The cracks in your armor grow wider with each passing second. 

Your voice sounds desperate and so, so unraveled that you can barely recognize it as your own. “I want you here too. I can protect you. You don’t have to break the rules and get punished.”

“You didn’t care about the rules when you killed other red players,” she retorts.

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“Because I’m the one breaking the rules. If we switch vests, you might get in trouble and—”

Hyun-ju tightens her hold on your collar and you feel the taut muscles of her forearm flexing beneath her sleeve. Your heartbeat pulses, warmth from your core spreading from within. Her breath fans across your lips, her eyes darkened in mounting frustration. Your own breath mingles with hers, trying to calm yourself down. 

In any other circumstance, she would’ve taken your worries with soothing whispers. She would care for you, nurse you to health, tell you that everything would be okay. 

None of that softness is shown in her now. She needs you present, in the moment, and ready to fight. 

Hyun-ju’s tone is bordering on threatening. “You don’t get to decide whether or not I break the rules.” 

Your body involuntarily shivers at her commanding tone. 

It’s nothing like the soft, shy woman you would see in the bathrooms. The same woman who whispered stories in your ear through the night before she fell asleep in your bed. 

This is the woman who can carry an automatic weapon like it’s an extension of herself. 

Sergeant Cho Hyun-ju stands before you, eyes cold and determined. Heat pools between your legs, your mind barely registering what she says over the possessive way she holds you. 

Her voice lowers so that only you can hear her. In a tone that leaves no room for negotiation.

“Take off that vest before I rip it off of you.”

You swallow down any retort you had prepared, pretending you don’t see Hyun-ju’s eyes drift down to the damp column of your throat. Her jaw clenches. The harsh lighting emphasizes the angles of her face, carving her out, igniting your desire.

A choked, barely audible whine forms in the back of your throat. You force it down, or try to anyway.

You have no choice but to listen. To heed her command. To obey without question, thought, or protest.  

You jerk out of her grasp before peeling the vest off of your body. Hyun-ju mirrors your movements, keeping her eyes on you the whole time. You avoid her hardened stare; you don’t want everyone in the room to doubt your competence in taking off an article of clothing. You exchanged vests with a bit more force than necessary.

There’s something alluring with Hyun-ju wearing a blood-soaked vest. She transforms before your eyes, going from protective Sergeant to something deadly. She wears your vest like a shield, her toy-like knife that would’ve looked comical if not for the dried blood coating every inch of the blade.  

You think wearing her vest does something for her too. Seeing her number stamped on your chest, your pleading eyes, the way you take on a look of innocence in a color that signals weakness to other players—

“Stay alive for me,” she commands, only addressing you.

Your tongue feels heavy, your jaw is too tense to open. You only nod in response. 

But that’s not good enough for her. “Promise me. Say it.”

“I…I promise.” 

Hyun-ju lets the words hang in the air. Savoring the tone of your voice. Memorizing the worried look on your face—just for her, only for her. 

It takes effort for Hyun-ju to turn away from you. 

Hyun-ju glances at the other three, her tone still carrying the same authoritative weight. “The same goes for all of you. If I can’t find anything in five minutes, I’ll make my way back to you.”

“Yes!” Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee speak in unison. 

Hyun-ju takes in your appearance one last time. You feel a tether to her, a primal need to stay by her side. 

The door opens, creaking slightly as Hyun-ju steps outside the hideout. 

You force yourself to stay planted to your spot, watching her disappear into the maze, gone and without your help. 

The timer ticks down to ten minutes.

It only takes thirty seconds before the speakers in your room blare out: “Player 028, eliminated!” 

Which can only mean another red player is nearby.

— — —

A red player did find your hiding space, only for her to be tackled outside by you. Yong-sik closes the door, pressing his entire body weight so that no one comes in. The sounds of the fight faded as the two of you grappled each other down the hallway. Yong-sik did not dare to leave the door. 

Geum-ja and Yong-sik look horrified when you stumble back into the hideout two minutes later. Jun-hee was passed out in the corner, the baby asleep in her arms. 

You looked like you crawled straight out of war. Sweat and blood coat your entire upper body. 

You’re heaving against the wall, trying not to collapse right then and there. 

Ironically, you feel a lot better. More put together, less on edge. You’re back into the mindset of survival, clear-headed. You’ve long since let go of the shame with associating killing people to being calm and focused. It’s a surefire way to sober you up after your emotions go haywire.

“We should be fine,” you say between heavy breaths. “I should…I should be fine.”

Yong-sik’s eyes dart from your face to your bloodied and noticeably empty hands. “What happened to your knife?”

“That cheap shit broke when I stabbed one of the red players,” you grumble. One of the red players because you had to kill two of them when you left. Your blue vest is a beacon, luring them towards you. “How’s Jun-hee?”

Geum-ja brushes Jun-hee’s bangs from her sweaty forehead. “She was shivering a bit when you left, possibly a fever. If she doesn’t seek medical attention soon it might get worse.”

You slump down to the floor, your muscles aching from all the hits you sustained. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Your throat is raw. The metallic taste of blood coats your tongue, filling your nose with its coppery smell. 

Yong-sik looks at you worriedly. “Are you still able to fight?”

You gave him a sure nod. “You should’ve seen me during my final night in New York. One hundred and two people in a little under twelve hours.”

Yong-sik’s eyes widened. He stutters: “O-One hundred? As in one zero zero?”

“On hundred and two,” you correct, “but that’s only for a single night. Then again, I was heavily armed with a bullet-proof suit.”

“Did you enjoy it, even a little bit?”

Geum-ja pinches Yong-sik’s ear, which earns her a yelp. “Have I taught you no manners? You can’t ask someone that.”

“Sorry,” he says meekly. 

You can tell from Geum-ja’s face that she doesn’t find the apology satisfactory, but she drops it. Too exhausted to drag it out. 

“It’s okay,” you say genuinely. “I’ll tell you more about it later. After this whole shit show is ov—”

You let out a subtle wince, feeling a harsh cramp at your side, likely because of electrolyte loss. You massage below your ribs, kneading the skin, fat, and muscle there to soothe the ache. 

“Are you hurt?” Geum-ja asks. 

You grimace, but you shake your head. “Just some soreness from fighting. Nothing bad.” 

Geum-ja gives you an apprehensive look, but doesn’t comment. The room settles into silence. It’s safer. Easier to hear for any footsteps, screams, or speakers.

You absentmindedly brush against the scabs and bruises along your knuckles. There is an uncountable number of other small injuries all over your body. Fractured bones that are halfway done healing, bruises that dot along your body like islands on a map. Tired, hungry, utterly deprived of rest, but you can’t lower your guard. Not even after you make it to your sturdy mattress that’s tucked into the corner of the dormitory. Not until you escape with Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Jun-hee and her baby. 

Not until Hyun-ju walks alongside you, safe and unharmed. 

The timer ticks down silently, taunting you. Hyun-ju should be making her way back now. You should be alert, tense, ready to strike on a moment’s notice.

Your body is winding down. Your erratic heart is slowing and your breathing evens out. You can’t sleep, but your eyelids grow heavy.

Before you know it, you’re shifting in your spot, your head knocking against the wall until your ear is flushed against it. You feel your shoulders drop, muscles finally relaxing— 

You hear it.

A rhythmic sound, periodic and controlled. Too precise to be accidental. 

Your heart falters. You scramble to your feet, startling Geum-ja and Yong-sik. 

“Is something the ma—”

“Shhh!” You hold your finger in the air, shutting Yong-sik up. 

Voices. Footsteps. They’re getting louder, which only means they’re getting closer. 

“Keep quiet,” you whisper harshly. 

Maybe they are fellow blue players. You can’t risk opening the door and finding out. 

— — —

None of the other red players bat an eye when Hyun-ju passes by them. Your bloodied vest serves as a shorthand to the other hunters that she’s one of them. It gives her the power to move efficiently, not having to worry about watching her back while she checks all the doors near the hideout. 

She marks her way back to the hideout with blood of fallen players. If a door leads to a set of stairs she moves on to the door next to it. Rinse and repeat. The countdown on nearly every wall serves as a makeshift timer to keep her on track. 

Still, a worry is pressing in her mind. That somehow her group—her family—has gotten hurt while she’s away. 

You proved to be an expert combatant, possibly surpassing her in skill. You of all people are more than capable of handling themselves in a death game of hide and seek. 

It’s Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee that she’s worried about. If Jun-hee hadn’t given birth, they might have a chance in finding the exit together. 

Hyun-ju glances at the countdown. Six minutes left. She should make her way back now. 

Her hand grips another door. Unassuming and plain as the others. Just one more door, just in case. 

She takes the triangle key from her layers of necklaces and clicks it into the lock. 

The room inside is a bright sunflower yellow. Warm, inviting, and a complete eyesore after spending so much time in the dim maze. Rainbows are plastered on all three walls with trees and houses. In her exhausted state, Hyun-ju almost missed the hangul scribbled on the top of the next door in the room.

Almost. 

The word EXIT shines brighter than any paint color. 

Hyun-ju felt her heart leap to her throat, nearly stumbling back at the sight. Hope surges in her chest in a way that leaves her body buzzing. She found it. She fucking found it with minutes to spare. 

She sprints down the chaotic maze, dodging the wayward bodies, her body already tracing a path back to the hideout. 

She’s a few turns away, determined to get all five of you to the exit and get out of these godforsaken games—

Hyun-ju nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Jun-hee rush around the corner, all looking like they’ve seen death. 

“What are you doing here?” Hyun-ju demands, checking for any visible injuries. Jun-hee looks the worst out of all of them, but that can be chalked up to having given birth a few minutes prior. 

Geum-ja grabs Hyun-ju’s arms frantically. “W-We were found out! Two players came, but (Name) gave us a chance to escape and now she’s by herself! You have to go back to her!”

Hyun-ju’s heart stalls at the mention of your name, but she has to stay level headed. 

She takes out the keys around her neck and shoves them into Geum-ja’s hands. “I marked the hallways with the blood of other players. Keep going straight until you reach the end of the hallway then make a right. The exit is in a yellow room with rainbows and houses.”

“You found it?!” Yong-sik asks in disbelief. 

“Tell me all about it when you reach it!” Hyun-ju says over her shoulder as she makes her way back to the hideout. 

Her footsteps are thunder against the concrete floor. She no longer has the lingering fear of being caught—of being prey. 

She hears the carnage before she sees it. Metal slicing air, a body getting slammed into the wall. 

She’s unprepared to see the moment you get stabbed in the side. The sound of the knife cutting through skin, fat, and muscle is loud in the darkened hallway. Your face is scrunched tight and a choked gasp leaves you as Player 333 lodges his knife deeper. 

Hyun-ju takes pride in her ability to keep calm under immense pressure. She’s had years to hone that skill and turn it into something deadly. 

But all those years of training her mind to compartmentalize distress into a box in the back of her mind turns to dust. 

She doesn’t think. She doesn’t wait. She grabs Player 333 by the scruff of his vest and pries him off of you with a hard yank. He stumbles back, trying to see his new attacker, but Hyun-ju sends a harsh punch to his jaw, enough to set a tooth loose from his mouth. 

He sputters out blood but Hyun-ju keeps going. She doesn’t just want to kill him, she wants to see him in agony. 

Player 333 blocks a few of her punches before kicking her in the stomach, enough to get her off of him. Hyun-ju’s knife falls from her grip, scattering to the side. He tries to make a run for it, but you’re quicker. 

You take the knife that was in your abdomen and shove it into his lower back. He lets out a painful shout, loud enough to ring in your ears. You keep him close to you so he doesn’t fall, your nails digging into his neck, controlling him despite his writhing. His wild movements force you back into the wall, the knife plunging deeper into his body. 

Hyun-ju grabs her discarded knife and delivers the killing blow. Her knife enters from below his sternum at an upward angle. Player 333 jerks violently, his screams of pain only muffled by the blood coming from his throat. She forces the blade deeper, watching his face for every change in expression. 

Then her eyes meet yours. 

Wild, frenzied, completely focused on her and her alone. Hyun-ju watches as your pupils are blown wide open. 

Player 333 spasms between you two, pressed against your bodies until the blood loss becomes too much. 

Only when he becomes completely still do you and Hyun-ju release him. He crumples to the floor unceremoniously, neither of you breaking eye contact with one another. 

The sounds that could be heard are your combined breathing, harsh, heavy, and relieved. 

Hyun-ju drops her knife in favor of holding your face in her hands. Her thumb gently caresses the newfound gash on the side of your face, blood still beading where the skin splits. Her lips are inches away from yours. Her eyes memorizing the shape of your face, cataloging the injuries she sees, guilt building in her chest with each bruise and scratch she sees. 

You cling to her like there’s nothing you would rather do more. Your fingers are numb and cold, trembling to keep yourself upright. 

Hyun-ju presses you back further against the wall, caging you in, doing everything in her power to not devour you right then and there. 

“At least…I kept your promise,” you whisper, raspy and exhausted. “Did everyone…?”

“I found the exit,” Hyun-ju says. “It’s not far. They should’ve escaped by now.”

Your shoulders sag and the tension in your face clears. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear.”

You don’t know if Hyun-ju was the one to bring you closer or if it was you who pulled her near. Your lips met in a bruising, hungry kiss, enough to make your body jolt and your head foggy. 

Blood coats your lips, inside your mouth, but Hyun-ju didn’t care. She presses against your body and claims you. There’s nothing gentle about the way she’s kissing you. You reciprocate with equal ferocity, your hands threading into her hair, pulling her nearer until her chest is flushed with yours. Your lips ache, your legs can barely support yourself, and your lungs burn. 

