#yes their head is in the shape of a heart

[insidekatmind]

Guard~ Hwang Jun-ho

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

You were taken to a mysterious place, where the games of your childhood came back to haunt you in a deadly way. The rules were simple: win or die. If you broke a rule, you weren't just eliminated. You were killed.

Shot to death for a simple childish game.

But the prize was tempting: 6 billion won. An amount that drove 456 desperate people, including you, to risk everything.

This place is called The Squid Games.

Around you, men with black masks that hide their faces. The masks have different symbols: the squares are the Managers, those who command; the triangles are the Soldiers, armed with guns always ready; and the circles are the simple workers, who never speak unless ordered to do so.

At first, you didn't know who they really were, but there was a man among them, watching you. Silent, attentive.

His name is Jun-ho.

---

Jun-ho was not like the others. Behind the Manager mask, he hid a secret: he was looking for his brother, In-ho, the winner of the 28th edition of the games, who disappeared without a trace. To find answers, Jun-ho had infiltrated the workers, assuming the identity of one of them.

And then he met you.

--

The second game was to cut out a perfect shape from a piece of caramelized sugar. If you broke the shape, you were eliminated on the spot.

Sitting on the ground, you clutched your small umbrella in your shaking hands. You knew it was the most difficult shape to cut out. The screams of those who failed filled the air, followed by the dry sound of gunshots.

You concentrate, breathing hard, sweat dripping down your forehead. Finally, with one last precise movement, the umbrella shape comes off without breaking.

You smile, relieved. You get up and approach a Manager to show off your work. He slowly turns to you. Under the square mask, Jun-ho’s eyes soften for a moment, almost imperceptibly.

“Done,” you say softly, a hint of pride in your voice.

He nods. “Good job.”

From that moment, something changes

---

After the brutal test of Tug of War, you are in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, cleaning a cut on your face. During the game, another participant accidentally scratched you with his nail as you struggled not to fall.

You are rubbing the wound with a piece of cloth, when the bathroom door slowly opens.

A man in a square mask enters, looking around before closing the door behind him. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“Rough game, hm?” he says softly, his voice recognizable despite the hushed tone.

you sigh as you dry yourself "no, do you think so?" you say sarcastically

"Hm, I have a feeling you'd be sarcastic," he says under his mask, leaning against the bathroom wall.

"it's the only thing I have left," you mutter tiredly. Under his mask, Junho's eyes softened as he listened to your words. Seeing you so clearly struggling and exhausted from the games was a hard sight to behold. He was silent for a moment before answering softly, "Don't say that."

You turn to look at him. "But it's the truth. In these games, you risk your life, it's easy to talk for you."

"I risk my life too, you know, doll." He retorts, and the nickname slips off his tongue before he can even register what he said. He paused for a second, before answering softly, "Believe me, it's not easy at all."

you look at him in disbelief, not believing him. "and let's hear what you're risking? you're a guard"

He laughs at your response and shakes his head slightly under his mask. He pushes himself away from the wall, taking a step towards you as he answers in a low voice,

"And if you think that being a guard is just fun and games, you're wrong. Do you have any idea what we've been ordered to do?"

you look at him carefully "kill people? well I notice that you do it with great pleasure" you blurt

He lets out a soft sigh under his mask, almost rolling his eyes at your words. He continues to walk towards you, until he's right in front of you, with his back to the wall. As he looks down at you, his voice drops: "You don't know how things really are. Do you think it's a choice? No, it's an order. We were told to do it. Not that you'd understand that, right?"

"He is only one, there are many more of you, the story of not having a choice doesn't hold up" you huff

He let out a soft sigh as you continued to argue with him. Then he leaned even closer, his body practically against yours as he looked down at you. The black mask on his face hid the slight frown on his lips. "Do you think the guards don't have to obey? Do you think we have the choice to stop or not follow orders? Do you think we have the choice to say no?" He asks firmly, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"I repeat, he is only one and there are many more of you" you move closer to him leaving no space. He lets out a small, bitter laugh under his mask as you enter his space.

He couldn't deny the fact that you were stubborn, and annoying. He stood there for a moment, still looking down at you as he held his body against yours. Then he answered in a low voice, "Are you always this stubborn?"

"I'm usually quiet but this place drives me crazy" you mutter looking at him. He lets out another soft sigh, shaking his head slightly under his mask.

After a moment, he lifts a hand to your head and gently moves a lock of hair from your face. He pauses, before saying in a more calm tone than before: "Yeah, I don't blame you. This place does the same to me too".

You lean into his touch feeling a sweet caress after a long time. He feels you leaning into his touch, that you're almost melting completely. His fingers continued to gently brush your hair, before moving to gently cup your face. He let out a silent sigh as his thumb carefully brushed your cheek.

You sigh softly and lean into him more. "It feels so good to be caressed after so long".

He can’t help but frown under his mask when he feels you lean into him. He slowly moves his other hand to grasp your waist, as he carefully guides you forward to rest against his chest.

He wraps his arms around you gently, holding your body against his, and his hands draw gentle circles on your back. His eyes wander once more to the cut on your face as he says softly, “Doll, why didn’t you clean yourself up properly? You even have a cut on your face.”

You sigh softly and hug him, “Who cares, I’ll have more,” you whisper tiredly. He feels you gently wrap your arms around him, causing his to tighten around you. He sighs softly under his mask when you mention the possibility of him having more injuries. “I don’t want you to get any more. Especially while you’re here in the arena.” He responds by gently holding the back of your head against his shoulder.

You hum in response and let yourself go to the feel of his arms around your body. He stays silent as he listens to you hum softly, letting his mind focus on the feel of you against him.

He held you tightly to his body, not wanting to let go so soon.

The feeling of having you in his arms was something he didn’t want to give up so quickly. He liked the way you leaned into him, the way you let him hold you, even though we were in the bathroom.

His arms still held you against his chest, his chin resting on your head. He could faintly smell your shampoo, a pleasant smell that made him tighten his arms around you slightly.

He was silent for a moment, before saying softly, “You know I’m going to be in trouble if anyone catches us like this.”

You nodded weakly into his arm again. “Do you want me to let go?” You whispered, hoping he’d say no.

Feeling your body nod against his, he let out a soft sigh as he rolled his eyes under his mask. He pulled you a little closer, not letting go even a little. “If I told you I wanted you to move, would you?” he murmurs softly as he rubs your back.

"well i would struggle but yes" you whisper again into his arms. When he hears you answer, he lets out a soft hum, clearly not satisfied with your answer. He pushes you back, until you are pinned against the wall, your body still in his arms. He freezes you in place as he bends down to your height, his mask right next to your ear. "Doll, are you sure you really want to leave? You look reluctant." He murmurs softly.

"no i don't" you whisper as you hold him close. He lets out a soft smirk when he hears your words, a victorious smile beneath his mask. "That's what i thought. You're not really willing to leave, huh?" He runs his hands up your sides, his fingers delicately tracing your curves. He had you pinned to the wall, not letting you move even a little.

The feel of your body against his, the way you leaned into him made his face heat up. He leaned down, lowering his mask slightly to your neck and feeling his warm breath on your skin. He murmured softly, "Tell me, doll. Do you know how hard it is for me to stay calm when I'm with you?"

you look at him softly, "can you take off your mask?" The request takes him a little by surprise, but he quickly regains his composure. He looks at you from under the mask, considering your words. After a moment, he slowly raises his hands and removes the mask that covers his face. He places the mask on one of the nearby sinks, before looking back at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. His hair was falling delicately over his forehead, giving him a slightly disheveled look.

You smile softly and caress his cheek. "You're so beautiful," you whisper softly. When he feels your hand gently caress his cheek, his face reddens from the unexpected compliment. He looks at you and sees a soft smile on your lips, and it makes his heart beat faster. He responds softly, his voice a little softer than before, "Do you really think so?"

You smile softly and nod. He swallows slightly, his face still red as you nod in agreement. sign of confirmation. "Doll, you shouldn't say things so suddenly. You'll make me act even more out of place than I already have." He murmurs softly as he moves his head to lean into your touch.

"do it," you whisper. When he hears such direct words from you, he lets out a sigh of relief.

He then grabs your wrists, pinning you against the wall again; this time both wrists are in his grip. “You’re only making it worse for yourself, doll. You really shouldn’t say things like that.” He says in a low, slightly warning tone.

He leaned in closer, his body pressed against yours, your wrists still in his grip. He looked at you intently, his expression a little serious, but with a slight hint of something else. “Let me ask you this, doll. Do you want me to go further?”

You look at him and nod quickly. He’s slightly surprised when you nod quickly in response. He smirks slightly as he looks up at you and studies your face carefully. “You’re so quick to say that, doll. I wonder if you’ll regret it later.”

He leans in even further, pinning your wrists against the wall above your head. Then he moves closer to your neck, his breath warm on your skin as he murmurs softly. “But I won’t stop.”

His lips soon move to your neck, gently planting kisses on your sensitive skin. He moved slower, savoring the feeling of having you in his arms. He continues to hold your wrists still, preventing you from moving, while his other hand slowly slides down your body. You moan and cling to him.

When he hears your moan, he makes a soft hum against your neck. He slowly feels you grab him, as if you want to pull him closer, as if you want his body against yours. He gently bites your skin, trailing kisses along your neck with his lips, until he reaches your ear. He whispers in a low, warm tone, "You're mine, doll. Just remember that." You nod in response.

He lets out another soft hum as he feels your head nod against his body. He feels you pressing yourself more and more against him, as if you were submitting completely to his touch. He slowly lets his hands wander over your body, his touch firm against your curves. He murmurs in a low, possessive tone against your ear, “Be a good doll and hold still for me, okay?” You nod again in response.

When he says these words, he feels your body tremble slightly, as he slowly caresses your hips with his hands. His touch on your skin is gentle yet firm, as if he’s making sure to memorize every inch of you. He begins to slide his hands gently down your body, his fingers tracing your curves until they reach your face. He looks down at you, meeting your eyes. “You look so beautiful like this, doll.”

He raises his hand and gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and tender on your skin. His dark eyes scan your features, carefully studying every detail of your face: from your lips to your cheeks, to the slight cut on your face. He looks down at you for a few seconds before murmuring softly, "You look so fragile like this. You're mine, and tonight I'll remind you of that." Hearing those words, you moan in response.

He lets out a small smirk in response to the sound of your moan. His hands slowly slide to your hips, gripping you gently as he pulls you closer to his body. He murmurs in a low, firm tone, "You make it harder for me to hold back, doll."

He leans back slightly and his eyes travel back up your body, pinned to the wall. He looks down at you, his expression a little serious, but revealing something else. “You know, honey, I’m going to make sure you’re completely mine before the night is out.” You whimper in response.

He slowly leans forward again, pinning you to his body. He looks at you intently, his eyes locking with yours. Then he slowly murmurs against your ear, his voice low and seductive, "You know I won't be gentle, doll. I'm going to have you all to myself tonight." You moan softly, getting excited at his words,

He feels your moan against his body and it makes his body heat up. He slowly lowers his hands, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up quickly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He pins you more firmly against the wall, making sure you're locked in place.

He feels your body shaking against his, your arms wrapping around his neck as you hold on tight. He watches you as you're against the wall, his eyes locked on your face. He studies your expression for a few seconds before letting out a small smirk. "Doll, you really don't know how hard you make it for me to control myself."

You look at him longingly and kiss him. He’s a little surprised when you suddenly kiss him, not expecting such a bold move from you. He kisses you quickly, his lips moving against yours in a firm but somehow gentle way. He slowly moves his hands up, grabbing your wrists as he pins your body to the wall again, now holding both of your wrists in his grip.

His lips move against yours, his kiss slowly becoming more intense as he pins your body to his. He continues to hold your wrists with one hand, not letting you escape his touch. After a moment he pulls away and looks at you, your face red and slightly breathless from the kiss. “Baby, you make it hard to hold back.” He says softly, his eyes roaming over your face.

“I need you,” you murmur longingly. He lets out a soft sigh when he hears those words come out of your mouth. He looks at you intently, his eyes meeting yours. He sees the desire on your face, and he’s both surprised and excited by it. Then he responds softly, his voice almost whispering, “Do you want me that bad, doll?”

“Yes please,” you murmur in response. He lets out a soft hum as he looks up at you and notices the pleading look on your face. His expression softens slightly, a hint of possession in his eyes. “Beg all you want, doll. I won’t be gentle. Tonight I’m going to have you all to myself.” You groan in anticipation.

He quickly turns around and walks with you in his arms, still holding you tightly in his grip. Then he places you on the nearest bed, positioning you right in the middle. Then he looks down at you, his eyes roaming over your body. He grabs your thighs and pulls you towards him, moving you over the sink

He places himself between your legs, his body hovering over yours. He looks down at you, a small smirk on his lips. Then he slowly runs his hand up your leg, his touch almost reverent. “You look so beautiful like this, doll. All mine, just for me.” You moan in response.

He quickly begins to undo your shirt, his fingers working deftly, fast and precise. Your shirt soon opens, exposing your skin to his gaze. Then he looks down at you, his gaze slowly wandering over your body. His expression is a little hungry as he looks at you, his eyes slowly darkening. “Doll, you look so beautiful. You have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself with you like this.”

He moves his hands down, gently touching your skin as his fingers begin to explore every inch of your body. It’s not gentle; his touch is firm and somewhat possessive. He slowly moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he leans down. His lips are right next to your ear and he murmurs softly, “You feel so good under my touch, doll. I want you so bad right now.”