Hyun-ju’s hands drift from your face to your back, mapping the slopes and curves she finds with a steady path. Her heat engulfs you. Sends your body alight with a burning desire that unfurls in your core and blooms out until every inch of your body is scorched. 

Only when you feel like you’re going to pass out do you pull away from her. Hyun-ju makes a harsh groan as you part, a string of saliva connecting your lips. 

You breathe harshly, frazzled and dazed like you’ve been drugged. 

She looks just as wrecked, if not more so. 

A loud buzz overhead disrupts the charged energy, reality crashing down on your small world with Hyun-ju. 

“This concludes the end of the game. All staff members, please collect the eliminated players.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: chapter 2 is in the works as i post it, shouldn't take more than a week or so. hopefully.

taglist:

@crvshedpetals @barnes70stark @sonebeam @carlandoxlestappen

[mashed-brainrot]

Hello!!! How are you? I dont wanna bother but are you gonna continue with your hyun ju series? Im So excited for the next charapter!!!

YOU WILL NEVER BOTHER ME 🫶

to answer your question: YES YES I AMM

i wanna give hyun hu the love and care she deserves so every chapter is gonna be at least 5k words lol. yea im also working on a hyunju smut thats sitting at 9k words so i'll upload that before i go ahead with chapter 2

i teased the smut earlier last week (?) and its pretty lengthy. be on the lookout lol!

[mashed-brainrot]

THANK UU 💕🫶🫶🫶

hearing your feedback made me giggle and kick my feet :3 i'm writing the next chapter as we speak just for u 😻

──𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 [𝐈]

❝ you crawled through every inch of this earth, trying to find some form of relief. trying to find some idea of who you are. trying to make sense of the hell you were cursed with. but you couldn’t. you were robbed of it. ❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, modern fantasy au WORD COUNT: 9.4k WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence, angst, military themes, amnesia, mentions of suicide/self harm, thanos's really bad spanish nicknames

NOTES: my first series on this account! thank you for everyone who got interested in this extremely self-indulgent and niche concept. just so it's clear the grim reapers use military structure despite it being more of an office setting. i just wanted an excuse to use sergeant cho lol

✩series masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: it starts with a friend;

There will come a time in your life where you must die. It can be fifty years from now; it can be one thousand years from now. 

It will happen. 

Again. 

And again. 

And again. 

There is nothing you can do about it. You will come back to it.

Always.

— — —

When you open your eyes, you’re unsurprised to see a dark, looming figure above you. 

A man. Tall one. You can’t see his face well, but you do see him flipping through a small, black notebook. His leather gloves blend seamlessly into the leather of the notebook cover. He flips through another page. Another. He lets out a curse and flips through some more. 

It takes a moment for your memory to kick in. You were walking down a narrow road. You were looking for something. It's still a blur.  

He kneels down to get a better look at the pavement. His eyes catch the light of the dimming sun. Glowing, reflective, uncanny. A lower ranked Reaper. He doesn’t spare you a glance.

The Reaper takes a gloved finger and drags it along the pavement where you were lying. Blood, thick and congealed, collects on the tip of his finger. He sniffs it before he takes a tentative lick. 

“A few hours,” he concludes.

He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, too preoccupied with finding the right entry to his checklist. You’re lying on the pavement, covered in dirt, blood, motionless, and awake. Yet the notebook takes precedence. 

Your throat is raw, torn, but you manage to speak anyway. “You won’t find me there.”

The sound of page flipping ceases. The man finally lands his gaze on your bruised face. He looks startled. 

“You’re…awake?” 

“I get that a lot.”

It hurts to sit up, but you manage. The Reaper doesn’t move to help, only to watch you struggle to get onto unsteady feet. Your legs shake, your vision spins, and a headache is throbbing against your temple. 

But you manage to stand to your full height. 

It was just then that the insanity of the situation dawned on the Reaper’s face. He scrambles to his feet, backing away from you like you’re an unseemly monster. 

The Reaper’s voice trembles. “You should’ve…why didn’t you...you fell from a cliff…?”

“I guess it’s not my time,” you say, your voice wobbly. 

You take in the ruined clothes you had on. Your cap is still on the ground, covered in your blood. Your shirt and pants aren’t much better. Nothing that a little detergent can’t get out. With a grimace you pick up your discarded hat and place it back on your head.  

The Reaper is still, watching you closely but unwilling to step closer. His hand is poised to grab the weapon at his side, but he’s contemplating on unsheathing it. Unsure if it will harm you. Unsure if you’re a threat or not. 

“See you around I guess.”

You pivot on your new shoes that you stole hours before and walk into the dense forest surrounding the road.

— — —

You seemed to have landed on a highway that stretches through some mountains. The cliff you fell from was at least three hundred feet—about ninety meters since you’re outside of the States. 

Bits and pieces come back to you. You came to South Korea not too long ago. You were at a mall, talking to the locals, trying to swipe some clothes since you didn’t have any money. The shoe store employee saw you and security chased you. 

How did you end up at a cliff so far from the city?

Your walk is sluggish as you limp into the dark woods. No weapons means you would have to fend for yourself with your calloused hands and teeth. Just great. 

Maybe a fae would spot you and think you are an easy target. They would glamour you and parade you around to their friends until they get bored. At least you would be drunk on their wine and the pain would subside. 

Maybe a dokkaebi will try to wrestle you in order to leave. You’ve always hated those bastards, even if you don’t exactly remember seeing them. 

You were looking for something. That you know for sure. 

“Wait!”

The Reaper from earlier runs towards you, flushed and still panicked as ever. He stops a few paces from you to catch his breath. 

“Just—fuck—just a second—” he pants with his hands on his knees, doubled over. “You walk so fast for a zombie.”

You brace yourself against a tree, squinting in the low light. The Reaper’s uncanny green eyes are bright enough to be mistaken for high beams. 

“Who…who are you?” he asks when he finally catches his breath. 

Another question that seems to follow you. A question that you can’t even begin to describe your loathing for. 

Who are you? 

Who are you?

You can’t even remember what day of the week it is. You barely remembered that you traveled across the world looking for something, but even then those memories are fragmented. You don’t know your birthday. You don’t know how many languages you speak. You don’t know where you came from.

You can’t be sure if you know your own name. After so many years, traveling to so many countries, hearing so many ways it’s been pronounced, you can’t be certain anymore. 

“I’m a girl who doesn’t know death,” you say with a wince. Blood is soaking through your side, dripping down your leg. “I don’t hold many memories, so I can’t exactly answer that question fairly.”

Choi looks you up and down. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Your Korean it’s…” he trails off, snapping his fingers trying to find the right words. “Old. You’re speaking like a total grandma.”

The Reaper steps closer. You can barely make out his wild dark hair and ear piercings in the dim light. He eyes you, up and down, with a strange look on his face. It’s a cross between curiosity, disgust, and fear. His glasses sit low on his nose, rectangular with a tiny silver cross dangling from one corner. Strange. Though you suppose you look even more unusual.

One of his gloved hands slaps his chest as a greeting. “Private Choi Su-bong of the Grim Reaper Soul Retrieval Unit.”

Choi grins with the arrogance of someone who thinks every word they speak is worthy of attention. He has a rugged charm and boldness that you can see most girls fall for. The fluorescent eyes—though uncanny—fit his face somehow. 

“That’s…great,” you say, completely unimpressed. “Am I in trouble?”

“Pardon?”

You let in a ragged breath. “Reapers don’t interfere with human affairs. They’re impartial and cannot interact with the physical world unless absolutely necessary. So if I’m in trouble, you have no reason to follow me, let alone talk to you. If that’s the case, I’m going now.”

The impact hit harder than you thought. Your lungs have a hard time expanding in your chest. Most likely a broken rib is pierced through them, but the adrenaline, shock, and pain from other parts of your body make it hard to tell. Every word you speak is like liquid fire. 

Choi stills, looking hard at your face with an unreadable expression. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know, really,” you say weakly. There’s a hollow feeling in your chest and your words sound just as empty. “I have gaps in my memory. Sometimes things just come out of my mouth without much thought.”

You hear the crunching of leaves as Choi approaches closer. Light is sparse and you can only make out the reflective iris of the reaper in front of you. You don’t falter or cower under his scrutinizing gaze. If anything you find a bit of comfort in them. At least for this moment you are not alone in the dark. 

Choi tilts his head slightly, assessing the deep gash on the side of your head. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

You shrug. “I go where the wind takes me.”

“So…you’re homeless.”

“Even if I did have a home I’ll probably forget it even existed,” you say with a chuckle, even if it hurts. “Maybe a monster would eat me and I could rest in its stomach.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, firm and reassuring. Unconsciously, you sag under its weight, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you all at once. 

“You are so weird for a chick,” Choi says. 

Your lips quirk up in a smile. “Tell me about it.”

For the next few hours, you hobble on unsteady feet in unfamiliar terrain with a curious Reaper matching every step. You’re going at a snail’s pace, one foot in front of the other with a clench in your jaw and spite to keep going. To push through the pain of your bones and muscles stitching together. 

Choi makes good conversation at least. He talks about the creatures that dwell in the forest and the people who have died here. Morbid for a conversation topic, but you appreciate the lack of taboo of talking about it. Humans are so afraid of death—rightfully so. But death is nothing more than an abstract concept to you. Stories, songs, art, and culture have shaped themselves around death and what comes thereafter. You may look like them. You may speak their languages and smile at their jokes, but you can never truly be them. You felt so detached from humanity for this very reason—how can you even call yourself a human if you cannot participate in the one thing that ties everyone together?

You feel wrong. Like you’re taking up space in a world that doesn’t belong to you. 

At least Choi doesn’t make you feel weird. He may call you strange names, like mamacita or chica (you don’t think he even speaks a lick of Spanish), but at least he doesn’t make a face when you say something uncalled for. He doesn’t wince when you casually mention having your intestines torn out of your body. He laughs at the dry humored jokes you make. 

It’s nice.

“I used to have another name y’know,” Choi says. “Thanos. I was a pretty good rapper too. Back when I was still human.”

“Than…os?”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanos. The Marvel guy. Tall, muscular, purple. A total powerhouse! Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him.”

You pause, trying to shift through your foggy brain. The name is familiar. You snap your fingers when it hits you. “Oh! The villain from that Iron Man comic! Yeah, I read it when it came out. I could only skim through it since I blew my money from gambling.”

The look on Thanos’s face could only be described as a mix between confusion and utter disbelief. “From the Iron Man comic—dude, you are so behind on everything it’s almost sad. That shit came out years ago.”

You shrink into yourself, embarrassed. You hoped Thanos won’t notice, but his enhanced vision probably means he sees it. “Sorry. The fucked up memories comes with a lack of time perception.”

“Don’t be sorry, man,” he says, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. “One of these days you gotta see the movies. All twenty-one right before Endgame. Though, we can skip some of the sequels since they kinda suck anyways.”

Your chest warms a bit. Talkies—or movies as they’re called now—were a luxury in your childhood. You’ve only seen a few before your parents’ deaths and never had the chance to see any more since. It never really crossed your mind in between travels and getting your body mangled left and right. 

“So how long have you been alive for?” Thanos asks while kicking a rock with his polished leather shoes. “Or do you not know the answer to that either?”

You’re no longer slouched over in pain. While your spine is nowhere near healed enough, the pain has considerably subsided. “Ninety-five years. Born to human parents and lived a relatively normal life until our house caught on fire. Fire burned all the layers of my skin and I screamed until I passed out. I woke up hours later with a fresh layer of skin and my parents’ bodies charred beyond recognition. My life in those times are my only clear memories.”

“Ah, so that explains your aged reference and old-timey Korean,” Thanos says. “Is there anything you can’t heal from?”

You shake your head solemnly. “I’ve tried everything. Shotgun to the head, starvation, decapitation, falling into a vat of lye that was strong enough to break apart a body in a matter of hours…nothing. It’s like my body adapts to whatever is thrown at me, but only enough so I don’t die. I still feel pain with every attempt.”

“How the hell did you come back from decapitation?”

“Funny story about that, I asked a serial killer to do it.” You said it so casually as if you were mentioning an ex-boyfriend. A laugh escapes you at the memory. “It was the second World War and I just made my way from Poland to New York City. I was so shell shocked and so done with anything that I just wanted to end it all. I paid ten dollars and told him to cut my head off. In a few hours I woke up and the poor guy was shaking in the corner of the room. You should’ve seen his face!”

Thanos looks up from the ground with a bewildered expression. “How?!”

“My body grew from my head!”

“Like a lizard?!” He makes a gagging noise and your laugh fills the darkness. So carefree, loud, and utterly joyous, Thanos can’t help but smile. “Oh gods, I can imagine it. Your head just sitting on a table and then your feet start sprouting from under it—”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“—but something goes wrong and there’s eight feet growing and you become this ugly hydra—”

You’re laughing so hard that you stumble onto him, shaking with laughter. Thanos joins you until you both hold each other up, tears in your eyes and the weight of a new friendship filling your chest.

— — —

Thanos makes it a point to visit you periodically. The longer you see him, the less likely you’ll forget him. 

“This coworker of mine used to be a psychiatrist,” he explained to you. “Amnesia makes it hard to learn new information. Repetition can help with it. And who can ever forget the great and mighty Thanos?”