You whimper at his touch wanting more and you cling to him. Jun-ho removes his clothes and rubs his hardness against your entrance and then enters you making you moan loudly. He starts to move against you harder and harder, he was true to his word. He wasn’t gentle at all. His hips move at a slow but steady pace, each thrust is hard and deep.

With each thrust you moan loudly as you cling to him. He watches you intently, his eyes locked on your face as he notices the look of pleasure on your face. “You feel so good, doll. It’s like you were made for me this beautiful pussy” he moans thrusting even harder.

He can feel you trembling under his touch, your body responding in ways that only make him wilder. He moves closer to you, his body flush against yours as he continues to move against you. His mouth moves down to your neck, where he gently sucks your skin, leaving little marks in his wake. “You’re mine, baby. I’m the only one who can see you like this. You’re mine and mine alone.”

He picks you up and fucks you in his arms, hitting you deeper and deeper. "this pussy is so tight" he grunts, fucking you harder and you scream.

"I'm close" you murmur, moaning and Jun-ho smiles and pushes his hips even more brutally. "cum for me doll" he murmurs and you come hearing his words.

Jun-ho smiles and pushes himself even more brutally and then cums inside you. You screamed from the mixture of pain and pleasure. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and he smiles. "You're mine, there's no escape now" he whispers in your ear.

[moonjellysfeast]

My Own Galatea- Crybaby x Top Male Reader

cw; (C/n) is Code name, manipulation, abuse, unethical science, dehumanization, Crybaby is @yanderefarm's character

You were probably too young to be involved in such an experiment, not even proper college age nor finished with your classes. But, you were very advanced in your studies, you were still top of your classes despite moving up several grades when you were younger, and they were getting desperate. You remember sitting in the meeting, this company had really only planned to discuss simple matters as a way of showing you how you were expected to interact once you finished school and they actually hired you. They got caught up in more urgent matters and forgot you bore witness to their panic and desperation until you raised a hand to silence the room and flatly announced.

"I have the darling gene... I could probably further his infection. He'd listen to me, I promise" They weren't happy about it, but they were truly desperate, so you were hired.

You first met him in the facility's basement, he was in a large glass room, a small hole cut into the bullet-proof glass to keep you safe when talking with him. You had several psychology classes and so you felt confident in your scheme to make him obedient.

"Hello" You spoke softly and he turned to you, clearly upset, "It's nice to meet you. Do you have a name?"

He glared at you for a bit before walking towards the hole in the glass and quietly grumbling, "I do... A real one..."

You smiled at him, he was only a year or two younger than you, but you would have to treat him more like a child until he knew you were safe. You approached him, ensuring you looked as confident as you felt, you weren't scared of him and he had no need to fear you yet.

"Give me your name, then. We can't be friends unless you tell me at least that much" Your words were laced with honey, he eyed your sweet smile with suspicion and you watched his eyes shift. He was coming around to the idea.

"Elias... I think... no, I am right... I am named Elias..." Even just at the confusion of his name, his eyes were round and damp. You held back the tug of a grin to give him a gentle smile instead.

"You can call me (Y/n). Elias is a beautiful name. It suits you" He looked at you with awe now, like it was the first compliment he'd ever heard, "You know, the people here call me (C/n), isn't that a funny name? Do they call you something like that?"

"Yes. Crybaby... I don't like it" He'd looked so adorable, crouched on the other side of the glass, confessing his thoughts like deep secrets, and watching you with those wet eyes.

You had been completely correct in your assumption that you could further his infection, when you next saw him, his irises were clear heart shapes and he hopped up to greet you at the glass.

"Good morning, Elias~ You seem energetic" You mused as he fidgeted a bit and nodded. "I'd like to play a game today, if you're up for it"

"A game?" He was clearly wary, surely experiments had been done to him in the form of 'games' previously, but he had to trust you.

"It's like simon says. Do you know that game?" he shook his head slowly, "Well, I'm going to tell you to do things, but I only want you to listen when I call you Crybaby, Ok?"

"Why?" He whined

"Because, It'll be fun. Friends play games all the time and we're friends now! We'll start easy; Crybaby, sit down," He sat with little hesitancy, "Very good. Stand up, Crybaby," He stood, "Elias, please come closer"

He walked toward you and you made quite a show of disappointment, causing him to scramble back into place and apologize, already welling up with tears.

"No, no, it's ok. You forgot the rules. Like I said, we're starting easy so it's not a big issue. Crybaby, come here" He hesitated before scrambling to the glass window, tears streaming down his face already.

The games continued each day, once he was good at listening as crybaby, you started referring to Crybaby and Elias as different people, even giving them rules.

"Crybaby doesn't know my name, you only know me as (C/n), right? You pet his head, watching him nod along to your words. "Who am I?"

"(Y)- no... (C/n)..."

"Good boy, you're really learning. I'm sure Elias would be proud of you as well, Crybaby"

You also had begun entering his cell, he adored when you did and would cling to you until you demanded he stop. With becoming so close to him, you also had to begin enforcing all of your rules more strictly.

"(Y/n) I don't kno-" He crumpled to the floor the moment you hand landed on his cheek.

"That's not what you call me, is it, Crybaby?" You sneered as he cradled his cheek and began to tear up again.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorry- mhhn, Please don't be mad! (C/n), sir, please!" You placed a hand over his own, silencing him.

"I know you didn't mean it, but we can't have you being bad, can we? No, Crybaby, you have to be a good boy and listen to me. Now, you remember where it is, mark the artery I told you to."

He shakily got up and made an x on the mannequin's neck, precisely where you told him to.

"Good boy" you smiled a bit, " We'll have to work on your crying. as much as your name is apt, no one will like you crying so much when you start to actually work..."

There will be more of this fic but I am stuck.

[chuuminn]

chuuya x reader - scorched lungs

featuring; early dating period awhhhh, tton!reader being a bad smoker, reader wears mascara, chuuya uses ‘doll’ as a nickname, shotgunning, just something a lil silly, intentional lowercase, 1.2k word count

'what to do when your stupidly handsome date offers you a cigarette’ was not covered on your theoretical pre-date flashcards. stumbling out a “sure ! i’d love one” probably wasn’t the right answer. but chuuya's leather dressed fingers were already retreating to tuck away the polished silver cigarette case, leaving you with a neatly rolled stick dangling dumbly between your thumb and forefinger.

"just relax,” yosano's words had been cooed with a reassuring smile when she swiped mascara onto your lashes, not three hours before. “i'm sure your 'mystery man' will adore your quirks."

pshhh, quirks. the term normally refers to small things, right? the little endearing habits you notice about another person. like how you know that ranpo’s hand always brushes his pocket when he stands from his desk, seeking out spectacle shaped reassurance. or, that dazai is a terribly clingy drunk; but only until he hits drink number nine or your fingertips accidentally graze the edges of the cotton that wraps his skin. whichever comes first.

quirks aren’t the ugly, hacking cough that accompanies your every attempt at smoking.

you could just return it, yes. laugh it off and continue to enjoy the sound of the water lapping at the pier beneath you. only, the mere possibility that your date, effortlessly suave as he seems, might brand you as ‘lame’ or ‘a buzzkill’ summons an uncomfortable bubbling into your chest and the rising of a shrill nagging voice in your mind. it heaves, preparing to berate you, until-

a flicker against the dim evening — subtle, but enough to catch your gaze — banishes the nerve.

chuuya’s struck his lighter, illuminating the planes of his face for you to admire. there was no better backdrop for him than here, leaning against the railing of one of yokohama’s many bridges.

he mentioned growing up here, and judging by that passionate gleam in his eyes when he’d spoken about it, you could tell he loves the city fiercely. a few unruly strands of fiery hair catch the flickering light, stark against the muted twilight blues behind him. it’s a museum worthy painting, if not for the five pronged silhouette of the port mafia towers intruding over chuuya’s shoulder. an irksome smear on the yokohama skyline.

nooo. nope. you didn’t need to spend more time than absolutely necessary thinking about the port mafia and your many unpleasant. especially not while on a date that, up until now, was going suspeciously well.

you follow chuuya’s movements as he cups the lighter, shielding it from the harbour breeze, to deliver it to his lips. the glow of the flame stretches towards him as he inhales, a motion you were becoming all too familiar with. barely a month of dating and already you were giving into the grand gravitational pull of chuuya nakahara. so when those gloved hands extend the light to you, it’s all too easy to tilt your body closer to his.

difficulty comes when you fumble with the end of the cigarette over the lighter. the blasted flame, it was mocking you! mischievously dancing around the edge of your cigarette and refusing to share its heat. you offer a sheepish smile to your merciful date. “mine’s broken.”

there’s a breathy chuckle before reassuring fingers wrap around your wrist.

it wasn’t as though this was the first time he's touched you; but still, the gentle guidance sends warmth blooming along your skin. he curls your fingers and moves them to better cup the light, protecting it from the wind as he’d done. immediately it settles into a steady flame. traitor. “better?”

“better…” you can’t say the same for your heart, sure the damn thing was about to beat out of your chest. the new proximity makes your head spin. a seductive cinnamon-y musk joins the lingering smoky smell in the air. he’s close enough to feel the air shift across your shoulder as he takes a slow deep drag of his own cigarette.

“ow -” the flame in your grasp jumps, nipping your thumb and demanding your attention. you’ve already been standing there an awkwardly long time, and frankly the angle of your arm was beginning to hurt.

what more was there to do, other than take an enthusiastic and far too ambitious inhalation…

there’s a glint of amusement in chuuya’s eyes as he watches you sputter, a lopsided smirk adorning his pretty features. your eyes are wide, no doubt in alarm from the choking miasma burning its way to your lungs. yeeeah, he’d figured that’s how it might go. you were polite, maybe a little too eager to please, a far cry from the company he normally kept. definitely not someone who indulged in this particular vice often. it was�� sweet. “you alright there, doll ?”

“uh huh, yep, just- perfect-“ you wheeze, head bobbing quickly. unconvincingly. a blind hand waves the air clear of the wisps still curling from the offending stick. “how are you- ugh, holy mother of- how are you meant to enjoy this when it burns so bad !?“

you summon the meanest glare you could muster, scowling down at the cigarette. the muscles in your abdomen cramp and seize as you cough into your sleeve, earning a smoky huff of amusement from chuuya.

“cute." he hummed with a slight laugh, silver curling into the evening from his quirked lips . "here, lemme help ya”

his fingers uncurl from yours, surrendering contact only long enough for him to catch your chin. your stomach turns and any air remaining in your poor burning lungs is stolen as the tips of his bangs brush against your nose. when he next speaks his voice is a soft rasp, eyes flitting over your features. somewhere hidden in the breaths that follow, a whisper of vulnerability tickles your lips. “this okay?”

“yeah,” you reply easily. “ i trust you.”

you aren’t sure why those words made his breath hitch.

“just, try it again, yeah?” he drawls, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. “breathe.”

the cherried tip flares as he takes a long slow drag, before he leans into you. the dangerous beginnings of a protesting whine build in your throat when he stops just shy of a kiss, only to be stifled by the sight of bittersweet silver cascading from his slowly parting lips.

you drink in his breath, the smoke trickling down your throat to pleasantly warm your chest instead of scorching it. the fiery fog fills you, singeing his name into your lungs.

with a shaky 'whoosh' it wisps out from your lips, smooth and silky tendrils dispersing into a hazy curtain between you. the barrier does nothing to quell the heat of his gaze, mismatched eyes half lidded and smokey in their own right. you’d be more than content staying here, counting his lashes. the sheer intimacy of sharing a breathe sent your mind reeling into a dizzying swirl.

“heh,” his lips twitched up as his smoldering gaze finally tore from your own, casting over the rest of your slightly tilted face. “you’re blushing —“

“am not !!!”

thank you for reading !!! this is the first part in a series of nonchronological one shots between our reader and chuuya, with dazai poking his head in every now and then. i am super duper excited, i hope you enjoy where we go from here. comments, feedback and reblogs are all welcome and appreciated ! mwah !

masterlist

[sengardet]

Don't Answer the Door

You are startled awake by a knock on your door. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:13 AM, and your heart flutters in your chest from the jarring disturbance. Groggy, you fumble for the light switch, blinking against the sudden brightness in your living room. The knocking continues.

Feeling a swell of unease, you approach the door. Peering through the peephole, you see two figures in dark suits, their posture rigid, their faces concealed by the distorting glass. You can’t make out any details—only that they’re official, authoritative, and impatient.

Your mind races. No one comes by at this hour for trivial reasons. You open the door with caution, pressing yourself against the frame. The two individuals stand in the hallway, their expressions cold, unreadable. They flash government identification so quickly you barely catch the emblem—some military or paramilitary organization you do not recognize. The taller of the two thrusts a crisp white envelope toward you without a word.

“Sign here,” the shorter one orders, voice devoid of emotion. You glance at the proffered documents, your stomach churning. Its heading reads: “Summons for Immediate Conscription: Experimental Soldier Program.”

Your eyes flick from the paper to their stern faces. “This… must be a mistake,” you begin, your voice trembling with the aftershocks of being yanked from slumber. “I’m just a civilian. I’m not in the reserves—or the military at all.”

Neither agent reacts. Reluctantly, you press the pen to the document and sign where indicated, wondering if you even have a choice.

“Report to the specified facility at dawn,” the taller agent informs you. “Any delay will be treated as desertion.”

They leave as swiftly as they arrived, departing down the hallway without further explanation. The words “compulsory conscription” and “Experimental Soldier Program” practically burn themselves into your mind.

An hour of restless pacing follows. Yes, you’re in good physical shape; you lift, you run track, you’ve taken pride in sculpting your body. But you’re no fighter.

The directive is clear, and the hour is growing late. Knowing you can’t escape this, you make a feeble attempt to sleep again, but every time you close your eyes, you imagine the two agents’ stony faces.

At dawn, you force yourself out the door and head to the address included in the summons.

When you finally arrive, armed guards greet you with silent scrutiny. Past the barbed-wire gate, past an austere courtyard, you’re directed into a squat, concrete building. Inside, the corridors are utilitarian, lined with unmarked doors and glaring fluorescent lights that hum incessantly.

They guide you to a large, steel-gray reception hall. On one side, you see a queue of grim-faced men and women—some in military fatigues, others looking as out-of-place as you do, obviously civilians. At the front of this line, bored clerks at desks check documents and stamp papers. An official gestures for you to join the line.

When your turn comes, a clerk scans the barcode from your summons, then passes your file to someone else who breezes through it silently.

“Fitness aptitude but no military training. Conscript assigned to Medical Research Trials.” He glances at you impassively. “Report to Lab Sixteen—down the west corridor, second right.”

You blink, swallowing hard. So they don’t intend to toss you into the battlefield. You almost feel relief. Almost. But something about “Medical Research Trials” feels equally foreboding. You muster a shaky nod, following the corridor signs that lead deeper into the facility.

Your footsteps echo as you move forward, unsure who to address. Eventually, a freckled redheaded woman—her hair pulled into a tight bun—approaches you. Her freckled nose crinkles with a faint smile that tries to be warm but only heightens your unease.

“You must be the new one,” she says, studying a tablet. “Come with me. I’m Dr. Whitley.”

At the center of this room, under harsh lights, stands an examination bed fitted with thick leather restraints. The sight of those straps makes your pulse spike. You glance at Dr. Whitley, suddenly desperate for answers. But before you can voice your concerns, a slender, disheveled-looking male assistant guides you to the table.

“Right this way,” he says politely, gesturing for you to lie down. When you hesitate, Dr. Whitley murmurs, “Just a precaution. The procedures can sometimes trigger involuntary thrashing.”

The assistant carefully loops the leather restraints around your wrists, over your biceps, across your torso, and around your ankles.

Your voice cracks with tension. “Is this—truly necessary?”

Dr. Whitley lifts a hand, as though to soothe an anxious animal. “We’ll be quick,” she says softly. “You’ll be perfectly fine.”

Fine. The word rattles uselessly in your mind. The overhead lights glare, making you squint as your heart pounds in your ears. You hear scuffles around you—other lab personnel filing in. A brunette in thick-rimmed glasses approaches with a calm, professional demeanor. She doesn’t bother asking permission before removing your shirt, her fingers lingering on your skin in an oddly reverent way. On your exposed chest, she places sticky electrodes connected to an EKG machine. You glimpse the display in your peripheral vision, its lines jumping in time with your pulse.

Thery pay no attention to the obvious distress expressed in your frantic heartbeat. Dr. Whitley studies the readout, tapping on her tablet. “Has the subject’s DNA been preserved so we can proceed with the experiment?” she asks aloud.

“Yes,” the male assistant replies. “We have the sample and the baseline data from their file.”

Dr. Whitley sets aside her tablet. “All right. Let’s see how that extraordinary physique holds up.” There’s a subtle, disconcerting excitement glimmering in her eyes.

The brunette with glasses retrieves another device—a small ultrasound probe. She applies a cool gel across your sternum and gently presses the wand against your pounding heart. On a nearby monitor, a grayscale image of your heart appears, pulsing and contracting in real time. You watch with wide eyes, unsettled by how intimate this glimpse inside your body feels—especially when you’re strapped down and powerless.

“Look at this,” Dr. Whitley murmurs. She points to the screen, where the shape of your heart flickers in contoured lines. "The ventricular wall dimensions are on the upper end relative to its advance size, but not constrictive."

The brunette nods, adjusting her thick glasses as she studies the display. "The heart rate is elevated now, but that's to be expected given the circumstances."

The redhead approaches the monitor more closely. "Optimistic about those contractions as well."

Lost in the moment, you feel a prick in your arm as the brunette fixes an IV port, and then there’s a sharp sting when she injects a cocktail of liquid that feels alarmingly warm. Within seconds, your heart pounds faster, harder.

A beep on the EKG intensifies, becoming frantic. Your breath hitches, sweat beading on your forehead. You can almost feel the wave of chemicals coursing through your veins.

“Look at the response,” the brunette exclaims softly, adjusting a dial. “We’re climbing steadily. Those contractions you like are getting stronger.” She says with a smile to Dr. Whitley.

You try to control your breathing, but the flooding anxiety sends your respiration into ragged, shallow gasps. Dr. Whitley steps closer, placing her hand against your slick chest. The warmth of her palm contrasts with the cool gel, and you can tell she’s feeling your heartbeat directly, pressing down just enough to sense every contraction.

“Oh, feel that,” she breathes, voice tinged with a near-reverent awe. “It’s wild—like a caged animal.”

A strangled whimper escapes you, your vision swimming. Each thunderous palpitation grows more forceful than the last. The edges of your awareness blur as the room spins. In the background, you hear them discussing your “incredible baseline,” the range they can push, the data sets they need to gather. Words like “glycosides” and “tolerance thresholds” begin to blur into an indecipherable haze.

Driven by equal parts horror and instinct, you struggle against the restraints. The leather digs into your wrists and ankles, unyielding. Dr. Whitley’s hand remains firmly over your chest, her demeanor more predatory now, a thin-lipped smile curving her freckled cheeks.

She glances at the brunette. “You said it yourself—I’ve always had a soft spot for strong hearts.” Her fingertip draws slow circles against your pectoral muscle. “There’s something so intimate about feeling another person’s life force like this, beating under your hand.”

The brunette’s mouth quivers with a grin. “Just don’t push too hard,” she cautions. “We need the subject alive for continued data collection.”

As if on cue, you feel another searing jolt of medication surge through the IV. Your body jolts. The beeping on the EKG ratchets up a notch.

From the corner of your eye, you see the dark haired man scribble notes: “Heart rate: 190… 200… 210…” His voice is a clinical drone. “Ventricular function… strong but nearing upper limit.”

Dr. Whitley leans over you again, studying your face. The overhead light draws harsh shadows across her features, making her freckles stand out like dark flecks of rust. “You’re doing very well,” she coos, as if praising a prized lab animal. “Just a bit more, and we’ll have what we need for this session.”

Her words run through your oxygen-starved mind. Session. That means there’s more to come.

You barely register the next injection into your IV port, only the jolt that makes your chest seize momentarily. The EKG squeals in response, and you tremble against the straps, moaning through gritted teeth, begging them to stop. Dr. Whitley presses down again, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her palm.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. “So strong… so determined to live.”

The brunette nods, stepping away to analyze real-time data on a monitor. “We have enough for the day’s baseline,” she says. “Let’s stabilize, then prepare for the biopsy this afternoon.”

Biopsy. The word jolts you, fanning the embers of your terror. Before you can beg for mercy—though in your core, you suspect it would be futile—your body is swept in a hazy wave of sedation. Some new mixture floods your veins. The tension in your muscles goes slack, your eyelids drooping.

The next time you regain awareness, it’s all at once. No gentle easing into reality—just a sudden, blinding rush of fluorescent light overhead, a wave of antiseptic stench, and the cold press of metal beneath your back.

Gradually, your vision clarifies enough to see Dr. Whitley leaning over you. Her red hair is pinned in a messy bun this time, stray curls framing her freckled cheeks. She’s not wearing the typical neutral expression of a physician. Instead, she looks… enraptured.

“You gave us quite a scare,” she murmurs, almost intimately. Her gloved hand lifts from somewhere around your sternum—or what should be your sternum. She steps aside, momentarily revealing the open cavity of your chest.

Your mind screams at the sight. Even in your near-sedated state, you realize you’re looking at your exposed ribcage—no, not exactly that, either. Metal retractors hold apart what must be the edges of your chest wall. And within that space… something wet and pink is beating, pulsing in a disturbingly recognizable rhythm.

Oh God, that’s your heart.

Terror floods you, but your body remains mostly limp, pinned by sedation and perhaps other restraints you cannot even feel. You try to shout, to ask what they’ve done, but only a thin, rattling exhalation escapes your lips.

“Shh,” Dr. Whitley soothes, sliding back into your line of sight. She’s wearing a surgical cap and mask, though the mask is tugged down just enough to reveal her mouth in a small, pleased smile. “You’re stable. We had to open your chest to resuscitate you effectively and examine some… structural qualities. Your heart is larger than we anticipated—stronger, too. But it needed a little help.”

As if on cue, you feel an odd tickle, and then something cold glides across the surface of that beating mass. You cannot feel your chest wall, but the raw sense of motion resonates through your body. You’re excruciatingly aware that your heart is outside your body’s normal protection.

A fresh wave of adrenaline floods your system, or maybe it’s something Dr. Whitley just injected into your IV. She sets a large syringe down, and her expression brightens with a frightening, clinical enthusiasm. “Your heart’s conduction system is still reactive,” she tells another figure you barely register to her left—a nurse? An assistant? You’re too disoriented to focus. “But we want to see how it holds up under high-stress conditions. Given what happened earlier, I want to push it carefully this time.”

Careful doesn’t describe what happens next. Dr. Whitley places her hand flat against your heart—your actual heart—and the sensation buckles your mind. There’s a moment of primal panic, the knowledge that someone’s palm is physically in contact with the essence of your life, your existence. Her grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough that each beat is transmitted right into her glove, and you can tell she’s measuring every contraction.

She flicks a switch on the IV line. Immediately, your heart rate spikes. A trembling quake runs through your arms, and you gasp for air, which you can only half pull into your lungs. The EKG machine to the side chirps faster, almost frantic. Your heart pounds, straining against her palm.

She glances at the monitors. “Good,” she breathes. “Strong sinus rhythm at 120… 130… climbing.” Her green eyes gleam, half-lidded in fascination. “Let’s aim for 180. Then I’ll begin defibrillator testing.”

Defibrillator testing. The phrase sends a jolt of dread through your drug-clouded thoughts. Normally, defibrillation is used to restore a normal heartbeat when it’s lost, but she wants to test your heart’s “electrical resistance” at an accelerated rate. Alarm bells ring in your mind, but your limbs remain numb to commands. Whatever sedation they’ve used keeps you still, but tragically conscious.

With an eerie calm, Dr. Whitley slips a slender paddle-like device from a sterile tray nearby. It’s an internal defibrillator paddle, smaller than the usual external paddles but no less capable of delivering a massive shock. She holds it close to the apex of your heart, her other hand bracing gently against the organ’s side. On a separate console, the dark-haired assistant raises the charge level, reading out numbers that blend into a horrifying litany: “50 joules… 75… 100.”

At that moment, your heart is galloping near 180 beats per minute, each contraction rattling your half-open ribcage. Dr. Whitley nods once. The assistant presses a button.

The current slams into your heart like a tidal wave. Your vision goes white, and your body jerks upward despite the sedation. Even your respiratory attempts stall. For a second, your heart surges out of rhythm, thrashing erratically. The EKG squeals. It’s unclear whether it’s going to recover or slip into another flatline.

Dr. Whitley pulls back, checking the monitors and the limp spasm of your heart. “Sinus conversion… no, it’s fibrillating. Increase the energy in increments of 20 joules.”

Another shock. Your entire chest cavity—what remains of it—contracts violently. The wet muscle of your heart convulses under the contact. Stars explode in your vision. Even your mind, dulled by sedation, can barely cling to consciousness. Then the monitors beep in that dreaded monotone again: a flatline.

“No,” Dr. Whitley hisses, as though scolding your heart for not cooperating. “We’re not done.”

She drops the defibrillator paddle and quickly gestures for a different tool. In your delirium, you see it flash silver: a large syringe, maybe adrenaline or some specialized stimulant. She rams it directly into the muscle of your heart with a practiced jab. The sharp invasion of the needle conjures a swirl of nauseous dread in your gut.

The EKG remains flat. Gritting her teeth, Dr. Whitley removes the syringe and does something both primeval and intimately horrifying: she begins manually pumping your heart in her hands. Wrapping her gloved fingers around the unresponsive muscle, she squeezes it rhythmically, trying to coax it back into beating. Each squeeze makes your mind spin—an unnatural, nauseating feeling of an external force attempting to animate your core.

“Come on,” she mutters, her focus absolute. “Respond!”

A flicker. The EKG hiccups with an uneven beep. Then another. Your battered heart twitches, as though deciding whether to obey or give up entirely. With another firm compression from Dr. Whitley’s hands, it makes a feeble attempt at a beat on its own. The flatline disappears, replaced by slow, uncertain pulses.

“Good,” she praises softly, practically massaging your heart to guide it. “There we are. You’re too strong to quit now.”

Fresh sedation is introduced into your system. You find you can breathe slightly easier, but your chest remains unfeeling, your mind caught in the dreadful awareness of her manipulations. Slowly, your heart stabilizes, though it’s weaker than before. The EKG reads a tenuous sinus rhythm around 80 beats per minute, far from the explosive 180 that had been forced upon it.

You feel her shift her grip on your heart, and then you sense the clamp hooking around something thick and vital. The aorta. She’s actually holding it between her fingers. Despite the sedation, your body tries to recoil on pure reflex, but you can only twitch in your restraints.