You think it’s mostly an ego thing. Thanos loves to talk and you’re bored out of your mind most days. You don’t interrupt his speeches or get mad when he pulls a dark humored joke. His visits are never long—a few hours at most. He tries to recap most of the Marvel movies in order for you, but he keeps getting side-tracked. He recalls some hilarious deaths of people he had to reap while he was gone. 

It’s nice. Even if Thanos calls you chica despite knowing your name. 

— — —

The abandoned warehouse you stumbled across is disgusting. 

Mold grows in every corner, bugs are hiding in every box, and no electricity to light your way through. Still, you find a spot, clean enough for you to place a small futon and blanket that you found outside. 

The nights are cold and damp. When it rains the water floods into the rooms and you have to sleep on an old table. You take baths in a river nearby with a bottle of soap you found in a dumpster. 

You can’t hold a stable job in your condition. Your amnesia gets worse with each injury sustained. 

Thanos tries his best to help you keep the memories you already have. You managed to follow along to his recap of the first ten Marvel movies and remembered it the following week. So long as you keep your injuries to a minimum, the amnesia wouldn’t be debilitating. 

It’s hard though. You need to go back to the city to get supplies. People know that you’re not one of them. They’re different. Clean. Healthy. Mentally all there. You stick to dark alleys, night skies, and few people lining the streets.  

On the days where your life seems to drag you down to the depths of the Underworld, you make your way over to the rooftop of the warehouse and peer over the ledge. Your fear of heights is long gone, torn away from you after so many stumbles off of cliffs. You don’t jump. You know it won’t do anything good. 

A question lingers in your mind. Gnawing. Persistent. A throb in your skull that won’t go away. 

Why are you here?

What made you travel all the way across the world to South Korea? 

That’s the only thing that can’t seem to escape you. It’s the first thought you had when you met Thanos. It’s the only thing that survives all of the head injuries, as if it’s permanently tattooed in your skull.  

What were you looking for?

No, that’s not right. 

Who were you looking for?

— — —

Thanos did his best to help. He really did. 

You tried to recall who you were looking for. You tried to retrace your steps leading up to stepping foot into the peninsula…but you came up empty.

He walked back to the highway that you fell off of—the blood still staining the pavement. He makes the three hour trek up the cliffs to where you most likely fell from. 

Nothing.

The guttural scream that tore through you brought you down to your knees. You dig into the ground beneath you, crying all of the air from out of your lungs. Thanos stood by, scared and unsure. He never saw you like that. Ever. Even when blood spilled from your teeth and bones poked through your bruised skin, you didn’t let the pain keep you from making ill-timed jokes. 

No bruises were on your skin. No blood dripping down your face and staining the floor. 

Yet you screamed like something was torn from you. Like every second was torture. 

And you have no idea why. 

— — —

It gets easier each year. To deal with…this. 

Your life and every shitty thing that comes with it.

Like always, you found yourself in a situation that you shouldn’t be in. You were starving, begging for food from a local bar. One of the men mockingly gives you a piece of bread from his leftover food he packed up. He laughs, loud and hardy at the way you scrambled to the scrap of food he gives. He throws another piece. Another. Then he throws a chicken wing. It sticks to your skin. 

Then he kicks you. His friend does the same. 

Someone tries to pull your clothes off and your body reacts without thinking. 

You kick, scream, and overpower whoever is holding you down. You dig into the man’s neck with your nails until his blood is coating your face. 

Something stabs into your own neck. Then your back. Then your face. 

A pile of hands descend until your body is torn to pieces. 

When Thanos shakes you awake, hours later, you have already forgotten his name.

— — —

In the two years you’ve met Thanos, he has never gotten an entire evening off. He’s been doing well at work and credits you for his motivation. To celebrate another year of camaraderie, Thanos drags you to a secluded spot to drink until your liver bursts. 

“You’re the only bitch I respect out here,” he tells you, his words slurring as he downs another bottle of beer. He stole an entire pack from a convenience store, just to share with you. “I go outside, reap some poor son-of-a-bitch to meet my quota, and get chewed out by my boss. At least you don’t run your mouth and piss me off.”

You hum into the rim of the can, the sour and bitter taste of beer hitting your mouth. 

You sit at the edge of a freeway, your legs dangling over a steep cliff. It’s a drop that can make anyone’s knees buckle. 

“Sounds like you only keep me around because of what I can do for you,” you state. “I have a feeling you don’t even like me.”

Thanos gulps down his drink—his third bottle—before crushing it on the side of his head. “I like you because you do things that I like. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“I suppose.”

While Thanos shotguns his beer with his Death Scythe, you nurse your drink with a bit more grace. You offer half-hearted replies to Thanos’s comments. Your small sips started to draw on for longer. Something else weighs heavily in your mind, occupying all of your waking thoughts. 

The gaps between memories are starting to widen. 

It’s getting harder to remember all the movies Thanos recapped for you. You can see the mounting frustration in every visit. He constantly has to repeat himself. He has to keep checking to see if you remembered something he said a week ago. Once upon a time the two of you would stroll through Seoul like you owned it, shoulder to shoulder, laughing at a stupid joke about your own misery. 

You can barely look at him anymore. Not because he’s done something to anger you, but because you know this friendship won’t last. 

“Hellooo? Earth to my favorite chica?”

Thanos waves his hand dangerously close to your face. His ungloved hand. You unconsciously flinch away. 

You shuffle back from the ledge, tucking one of your legs under your chin. “Be careful. You almost made contact.”

It takes a moment for the realization to dawn on him. He mutters an apology and fishes a leather glove from his pocket. 

A touch from a Grim Reaper is…well deadly. Any living creature who comes into contact with them dies peacefully and their soul detaches from their physical body. It’s the reason why they’re usually dressed so modestly, never leaving base without their pristine leather gloves

Since you’re immortal, Thanos thought it would be a fun experiment to see how you would react under his touch. You were curious and eager to see if it actually worked. What you learned is that while his touch didn’t kill you, it most certainly hurt him. A lot. Thanos tried hiding the pain, but you saw the red and bubbled skin. 

You are the opposite of him—of death. You are life persisting past when it was meant to die. 

“Sorry about that,” he says again. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Wow, an apology from you? Color me surprised.” 

“Hey! I can be remorseful. Like I said, you the only bitch I respect!” he says, the last part being in English. His elbow nudges you playfully, hoping to get your mood brightened. When he sees that your face hasn’t changed, he straightens up. “You, uh…you look like shit.”

You take a large gulp of beer—nearly half the can in one go. “I feel even worse.”

Thanos looks at the pile of empty cans near him and the one drink you’ve had this entire night. “I’ve had sulppang with more alcohol than you do in your body.”

“No, it’s not the beer…Sorry, it’s…just…” Your voice goes small. A faintest catch could be heard in your words. “Two years, huh?”

Thanos looks pleased by the assessment. “Another amazing year with the best Reaper in the unit. Few have had the pleasure to be near me for as long as you have. Be eternally grateful.”

“Now who’s speaking like an old-timer,” you tease. You let out a heavy sigh, but no tension releases from your stiff shoulders. “I’m glad. Really, I am. To have you around. Life’s a lot less…painful when you’re near.”

Thanos’s fluorescent green eyes are spotlights in the dark. They pin you down and make your body hairs stand on end. This is the most concerned you’ve seen him and it unnerves you. 

“Why are you talking like that?”

You take another tentative sip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to die,” he says. He shifts closer to you, examining your face for any signs of a joke. “What’s going on?”

You don’t respond initially, unwilling to admit what you’re worried about. It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter. 

But Thanos is looking expectantly. Like an owl, unblinking and intense. 

“Well…aren’t you getting promoted soon?” 

Your words seem to hit the both of you the same way; right in the chest where the ache is heaviest. 

Thanos freezes. His entire body stills, locking in place. He looks up at you, unsure of how to approach the topic. “O-Oh…yeah, that. I mean why are you worrying about that? It’s not like I won’t see you, chica.”

You are silent. Still as a statue, repeating his words over and over again. 

He keeps going, a hesitant smile forming on his face. “Plus, if you forget about me again, I’ll remember you. I’ll look for you and keep you outta trouble on my days off—which I get more of by the way! Promise.”

How many friends have you made, just like him? Did they make promises too? Are they still waiting for you, even after years have passed?

A humourless chuckle leaves your mouth; a sad, sad smile is on your face. “But then you will go back to work. It only takes a few days before something happens—and my memory gets…y’know…I would wander off into a distant land and I wouldn’t be able to remember your name. You are bound to this land. You won’t be able to find me even if you wanted to. The thought is nice, though.”

You are a curse. A walking plague of misfortune where every corner lies pain. You forget, you toil, you survive unimaginable circumstances with no reprieve.

“My brain is a ticking bomb, Thanos,” you say, exhausted. “My whole life is a tragedy that never ends. I can’t keep up with it anymore. No matter what, I always get myself in trouble. I’m always on the wrong side of the road. I’m always facing the end of a gun. Every road leads to my demise—but the end never comes.”

A silent veil falls upon the world. For a moment, nothing moves. The winds cease, the crickets halt, and your breathing slows. Thanos is only inches away from you—your one and only friend you have any concrete memory of—yet the distance between you two grows larger with each visit. You know it. He knows it. 

Thanos has coworkers who annoy him, but they’re constants in his life. They remember his birthday, his name, the random English phrases he keeps repeating. What are you if not a force of chaos that inconveniences him? He worries. He once told you how he spent hours trying to locate you in Gangnam, only to find you passed out in a dumpster with blood caking your face. He sneaks money into your coat pocket from the random people he reaped that day.  

All of that kindness would be forgotten. Wasted. You would turn your back on him unwillingly and chase the feeling of companionship with every step you take. You will walk on bleeding feet, searching desperately for that feeling, only to be met with a fog of incomplete memories. 

“Come with me.”

You slowly turn towards Thanos, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Thanos stands up from his spot, knocking down beer cans with some falling down the cliff you’re sitting on. He tilts his hands towards you, a silent invitation. 

“I don’t understand,” you say. 

Thanos rolls his eyes and brings his hand closer to you. “Come with me. I’m gonna make you stop moping. You look ugly when you cry.”

You crush your half-empty beer can in a tight grip, a hard glare in your face. Thanos doesn’t look disturbed in the slightest. Throwing the can away, you let yourself get hauled up by him. 

What’s the worst that can happen?

— — —

Thanos drags you by the wrist into the city. It’s been months since you’ve been in a crowd of people, but at least someone is there to keep you from trouble. Luckily you managed to wash up and wear clean-ish clothes hours before. A few people glance your way, but for the most part you’re nothing but a stranger in a sea of other humans. 

You sit in a dark alleyway picking at your nails, waiting for Thanos to come out of a cosmetics store. You didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the bright lights and advertisements, promising to not move from your spot until he comes back. Despite your numerous questions and threats, he didn’t say a word as to what he’s planning. He had a determined face that you’ve only seen when he’s reading through his black notebook.

You hear the familiar clack of his leather shoes before Thanos comes back into view. 

“Here, wear these.”

Thanos tosses a small paper box and you nearly miss it when it hits you. 

You inspect the box. Contact lenses in an obnoxiously bright green packaging.

You look up expectantly. “What is this?”

“Are you asking what the product is?” Thanos asks with a click of his tongue. “I knew you were old, but I forgot just how old. I should be calling you abuelita instead.”

You chuck a stray rock at his face, which he effortlessly dodges with a subtle tilt to his head. 

“I know what these are,” you insist. “Why do you need me to wear them?”

Thanos wags his finger at you, like you’re some misbehaving dog. “Questions, questions. Do you lack so little faith in me, chica?”

Your glare is hot enough to melt steel. Thanos purses his lips and sighs heavily, not wanting to keep you in a bad mood all night. “Fine! I was planning on just keeping everything a surprise. But I’ll let you in on the plans after you put everything on.”

“Everything?”

— — —

“What the fuck, Thanos?”

“C’mon, do you trust me or not?”

“What the actual fuck.”

You are in ill-fitting clothing that Thanos found in a thrift store. You are hyper-aware of the contacts he bought (stole?) from the cosmetic store. A pair of flimsy glasses sits on your nose that you have to constantly push up. You realized a little too late what Thanos is trying to do.

Despite what he said earlier about letting you in on his schemes, Thanos stubbornly kept his mouth shut about what he wants to do. 

All of it comes to a boiling point when Thanos proudly presents…this.

“I hate you,” you say for the umpteenth time tonight. “I take back every nice thing I said about you.”

Thanos taps your nose with a little more force than necessary. “You’re a terrible liar. You absolutely adore me.” 

The Checkpoint is a gate that emits otherworldly energy. Repulsive energy. Energy that is foreign, unfamiliar, and scary. A world that makes your skin scrawl. 

You are life persisting. You are made of matter, living tissue, and pure spite. The antithesis of everything that the portal is. 

Thanos’s hands grip your shoulders with enough force to keep you where you are. The portal itself isn’t anything revolutionary; it’s two parallel black lines that look to be spray-painted onto a blank wall. To any wandering eye, it just looks like contemporary graffiti. 

You watch Thanos press his finger into the wall and draw a shape you can’t quite make out. You assume it’s an invisible key of sorts. 

The wall emits a pale blue glow. A nebula of energy softly billowing around it like a cloud. Soft. Inviting. 

Utterly terrifying. 

“I’m not…I have human flesh,” you mutter, trying to will yourself not to shake. “What if I can’t go through? What if someone sees us?”

“Just stick your hand through. If something happens I can cut it off.” Thanos uses one hand to retrieve his Death Scythe—which resembles a simple hand scythe. “We can take care of the rest when we get to the other side.”

You let out a curse at Thanos. This is a stupid idea. 

Checkpoints are one of those things that are clear to remember. Thanos explained it to you and for whatever reason, the concept stuck like tar in your brain. A select few beings are able to access them, so you really only had Thanos’s descriptions to depend on. It used to fascinate you when you heard about it.

Seeing it up close, however…

There are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of supernatural creatures lurking beyond. Mystical animals, lower-tier gods, Reapers on duty. If the Reapers are not out in the living world then they are most certainly back in their offices, keeping guard for anything that crosses through. If anyone sees him dragging a living human through…he would be in serious trouble. 

Despite the real danger of crossing the Checkpoint, Thanos won’t let go unless you try going through the portal. 

You take a deep breath, raising your trembling arm towards the glowing light. The energy comes to meet you halfway. It softly caresses the skin that it sees, inviting you further inside. You grip onto the lapel of Thanos’s jacket and he holds onto your arm in security. Your arm reaches further, inch by inch, until you’re bicep deep. 

“Does it hurt?” Thanos asks, keeping a firm grip on your free arm. 

You wiggle your arm. There’s no resistance or harm that befalls you. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, don't get mad at me.”

“Wha—”

Thanos’s hand presses against the middle of your back and roughly shoves you through the portal. 

Anger spikes through you, but you can’t even form a curse in your mouth as the current of energy is spiraling you. Your body contorts and spins in midair, unable to keep yourself upright. Had your body had any injuries, you would’ve been screaming in pain. 

The travel time is less than ten seconds, but your stomach lurches painfully. You hit the ground with a loud THUD, your face smacking against polished marble. Thanos casually walks through the portal as if he was walking through a regular doorway. 

The noise of a busy crowd alerts you. You see polished shoes, claws, talons, wisps of energy instead of feet. No one stops to help or glance your way and you are glad. 

Thanos—the bastard—helps you get up from the ground and balance you. 

You turn to him, seething. “I fucking hate you.”

“You can hate me later when we’re done,” he says quickly, scanning the area. “Have you been here before?”

It’s hard to think when every nerve in your body is wound tight. You can feel how unwelcome you are. Like the universe knows you are not supposed to be here. Thanos’s hands, warm and firm, keep you from hyperventilating.  

“It’s hard to say,” you mutter, breathing slowly to ease the nausea from the trip. “I’ve been to pocket worlds, but I don’t remember crossing a Checkpoint. Won’t they notice?”

“Notice what?” Thanos asks while checking a small wallet. 

You scan the building again. All manner of beings from across the Korean peninsula are gathered. “That I am human.”

“You’re about as human as me, chica,” Thanos says without looking up from his wallet. When he sees the look of confusion on your face, he rolls his eyes. “That’s to say: you’re going to blend in fine. Contrary to popular belief, most Reapers can’t actually see your souls until they’ve been reaped. To anyone looking, we’re just two Reapers passing by. Besides, your immortal flesh would be repulsive to most beings. Even your blood tastes like shit.”

That earns him a well-earned punch to the arm. 

The portal took you to a large building that reminds you of Grand Central Station, albeit more cleanly and modern. The ceiling is high—higher than you would expect a train station to have—with a glass dome. Some beings are flying up towards it, swirling around in the air without any weight on their shoulders. A harsh, tight feeling of envy sits in your gut.

You walk through the crowd with a harsh grip onto Thanos’s sleeve. Your hand might be bruising his skin from the sheer force of your hold, but he doesn’t shake you off. 

“Where exactly are we headed—”

“I know someone who might help you,” he says, eyes pointed straight ahead like he’s on a mission. “She’s a real crazy bitch. Feral. A witch that was once a human doctor. But she might help.”

“Help with what?”

A pause. “With your amnesia.”

All the air from your lungs evaporates. You stop walking which makes Thanos falter. 

You replay his words. Picking them apart, wondering if you misheard him. 

No, you definitely heard him. 

Thanos places a strong hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your thoughts. His eyes betray his worry, but you can tell he’s taking this entire thing seriously. “I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t even know if she’s a legit witch or even a doctor. But we could at least try. Right before…”

“You leave,” you finish. 

The bustling crowds and magical energy dims. It’s just you and Thanos, still amidst the chaos. If it all goes wrong somehow, tonight would be the last night of your friendship. A fragile, barely supported one, but a friendship nonetheless. Thanos may be a loud, annoying prick, but he doesn’t make you feel worse about yourself. He spends his little break time finding you clothes and cleaning the warehouse. He brings fresh food and tells all the latest gossip at his work. He makes you a part of his life, even if you can’t do the same for him. 

He makes an effort for you. He’s breaking rules to help you. 

If everything goes well…

You would be proper friends. 

You can make the same effort. 

You can actually remember him. 

“Let’s get going.” Thanos’s hand on your shoulder slides down your arm, holding your wrist. “I don’t want to waste my night inside here.”

He walks you to a small information booth with a pretty woman behind the glass. She’s got light brown hair that's in a high ponytail. A Reaper, judging by the crisp suit and sleek, fashionable glasses. She’s filing her nails with a pinched face, completely unaware of Thanos and you approaching. 

“Mi-na! Good to see you,” Thanos greets with a charming smile. “How’s my—”

“Save it, Choi,” Mi-na mutters, not giving Thanos a hint of friendliness. Just stone cold professionalism. “You still owe me for covering your shift last week. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

Thanos inhales sharply. “I’ll get you that purse soon, okay? I mean it. Have I let you down before?”

Mi-na halts her filing for a breath, peering up at him through her lashes. Her lips form a hard line, considering his words. “No…I guess.”

“Perfect!” Thanos flashes a picture-perfect smile, clapping his hands together. “Now, I need to get to Yangdong village. Which Checkpoints would I need to go through?”

“Yangdong?” Mi-na gives a skeptical look, eyeing Thanos up and down like she’s never seen him before. “Why do you wanna go there? Did you lose a bet to Specialist Kang again?”

Thanos points a threatening finger at Mi-na through the glass. “First of all, that North Korean bitch cheated last time. Second, this isn’t for me. I need to see that feral witch to help a friend.”

It was then that Mi-na’s gaze finally settled on you. 

Compared to her striking looks and pressed uniform—looking every bit like a Chthonic being, you looked like a cheap knockoff straight from the dumpster. You fidget with the loose sleeve on your arm, trying your hardest not to look too nervous. 

Mi-na takes a long, hard look at you before slowly dragging her gaze to Thanos. “Who is this?”

“Ah, this old girl?” Thanos pulls you to his side in a tight embrace. His hand rubs down your arm affectionately. “My friend from America I told you about.”

Mi-na’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. I thought you were fucking with us. That’s her?”

You give a small smile and wave, hoping she doesn’t see the look of panic on your face. You had no idea that Thanos would mention you to his coworkers. You glance up at him, but he’s too busy looking at Mi-na. 

What does he say about you? How many people know about you? 

Mi-na shoots a glare at Thanos. “What are you doing to her? Can’t you see she’s uncomfortable with you?”

Thanos quickly lets you go with his hands up in surrender and an apologetic look on his face. 

“O-Oh! You didn’t have to—” you start.

Mi-na gets closer to the glass, looking at you with a dead-serious look on her face. “If he ever pulls some shit over you, report to me and I’ll beat his ass. Is he your only friend here?”

You nod, feeling your glasses slide off your nose again. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says sincerely. “Had I known he was telling the truth I would’ve gone to save you.”

You felt your face warm at her earnest words. “It’s no big deal, really. Thanos is a good friend to me.”

Mi-na glares hard at Thanos at your statement. “Choi! Did you seriously make her call you that stupid name?”

“I never make her do anything!” Thanos says, waving his hand dismissively. “We can skip pleasantries for later. I need to get to Yangdong. Like now.”

“What the hell are you two gonna do there? Play mahjong with the ghosts? Fight the demons lurking in the woods?” she asks. 

Thanos sighs, running his hand down his face. “I told you, we’re meeting with the witch that lives there. My friend needs help.”

“Help with wha—wait, is that amnesia shit real too?” Mi-na looks at you expectantly. When you nod in response, she slumps in her chair in disbelief. “Holy shit. I take back everything I said about Choi being a fucking liar.”

“Checkpoint path, Kang,” Thanos grumbles, snapping his fingers. “We’re on borrowed time here.”

“Alright, alright, geez.” Mi-na shifts up from her chair and grabs a large black binder. “This might take a bit. No one really goes there so I don’t have it memorized.”

Thanos groans loudly into his hand. 

Watching the two of them bicker puts a strange feeling in your chest. It’s not quite envy, but something more primal. A hollow feeling that puts your entire life into perspective for the first time. The feeling sours. Your vision tunnels on the two of them. 

He’s so different when he’s not talking to you.

Thanos doesn’t spend half of his time repeating himself over and over again when talking to Mi-na. He doesn’t give her a look of disappointment when she says the wrong thing. Sure, there’s annoyance on his face when Mi-na speaks, but it’s a stark contrast to how the two of you interact. He doesn’t walk on eggshells around her. His voice is fast, not subdued. When he recalls something Mi-na did last month on a mission, Mi-na doesn’t pause to think about it. She carries on the conversation just as fast. 

You know he cares about you, to some degree at least. You’re not that blind or self-pitying. 

There’s nothing you can offer him. You have no special powers. No secret information to hand over. Although Thanos calls you cheesy nicknames and teasingly flirts with you, it’s never been more than platonic. 

There’s no reason to seek you out other than for companionship. He could’ve left you in the warehouse and never came back. But he does. 

A single question overtakes you like a tidal wave. 

Would everything be better if you were different?

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice that you’ve stepped away from Thanos’s side. So caught up in fact, that you failed to see a dark figure approach you until it’s too late. 

Papers dance in the air like fallen leaves in the middle of autumn; a remnant smoke of your explosive collision. 

You hit the marble on your side with a groan, and so does the person that hit you. You thank whatever god above for not having a broken bone in your body beforehand. 

You scramble to your feet and don’t even stop to think when you try to pick up the mess of papers and folders on the ground between you. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” you say, catching as many papers as you could in your shaky hands. Your first time in the Checkpoint and you’ve already caused some disturbance to the peace. “I should’ve noticed you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. Her voice is rich and silky, with a scratchy edge like she’s been without water for some time. “I shouldn’t have been distracted.”

Your brain momentarily shuts down when she locks eyes with you. 

A Reaper. Her unmistakable neon green eyes are radiant in the ambient lighting of the Checkpoint Station.  

In the back of your mind, you realized that your eyes won’t do the same. You duck your head down, both as a sign of apology and also to hide the fact that you’re not a Reaper. Mi-na couldn’t have noticed, but this stranger is only a foot away from you. If she even glances a second too long, she could pick apart your ruse. Thanos would get in trouble and who knows what they would do to you. 

You focus on stacking the papers into your hands. Or, you try to. 

The stranger is also picking up papers, her hands nearly touching yours a few times. Her gloves are a deep red, unlike Thanos’s customary black. Her gaze is pointed down, collecting the remaining stack of papers. You allow yourself a second to observe her features. 

You could only catch a glimpse of parts of her face. Her dark, silky hair forms a curtain over her face. Unlike Mi-na and Thanos, her glasses are plain black with no added charm to the corner. Her suit is enveloped by a long, black, leather trench coat. Peeking from under the coat, you catch a glimmer of metal on her suit lapel, but you can’t make out the shape of it.

No one stops to help or pass any glance, but Thanos notices your absence like a sixth sense. He shakes his head at your penchant for wandering off. 

When he gets closer, his footsteps halt. 

“Sergeant Cho?” you hear Thanos ask, a bit of fear present in his voice. 

The woman tilts her head towards him with a gaze that holds power and authority. Thanos noticeably shrinks under it, his posture going rigid like he’s answering a silent command. 

Sergeant Cho rises to her feet steadily and you unconsciously mirror her controlled actions. You hand over the papers in your hands and she takes it without a wasted effort. Her movements are precise, even with something as mundane as taking a stack of papers from your hands. 

“Why aren’t you back at HQ, Private?” she asks. Though her face and voice carry a neutral cadence, you can’t help but shiver at the inquiry. It’s as if she’s at the start of an interrogation. “Your shift doesn’t end until zero one hundred.”

You give Thanos a side-ways glance. Did he skip out on work to come and see you? 

Thanos’s face is a ghostly pale. He clears his throat before answering: “I finished reports and daily tasks three hours early. You weren’t in office so I got clearance to leave from Sergeant Kang No-eul.”

“In the two years you’ve worked under me, you’ve never turned in reports earlier than fifteen minutes,” she states. It’s an observation with such clinical precision that you would think she’s addressing a court full of lawyers. “What possessed you to finish that early?”

Instinctually, Thanos looks at you. Maybe to check to see if you’re okay. Maybe for help. A fleeting moment, no longer than a blink.

But the ever so observant Sergeant notices. Of course she did. How could she not when her eyes are trained onto Thanos like a sniper ready to eliminate their target. 

Those deadly eyes slide over to you. 

It’s then she takes real note of you. Your skewed glasses, ill-fitting clothes, your tie that sits a little too close to your throat, the pants that are barely held up by a weathered belt. It’s worse than Mi-na’s stare; all she did was a passive glance at your attire. Cho, on the other hand, skinned you. Took apart every single stitch of clothing until her gaze—striking and heavy—lands on your face. 

Your jaw is tense with worry, your body as taut as your noose of a tie around your throat. You try not to tremble, to not let your worry show, to not  screw everything up. 