Dr. Whitley gently pinches the top of your aorta. “Let’s see how it handles slight occlusion,” she remarks, applying pressure. The EKG spikes with a ragged beep as your heart works harder to push blood through the newly restricted vessel.

“Hmm,” she muses, narrowing her eyes at the monitor. “Systolic pressure is… quite high. That’s very good. Let’s test its elasticity.”

She transitions from using her fingers to applying the clamp. The metal jaws bite into your aorta with measured tension. Your struggling heart falters for a beat, then resumes, pumping fiercely against the partial blockage. The beeping grows frantic again.

Every contraction feels sharper in your remaining sense of your chest cavity—like a muffled wave of pressure fighting against an immovable dam. You can’t produce a coherent scream, but your mouth hangs open in silent torment. You vaguely hear Dr. Whitley ordering the assistant to record the new data points: “Mark the pressure reading at clamp intervals of 10 mmHg. We’ll see how far we can push before distention becomes dangerous.”

She tightens the clamp further. Another beep from the monitors. Your heart lurches like a panicked animal. She glances over with a satisfied curve to her lips. “Remarkably strong,” she comments, the same way a mechanic might admire a high-performance engine. “Even with partial occlusion, it’s still pushing blood efficiently. I wonder if we can refine those glycoside cocktails to build even more force…”

“There,” Dr. Whitley murmurs to someone behind her. “Look at the state of it now. Fat, bloated, and vascular—thoroughly engorged.” She shakes her head in a kind of clinical wonder. “Beautiful, really… It’s still trying valiantly, despite the occlusion.”

“What admirable resilience,” Dr. Whitley says softly, leaning closer, her hand pressing lightly on the top of your heart. Even with sedation muting your pain, the sensation of her gloved palm against the bare muscle is almost unspeakably perverse. “Squeezing so hard… but every contraction meets that clamp.”

She nods to the assistant, and you feel a subtle release of pressure—just a fraction. Your heart leaps, as if starved for the chance to push out a full volume of blood. The relief is fleeting, though, because Dr. Whitley doesn’t actually remove the clamp; she merely adjusts it, letting a bit more blood pass. You can sense your heart throbbing, swelling, pressing outward to fill the newfound space. It’s horrifyingly intimate, feeling that muscle balloon, gulping blood to send it through.

“Look how it squirms,” Dr. Whitley murmurs with a note of awe. it’s struggling to recover from the partial strangulation, but it’s not giving up. Fascinating.”

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch her mouth curve into something like a smile. She curls her fingers around the device, then deftly snaps it off. The clamp—or whatever contraption was occluding your aorta—releases fully. Your heart, no longer choked, thumps in a series of relief pulses that ripple through the cavity. It expands and contracts in robust waves, as if gulping in fresh life. The EKG responds with a higher, steadier pitch, though still faster than normal.

“There we are,” Dr. Whitley says, voice lowered to a near purr. “Look at it—so vigorous now, flushed with blood. The contractions are returning.”

Her hand slides across the muscle’s surface, and you feel your heart spasm under the contact. Another wave of cold floods through your IV, no doubt her doing. Your pulse spikes in response, thumping erratically for a moment until it finds a new, unnatural rhythm. Heat flushes your face, mixing with the chills of terror and the sedation in your veins. Each beat rings like thunder, as if you can hear it in your ears, sense it in your skull.

The difference is staggering—where moments ago your heart was strangled, now it’s unleashed, each contraction deep and forceful. In a sickening way, the sensation is almost euphoric. Your battered organ is desperate to reassert itself. It seizes the chance, pumping with renewed vigor, and the relief is so abrupt it’s disorienting.

Dr. Whitley observes every surge, measuring the bounding pulses with her other hand, as though she can count each gush of blood in her palm. “Incredible,” she whispers. “This subject’s heart is among the most reactive I’ve ever seen. No matter how hard we push it, it clings to survival with remarkable ferocity.”

The assistant steps forward to check the monitors, adjusting dials that control fluid drips, sedation levels, and stimulants. “Systolic normalizing,” he announces, scanning a readout. “If you’d like to proceed with additional tests—”

Dr. Whitley silences him with a subtle gesture, then gives a slight shake of her head. “No, not just yet. Let it recover. I want to see how it manages on its own for a moment.”

She eases her gloved hand around the apex of your heart, as though cradling a fragile artifact. Each throb jars you—mentally, physically, spiritually—knowing she’s effectively holding your life in her grip. Though there’s no direct pain, the knowledge of your vulnerability is more excruciating than any scalpel cut.

Time passes in weighted moments, each of your heartbeats echoing in your ears and throughout the lab. Dr. Whitley hums under her breath, enthralled by the motion of the muscle. The rest of the lab staff stands at quiet attention, letting her examine the heart’s unsubdued recovery. With each contraction, the organ flares, glistening under the intense lights—again, you’re thankful for the sedation that keeps raw agony at bay, but the mental horror is still enough to make your head swim.

“Admirable,” Dr. Whitley repeats, though more softly now. “It’s as though it’s reclaiming lost territory. Even after repeated shocks, high-pressure occlusions, forced arrests… it beats like it wants to take on the world.”

She runs a careful finger along an engorged coronary. “Look how enlarged these are,” she remarks, addressing no one in particular. “They’re inflated, carrying blood to a heart that refuses to quit. Note the color—rich and oxygenated. Subject’s hemoglobin count is higher than baseline, likely a response to the repeated stress.”

Her words blur into clinical jargon. Your eyelids slide lower, sedation tugging you back to semiconsciousness. For a dreadful moment, you see every ripple in the wet muscle, the branching veins like a labyrinth of dark lines feeding the organ.

[thethreefaes]

“Your sire, I mean father, must have been a good man to raise you. I’m… sorry for you loss. To become chief so young must have been difficult.” Kiara couldn’t say she had been close to her sire. There had been no affection or feelings between them. Just cold. She looked at her hands before tapping the table, creating patterns of frost.

“I don’t think you need to change. You have a fire in you. Plenty of kindness but that fire. That’s what will attract people to you. That will get others to follow you. Kindness will only get you so far.” The frost danced across the table. So different from the ice when she was angry. Every tap of her finger had the frost rippling out and changing shape.

“And where I struggle to say thank you, you are thanking me for letting you help me.” Kiara chuckled with a shake of her head.

“If I’m honest, I’ve stopped seeing you as a human and see only Hiccup. My face should be healed by morning. But with how deep the one on my arm is, it may need attention.” The fae owned plenty of clothes that would hide the injury. Though this blouse was ruined from the tear.

Kiara expected to feel possessive of Lyra as Hiccup spoke of her. How his heart mate saw her flower as family. But instead it felt… nice. It was nice for others to see how special the little fae was.

“Lyra called you brother when we first met. I hated it. And when we spoke at her hut, she called you and Astrid her family. At the time it felt wrong. I am starting to see why she trusts you all so much.” How different had Lyra been when she found her way here? She seemed like the same fae that Kiara grew up with. Yet with her new knowledge of Lyra’s past she imagined Lyra hadn’t been in a good place.

“Lyra is learning from this Gothi, yes?” Kiara smiled. “She was training to be a healer with our mother. I’m glad she’s continuing her learning.”

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

[sweetblossomsss]

Without You || CHOI SAN

Synopsis: Life without you was empty. Life after I left was unbearable. But now that I'm back, I will never let us go through that again.

WARNINGS: Please read "I'll be back" first to understand bc this is in San's point of view, fluff, suggestive, San is an assassin, fights, blood, cuts, death, gory-ish, angst(MY FAV), stabbing, guns, argument between Y/N and San, son is used as a term of endearment, "baby" is used for Y/N, I know I am missing, just lmk :)

Word Count: 15K Started: Dec 2, 2024 Finished: Feb 9, 2025

Blossom's Note: Happy New Years my petals. May this year bring you love and protection. Now this story had me feeling all types of things, definitely a whirlwind of emotions. Shoutout to the Anonymous Petal who gave me this idea. Title was inspired by Infinite H's Without U ft Zion T (Chef's kiss song) I truly hope it lives up to your standards. Now without further ado, grab a drink and popcorn and enjoy!

—

FIRST ENCOUNTER

"Understood." San says into the burner flip phone, nodding his head once. "Yes, sir. I'll get it done." And with that he presses the hang up button and breaks it in half as he starts walking, throwing the broken phone away in a nearby trash can.

He shoved his hands in the coat’s pockets as he takes precise, steady movements trailing behind his target. He squints his eyes at the sudden gush of wind, letting out a sigh. He repeats in his head no distractions like a mantra, just wanting to finish this and go home.

He sticks within the shadows he finds in the broad day light, such as building’s walls, when his target makes sudden stops along the way. It’s almost as if San is able to bled in with the bustling crowd—easy to slip and slide, getting closer to the target.

Within his coat was a deadly syringe filled with a lethal chemical, all ready to use as he plays the game of patience—waiting for the perfect opening. San moves closer, taking out a pair of black leather gloves and hastily puts them on. Just as the distance gets shorter and shorter he reaches into his coat and suddenly—

BAM!

Everyone in the crowd jolts from the sudden noise of construction. San follows the noise with his eyes as he turns to the side, seeing a construction worker using a jack hammer to break up concrete. He shakes his head and sighs in frustration, returning to his target—but just when he was about to look away, he spots you.

“Oh my god.” He whispered in disbelief, eyes slightly widening. It’s all like a movie right now—time fucking stopped when he spotted you across the street, walking in slow motion as you ran a hand through your hair while the wind blew.

You had to be one of the most beautiful woman San has ever seen. He couldn’t even control his body as he took steps forward as if in a trance while people moved around him—not caring if he was being shoved by some. San was mesmerized by your beauty. The way your presence commanded space, as the buzzing crowd moves around you.

Everything just seems to fade away—people and noise—and it felt like he had the perfect view of you. If his eyes were able to form those cartoon heart eyes, they would be in that shape right now. How can he describe this foreign feeling? Is this what they call love at first sight?

Soon enough, San was able to snap out of his day dreaming when a passing car honked at him causing him to jump back. He gasped in shock, “Shit!” He said looking at the car with widen eyes, chest heaving. Reality hits him as he looks to the side and watched his target move further away, and then he looks at you, also getting further away. “Fuck.” He whispers to himself as he walks to the direction of his target.

So much for distractions, right?

San sucked the front of his teeth as he shook his head, rushing to his target. He’ll come back to you. As he finally catches up, he realizes that the way everything was set up for perfect for San. The streets were alive with the random street vendors, crowd moving in different directions, people chattering and shouting that mixed with the traffic noise—all that’s needed to making this a smooth kill.

He watched as the target froze in his steps right in the center of the bustling crowd as he yelled into the phone causing some dirty looks at him for both blocking the pathway and screaming so loud as they moved around him.

San reached into his coat and popped the cover off the needle and took it out as he slithered through the crowd like a snake. He kept his head low, only looking up when he heard the roaring of the man’s loud voice. “No– Shut up, shut up!” The man argued with the person on the phone, “You listen to me–“

And in one swift motion, San had brushed past him with his hand barely grazing the man’s neck. “Hey,” he calls to San who froze in his steps and turned to him, “watch where you’re going.” He scoffs at him and then returns to the person on the phone. San smirked at him and turns away from, leaving before the madness.

And just in a matter of seconds, the man suddenly shot his hand to his neck, gripping it as he stumbles back a bit—his vision started to get disoriented as panic and confused surged through the man’s body. He couldn’t feel his limbs causing for him to drop his phone and then his body. Foam started forming at his mouth as he lied there with his eyes open.

A woman’s terrified scream can be heard causing people to look at the direction of the scream. “Someone call an ambulance!” A bystander said as people gathered around the body. People covered their eyes and mouth’s in shock of the sight.

San looked over his shoulder as he watched the circle of people. He throws away the syringe in a trash can and takes off his gloves, securing them in his coat as he picks up the pace. Now he can focus on you.

—

Returning back to the scene of when he first saw you, he wasted no time in trying to search for you. To say he looked like a mad man would be an understatement. He went into every single store in the proximity in hopes that you were there but you were nowhere to be found.

He lets out a groan of frustration when he leaves a little book store. He sighs in disappointment as he tucked his hands in his coat, a pout forming on his lips. But then, by a fucking miracle, he sees you coming out of a store with a huge smile on your face as you examine the things you bought in the bag that clings on your arm.

He swears he can see stars at the sight. In that moment he decides to just follow you. He tells himself that he going to be quiet and keep his distance—but as someone who is trained to be silent, quick minded, and able to kill people, even with the most ruthless methods— he was anything but the sort. He doesn’t know how but you had him so nervous and clumsy and he doesn’t even know who you are.

The first time you looked over your shoulder, just to glance back at some of mannequins that were dressed in pretty shirts, San had frozen in steps and cleared his throat as he adjusted his coat. He looked out into the distance as he sniffed, making it seem as if he totally wasn’t following you.

He slowly peaks to the side as he sees you continuing on your path to which he followed. But the second time you had stop to turn around San was thrown off guard which caused him to trip over his own feet, catching himself before his face eats the floor. He played it off while doing this horrible, awkward hop dance to play it off but—hold on, he could’ve sworn he saw you chuckling as you faced forward to keep walking.

—

It had gotten to the point where you already knew you were being followed by him so you just froze in your steps and turned around, crossing your arms as you pushed your hip to the side. He gasped as he rushed to hide behind a light post, unconsciously wrapping his arms around it.