“Who are you?”

Again with that question. A haunting set of words that are branded into your heart. You hear it everywhere. It clings to your skin like smoke. 

You look at Thanos, seeing his panicked expression. 

Sergeant Cho walks a bit closer. You smell a hint of jasmine underneath the leather coat she’s wearing. 

“You’re not from here.” All it takes is one glance at you for her to see the truth. There’s no inflection in Sergeant Cho’s voice. No rise in anger from her simple observation. “What district are you from?”

You swallow, even though your mouth seems to be drier than a desert. No words form. How could they when your entire body is so tense?

“You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?”

You manage a faint nod, not daring to look up into her eyes. 

She lets out a hum. “Do you have permission to come to the Republic of Korea?”

You stare at the floor, wanting so desperately to drop dead at her feet. This is it. You’ve finally met your end. 

“Do you understand what I am saying?” A pause too silent and too long is enough of an answer to her. “You don’t, do you?”

Her gaze goes from you to Thanos, expecting an answer from him when it’s clear you’re too silent. 

Thanos looks at you, trying to find an answer written on your equally as worried face. His mouth opens and closes, sounds are coming out but they’re not words. He’s trying to answer.

Sergeant Cho’s brows pinch, just a fraction. A sharp exhale through her nose and with it your fate sealed. She addressed Thanos. “The two of you need to come with me to HQ. I’ll need to see the girl’s administrative papers, district-unit documentation, her Undead Citizen Number, and Death Scythe. Afterwards I need a detailed report on her travels and what she’s doing here. Is that understood?”

Your heart falters. Thanos looks about two seconds from passing out. 

Just moments ago, you were buzzing with hope to be rid of a curse that shackled you down for so long. A final night between friends and a possibility of living your life, cherishing every moment thereafter.

It’s all your fucking fault. 

Because of your mistake, Thanos is going to be in trouble. 

All because he wanted to help you. 

Sergeant Cho tucks the stack of papers under her arm and pivots on her heel, motioning you two to follow. 

You can’t give up. 

Not when you’re so close. 

“W-We can’t leave!” you mutter, too loud and too quickly. 

Her foot pauses mid-stride. Sergeant Cho peers over her shoulder to look at you with that same hardened gaze. 

You’re still scared, panicked, but you’re not about to get someone else in trouble for your fuck ups. 

“So you do speak Korean,” Sergeant Cho says, eerily calm. She adjusts the sharp glasses on her nose. “Why can’t you leave, exactly?”

Your hearts beating out of your chest. Your face is hot and you can barely get your voice to carry through. “Because…Because…”

Your chest is tight and your hands are clammy with sweat. You’ve taken bullets to the stomach, beatings to your skull, and starved until it felt like you were eating every fiber of muscle in your body. You’ve survived pain beyond comprehension. You’ve seen your parents’ bodies burned in your childhood home. 

There was a time where you appreciated your short memory. It meant that you didn’t have to think about all that pain you’ve endured. But it also meant that you had nothing to live for. You couldn’t sustain any relationships. Anyone you met eventually faded from your mind like wisps of smoke. Maybe they died. Maybe you walked away. You can’t know because you can’t fucking remember. 

You crawled through every inch of this Earth, trying to find some form of relief. Trying to find some idea of who you are. Trying to make sense of the Hell you were cursed with. 

But you couldn’t. You were robbed of it. 

You wake up everyday, holding onto the scraps of memories of your childhood. Everyday you have to make an effort to remember the one person who gives a shit about you, even if his stupid nicknames get on your nerves sometimes. 

You are going to heal your fucked up brain. 

You’re not going to let some Reaper bitch get in the way of that. 

“You’re right, I’m not supposed to be here,” you admit with a steady breath. “I came to South Korea with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

Thanos looks at you like you’ve just signed his execution. Sergeant Cho’s expression doesn’t budge. 

Yet you keep going, steady and sure. “Everyday was a struggle. I couldn’t remember why I came here, what country I came from, or what I was running from. But one thing I knew for certain was that I was alone. I lived in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of a town all because I had no one to depend on.”

Sergeant Cho is turned towards you fully, giving you her undivided attention. You straighten your posture, meeting her gaze with a passion you didn’t know existed in you. 

“Private Choi Su-bong answered my call for help,” you say, no hesitation, no waver in your voice. “For the past two years he’s helped me try to regain my memories. Even after every failure, he never once gave up. He wanted to take another risk for me. He found a witch in Yangdong who might help with my amnesia. He left work early for me. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.”

A few people pause their motions, looking at the scene before them. 

Thanos is impossibly still, holding his breath for Sergeant Cho’s final verdict. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand inching to his hip where his Scythe is sheathed. 

You stand defiantly, meeting Sergeant Cho’s gaze. You hope she can see your sincerity and desperation. Worst comes to worst, you’re willing to strike a hand across her face and let your cursed flesh burn hers. 

An unreadable expression crosses her face before she checks the small watch on the inside of her wrist. 

A beat passes. Another. 

You and Thanos shift closer to each other by a step. 

Sergeant Cho lets out a short, yet heavy sigh through her nose. “You’re headed for Yangdong?”

“Yes,” you and Thanos say together. 

“Then I’ll supervise you,” she says, final and conclusive, daring you to protest otherwise. “If what you say is true then you wouldn’t mind, correct? Besides, Yangdong is more active this time of year. I can’t let two lower ranks go there without backup.”

“So, you believe me?” you mutter. 

“No,” she says harshly. “But I need to have probable cause in order to detain you. I would much rather see the two of you make fools of yourself than have my shift bleed into overtime as I interrogate you. It’s more efficient this way.”

Thanos’s jaw is tight, but he managed a relenting nod. “Of course, Sergeant.”

She looks at you with the same piercing gaze. “And I expect a fully detailed account of your visit when we head back to HQ. Is that understood?”

You don’t know how long you can keep up with the charade. If the witch doesn’t heal you, then it’s only a matter of time before the ruse is up. Thanos would get the punishment of a lifetime and as for you…do Scythes even work on you? 

Do you want to find out?

“Yes, Sergeant.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i had so much fun writing this and i can't wait to share. thanos is not a love interest btw, he's just annoying like that.

taglist: @3leni

[mashed-brainrot]

snippet for a cho hyun-ju x f!reader smut 🤑

--> in which you are an ex-mercenary (john wick style) and you form a bond with cho hyun-ju. you tag team player 333 and celebrate in the bathrooms 😈

EDIT: FIC UPLOADED CHECK MY PINNED POST :P

[mashed-brainrot]

──𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 (𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁);

❝ i'll always have you, no matter what. ❞   ֗ ִ  ּ ۪  ⊹✦ a collection of all my cho hyun-ju stories

AO3 / PINTEREST

𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄:

➳ don't turn your back : PART ONE | | PART TWO

in which you are an ex-hitman and bond with hyun-ju. during hide and seek, the two of you tag team a few red players before celebrating your victory in the bathrooms.

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄:

➳ death is a face i won't forget (masterlist)

in which you are immortal and pretend to be a grim reaper to get your memories back. cho hyun-ju doesn't believe your ruse for a second.

divider credits: @cafekitsune

[mashed-brainrot]

❝𝐧𝐚𝐯 + 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭❞

ao3 / pinterest

ヾ𓈒⁀➷ ABOUT:

❀ mashed. twenty. she/her. bisexual. graphic designer in training. watercolor painter. author. cringe. abhorrent sleep schedule. google docs enthusiast. if you find my other blogs no you didn't :p ❀

inbox + messages are always open!

ヾ𓈒⁀➷ MASTERLISTS:

❀ cho hyun-ju (squid games)

ヾ𓈒⁀➷ RECENT WORKS:

❀ don't turn your back (2) / cho hyun-ju x f!reader

continuation of the fic below.

❀ don't turn your back (1) / cho hyun-ju x f!reader

in which you are an ex-hitman and bond with hyun-ju. during hide and seek, the two of you tag team a few red players before celebrating your victory in the bathrooms.

❀ death is a face i won't forget (1) / cho hyun-ju x f!reader

you crawled through every inch of this earth, trying to find some form of relief. trying to find some idea of who you are. trying to make sense of the hell you were cursed with. but you couldn’t. you were robbed of it.

divider credits: @dollcelied

[mashed-brainrot]

──𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 (𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁);

❝ there are two things in your life that are certain: you can't die and you can't remember much. when you try to pretend to be a grim reaper to get answers, your superior can't help but think you're not who you say you are. in fact, cho hyun-ju is certain that you're not supposed to exist at all. ❞

↳ PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader

↳ GENRE: romance, modern fantasy au, grim reaper au

↳ SERIES CONTENT WARNINGS: mature themes graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, mentions of suicide/self harm, blood/gore, slow burn, mutual pining, manipulation, eventual smut, angst

↳ CHAPTER ONE: it starts with a friend;

quote divider credits: @k1ssyoursister

[mashed-brainrot]

──𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 [𝐈]

❝ you crawled through every inch of this earth, trying to find some form of relief. trying to find some idea of who you are. trying to make sense of the hell you were cursed with. but you couldn’t. you were robbed of it. ❞

PAIRING: cho hyun-ju x f!reader GENRE: romance, modern fantasy au WORD COUNT: 9.4k WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence, angst, military themes, amnesia, mentions of suicide/self harm, thanos's really bad spanish nicknames

NOTES: my first series on this account! thank you for everyone who got interested in this extremely self-indulgent and niche concept. just so it's clear the grim reapers use military structure despite it being more of an office setting. i just wanted an excuse to use sergeant cho lol

✩series masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: it starts with a friend;

There will come a time in your life where you must die. It can be fifty years from now; it can be one thousand years from now. 

It will happen. 

Again. 

And again. 

And again. 

There is nothing you can do about it. You will come back to it.

Always.

— — —

When you open your eyes, you’re unsurprised to see a dark, looming figure above you. 

A man. Tall one. You can’t see his face well, but you do see him flipping through a small, black notebook. His leather gloves blend seamlessly into the leather of the notebook cover. He flips through another page. Another. He lets out a curse and flips through some more. 

It takes a moment for your memory to kick in. You were walking down a narrow road. You were looking for something. It's still a blur.  

He kneels down to get a better look at the pavement. His eyes catch the light of the dimming sun. Glowing, reflective, uncanny. A lower ranked Reaper. He doesn’t spare you a glance.

The Reaper takes a gloved finger and drags it along the pavement where you were lying. Blood, thick and congealed, collects on the tip of his finger. He sniffs it before he takes a tentative lick. 

“A few hours,” he concludes.

He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, too preoccupied with finding the right entry to his checklist. You’re lying on the pavement, covered in dirt, blood, motionless, and awake. Yet the notebook takes precedence. 

Your throat is raw, torn, but you manage to speak anyway. “You won’t find me there.”

The sound of page flipping ceases. The man finally lands his gaze on your bruised face. He looks startled. 

“You’re…awake?” 

“I get that a lot.”

It hurts to sit up, but you manage. The Reaper doesn’t move to help, only to watch you struggle to get onto unsteady feet. Your legs shake, your vision spins, and a headache is throbbing against your temple. 

But you manage to stand to your full height. 

It was just then that the insanity of the situation dawned on the Reaper’s face. He scrambles to his feet, backing away from you like you’re an unseemly monster. 

The Reaper’s voice trembles. “You should’ve…why didn’t you...you fell from a cliff…?”

“I guess it’s not my time,” you say, your voice wobbly. 

You take in the ruined clothes you had on. Your cap is still on the ground, covered in your blood. Your shirt and pants aren’t much better. Nothing that a little detergent can’t get out. With a grimace you pick up your discarded hat and place it back on your head.  

The Reaper is still, watching you closely but unwilling to step closer. His hand is poised to grab the weapon at his side, but he’s contemplating on unsheathing it. Unsure if it will harm you. Unsure if you’re a threat or not. 

“See you around I guess.”

You pivot on your new shoes that you stole hours before and walk into the dense forest surrounding the road.

— — —

You seemed to have landed on a highway that stretches through some mountains. The cliff you fell from was at least three hundred feet—about ninety meters since you’re outside of the States. 

Bits and pieces come back to you. You came to South Korea not too long ago. You were at a mall, talking to the locals, trying to swipe some clothes since you didn’t have any money. The shoe store employee saw you and security chased you. 

How did you end up at a cliff so far from the city?

Your walk is sluggish as you limp into the dark woods. No weapons means you would have to fend for yourself with your calloused hands and teeth. Just great. 

Maybe a fae would spot you and think you are an easy target. They would glamour you and parade you around to their friends until they get bored. At least you would be drunk on their wine and the pain would subside. 

Maybe a dokkaebi will try to wrestle you in order to leave. You’ve always hated those bastards, even if you don’t exactly remember seeing them. 

You were looking for something. That you know for sure. 

“Wait!”

The Reaper from earlier runs towards you, flushed and still panicked as ever. He stops a few paces from you to catch his breath. 

“Just—fuck—just a second—” he pants with his hands on his knees, doubled over. “You walk so fast for a zombie.”

You brace yourself against a tree, squinting in the low light. The Reaper’s uncanny green eyes are bright enough to be mistaken for high beams. 

“Who…who are you?” he asks when he finally catches his breath. 

Another question that seems to follow you. A question that you can’t even begin to describe your loathing for. 

Who are you? 

Who are you?

You can’t even remember what day of the week it is. You barely remembered that you traveled across the world looking for something, but even then those memories are fragmented. You don’t know your birthday. You don’t know how many languages you speak. You don’t know where you came from.

You can’t be sure if you know your own name. After so many years, traveling to so many countries, hearing so many ways it’s been pronounced, you can’t be certain anymore. 

“I’m a girl who doesn’t know death,” you say with a wince. Blood is soaking through your side, dripping down your leg. “I don’t hold many memories, so I can’t exactly answer that question fairly.”

Choi looks you up and down. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Your Korean it’s…” he trails off, snapping his fingers trying to find the right words. “Old. You’re speaking like a total grandma.”

The Reaper steps closer. You can barely make out his wild dark hair and ear piercings in the dim light. He eyes you, up and down, with a strange look on his face. It’s a cross between curiosity, disgust, and fear. His glasses sit low on his nose, rectangular with a tiny silver cross dangling from one corner. Strange. Though you suppose you look even more unusual.

One of his gloved hands slaps his chest as a greeting. “Private Choi Su-bong of the Grim Reaper Soul Retrieval Division.”

Choi grins with the arrogance of someone who thinks every word they speak is worthy of attention. He has a rugged charm and boldness that you can see most girls fall for. The fluorescent eyes—though uncanny—fit his face somehow. 

“That’s…great,” you say, completely unimpressed. “Am I in trouble?”

“Pardon?”

You let in a ragged breath. “Reapers don’t interfere with human affairs. They’re impartial and cannot interact with the physical world unless absolutely necessary. So if I’m in trouble, you have no reason to follow me, let alone talk to you. If that’s the case, I’m going now.”

The impact hit harder than you thought. Your lungs have a hard time expanding in your chest. Most likely a broken rib is pierced through them, but the adrenaline, shock, and pain from other parts of your body make it hard to tell. Every word you speak is like liquid fire. 

Choi stills, looking hard at your face with an unreadable expression. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know, really,” you say weakly. There’s a hollow feeling in your chest and your words sound just as empty. “I have gaps in my memory. Sometimes things just come out of my mouth without much thought.”

You hear the crunching of leaves as Choi approaches closer. Light is sparse and you can only make out the reflective iris of the reaper in front of you. You don’t falter or cower under his scrutinizing gaze. If anything you find a bit of comfort in them. At least for this moment you are not alone in the dark. 

Choi tilts his head slightly, assessing the deep gash on the side of your head. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

You shrug. “I go where the wind takes me.”

“So…you’re homeless.”

“Even if I did have a home I’ll probably forget it even existed,” you say with a chuckle, even if it hurts. “Maybe a monster would eat me and I could rest in its stomach.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder, firm and reassuring. Unconsciously, you sag under its weight, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you all at once. 

“You are so weird for a chick,” Choi says. 

Your lips quirk up in a smile. “Tell me about it.”

For the next few hours, you hobble on unsteady feet in unfamiliar terrain with a curious Reaper matching every step. You’re going at a snail’s pace, one foot in front of the other with a clench in your jaw and spite to keep going. To push through the pain of your bones and muscles stitching together. 

Choi makes good conversation at least. He talks about the creatures that dwell in the forest and the people who have died here. Morbid for a conversation topic, but you appreciate the lack of taboo of talking about it. Humans are so afraid of death—rightfully so. But death is nothing more than an abstract concept to you. Stories, songs, art, and culture have shaped themselves around death and what comes thereafter. You may look like them. You may speak their languages and smile at their jokes, but you can never truly be them. You felt so detached from humanity for this very reason—how can you even call yourself a human if you cannot participate in the one thing that ties everyone together?

You feel wrong. Like you’re taking up space in a world that doesn’t belong to you. 

At least Choi doesn’t make you feel weird. He may call you strange names, like mamacita or chica (you don’t think he even speaks a lick of Spanish), but at least he doesn’t make a face when you say something uncalled for. He doesn’t wince when you casually mention having your intestines torn out of your body. He laughs at the dry humored jokes you make. 

It’s nice.

“I used to have another name y’know,” Choi says. “Thanos. I was a pretty good rapper too. Back when I was still human.”

“Than…os?”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanos. The Marvel guy. Tall, muscular, purple. A total powerhouse! Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him.”

You pause, trying to shift through your foggy brain. The name is familiar. You snap your fingers when it hits you. “Oh! The villain from that Iron Man comic! Yeah, I read it when it came out. I could only skim through it since I blew my money from gambling.”

The look on Thanos’s face could only be described as a mix between confusion and utter disbelief. “From the Iron Man comic—dude, you are so behind on everything it’s almost sad. That shit came out years ago.”

You shrink into yourself, embarrassed. You hoped Thanos won’t notice, but his enhanced vision probably means he sees it. “Sorry. The fucked up memories comes with a lack of time perception.”

“Don’t be sorry, man,” he says, bumping your shoulder lightly with his own. “One of these days you gotta see the movies. All twenty-one right before Endgame. Though, we can skip some of the sequels since they kinda suck anyways.”

Your chest warms a bit. Talkies—or movies as they’re called now—were a luxury in your childhood. You’ve only seen a few before your parents’ deaths and never had the chance to see any more since. It never really crossed your mind in between travels and getting your body mangled left and right. 

“So how long have you been alive for?” Thanos asks while kicking a rock with his polished leather shoes. “Or do you not know the answer to that either?”

You’re no longer slouched over in pain. While your spine is nowhere near healed enough, the pain has considerably subsided. “Ninety-five years. Born to human parents and lived a relatively normal life until our house caught on fire. Fire burned all the layers of my skin and I screamed until I passed out. I woke up hours later with a fresh layer of skin and my parents’ bodies charred beyond recognition. My life in those times are my only clear memories.”

“Ah, so that explains your aged reference and old-timey Korean,” Thanos says. “Is there anything you can’t heal from?”

You shake your head solemnly. “I’ve tried everything. Shotgun to the head, starvation, decapitation, falling into a vat of lye that was strong enough to break apart a body in a matter of hours…nothing. It’s like my body adapts to whatever is thrown at me, but only enough so I don’t die. I still feel pain with every attempt.”

“How the hell did you come back from decapitation?”

“Funny story about that, I asked a serial killer to do it.” You said it so casually as if you were mentioning an ex-boyfriend. A laugh escapes you at the memory. “It was the second World War and I just made my way from Poland to New York City. I was so shell shocked and so done with anything that I just wanted to end it all. I paid ten dollars and told him to cut my head off. In a few hours I woke up and the poor guy was shaking in the corner of the room. You should’ve seen his face!”

Thanos looks up from the ground with a bewildered expression. “How?!”

“My body grew from my head!”

“Like a lizard?!” He makes a gagging noise and your laugh fills the darkness. So carefree, loud, and utterly joyous, Thanos can’t help but smile. “Oh gods, I can imagine it. Your head just sitting on a table and then your feet start sprouting from under it—”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“—but something goes wrong and there’s eight feet growing and you become this ugly hydra—”

You’re laughing so hard that you stumble onto him, shaking with laughter. Thanos joins you until you both hold each other up, tears in your eyes and the weight of a new friendship filling your chest.

— — —

Thanos makes it a point to visit you periodically. The longer you see him, the less likely you’ll forget him. 

“This coworker of mine used to be a psychiatrist,” he explained to you. “Amnesia makes it hard to learn new information. Repetition can help with it. And who can ever forget the great and mighty Thanos?”

You think it’s mostly an ego thing. Thanos loves to talk and you’re bored out of your mind most days. You don’t interrupt his speeches or get mad when he pulls a dark humored joke. His visits are never long—a few hours at most. He tries to recap most of the Marvel movies in order for you, but he keeps getting side-tracked. He recalls some hilarious deaths of people he had to reap while he was gone. 

It’s nice. Even if Thanos calls you chica despite knowing your name. 

— — —

The abandoned warehouse you stumbled across is disgusting. 

Mold grows in every corner, bugs are hiding in every box, and no electricity to light your way through. Still, you find a spot, clean enough for you to place a small futon and blanket that you found outside. 

The nights are cold and damp. When it rains the water floods into the rooms and you have to sleep on an old table. You take baths in a river nearby with a bottle of soap you found in a dumpster. 

You can’t hold a stable job in your condition. Your amnesia gets worse with each injury sustained. 

Thanos tries his best to help you keep the memories you already have. You managed to follow along to his recap of the first ten Marvel movies and remembered it the following week. So long as you keep your injuries to a minimum, the amnesia wouldn’t be debilitating. 

It’s hard though. You need to go back to the city to get supplies. People know that you’re not one of them. They’re different. Clean. Healthy. Mentally all there. You stick to dark alleys, night skies, and few people lining the streets.  

On the days where your life seems to drag you down to the depths of the Underworld, you make your way over to the rooftop of the warehouse and peer over the ledge. Your fear of heights is long gone, torn away from you after so many stumbles off of cliffs. You don’t jump. You know it won’t do anything good. 

A question lingers in your mind. Gnawing. Persistent. A throb in your skull that won’t go away. 

Why are you here?

What made you travel all the way across the world to South Korea? 

That’s the only thing that can’t seem to escape you. It’s the first thought you had when you met Thanos. It’s the only thing that survives all of the head injuries, as if it’s permanently tattooed in your skull.  

What were you looking for?

No, that’s not right. 

Who were you looking for?

— — —

Thanos did his best to help. He really did. 

You tried to recall who you were looking for. You tried to retrace your steps leading up to stepping foot into the peninsula…but you came up empty.

He walked back to the highway that you fell off of—the blood still staining the pavement. He makes the three hour trek up the cliffs to where you most likely fell from. 

Nothing.

The guttural scream that tore through you brought you down to your knees. You dig into the ground beneath you, crying all of the air from out of your lungs. Thanos stood by, scared and unsure. He never saw you like that. Ever. Even when blood spilled from your teeth and bones poked through your bruised skin, you didn’t let the pain keep you from making ill-timed jokes. 

No bruises were on your skin. No blood dripping down your face and staining the floor. 

Yet you screamed like something was torn from you. Like every second was torture. 

And you have no idea why. 

— — —

It gets easier each year. To deal with…this. 

Your life and every shitty thing that comes with it.

Like always, you found yourself in a situation that you shouldn’t be in. You were starving, begging for food from a local bar. One of the men mockingly gives you a piece of bread from his leftover food he packed up. He laughs, loud and hardy at the way you scrambled to the scrap of food he gives. He throws another piece. Another. Then he throws a chicken wing. It sticks to your skin. 

Then he kicks you. His friend does the same. 

Someone tries to pull your clothes off and your body reacts without thinking. 

You kick, scream, and overpower whoever is holding you down. You dig into the man’s neck with your nails until his blood is coating your face. 

Something stabs into your own neck. Then your back. Then your face. 

A pile of hands descend until your body is torn to pieces. 

When Thanos shakes you awake, hours later, you have already forgotten his name.

— — —

In the two years you’ve met Thanos, he has never gotten an entire evening off. He’s been doing well at work and credits you for his motivation. To celebrate another year of camaraderie, Thanos drags you to a secluded spot to drink until your liver bursts. 

“You’re the only bitch I respect out here,” he tells you, his words slurring as he downs another bottle of beer. He stole an entire pack from a convenience store, just to share with you. “I go outside, reap some poor son-of-a-bitch to meet my quota, and get chewed out by my boss. At least you don’t run your mouth and piss me off.”

You hum into the rim of the can, the sour and bitter taste of beer hitting your mouth. 

You sit at the edge of a freeway, your legs dangling over a steep cliff. It’s a drop that can make anyone’s knees buckle. 

“Sounds like you only keep me around because of what I can do for you,” you state. “I have a feeling you don’t even like me.”

Thanos gulps down his drink—his third bottle—before crushing it on the side of his head. “I like you because you do things that I like. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“I suppose.”

While Thanos shotguns his beer with his Death Scythe, you nurse your drink with a bit more grace. You offer half-hearted replies to Thanos’s comments. Your small sips started to draw on for longer. Something else weighs heavily in your mind, occupying all of your waking thoughts. 

The gaps between memories are starting to widen. 

It’s getting harder to remember all the movies Thanos recapped for you. You can see the mounting frustration in every visit. He constantly has to repeat himself. He has to keep checking to see if you remembered something he said a week ago. Once upon a time the two of you would stroll through Seoul like you owned it, shoulder to shoulder, laughing at a stupid joke about your own misery. 

You can barely look at him anymore. Not because he’s done something to anger you, but because you know this friendship won’t last. 

“Hellooo? Earth to my favorite chica?”

Thanos waves his hand dangerously close to your face. His ungloved hand. You unconsciously flinch away. 

You shuffle back from the ledge, tucking one of your legs under your chin. “Be careful. You almost made contact.”

It takes a moment for the realization to dawn on him. He mutters an apology and fishes a leather glove from his pocket. 

A touch from a Grim Reaper is…well deadly. Any living creature who comes into contact with them dies peacefully and their soul detaches from their physical body. It’s the reason why they’re usually dressed so modestly, never leaving base without their pristine leather gloves

Since you’re immortal, Thanos thought it would be a fun experiment to see how you would react under his touch. You were curious and eager to see if it actually worked. What you learned is that while his touch didn’t kill you, it most certainly hurt him. A lot. Thanos tried hiding the pain, but you saw the red and bubbled skin. 

You are the opposite of him—of death. You are life persisting past when it was meant to die. 

“Sorry about that,” he says again. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Wow, an apology from you? Color me surprised.” 

“Hey! I can be remorseful. Like I said, you the only bitch I respect!” he says, the last part being in English. His elbow nudges you playfully, hoping to get your mood brightened. When he sees that your face hasn’t changed, he straightens up. “You, uh…you look like shit.”