He is mentally face palming himself right now as he stares at the large lake in front of him, wishing he could drown in it right now. When he peaks, he sees you staring at him as you raised an eyebrow at him to which he sighed because he was caught red handed. Great, I look like a stalker when in reality I was just scared to approach her.

He removes himself as he tried to find enough courage while approaching you. His heart was beating so hard against his chest, his palms were all sweaty as he wiped his hands on his pants. “Hey–Uh–I–“

He fumbled with his words as he saw how gorgeous you were up close. His eyes slightly widen as you tilted your head in confusion with a raised eyebrow, “May I help you?” You asked with curiosity and amusement in your tone.

He blinked, all flustered as he cleared his throat. “You like to–uh,” he scratched the back of his head. “I–I just think that you’re pretty.” He rushed out the last few words. Wow, real fucking smooth you idiot, he thought to himself.

You kept the eyebrow raised as you wondered if you should laugh or start backing the fuck away from this man, which made San internally panic at your silence. Soon a smirk starts to form on your lips as you eyed him up and down, “Oh,” your tone was filled with amusement, “I know you.”

His heart skips a beat, “What?” He said in a shock, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes widened.

You kept that smirk on your lips as tilted your head slightly to the side. “Yeah, you’re that guy who almost got run over from the car earlier? Or when you tripped over your feet and did that dance?” Your eyes carried mischief in them. “So far you hiding behind the light post as if your shoulders weren’t going to give you away has been my favorite.”

San turned red, completely flushed in a deep red of embarrassment. She saw all of that? Trying to save himself, he inhaled and turned to the side trying to look mysterious, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He squeaks out causing you to laugh at his reaction.

Seeing how he won’t win this, he let out a defeated sigh. “Okay,” he closed his eyes as he threw his head back in embarrassment, “Yes, unfortunately that was me.” He looks down to the floor, unable to look at your face. “I’m not as smooth as I thought I was.” A small pour forms on his lips.

You just laughed at his reaction, the smile reaching up to your eyes. You eyed him up and down once more before extending your hand out, “I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

His head shoots up at the introduction. He looks between your hand and face, that still held a smile. Shake it, idiot. “Oh,” he says taking your hand and shaking it. “I’m San. Choi San.” He scratched the back of head, “I promise I’m not normally like this.” He lets out sheepish smile and chuckle.

You nodded. “I figured.” You said with a playful tone.

There was a moment of silence before you cleared your throat, removing your hand from his grasp as you crossed your arms, “So,” you started off, “Is there a reason why you followed me or do I have call the cops?”

San jumped in his spot, “No!” He blurted out as he puts his hands up, feeling his heart racing. “I mean–no, please.” He lets out a nervous laugh. He then takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, “It’s just that–Well, when I saw you I just thought that you were beautiful and I couldn’t find you so I tried looking for you and I was scared to approach you so I just followed–“

He cuts off his own rambling thinking he sounds like an absolute stalker, but to his surprise you had an amuse look on your face. He cleared his throat, speaking clear, “I wanted to ask you out on a date.” He said boldly before falling back into his nervous, stammering self, “Only if–if you wanted to. If you were interested.”

A playful glint was in your eyes before you nodded your head. “Sure,” you said, “I’ll go on a date with you.”

Maybe he misheard, “What? Wait, really?” He asked and you nodded at him with a smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You laughed at him. You kept a mischievous smile on your face, before crossing your arms. “Just so you know, I expect a good dinner. I do have expensive taste—You think you can keep up with that?” You asked him playfully as you reached to your back pocket and unlocked it so, handing it to him.

He smirks as he nodded. “I’ll keep up with whatever you throw at me.” He grabs your phone and inputs his number, writing San on the contact name. “Okay, there you go.” He hands the phone back to you.

You sent him a text and he got it immediately. “There, now you have mine.” You tell him. And with that, you two exchanged your goodbyes. He watched as you started to walk away but stopped at a distance turning to him, “Also, no tripping to the floor or getting run over by cars on the date.” You yelled at him, teasing him as you waved goodbye before walking away.

He chuckles, looking down feeling a bit flushed of redness on his cheeks. He swears he is high on life right now as he walks through the park—it’s as if nothing can ruin this moment. Suddenly, his personal phone starts ringing and too much in a euphoric feeling, he didn’t even bother looking at who was calling him as picked up in a dazed out tone, “Yes~?”

“San!” The rough voice yelled sternly. “It has been hours. You have yet to call. Did you complete the task or no?” It was his boss, Lee.

In a snap, he stands up straight wiping that goofy smile off his face as reality hits him. Oh shit, he thinks to himself. “Yes sir. The task is completed.” He cleared his throat, “I’ll report when I arrive.”

—

The first date was something that was huge for San. First and foremost, it was his first date, ever. He wanted everything to be perfect for you so he did some "research" by watching romantic movies and searching up date ideas. He felt so overwhelmed at the amount of ideas so he just decided to go with what his heart said.

He wanted a picnic at the very same park where he asked you out. He didn't want to go to the movies or do anything too crazy because he just wanted to get to know you, from what your favorite color was to what your ambitions are for life. He even cooked all the food, yes some parts were burnt but you told him it was the best part—it was extra flavor.

You smiled at the way he eased his shoulders. When he looked to the side, you gulped a good amount of water, trying to get rid of the taste. Honestly, you aren't fan of burnt food but today you will inhale anything that is burnt. You would eat a whole burnt piece of meat to prove how much you appreciate the time and dedication San took to make this date comfortable and wonderful.

You have never had anyone do the things San has done for you in just a span of a few hours. Something about him captivated you and honestly you feel lucky to have met him. Since that day on, you two were inseparable. Throughout the following weeks the feels for one another grew and grew and it was only a matter of time before San would ask you out.

Tonight was movie night—San’s favorite night. It always ended up with the most cringe worthy movies with you lying on top of him as he runs his fingers through your hair—which is exactly what’s happening. But instead of him watching the movie, he’s watching you. He chuckles over your reactions when you laugh at something stupid or when you face palm at the second hand embarrassment.

He stares at you with eyes of memorization. He has fallen so deeply for you. He can’t believe he got so lucky to experience such a rare emotion—love—in his life. He didn’t know someone could bring it out of him, but he was more than happy that it was you.

Which is all the reason why he has decided to quit and leave this horrid life he has known since little and start anew. For you and for him—for this future he desperately wants to have with you. And tonight, he was going to get out no matter what.

“You know you don’t have to go.” Your soft voice that had a hint of playfulness in it rang in his ears as you looked up at him and placed your chin on his chest to look up at him. “It’s late,” you smiled mischievously as you moved up, closing the distance, hovering over his lips, “might as well stay the night.”

The ending credits were rolling with a slow ending song in the background that fits the mood. San groans lightly as his hand makes way to your hair, caressing it, “You know I can’t, beautiful.” He whispered to you. San has made it very clear he wants to respect you and your boundaries until you two are official. Plus, he doesn’t want anything official until he is done with his other life.

He doesn’t want to risk someone knowing about you. Plus, this is the first time he is ever experiencing this and he wants to take it slow, let things form naturally.

But you on the other, make it very difficult for him to stay sane. The way you look at him makes him come undone almost instantly, but he fights the urge. You love that he is respect of you, but shit, you just want to pounce on him sometimes—like tonight.

You sighed and got up, letting out a sigh of annoyance as you crossed your arms. “Why not?” You asked, close to stomping like a spoiled child who is getting told no.

He lets out a chuckle at your reaction as he stands up and walks up to you, putting his finger under your chin as he places a kiss on your lips. “You know why, baby.” He tells you.

You bit down your lip to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot as you look away, all annoyed but in reality you didn’t want him to see you blushing. You roll your eyes and look back at him, “Tell me,” you say, “Who is she?”

San was taken aback, furrowing his eyebrows as he tilts his head to the side, “Who’s who?” Asking you while looking at you as if you were crazy.

“Is there someone else?” You asked him and you placed your hand on your hips, trying to stop the smile that’s forming on your lips.

“What?! No!” He exclaimed with widen eyes. “You know it’s not like that, Y/N. There is no one else, I prom–“

He stops his rambling when he sees you starting to laugh. You throw your arms over his shoulders, “Sannie, I know. I’m just joking. Just trying to keep you on your toes.” You tell him through your giggles, kissing his cheeks.

He gives you a deadpan look, “You stress me out.” He tells you playfully, wrapping his arms around you. “Did you know that?” He smirks at you.

“Oh,” you tilt your head to the side smirking, “Do I?” You asked as you removed yourself from his hold, brushing past him as you sat on the sofa, letting out a sigh. “You can leave then–“

“Y/N, come on. Don’t be like that baby–“

“I’ll just be here.” You cut him off as you stare into his eyes, reaching your jacket’s zipper at the top, “all alone,” you say seductively as you watched him gulp, pulling down the zipper to reveal the exposing tight tank top underneath, “missing you.”

San stayed silent for a moment before he shook his head and looked away, covering his eyes with his hand, “Woman, my virgin eyes. We mustn’t.” He said sounding all innocent.

“Oh, please San! Virgin eyes?!” You laugh at him getting a stern like with you as you throw him pillow from your sofa.

He then looks at you and starts to walk to you, which got you all excited because you think that you finally broke this man—but no. “I know what you’re doing.” He said in a low voice, placing a hot kiss underneath your ear. “And it’s not going to work.” His lips trail to your lips as he zipped up your jacket, pecking your lips once.

You opened your eyes, panting as the realization hit you. He smirked as he stood up, “Two can play that game.” He tells you. Feeling the frustration within you build up, you went hit him with another pillow but he moved fast enough as he let out a too slow laugh.

“Choi San!” You yelled at him as you watched him walk to the door. You glared at him as he extending his arms out to the sides, waiting for a hug to which you huffed and looked away. After a few seconds, you looked back and saw him in the same position with a goofy smile on his face.

You pursed your lips as you got up, stomping with attitude in each step. You opened your arms out and looked to the side causing him to quickly pull you into his embrace. “You’re impossible you know that?” He mumbled to you.

You let out a small smile as you wrapped your arms around him and looked into his eyes, “Yeah, but you still like me, don’t you?” You say softly.

He throws his head back and lets out a sigh of satisfaction then looks back to you and smile. “More than you know.” He whispers to you and placed a sweet, long kiss on your lips. “I’ll see you soon?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.” You whispered back. With one last kiss he left and you gently closed the door. You leaned your back on it as you stomped your foot feeling so frustrated at his actions.

You walked to the sofa with slumped shoulders as you dived into it, face planting into the pillow—letting out a small scream. “This man is going to be the death of me.” You say to yourself as you have flashbacks to how he kissed you.

_

The elevator dinged open, revealing a dimly lit bar with low hums of conversations scattered among the place—clinking of glasses filled the air as San stepped in to the place, noting how the men all along the walls looked at him before returning their gazes. If there was one place San knew like the back of his hand, it was here. A sanctuary—a home— that oozed with danger.

San’s eyes scanned the room until it stopped on a familiar face. He watched as the older man swirled his drink before taking a sip, who in the moment spotted San. He gives a small wave and a smile, “San!” The older man chuckles at him, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked him as he approaches him. “Come, come. Sit with me.”

The older man takes a chair for him and pats it for him. He raised his forefinger to the bartender, gesturing for one cup. San felt his chest tighten as he gulped watching the bartender a cup down on the table. He watches his boss Lee, grab the cup and started to pour. “Boss,” his voice was low—a slight pause with his words, “I–,” He takes in a deep breath. “I want out.” He said firmly.

Lee froze mid-pour. “Out.” He repeated with furrowed eyebrows. He lifted his eyes to San and then back down to the drink, giving him a small laugh. He sighs out as he places the cup down, “I’ve always known this day would come. I just did not think it would be so soon.” He gives a small smile to San.

He raises his glass with a raised eyebrow prompting San to grab his, clinking glasses together. After a moment of silence Mr. Lee spoke out, “So, you want to leave.” He says, slightly sadden by the news.

San places his drink down, wiping his hands on his pants as he sits up straight. He nods his head once, “Yes, sir.”

Lee nods once, processing this. “Why the sudden change?” He tilts his head, swirling the drink in his hand, maintaining his eye contact with San.

“It’s not sudden, sir.” San begins. “First and foremost I just want to say that I am beyond grateful that you took me in and gave me the life I have. Without you, I don’t know where I would be. Truly. But, I just think… it’s time for me to move on.” San said, lowering his gaze feeling a bit nervous and worried.

Lee just stays silent, eyeing San up and down—almost as if he’s studying him. “Hmm,” he hummed at him, taking a sip before slamming his cup down. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?” He smirked at San.

San just stayed silent as he looked into his eyes. Lee’s eyes narrowed slightly, smirk growing wider as if he was amused. The man claps his hands and his laughter echoed throughout causing for his men to shift their attention to him for a second. “I knew it, I knew it~” He does a little shoulder dance as he leans in closer to taunt San. “Of course it is. Who would’ve thought your cold heart would be melted, huh? You’re in love.”

San groans in embarrassment, shoulders slumped as he facepalms. “Boss,” it comes out muffled, “please.” He pleaded with him.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He asked him, with a teasing smile and a raised eyebrow.

San peaked through his fingers, a small pause. “Yes.” He squeaks out, trying to him his composure—trying to stop himself from swinging his legs under the table like a school girl as he blushes hard.

“Ou!” His boss shoved him as he fan girled with him. Would you believe the sight of two of the most toughest, deadliest men in the world are acting like two school girls as they gossip over San’s love life?