You take a large gulp of beer—nearly half the can in one go. “I feel even worse.”

Thanos looks at the pile of empty cans near him and the one drink you’ve had this entire night. “I’ve had sulppang with more alcohol than you do in your body.”

“No, it’s not the beer…Sorry, it’s…just…” Your voice goes small. A faintest catch could be heard in your words. “Two years, huh?”

Thanos looks pleased by the assessment. “Another amazing year with the best Reaper in the unit. Few have had the pleasure to be near me for as long as you have. Be eternally grateful.”

“Now who’s speaking like an old-timer,” you tease. You let out a heavy sigh, but no tension releases from your stiff shoulders. “I’m glad. Really, I am. To have you around. Life’s a lot less…painful when you’re near.”

Thanos’s fluorescent green eyes are spotlights in the dark. They pin you down and make your body hairs stand on end. This is the most concerned you’ve seen him and it unnerves you. 

“Why are you talking like that?”

You take another tentative sip. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to die,” he says. He shifts closer to you, examining your face for any signs of a joke. “What’s going on?”

You don’t respond initially, unwilling to admit what you’re worried about. It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter. 

But Thanos is looking expectantly. Like an owl, unblinking and intense. 

“Well…aren’t you getting promoted soon?” 

Your words seem to hit the both of you the same way; right in the chest where the ache is heaviest. 

Thanos freezes. His entire body stills, locking in place. He looks up at you, unsure of how to approach the topic. “O-Oh…yeah, that. I mean why are you worrying about that? It’s not like I won’t see you, chica.”

You are silent. Still as a statue, repeating his words over and over again. 

He keeps going, a hesitant smile forming on his face. “Plus, if you forget about me again, I’ll remember you. I’ll look for you and keep you outta trouble on my days off—which I get more of by the way! Promise.”

How many friends have you made, just like him? Did they make promises too? Are they still waiting for you, even after years have passed?

A humourless chuckle leaves your mouth; a sad, sad smile is on your face. “But then you will go back to work. It only takes a few days before something happens—and my memory gets…y’know…I would wander off into a distant land and I wouldn’t be able to remember your name. You are bound to this land. You won’t be able to find me even if you wanted to. The thought is nice, though.”

You are a curse. A walking plague of misfortune where every corner lies pain. You forget, you toil, you survive unimaginable circumstances with no reprieve.

“My brain is a ticking bomb, Thanos,” you say, exhausted. “My whole life is a tragedy that never ends. I can’t keep up with it anymore. No matter what, I always get myself in trouble. I’m always on the wrong side of the road. I’m always facing the end of a gun. Every road leads to my demise—but the end never comes.”

A silent veil falls upon the world. For a moment, nothing moves. The winds cease, the crickets halt, and your breathing slows. Thanos is only inches away from you—your one and only friend you have any concrete memory of—yet the distance between you two grows larger with each visit. You know it. He knows it. 

Thanos has coworkers who annoy him, but they’re constants in his life. They remember his birthday, his name, the random English phrases he keeps repeating. What are you if not a force of chaos that inconveniences him? He worries. He once told you how he spent hours trying to locate you in Gangnam, only to find you passed out in a dumpster with blood caking your face. He sneaks money into your coat pocket from the random people he reaped that day.  

All of that kindness would be forgotten. Wasted. You would turn your back on him unwillingly and chase the feeling of companionship with every step you take. You will walk on bleeding feet, searching desperately for that feeling, only to be met with a fog of incomplete memories. 

“Come with me.”

You slowly turn towards Thanos, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Thanos stands up from his spot, knocking down beer cans with some falling down the cliff you’re sitting on. He tilts his hands towards you, a silent invitation. 

“I don’t understand,” you say. 

Thanos rolls his eyes and brings his hand closer to you. “Come with me. I’m gonna make you stop moping. You look ugly when you cry.”

You crush your half-empty beer can in a tight grip, a hard glare in your face. Thanos doesn’t look disturbed in the slightest. Throwing the can away, you let yourself get hauled up by him. 

What’s the worst that can happen?

— — —

Thanos drags you by the wrist into the city. It’s been months since you’ve been in a crowd of people, but at least someone is there to keep you from trouble. Luckily you managed to wash up and wear clean-ish clothes hours before. A few people glance your way, but for the most part you’re nothing but a stranger in a sea of other humans. 

You sit in a dark alleyway picking at your nails, waiting for Thanos to come out of a cosmetics store. You didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the bright lights and advertisements, promising to not move from your spot until he comes back. Despite your numerous questions and threats, he didn’t say a word as to what he’s planning. He had a determined face that you’ve only seen when he’s reading through his black notebook.

You hear the familiar clack of his leather shoes before Thanos comes back into view. 

“Here, wear these.”

Thanos tosses a small paper box and you nearly miss it when it hits you. 

You inspect the box. Contact lenses in an obnoxiously bright green packaging.

You look up expectantly. “What is this?”

“Are you asking what the product is?” Thanos asks with a click of his tongue. “I knew you were old, but I forgot just how old. I should be calling you abuelita instead.”

You chuck a stray rock at his face, which he effortlessly dodges with a subtle tilt to his head. 

“I know what these are,” you insist. “Why do you need me to wear them?”

Thanos wags his finger at you, like you’re some misbehaving dog. “Questions, questions. Do you lack so little faith in me, chica?”

Your glare is hot enough to melt steel. Thanos purses his lips and sighs heavily, not wanting to keep you in a bad mood all night. “Fine! I was planning on just keeping everything a surprise. But I’ll let you in on the plans after you put everything on.”

“Everything?”

— — —

“What the fuck, Thanos?”

“C’mon, do you trust me or not?”

“What the actual fuck.”

You are in ill-fitting clothing that Thanos found in a thrift store. You are hyper-aware of the contacts he bought (stole?) from the cosmetic store. A pair of flimsy glasses sits on your nose that you have to constantly push up. You realized a little too late what Thanos is trying to do.

Despite what he said earlier about letting you in on his schemes, Thanos stubbornly kept his mouth shut about what he wants to do. 

All of it comes to a boiling point when Thanos proudly presents…this.

“I hate you,” you say for the umpteenth time tonight. “I take back every nice thing I said about you.”

Thanos taps your nose with a little more force than necessary. “You’re a terrible liar. You absolutely adore me.” 

The Checkpoint is a gate that emits otherworldly energy. Repulsive energy. Energy that is foreign, unfamiliar, and scary. A world that makes your skin scrawl. 

You are life persisting. You are made of matter, living tissue, and pure spite. The antithesis of everything that the portal is. 

Thanos’s hands grip your shoulders with enough force to keep you where you are. The portal itself isn’t anything revolutionary; it’s two parallel black lines that look to be spray-painted onto a blank wall. To any wandering eye, it just looks like contemporary graffiti. 

You watch Thanos press his finger into the wall and draw a shape you can’t quite make out. You assume it’s an invisible key of sorts. 

The wall emits a pale blue glow. A nebula of energy softly billowing around it like a cloud. Soft. Inviting. 

Utterly terrifying. 

“I’m not…I have human flesh,” you mutter, trying to will yourself not to shake. “What if I can’t go through? What if someone sees us?”

“Just stick your hand through. If something happens I can cut it off.” Thanos uses one hand to retrieve his Death Scythe—which resembles a simple hand scythe. “We can take care of the rest when we get to the other side.”

You let out a curse at Thanos. This is a stupid idea. 

Checkpoints are one of those things that are clear to remember. Thanos explained it to you and for whatever reason, the concept stuck like tar in your brain. A select few beings are able to access them, so you really only had Thanos’s descriptions to depend on. It used to fascinate you when you heard about it.

Seeing it up close, however…

There are thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of supernatural creatures lurking beyond. Mystical animals, lower-tier gods, Reapers on duty. If the Reapers are not out in the living world then they are most certainly back in their offices, keeping guard for anything that crosses through. If anyone sees him dragging a living human through…he would be in serious trouble. 

Despite the real danger of crossing the Checkpoint, Thanos won’t let go unless you try going through the portal. 

You take a deep breath, raising your trembling arm towards the glowing light. The energy comes to meet you halfway. It softly caresses the skin that it sees, inviting you further inside. You grip onto the lapel of Thanos’s jacket and he holds onto your arm in security. Your arm reaches further, inch by inch, until you’re bicep deep. 

“Does it hurt?” Thanos asks, keeping a firm grip on your free arm. 

You wiggle your arm. There’s no resistance or harm that befalls you. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, don't get mad at me.”

“Wha—”

Thanos’s hand presses against the middle of your back and roughly shoves you through the portal. 

Anger spikes through you, but you can’t even form a curse in your mouth as the current of energy is spiraling you. Your body contorts and spins in midair, unable to keep yourself upright. Had your body had any injuries, you would’ve been screaming in pain. 

The travel time is less than ten seconds, but your stomach lurches painfully. You hit the ground with a loud THUD, your face smacking against polished marble. Thanos casually walks through the portal as if he was walking through a regular doorway. 

The noise of a busy crowd alerts you. You see polished shoes, claws, talons, wisps of energy instead of feet. No one stops to help or glance your way and you are glad. 

Thanos—the bastard—helps you get up from the ground and balance you. 

You turn to him, seething. “I fucking hate you.”

“You can hate me later when we’re done,” he says quickly, scanning the area. “Have you been here before?”

It’s hard to think when every nerve in your body is wound tight. You can feel how unwelcome you are. Like the universe knows you are not supposed to be here. Thanos’s hands, warm and firm, keep you from hyperventilating.  

“It’s hard to say,” you mutter, breathing slowly to ease the nausea from the trip. “I’ve been to pocket worlds, but I don’t remember crossing a Checkpoint. Won’t they notice?”

“Notice what?” Thanos asks while checking a small wallet. 

You scan the building again. All manner of beings from across the Korean peninsula are gathered. “That I am human.”

“You’re about as human as me, chica,” Thanos says without looking up from his wallet. When he sees the look of confusion on your face, he rolls his eyes. “That’s to say: you’re going to blend in fine. Contrary to popular belief, most Reapers can’t actually see your souls until they’ve been reaped. To anyone looking, we’re just two Reapers passing by. Besides, your immortal flesh would be repulsive to most beings. Even your blood tastes like shit.”

That earns him a well-earned punch to the arm. 

The portal took you to a large building that reminds you of Grand Central Station, albeit more cleanly and modern. The ceiling is high—higher than you would expect a train station to have—with a glass dome. Some beings are flying up towards it, swirling around in the air without any weight on their shoulders. A harsh, tight feeling of envy sits in your gut.

You walk through the crowd with a harsh grip onto Thanos’s sleeve. Your hand might be bruising his skin from the sheer force of your hold, but he doesn’t shake you off. 

“Where exactly are we headed—”

“I know someone who might help you,” he says, eyes pointed straight ahead like he’s on a mission. “She’s a real crazy bitch. Feral. A witch that was once a human doctor. But she might help.”

“Help with what?”

A pause. “With your amnesia.”

All the air from your lungs evaporates. You stop walking which makes Thanos falter. 

You replay his words. Picking them apart, wondering if you misheard him. 

No, you definitely heard him. 

Thanos places a strong hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your thoughts. His eyes betray his worry, but you can tell he’s taking this entire thing seriously. “I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t even know if she’s a legit witch or even a doctor. But we could at least try. Right before…”

“You leave,” you finish. 

The bustling crowds and magical energy dims. It’s just you and Thanos, still amidst the chaos. If it all goes wrong somehow, tonight would be the last night of your friendship. A fragile, barely supported one, but a friendship nonetheless. Thanos may be a loud, annoying prick, but he doesn’t make you feel worse about yourself. He spends his little break time finding you clothes and cleaning the warehouse. He brings fresh food and tells all the latest gossip at his work. He makes you a part of his life, even if you can’t do the same for him. 

He makes an effort for you. He’s breaking rules to help you. 

If everything goes well…

You would be proper friends. 

You can make the same effort. 

You can actually remember him. 

“Let’s get going.” Thanos’s hand on your shoulder slides down your arm, holding your wrist. “I don’t want to waste my night inside here.”

He walks you to a small information booth with a pretty woman behind the glass. She’s got light brown hair that's in a high ponytail. A Reaper, judging by the crisp suit and sleek, fashionable glasses. She’s filing her nails with a pinched face, completely unaware of Thanos and you approaching. 

“Mi-na! Good to see you,” Thanos greets with a charming smile. “How’s my—”

“Save it, Choi,” Mi-na mutters, not giving Thanos a hint of friendliness. Just stone cold professionalism. “You still owe me for covering your shift last week. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

Thanos inhales sharply. “I’ll get you that purse soon, okay? I mean it. Have I let you down before?”

Mi-na halts her filing for a breath, peering up at him through her lashes. Her lips form a hard line, considering his words. “No…I guess.”

“Perfect!” Thanos flashes a picture-perfect smile, clapping his hands together. “Now, I need to get to Yangdong village. Which Checkpoints would I need to go through?”

“Yangdong?” Mi-na gives a skeptical look, eyeing Thanos up and down like she’s never seen him before. “Why do you wanna go there? Did you lose a bet to Specialist Kang again?”

Thanos points a threatening finger at Mi-na through the glass. “First of all, that North Korean bitch cheated last time. Second, this isn’t for me. I need to see that feral witch to help a friend.”

It was then that Mi-na’s gaze finally settled on you. 