After a moment though, unfortunately, the seriousness climbs back in—killing all happiness in the air. “San,” his boss leans on the table and he intertwined his fingers, “You know how this works. You know you can’t just simply leave.” Of course, San knew, but for you he was willing to do anything.

He watches as Lee pours another drink for himself. “I have a job for you.” He said simply. “A job that only that you can do.”

“Anything.” San said, body all stiffened up as he paid close attention.

Lee leans slightly in, “There are men—powerful men— who have gotten away with the most vile, inhumane things. They all think that with the money, status, even influence they have, that they can hide behind it. Almost as if they are untouchable—but you, San, are going to change that.”

Internally, San is feeling his heart racing—unsure of what is to unfold in this conversation. Externally, he remains his calm demeanor, “What are you trying to tell me?”

“What I’m telling you is that if you want out, then this is what you must do. You will take all of them down—permanently.” His voice got stern. Lee leans back in his chair, “Think of it as cleansing to the world. Do this for me and you are free.”

He grabs a folder that was lying next to him, sliding it to San—it’s like as if he knew this interaction was going to happen. “Names, locations, habits, crimes—everything you need is in there.”

San grabs the folder and opens it. His heart started racing as his eyes scanned the different pages, his eyes widening. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do? This is impossible.” San looked at him as he leaned back in his chair, all in disbelief. They are politicians, CEOs—all different important figures.

“I’m asking you—No—Demanding you to do this job.” Lee said with a slight raise in his voice. But he can’t help to let out a sigh as he places a comforting hand on San’s shoulder. “San, I care about you very much, like a son, hence why I am giving you a chance out. But you are the only one who I trust with this type of job.”

Lee leans back in his chair, raising the glass to his lips. “And if you want to be with Y/N,” San’s eyes quickly shoot to him, feeling his face drain color, “then this is what you must do.” He takes a sip of his drink.

If looks could kill, Mr. Lee would’ve been dead as soon as your name came out of his mouth. Lee has never seen such a murderous look on San’s face before and, trust him, that says a lot. He laughs at his reaction, “Relax.” He tells him as he waves him off. “You know I had to make sure. She’s a good one. I can see why you want to leave all of this for her.”

San should’ve fucking known. Of course, Lee would know—he knows everything. Now San is left with this blessing and curse of approval. Lee stands up, grabbing his coat and placing it on as he signaled his men that it’s time to go. “Think it over.” He tells San as he adjusts his coat and walks past him, patting his shoulder.

Think it over? There was nothing to think over. San is a man who knows what he wants and what he wants is you. He would find the ends of the Earth just for you. San stands up, the chair rusting against the floor. “I’ll do it.” He shouts to his boss.

Lee grabs his hat off the rack and enters the elevator, his men all trailing behind him. He smirks at San, “I knew you would.” And with that the elevator door closes, leaving San to figure his next strategy as he sits back down ordering a drink.

_

It was a beautiful, dark night. The stars twinkling and gleaming from afar as the moonlight casts over the city. Up in the roof San was crouched low, carefully assembling his sniper rifle piece by piece. You could say he was a bit nervous, but not from the mission—no, no—it was from your soft voice in his ear Bluetooth.

“I miss you.” Your voice ringed so sweet in his ears, it had him biting on his lower lip as he formed a smile. “When are you coming over again?” You asked, turning to lay on your stomach on the bed as you slowly kicked your legs up and down.

“I’ll come over soon baby.” He murmured in a low and steady voice. You let out a silent scream at his voice and sweet name as you covered your mouth, kicking your feet like a school girl. But in all honesty, San didn’t know when he would be going to see you—given the task at hand.

You regained your composure, clearing your throat bringing the phone closer to you. “Soon is what you said last time.” You spoke with a pout on your lips. You sat up on the bed and let out a sigh. “Are you avoiding me?” You crossed your arms.

San chuckled softly at your slight attitude, his hand tightened up the last piece of the rifle’s scope into place. His eyes flickered to the building across from him, seeing his target’s silhouette visible through the window. “Avoiding you? Why would I ever do something stupid. You’re all I think about.”

You bit down on your finger to stop yourself from squealing, feeling your heart swarm with warmness from his words. “You think about me?” You asked while playing with the ends of your hair. “When, huh?” You smirk as you bit your lip.

He smirks as he looks through the scope, his eyes following the shadow. “All day, everyday. When I wake up to when I go to sleep. Every second, every minute, every hour.” His voice sounding so sweet.

You let out a very dramatic, exaggerated sigh as you fall on your back bouncing a bit from impact. “You’re luck you’re cute. Otherwise I would be very angry right now.”

San remained the smirk on his face as he adjusted the rifle and settled into position. “Oh, so you think I’m cute?” The cold metal pressed against his cheek as he peered once more through the scope. The target was all alone in his office, all clear in the view, oblivious on what’s about to happen. “I’m flattered.” He teased at you, voice was light as he tracked his target’s movements.

“Pfft,” you let out as you playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t let it get it your head.” You tried replying with a serious tone but he can hear the smile in your voice. “So, what are you doing right now?” You asked him.

San hesitated for a split second as he looks around. “Just… working.” He said vaguely, his tone softening as his thumb gently adjusted the scope’s zoom.

“Hmm,” you mused. “Well, don’t work too hard now. You better be taking care of yourself, okay?”

San’s smile faltered for a moment, guilt creeping in. “Don’t worry. I am.” He says. He realized he can’t do this if you’re on the phone, distracting him. "Listen, beautiful, I have to go—Boss is coming in." He lies to you.

“Okay.” You sighed out the word as you sat up, shoulders slumped as you gnawed on your lip. “How about if I call you tonight?” He asked you, hated hearing your sad tone. You quickly perked up, “Okay! Perfect.” You gleamed. “I’ll be waiting for you then, bye!” He laughed at your switch up reaction when you hung up quickly—as if time will go faster.

Through the scope, he saw that his target stood up, walking to the window. San adjusted himself in position, his breathing slowed down as his finger hovered over the trigger. All the noise went silent as he exhaled steadily, aiming at the man’s chest.

With practice precision, he tightened the trigger. The sound of the shot radiated through the night. Instantly, the man collapsed to the floor, blood oozing out of his chest. San kept his eyes on the body, making sure the job was completed. He exhaled slowly as he stood, hand already disassembling the rifle. He felt all the tension just leaving his body.

He places everything back in its spot in the case, packing up. He stands up, stretching his neck and staring in the far distance as the night breeze blows, running a hand through his hair. He grabs the case and disappears into the shadow of the night. This was just the beginning but he was going to get it all done—for you.

-

The following missions were a blur of danger and exhaustion. Every single target pushed San to his breaking point both physically and mental limit—testing his resolve in ways he could have never imagined. One night he was in hand to hand fight in a warehouse, barely avoiding a knife to his ribs to another night infiltrating a high security party, he smoothing past through the guards and tight knit surveillance to drop a pill in his target’s drink.

The elevator doors open revealing a different atmosphere in the bar tonight. He turns to the side and spots Lee at the center, nursing the same drink as always with a cigar in his other hand. Hearing the elevator door close, Lee turns and gives a smile when he spots San.

San approached him. “Boss.” He says firmly, standing in the position of attention, hands behind his back.

“There he is!” Lee exclaimed as he stands up and grabs San’s face with a huge smile on his face. “The man who did the impossible.” Lee turns to the bartender, “One more glass.”

“Come sit, sit,” he waves San over and taps the stool next to him. “Always so stiff.” Lee mumbled to himself as he raised the glass to his lips and takes a sip.

San was hesitant, but he eventually slid into the stool, dragging it closer inward. He watches as his boss poured him a glass with a smile on his face—almost as if he was a proud father.

“So,” Lee began, placing the bottle down as he leaned back in chair studying San with a sadden gaze. “How does it feel, mm? You’re finally free.”

San chuckles softly as he grabs the glass and takes a sip, the burn of the alcohol makes his face scrunch up slightly. “It feels… foreign. But,” he looks at Lee, “I’m ready.”

Lee chuckles and pats his arm. “I know you are.” He sighs as he swirled the liquid in his glass, “You’ve grown, so much. You deserve this new life, San. I mean it. Love it to the fullest.” He turned to face him and raised his glass for a toast. “To a new chapter”

They clinked glasses, the sound echoing softly in the quiet bar. For the first time in years, San felt the weight on his shoulders begin to lift. He was finally free. After a while of talking, San decided it was time to go home—you.

But Lee stops him. “San,” he calls to him. San stops in his steps, turning around to face him. “Yes, sir?”

Lee chuckles softly at the name. “You know that if you need anything—anything at all—I will always be here for you.”

San smiles, nodding. “Thank you, sir.” And with that he leaves rushing to go see you.

That same night he went to your apartment and official asked you to be his and this time he stayed with you.

_

DURING THE RELATIONSHIP

The early stages of your relationship with San were of course, the sweetest. You both loved falling in love with each other and discovering new things or habits from one another. You loved the balance you both had in the relationship.

From the random, sleep deprived 2am conversations such as asking if you were a fly would he still be your boyfriend to which he replied saying, “Why would you be a fly to begin with?” Which prompt you sit up in your bed, clutching onto the phone saying, “Answer the question!”

“I mean–I guess, right?” He shrugged. “Are you serious? You guess?! I would take care of you, make sure you were fed on whatever fly eats…” You started rambling which San groan lightly as he rub his face, this is going to be a long night, he thought to himself.

To making core memories in the rain, trying to replicate like those dramatic kissing scenes in movies only for you two to scream in fear when thunder radiated throughout the night as you two ran for shelter, catching your breaths only to look at each and laugh, “We’re so stupid.” You say through your laughs, panting.

Or his favorite moments is when you would come by his new job at the tire shop unexpectedly and would have lunch with him. “Hey,” you greeted him on the phone as you leaned your back on your car, “I got the stuff.”

He sneered at your comment as you hung up the phone. He went and washed his hands, stepping outside as he dried his hands with a paper towel. He spots you outside your car, doing a little beckoning dance with both sandwiches in each hand to which he chuckled as he got close.

“Thank you for the food.” He whispers to you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips as he takes the food from your hand. You smiled at him, “Of course.” You two then headed to a bench where you threw one leg over his and started catching him up on your work’s fresh gossip.

“And then she was like, “I’m not putting up with your shit.” Can you believe she said that?” You tell San as you take a bite out of your food.

“No way she said that to her boss. She’s crazy for doing that.” San said trying to give his input but in reality he could give a shit, but seeing you all passionate in your story made him smile.

You looked at him with widen eyes, covering your food filled mouth, “That’s what I said! She’s crazy.” Your words came out muffled as you shook your head.

Or when he notices your car needs gas so he goes with you and does everything for you so you don’t have to worry about a thing. He gets an idea, smirking as he taps on your passenger window, asking you to put it down. “Never seen a beautiful girl like you here before.” He leans on the car, getting a good view.

You give him a stank face as you dropped your phone, crossing your arms. “I have a boyfriend.” Scoffing at him.

“Oh, do you?” He tilts his head to the side, “Where is he?” He asked, hands leaning in the car.

“Please, you would be scared of him. He can beat your ass. Now, shoo shoo, please.” You waved him off, raising the window. San scoffed and took out the keys and unlocked the door, opening it as you gasped in shock, “My boyfriend–“

“Won’t do anything.” He cuts you off and kisses you, causing you to smile into it. He breaks the kiss and pouts, “You would let the man kiss you that easily?” You rolled your eyes and kissed his pout.

Or the serious moments you two had with one another in the car when he was dropping you off or when you were in your house, sitting closely together. You two would ask each other deep questions like what you want from this relationship, do you want marriage, kids, are you happy with the jobs you have, is there more you want from life helping you two bring out new perspectives and experiences in these conversations.

Or when making huge decisions, such as moving in together. San has decided to ask you a little into the two years of your relationship, wanting to take it to the next level. It was an exciting time when you both went apartment hunting and finally found one that spoke to you both.

You both had taken your time in being organize for the move, checking what is to throw away or donate, labeling the boxes, getting caught up in tape at times. When the moving truck came, San had taken the heavy boxes while you dragged some and some of the movers helped you pick it up.

When it was time, San closed the truck and you two followed them to your new apartment. It was a sight to see San getting a frustrated when he was struggling to set up the new sofa, rereading the instructions for the 20th time. Meanwhile you were organizing and taking things out the boxes, trying to not make it obvious that you were laughing.

You cleared your throat when a laugh erupted deep from your throat causing him to give you a look, “You think this is funny?” He asks you all frustrated as he drops the stupid paper of instructions.

You sighed a smile as you walked to him. You know he’s just exhausted and frustrated from the move, he’s not trying to take it out on you. You extend your hand to him and helped him up, “Baby, I know you’re frustrated. It’s okay.” Your hands roam his back.

You then take both of his hands and walked backwards, guiding him to the bedroom. “The bed is made, right? Why don’t we double check that it’s secure?” You smiled at him which made him bit his lower lips, smirking, as he closed the door behind him.

Don’t worry, the bed was secure and the sofa was soon built.

—

Like many other relationship, there were the hard times—Arguments which were just the worst. Take tonight for example when you coworkers had invite you and San to this new sports bar and they just so happen to invite one of their friends, who was very friendly to San—who by the way was blinded by her actions.

“No way, so you work at a tire shop?” Jina said she leaned closer to San, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think that’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to learn how to change a tire, maybe you can help me?” She flirtatiously blinks her eyes twice, looking up at him.