Compared to her striking looks and pressed uniform—looking every bit like a Chthonic being, you looked like a cheap knockoff straight from the dumpster. You fidget with the loose sleeve on your arm, trying your hardest not to look too nervous. 

Mi-na takes a long, hard look at you before slowly dragging her gaze to Thanos. “Who is this?”

“Ah, this old girl?” Thanos pulls you to his side in a tight embrace. His hand rubs down your arm affectionately. “My friend from America I told you about.”

Mi-na’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. I thought you were fucking with us. That’s her?”

You give a small smile and wave, hoping she doesn’t see the look of panic on your face. You had no idea that Thanos would mention you to his coworkers. You glance up at him, but he’s too busy looking at Mi-na. 

What does he say about you? How many people know about you? 

Mi-na shoots a glare at Thanos. “What are you doing to her? Can’t you see she’s uncomfortable with you?”

Thanos quickly lets you go with his hands up in surrender and an apologetic look on his face. 

“O-Oh! You didn’t have to—” you start.

Mi-na gets closer to the glass, looking at you with a dead-serious look on her face. “If he ever pulls some shit over you, report to me and I’ll beat his ass. Is he your only friend here?”

You nod, feeling your glasses slide off your nose again. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says sincerely. “Had I known he was telling the truth I would’ve gone to save you.”

You felt your face warm at her earnest words. “It’s no big deal, really. Thanos is a good friend to me.”

Mi-na glares hard at Thanos at your statement. “Choi! Did you seriously make her call you that stupid name?”

“I never make her do anything!” Thanos says, waving his hand dismissively. “We can skip pleasantries for later. I need to get to Yangdong. Like now.”

“What the hell are you two gonna do there? Play mahjong with the ghosts? Fight the demons lurking in the woods?” she asks. 

Thanos sighs, running his hand down his face. “I told you, we’re meeting with the witch that lives there. My friend needs help.”

“Help with wha—wait, is that amnesia shit real too?” Mi-na looks at you expectantly. When you nod in response, she slumps in her chair in disbelief. “Holy shit. I take back everything I said about Choi being a fucking liar.”

“Checkpoint path, Kang,” Thanos grumbles, snapping his fingers. “We’re on borrowed time here.”

“Alright, alright, geez.” Mi-na shifts up from her chair and grabs a large black binder. “This might take a bit. No one really goes there so I don’t have it memorized.”

Thanos groans loudly into his hand. 

Watching the two of them bicker puts a strange feeling in your chest. It’s not quite envy, but something more primal. A hollow feeling that puts your entire life into perspective for the first time. The feeling sours. Your vision tunnels on the two of them. 

He’s so different when he’s not talking to you.

Thanos doesn’t spend half of his time repeating himself over and over again when talking to Mi-na. He doesn’t give her a look of disappointment when she says the wrong thing. Sure, there’s annoyance on his face when Mi-na speaks, but it’s a stark contrast to how the two of you interact. He doesn’t walk on eggshells around her. His voice is fast, not subdued. When he recalls something Mi-na did last month on a mission, Mi-na doesn’t pause to think about it. She carries on the conversation just as fast. 

You know he cares about you, to some degree at least. You’re not that blind or self-pitying. 

There’s nothing you can offer him. You have no special powers. No secret information to hand over. Although Thanos calls you cheesy nicknames and teasingly flirts with you, it’s never been more than platonic. 

There’s no reason to seek you out other than for companionship. He could’ve left you in the warehouse and never came back. But he does. 

A single question overtakes you like a tidal wave. 

Would everything be better if you were different?

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice that you’ve stepped away from Thanos’s side. So caught up in fact, that you failed to see a dark figure approach you until it’s too late. 

Papers dance in the air like fallen leaves in the middle of autumn; a remnant smoke of your explosive collision. 

You hit the marble on your side with a groan, and so does the person that hit you. You thank whatever god above for not having a broken bone in your body beforehand. 

You scramble to your feet and don’t even stop to think when you try to pick up the mess of papers and folders on the ground between you. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” you say, catching as many papers as you could in your shaky hands. Your first time in the Checkpoint and you’ve already caused some disturbance to the peace. “I should’ve noticed you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. Her voice is rich and silky, with a scratchy edge like she’s been without water for some time. “I shouldn’t have been distracted.”

Your brain momentarily shuts down when she locks eyes with you. 

A Reaper. Her unmistakable neon green eyes are radiant in the ambient lighting of the Checkpoint Station.  

In the back of your mind, you realized that your eyes won’t do the same. You duck your head down, both as a sign of apology and also to hide the fact that you’re not a Reaper. Mi-na couldn’t have noticed, but this stranger is only a foot away from you. If she even glances a second too long, she could pick apart your ruse. Thanos would get in trouble and who knows what they would do to you. 

You focus on stacking the papers into your hands. Or, you try to. 

The stranger is also picking up papers, her hands nearly touching yours a few times. Her gloves are a deep red, unlike Thanos’s customary black. Her gaze is pointed down, collecting the remaining stack of papers. You allow yourself a second to observe her features. 

You could only catch a glimpse of parts of her face. Her dark, silky hair forms a curtain over her face. Unlike Mi-na and Thanos, her glasses are plain black with no added charm to the corner. Her suit is enveloped by a long, black, leather trench coat. Peeking from under the coat, you catch a glimmer of metal on her suit lapel, but you can’t make out the shape of it.

No one stops to help or pass any glance, but Thanos notices your absence like a sixth sense. He shakes his head at your penchant for wandering off. 

When he gets closer, his footsteps halt. 

“Sergeant Cho?” you hear Thanos ask, a bit of fear present in his voice. 

The woman tilts her head towards him with a gaze that holds power and authority. Thanos noticeably shrinks under it, his posture going rigid like he’s answering a silent command. 

Sergeant Cho rises to her feet steadily and you unconsciously mirror her controlled actions. You hand over the papers in your hands and she takes it without a wasted effort. Her movements are precise, even with something as mundane as taking a stack of papers from your hands. 

“Why aren’t you back at HQ, Private?” she asks. Though her face and voice carry a neutral cadence, you can’t help but shiver at the inquiry. It’s as if she’s at the start of an interrogation. “Your shift doesn’t end until zero one hundred.”

You give Thanos a side-ways glance. Did he skip out on work to come and see you? 

Thanos’s face is a ghostly pale. He clears his throat before answering: “I finished reports and daily tasks three hours early. You weren’t in office so I got clearance to leave from Sergeant Kang No-eul.”

“In the two years you’ve worked under me, you’ve never turned in reports earlier than fifteen minutes,” she states. It’s an observation with such clinical precision that you would think she’s addressing a court full of lawyers. “What possessed you to finish that early?”

Instinctually, Thanos looks at you. Maybe to check to see if you’re okay. Maybe for help. A fleeting moment, no longer than a blink.

But the ever so observant Sergeant notices. Of course she did. How could she not when her eyes are trained onto Thanos like a sniper ready to eliminate their target. 

Those deadly eyes slide over to you. 

It’s then she takes real note of you. Your skewed glasses, ill-fitting clothes, your tie that sits a little too close to your throat, the pants that are barely held up by a weathered belt. It’s worse than Mi-na’s stare; all she did was a passive glance at your attire. Cho, on the other hand, skinned you. Took apart every single stitch of clothing until her gaze—striking and heavy—lands on your face. 

Your jaw is tense with worry, your body as taut as your noose of a tie around your throat. You try not to tremble, to not let your worry show, to not  screw everything up. 

“Who are you?”

Again with that question. A haunting set of words that are branded into your heart. You hear it everywhere. It clings to your skin like smoke. 

You look at Thanos, seeing his panicked expression. 

Sergeant Cho walks a bit closer. You smell a hint of jasmine underneath the leather coat she’s wearing. 

“You’re not from here.” All it takes is one glance at you for her to see the truth. There’s no inflection in Sergeant Cho’s voice. No rise in anger from her simple observation. “What district are you from?”

You swallow, even though your mouth seems to be drier than a desert. No words form. How could they when your entire body is so tense?

“You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?”

You manage a faint nod, not daring to look up into her eyes. 

She lets out a hum. “Do you have permission to come to the Republic of Korea?”

You stare at the floor, wanting so desperately to drop dead at her feet. This is it. You’ve finally met your end. 

“Do you understand what I am saying?” A pause too silent and too long is enough of an answer to her. “You don’t, do you?”

Her gaze goes from you to Thanos, expecting an answer from him when it’s clear you’re too silent. 

Thanos looks at you, trying to find an answer written on your equally as worried face. His mouth opens and closes, sounds are coming out but they’re not words. He’s trying to answer.

Sergeant Cho’s brows pinch, just a fraction. A sharp exhale through her nose and with it your fate sealed. She addressed Thanos. “The two of you need to come with me to HQ. I’ll need to see the girl’s administrative papers, district-unit documentation, her Undead Citizen Number, and Death Scythe. Afterwards I need a detailed report on her travels and what she’s doing here. Is that understood?”

Your heart falters. Thanos looks about two seconds from passing out. 

Just moments ago, you were buzzing with hope to be rid of a curse that shackled you down for so long. A final night between friends and a possibility of living your life, cherishing every moment thereafter.

It’s all your fucking fault. 

Because of your mistake, Thanos is going to be in trouble. 

All because he wanted to help you. 

Sergeant Cho tucks the stack of papers under her arm and pivots on her heel, motioning you two to follow. 

You can’t give up. 

Not when you’re so close. 

“W-We can’t leave!” you mutter, too loud and too quickly. 

Her foot pauses mid-stride. Sergeant Cho peers over her shoulder to look at you with that same hardened gaze. 

You’re still scared, panicked, but you’re not about to get someone else in trouble for your fuck ups. 

“So you do speak Korean,” Sergeant Cho says, eerily calm. She adjusts the sharp glasses on her nose. “Why can’t you leave, exactly?”

Your hearts beating out of your chest. Your face is hot and you can barely get your voice to carry through. “Because…Because…”

Your chest is tight and your hands are clammy with sweat. You’ve taken bullets to the stomach, beatings to your skull, and starved until it felt like you were eating every fiber of muscle in your body. You’ve survived pain beyond comprehension. You’ve seen your parents’ bodies burned in your childhood home. 

There was a time where you appreciated your short memory. It meant that you didn’t have to think about all that pain you’ve endured. But it also meant that you had nothing to live for. You couldn’t sustain any relationships. Anyone you met eventually faded from your mind like wisps of smoke. Maybe they died. Maybe you walked away. You can’t know because you can’t fucking remember. 

You crawled through every inch of this Earth, trying to find some form of relief. Trying to find some idea of who you are. Trying to make sense of the Hell you were cursed with. 

But you couldn’t. You were robbed of it. 

You wake up everyday, holding onto the scraps of memories of your childhood. Everyday you have to make an effort to remember the one person who gives a shit about you, even if his stupid nicknames get on your nerves sometimes. 

You are going to heal your fucked up brain. 

You’re not going to let some Reaper bitch get in the way of that. 

“You’re right, I’m not supposed to be here,” you admit with a steady breath. “I came to South Korea with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

Thanos looks at you like you’ve just signed his execution. Sergeant Cho’s expression doesn’t budge. 

Yet you keep going, steady and sure. “Everyday was a struggle. I couldn’t remember why I came here, what country I came from, or what I was running from. But one thing I knew for certain was that I was alone. I lived in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of a town all because I had no one to depend on.”

Sergeant Cho is turned towards you fully, giving you her undivided attention. You straighten your posture, meeting her gaze with a passion you didn’t know existed in you. 

“Private Choi Su-bong answered my call for help,” you say, no hesitation, no waver in your voice. “For the past two years he’s helped me try to regain my memories. Even after every failure, he never once gave up. He wanted to take another risk for me. He found a witch in Yangdong who might help with my amnesia. He left work early for me. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.”

A few people pause their motions, looking at the scene before them. 

Thanos is impossibly still, holding his breath for Sergeant Cho’s final verdict. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand inching to his hip where his Scythe is sheathed. 

You stand defiantly, meeting Sergeant Cho’s gaze. You hope she can see your sincerity and desperation. Worst comes to worst, you’re willing to strike a hand across her face and let your cursed flesh burn hers. 

An unreadable expression crosses her face before she checks the small watch on the inside of her wrist. 

A beat passes. Another. 

You and Thanos shift closer to each other by a step. 

Sergeant Cho lets out a short, yet heavy sigh through her nose. “You’re headed for Yangdong?”

“Yes,” you and Thanos say together. 

“Then I’ll supervise you,” she says, final and conclusive, daring you to protest otherwise. “If what you say is true then you wouldn’t mind, correct? Besides, Yangdong is more active this time of year. I can’t let two lower ranks go there without backup.”

“So, you believe me?” you mutter. 

“No,” she says harshly. “But I need to have probable cause in order to detain you. I would much rather see the two of you make fools of yourself than have my shift bleed into overtime as I interrogate you. It’s more efficient this way.”

Thanos’s jaw is tight, but he managed a relenting nod. “Of course, Sergeant.”

She looks at you with the same piercing gaze. “And I expect a fully detailed account of your visit when we head back to HQ. Is that understood?”

You don’t know how long you can keep up with the charade. If the witch doesn’t heal you, then it’s only a matter of time before the ruse is up. Thanos would get the punishment of a lifetime and as for you…do Scythes even work on you? 

Do you want to find out?

“Yes, Sergeant.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, AND REBLOG ❤︎

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i had so much fun writing this and i can't wait to share. thanos is not a love interest btw, he's just annoying like that.

taglist: @3leni