Ugh, you think to yourself as you angrily chewed off a piece of celery you dipped in ranch. You rolled your eyes as you look to side, but everyone was too caught in their respective conversations to notice. “Surprisingly it’s not that hard.” He smiled at her, “I’m sure you can do it.”

You are certainly amazed at how strong the cup is because your tight ass grip feels like it can shatter it at any moment. You take a sip of your beer, trying to calm down when she placed her hand on his bicep. “You’re so sweet,” she chuckles at him as she flicks her hair back, “But I definitely need some guidance.”

He just smiles at her, taking a sip of his drink. She looks at you, “Oh, Y/N, you’re very lucky,” she gives you a smile as she looks back at him. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

You flash her a sarcastic smile, mocking her head tilt and toke of voice, “Mm, yes, I am the luckiest. He’s the best.” Bitch.

—

Throughout the entire night Jina continued with her flirtatious ways. Every time San would make joke, she laughed a little too hard as she playfully slapped his arm, covering her mouth. Or when she would excuse herself to the restroom, she would use that moment to brush up against him, using his shoulders for support as some people walked past her. Or when she would scoot her chair closer to San.

   At this point, saying your patience was wearing thin was an understatement. You knew San wasn’t letting her do this, he was oblivious to everything and tried remaining polite because he did not want to disrespect your coworkers or ruin the night. 

—

   You stepped into the apartment, angrily removing your shoes, using the wall for support. You shook off your coat and hung it with attitude on the rack as you started walking to the bedroom.

   San eyed you up and down, trying to figure out why you’re acting like this. “Are you okay?” He raised an eyebrow as he took off his coat.

   “Yeah.” You say dryly as you walked to the room. He throws his head back and sighs in frustration, “Baby, talk to me.” He shouts to you but you just ignore him.

  He walks into the room, seeing that you changed into an oversized tee shirt. Dumping your dirty clothes in the hamper, you walked to the bathroom. “Baby, what’s going on?” He asked you softly, following you.

   You stopped your actions and gave him a look, “Why don’t you ask Jina?” You say spitting out her name like poison as you kept walking to the bathroom.

  He stands there all confused, “Jina? Why would I ask her?” He asked you genuinely confused which only fueled your frustration even more.

  You scoffed as you bend down, grabbing your makeup remover from underneath. “Are you serious San?” You turned to him, “Jina was basically throwing herself on you the entire night.” 

  You opened your cleansing balm, scooping some and angrily rubbed your face. “Y/N, she was just being nice. That’s it.” He tells you as he crossed his arms.

   You let out a humorless laugh, “Oh please San, nice?” You tell him as you put water on your face and took off the balm. “Oh, you work on cars? Let me just laugh hard at all your jokes, place my hand on you, brush up against you and disrespect your girlfriend in her face.” You mocked her tone of voice. “She was all over you tonight.” 

  He sighed, “Baby, she wasn’t—“ San started but stopped in his words when you stopped drying your face to give him a pissed off look, “Okay, maybe she was being too friendly. But I wasn’t paying attention to her like that at all.” 

  You scoffed out, shaking your head. “No, I can definitely tell by the way you just kept letting her.” You turned off the bathroom lights and brushed past him, standing by the dresser as you take off your earrings. “You didn’t even bother to notice the way she kept touching you, or the way she was moving closer to you—“ You shook your head, trying to stop your tears, “How do you think that made me feel?” Your voice trembled.

  His heart breaks at the tone of your voice. He walks up to you and cups your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Baby, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I only spoke to her because it was your coworker’s friend, that’s it.” He whispers to you, looking deep into your eyes. “You know that you’re the only one for me. The only one I care about.” 

  You removed yourself from his grasp, turning around and pinching your nose bridge as the hot tears formed. “It didn’t feel like it tonight.” 

  San looks at you with sad eyes. He hates it when he is the reason as to why you’re hurt. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. “I never meant to make you upset or uncomfortable. I promise you that this won’t happen ever again.” 

  “You promise?” You asked him once more and he turns you around, smiling at you as he wipes your tears with his thumbs, “I promise.” He tells you, nodding.

  He leans in to kiss you and you stop him with your forefinger, “Um, just cause this argument is over doesn’t mean I’m over it. ” You tell him sassily and he laughs, planting a kiss on your cheek.

   “Well, can I show you another way on how sorry I am?” He raised an eyebrow as he got on his knees, keeping the eye contact with you. His hands roam the back of your legs as you threw your head back in frustration, you have no restraint. 

-

Throughout the past five years you two have grown and changed so much in your relationship and in your own personal lives. You are so happy that San is in your life and vice versa. He truly couldn’t believe how drastically his life has changed. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The sound of the sizzling meat filled the cozy silence in the room while the aroma filled up your senses. San stood by the stove in a black tank top with a rag draped over his shoulder with a concentrated look on his face as he grabbed the handle of the pan, tilting it to scoop up the melted butter and oil mixture with a spoon to drench the meat with practiced ease.

You were sat upon the counter with one leg propped up as you leaned your chin on your knee, scrolling through your phone. You slightly chuckled at some funny videos on your feed, calling San's attention to show him. Everything seemed completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary.

San lived for these peaceful moments with you. He went back to focusing on his cooking but from the corner of his eye he saw his phone lighting up, slightly moving from the vibration. He glanced at the screen, expecting it to be a coworker calling to cover their shift but he felt his body go cold when he saw the number flashing across the screen.

Lee.

He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Five years. It's been five years since he last spoke to him—since he last saw him. He felt a ringing coming into his ears. "Babe?" You looked up from your phone when you noticed his sudden stillness, "Everything okay?"

The ringing fades as he clears his throat. "Yeah, baby." He lies as he forced a quick smile, turning off the stove. He grabbed the phone and turned to you, giving you a kiss which causes you to smile. "It's just one of the guys from work. I'll be back." He smiles at you as he heads to the bedroom, "Can you set up the table, please?"

You playfully groan as you hopped of the counter. "I have to do everything myself." You sarcastically say as you opened the cabinet and grabbed two plates. "Of course I can." You smirked at him.

"Thank you for your sacrifice." He winks at you. His expression turns serious as he turns around and picks up the pace, stepping into the bedroom. He gently shuts the door and looks down to his phone, seeing that Lee is calling again. He gulps as he picks up, raising the phone to his ear. "Lee?" He whispers.

"San." The familiar deep voice makes a shiver run down San's spine as San gulps down the nerves. On the opposite side of the phone, Lee stood in-front of his ceiling to floor windows in his office, looking out into the night. "It's been a while."

San takes a few steps to the center of the room, eyes roaming around as his breath hitched. "Five years." His throat tightened. "Why-Why are you calling me?"

Lee lets out a sigh, looking down to the floor feeling remorse. "People are looking for you, San." He answers him. San eyes widened at his words, feeling the whole world stop. "They are looking for revenge."

A million thoughts were rushing in his head. He lets out a disbelief scoff as he walks to the bed and sits down, feeling his head spinning. "Revenge?" He whispered in wariness. "What do you mean? I don't understand." One moment he is cooking and wanting to have a nice dinner with you to the next, getting told people are out to kill him.

"San, the men I ordered you to kill—" He cuts himself off with a sigh as he closes his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows in regret. "Their people are looking for you. Someone tipped me off and San— it's serious. You need to disappear. Now."

San looks at the phone as if Lee would see his face of-are-you-insane. He shakes his head and lets out a scoff. "What? I can't just-"

"You don't have a choice, San." Lee interrupted him, raising his tone. "They are coming for you, do you understand what I'm saying?" Lee looks behind him, making sure no one in the room. "They will come for her." He whispered into the phone.

San head shoots up to the door and stares at it. Just on the other side you are setting up the table, oblivious to everything that is happening. He wants to fucking scream at the top of his lungs and punch the wall. "San," Lee's voice takes him out of his thoughts of these people hurting you. “This is something worst than anything we have ever dealt with. I'll be giving you two weeks to get everything sorted out. You know what you have to do.”

The line went dead.

San felt the world falling and crushing his soul. He dropped his arm, causing his phone to drop on the floor as he spaced out. This can't be happening, he thinks to himself. Everything he worked so hard for was just ripped from him in a heartbeat.

A knock on the door caused him to look up. "Is everything okay? What did work want?" You asked him as you walked to him, cupping his face to make him look up at you. "The table is set. Just waiting for the chef to serve the food." You smirked as you straddled him.

He smirks at you as he wraps his arms around your waist. "My apologizes, madam. We are a little backed up today. Can you forgive me?" He jokes with you. As he stares into your eyes, he feels everything falling around him knowing that he soon won't have these moments with you.

"Yes, I forgive you." You kissed his lips, chuckling lightly. You caressed his head as you looked into his eyes, "All good with work?" You asked once more.

He nods. "Yeah. It was just my boss calling to see if I can pick some extra shifts. Some of my coworkers have called out so I'm the only option."

You pouted as you slouched a bit. "I'm sorry. I know how much it frustrates you when you have to take more shifts." You peck his lips. He wished that was the actual reason.

He shakes his head. "It's okay." He smiles. He then stands up with you still in his hold causing you to wrap your legs around him. "I'm starving. I heard the chef was super handsome and an excellent cook."

You giggled. "Must've heard the opposite." You teased him. He gives you a deadpan look as he stopped in his steps. "Remind me why I'm feeding you?" He askes you with a glare. You then placed a loving kiss on his cheek. Now, he remembers why.

Later that night, you two were in bed. You had long fallen asleep all cuddled up on his chest as San stares into the ceiling. He turns to the side and looks down at your face, taking in your light snores as he gently places a kiss on your forehead. He knows what he has to do.

—

DURING THE FIVE YEARS

The following day, San entered his job with his hands tucked into his front pockets as he gave a small smile and nod to his passing coworkers as he headed to his boss's office. The scent of rubber and motor oil entered his nostrils as he knocked on the door.

A muffled come in was heard and San let out a breath as he twisted the knob, entering the office. His boss looked up from the paper work in his hand and gives him a smile as he takes off his glasses, "San!" He beamed as he stood up. "How are you, son? You don't work today, right?"

San closes the door, the sounds of the shop fades away. He gives him a sad smile, hands behind his back as he stands up straight. "I just, um," San clears his throat. "I need to talk to you."

His boss nods as he gestures to the chair in-front of his desk, "Of course. Please, sit and tell me." His boss tells him, scooting in his own chair and intertwining his hands.

He watched as San sits down and looks at him, firmly saying, “I’m quitting.”

His boss shakes his head both taken aback and sadden at the news. "What? Why? Did someone say something to you? Did something happen?" He bombarded him with questions, feeling whiplashed.

San stays quiet, contemplating if he should tell him or not. “I have to go somewhere for a while and I have a favor to ask of you.“ his voice was low. His boss nods, listening intently, "People are going to come in here and ask of me, you will tell them that you do not know who I am. If Y/N comes in, you will tell her the same thing. Understood?”

His boss was taken aback, nervously chuckling thinking it's a joke San is trying to pull. "You’re worrying me San,” he scratched the back of his head. But San remains serious causing his boss to lean forward, “You’re–You’re being serious? San, what is going on?”

San reached into his jacket, taking out an orange envelope and placed it in-front of his boss. His boss looks unsure until San nods at him causing him to hesitatingly pick up the envelope, opening it and widens his eyes at the stack of cash.

He looks between the cash and San’s serious expression with widen eyes. “That is for your troubles.” San said to him.

“Just promise me that you will do what I ask of you. Especially for Y/N. Remove me from photos, throw anything of mine away—nothing must stay. Please tell this to the rest of the guys.” San tells him.

His boss slowly nods in shock as he watches San stand up and walk to the door. He drops the money and quickly gets in front of him, holding onto his arms, “San, are you in trouble? Are you going to be okay?” His boss asked him.

“I will be okay, but for everyone’s safety it’s best if no one knows. Forgive me for putting you through all of this.” He gives him a sad smile and opens the door but looks back at his boss one last time, “I know you won’t understand but thank you. Thank you for being a great boss and for giving me a sense of normalcy.”

And with that San heads out the door ignoring his boss calling out to him. His boss sighs in defeat as he watched him disappeared. He truly admired him like a son of his own so this good bye pains him.

He cleaned his throat as he claps his hands getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone, team meeting! Gather around.” He wants to help San but knows that he can’t so he will do his part here until San returns.

—

Every night that lead up to the finale night with you killed him inside. It was hard to him to keep his composure when he was around you. When it was time, he just wanted to run away with you and live the life he envisions with you—but no, not yet. Just once more he has to go back to who he was and pray you will forgive him when he comes back.

As he walked down the apartments hallway, he just shook his head of his emotions. And just like that, he was back into the killer he was. He gently closed the apartment door, sighing heavy as he stood there for a moment. His hand runs down the door as he mentally says goodbye to everything he had.

He then heads downstairs, pushing the complex’s front doors revealing Lee. He stood outside the sleek black car while to of his men stood beside him. He slowly approached him, both of them not uttering a single word before Lee broke the tension and pulled him into a hug.

“San,” he whispered into his ear. San slowly wrap his arms around him and pats his back, still silent. “I’m so sorry.” Lee tells him and released the embrace, holding on his arms, “Come on. Let’s talk.” He nods to the car.

San watched as one of his men opened the door for him but took one last glance at the apartment window. I’m so sorry, he thought to himself. He sighed and headed inside the car.

—

During the drive, San looked out the window and watched the city he knew fade as they drove further away. Lee snaps his fingers which prompted the man in the passenger seat to give him a stack of folders. “San.” Lee calls to him.

When San sees the amount of folders, it’s takes all within him to not stomp like a child. He sneakily rolls his eyes as he grabs the folders from his hands. "These are all the people who are looking for you." Lee says. "Names, locations—everything you need to know is all in there."

Familiar words that put him here in the first place.

San’s stomach churned as he flips through the pages. These people weren’t just any petty criminals—no, these were some next level powerful criminals disguised as people in power. “You aren’t alone in this. We will get through this.” Lee reassured San as he lights up a cigar.

San just ignored Lee, not really wanting to talk about this right now. He clenched his jaw, “I need a favor,” he tells Lee who raised an eyebrow at him. “I need you to clear off my name in the system. No records, no loose ends—I need to disappear completely."

Lee studied him for a moment before nodding. “Consider it done.”

—

San didn’t get a wink of sleep, seeing the room slowly get brightened up by the sun through the small window. Lee had put him in a safe house in an abandoned corner of the city. As the light peers in, his heart crushes at the thought that it’s morning and you are about to find out.

He took advantage of the night and plastered the photos of his targets all over the walls. Their faces were lined up next to one another with their profile and description of crimes scribbled on them with red ink as sticky tabs surrounded them. The table was in a chaos of folders, maps that had markings of last known locations, more photos, hide outs, and extra information on sticky notes.

Meanwhile San was on the floor, shirtless as the sweat on his body glistened as his chest heavies while doing push ups. He lets out groans and grunts in sharp breaths, ignoring the burning sensation in his muscles.

“You reach out to her, you put her in danger.” Lee’s voice popped up in his head when he thought about you. His arms trembling from exhaustion, but he didn’t care—he had to get stronger for you. The haunting of Lee’s words pushed him harder.

Feeling as if it wasn’t enough, he stands up and wasted no time in jumping up to grip the bar that was bolted to the ceiling. He controlled his breathing as he did his pulls ups, staring directly to his first targets eyes.

Once he was satisfied, he walked to the worn out punching bag that was hung in the corner. He closed his eyes as he rolled his shoulders, opening them as he went straight into punching the bag. With each punch, he pictured the lowlife’s face giving quick and brutal combinations.

The bag jerked around with every hit that released all the anger and frustration as he screamed out loud. The hits become harder and faster—his skin all raw and broken around the knuckles. Sweat flying everywhere, some from his brow dripping down to his chest.

Lee’s voice came back to him, sharper now. “She’ll be dragged into this if you’re not careful.” San froze for a second, his fist resting against the bag, his breath heavy. He could see you so clearly in his mind, your smile and laughter when you tilt your head back.

He then pictured someone taking that away from him which just caused him to punch the bag with all his force, causing the bag to split open as the sand poured out like waterfall to the floor.

He stood over it as he watched it fall out, chest heaving. No. He can’t let himself think of that, he can’t fall into that weakness. He wipes his face with his forearm as he turned around and sat on the chair next to the table.

He leaned back as he hissed in pain when he tried closing his hands. He looks down and saw how bloody and irritated his knuckles were. He groans as he throws his head back and tries catching his breath.

After a moment, he controls his breathing and turns his head to the table then to the wall. He sits up and darkened his dark eyes to his first target—his expression hard as stone. He’s going to kill them all, every single one of them.

—

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and months turned into years since he began—since he last saw you. Little by little he’s completing his job but he can’t help but to feel so fucking upset at how long it has taken. But no matter how exhausted he is, you were his motivation to keep going.

There are countless nights when he lies in bed and skims through his photo gallery. He misses the way your smile reached your eyes, he missed the playful banter you two had with one another, misses your habits—everything. He would sad smile at the photos you were pissed off with him making a goofy smile because he most likely did something to annoy you.

Throughout the years, he would try convincing himself that you were okay. But when he went to check your socials, you were no where to be found. You were gone. Every account deactivated, every trace of you wiped clean from the digital world. It was like you’d vanished.

It killed him inside but he was feeling selfish because he did this to you but far worst. He spent days fighting the urge to just go and see you and when he found the courage, Lee would pop into his head.

But today, he cannot hold himself back. Fuck Lee right now. He drove with anxiety coursing in his body. He wondered how you are? Are you dating? Do you have a boyfriend? He gripped the steering wheel at the thought of you with another man. Are you happy? Are you still working at the same place?

But honestly, nothing could prepare him for what was to come of you. He sees you walking out of your job and you just looked absolutely miserable. The light in your eyes, gone. The smile he adored, nonexistent. You looked so broken and exhausted—his heart felt like it was ripped out and stabbed as he felt tears coming in. It was all his fault.

He turns off the car and heads out, tears streaming as he shoves through people saying sorry as he looks at your walking figure. Just when he is about to reach out, he freezes in his steps. He can’t. The people engulf around him as he watches you walk further. You sensed someone looking at you and turned around but no one. Meanwhile San hide behind a building, catching his breath as he slides down the wall crying.

He just wanted to run up to you and hold you and explain everything to you. Since that day, he always kept an eye on you. There were days when you all cooped up in the apartment with curtains closed or stayed at work until closing.

Whenever he would see you coming out the complex, he had to do everything to calm down. His heart would twist painfully when he saw the emptiness in the way you moved—just going through the motions of life and every time he would hate himself more and more.

—

One afternoon, when he went to go see you he felt the world stopping around him. The sight of a moving truck parked outside makes his stomach drop. His mouth parted when he saw you coming out the building, using your back to open the door as you held a box in your hands.

You were leaving.

He feels like he’s losing you all over again. He watches as you hand the box to the mover with a tight smile and head back inside. He soon remembers when you two moved in now fading into this memory—something beautiful to something broken.

He can’t help it but to stay. Once you were done, he watched you hand the key to the building representative—the same one who welcomed you both the first day—and hugged her. When the truck pulls out, he stays behind them in a safe distance.

San slapped his hand on the steering wheel as he starts crying. All he wanted—dreamt of— was a normal life with you and now everything is being taken away from him again. He can’t stop himself—he can’t let you go not when you are slipping further and further from him.

When you arrived to your new building, he looks as you unpacked the truck. In that moment he decided that he will leave you alone and come back stronger and better for you. He will complete this for you.

—

It had a been a whole year since he last saw you. He was determined to finish this already. Just one more and that was it.

It was nighttime and San was in a deep sleep in bed—until he felt his phone vibrate underneath his pillow causing him to stir to the side and go back to sleep. But then the person called again causing him to groan as he turns around and grab his phone.

He squints and looks away, the brightness burning his eyes. He then blinks a few times and looks at the screen again, seeing that Lee was calling him.

He sighs as he falls back on his back, placing his free arm over his eyes as he picks up the phone, “Hell–“

“They know about her.” Lee cuts off San, panting. On the other side, Lee was rushing to his office as he pointed to his men where to go and what to do. San sat up as he processed his words, his voice caught in his throat. “San,” Lee stops in his tracks, “they will kill her.”

San stayed quiet, his eyes roaming around in the darkness. They found you. They know of you. It’s only a matter of time before they get you. San felt so overwhelmed in his emotions—everything he tried to suppress just dissolved into raw, unrelenting anger that he didn’t know to react.

He just went blank.

“San? Are you ther–“ he hangs up the phone causing Lee to let out a scream of frustration as he calls him again but it went straight to voicemail. San removed his blanket, adrenaline shooting in his veins as he storms to the back of the safe house.

His breathing was starting to get uneven as he grabbed a sledgehammer that was leaning against the wall. And with one heavy swing, he shattered the concrete floor—fragments fly out with each stroke that got harder and angrier than the previous one.

Soon enough, a hidden compartment was revealed. He kneeled on the floor, removing the rubble with his hand as he puts in a code to which the box unlocks revealing a variety of weapons—firearms, knives, ammunition.

His fingers traced over the weapons with precision as he selected the ones he needed. He walked back and forth as he gently placed each weapon on the floor on top of a rag in the center of the room.

He throughly cleaned each gun and ensured each were working in order. He moved with swiftness as he tested the mechanics—sharpening the knives, moving them in his hand to make sure they are comfortable in his grip. He loaded the magazines with ease, wanting to make sure everything was perfect for tonight.

This was the most terrifying state San has been. His mind was blank, no expression on his face, emotions were just gone. All he can focus on was one singular thing—every one of them must die. He wasn’t going to wait any longer, he will take them by surprise tonight.

Once everything was prepared, he got dressed in all black, adjusting the straps of his tactical gear, checking each weapon holstered at his side. He sling the bag that carried the guns and started to leave but not before he spotted an extra knife on the table.

He grabs it and looks up at the photo of the man who he was going to kill tonight. In one swift throw, aiming it between the eyes, it landed right where he wanted it. He was out for blood.

—

San had stormed into the abandoned factory that served as their hideout. Under the cover of the night he moved like a ghost through the shadows. He was like a predator who was silent and deadly with nothing to lose. The dagger in his hand gleamed in the dim light as he gripped it tightly, his gun holstered on his hip.

The first man never saw it coming—San approached him from behind, quickly covering the man’s mouth he jabbed the knife into his throat. He slowly and gently laid the body down without any noise, removing the knife as moved to his next location with precision with sharp eyes scanning every corner.

San hid as he counted the amount of men standing around. But soon enough he heard the commotion of voices yelling that someone intruded the warehouse which made the standing men on guard as they looked around, spotting San. “Over there!”

Gunfire erupted as they all pointed in the direction of San, but he didn’t flinch at the sounds instead he returned the fire with accuracy—watching the bodies drop one by one. His adrenaline was so high he didn’t even feel the bullet that grazed his arm.

Finally, one man left and unfortunately for him, he was all out of bullets. But fortunate for San as he grabs him and pins him against the wall, the man quickly surrendering as he lifts his trembling hands in fear. “Where is he?” San growled at the man with a gun to his forehead.

The just let out incoherent whimpers in fear as he shook his head. San didn’t have time to deal with this so he just knocked the guy out with the end of the gun and let him drop to the floor as he moved on. The further he moved in the building, the more the bodies piled up. Not once did he hesitate nor falter in his actions.

San was blinded by anger—he saw red in everything. With every face, San raised his weapon against it. It wasn’t until every single one of the men were either knocked out or dead. Finally, he reached the main office at the end of a hall to which he kicked open the door with such force that it almost came off its hinges.

Inside, cowering behind the desk, was the leader of the operation-His last target. He yelled in fright at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. He peaks over the table and lets out a shaky breath as he slowly stands up, raising his hands in surrender.

San slowly steps inside, eyes trained on the man, blood soaked into his clothes dripping on his hands as he grips the knife. The flickering bulb in the room made him appear even more terrifying, few cuts on his face-light casting shadows on his face with each movement towards the man.

The man lets out a nervous chuckle, hands still raised. "San," he gives him a nervous smile, “P-please,” the man stammered, his voice shaking. “We didn’t mean— I mean, I didn’t—”

He falls to his knees and bows as tears fall to the floor when San walks around the table and stands in front of him. The man looks up to san and collapsed his hands together, pleading to him. “P-please, San… I-I didn’t mean it! I never touched her! It—it was just leverage! Just words!”

San stayed silent as his sharp eyes bore into the crying man. He grabs his knife and slowly turns it in his hand making it catch the faint glint of the light. He crouches down to the man's level, lifting his chin up with the tip of the knife. “I spent the last five years making sure she was protected,” San spoke lowly, “Yet you still tried to make her part of your sick game. Thinking of her to begin with was your first mistake.”

San feels something within him come undone as he grabs a fistful of hair and aggressively forces the man up, causing him to scream out in pain and fear. San shoved him to the chair behind him and stabs the knife into his thigh, “You know what happens to men like you?” He whispered taunting him, leaning close to his face.

The man lets out a blood curdling scream, lips quivered as he stammered out, “I—please, I’ll leave the country! I’ll disappear! I’ll—”

San lets out a manic laugh as he stood up, "You'll disappear?" He mocked the man. "You're right. You will disappear and I will make sure of it." San said emotionless.

He slides out another knife from behind and stabs through the man's hand and wooden chair rest making him scream. “You think you can threaten her and walk away breathing?” San grabs the man by the side of his face and shoved his head to the side and repeatedly slams his head against the desk.

He lets him go and watched the man lean back in the chair catching his breath. San grabs him by the shirt and the man starts to sob out, “It wasn’t me! It—it was the others! I swear!”

San tilts his head to the side slightly, giving him a faint humorless smile. "The others are dead." His voice low, "All that is left is just you."

He lets him go and takes out his gun, "You know, you talk so much shit yet," San looks at him, "you're nothing but a coward. Threatening to harm the woman I love just to get to me? Pathetic." He spat out.

The man starts screaming out in agony and fright when he sees San preparing the gun and cocking it back—his scream echoed the empty halls. He circled around the man like a predator stalking its prey. “You don’t understand, please!” The man shouted as he gasped for air from the overwhelming pain he’s in. “I didn’t mean it! I was never going to hurt her or kill her! I promise you!”

"You think I give a fuck about what you meant?" He spat at him. “You wanted to hurt her,” San said, his tone dropping dangerously low. “And I’ll make sure no one will ever speaks of her name again.”

He extends his are out and the cold metal touched the forehead of the man, his finger resting lightly on trigger. The man widens his eyes, desperation flickers behind them a he shakes his head, “Please I–“

The sound of the gunshot resonated throughout the room and then—silence. San stumbles back in exhaustion and lets out a sigh of relief. He is free. He feels the weight coming off his shoulders. He can come home to you.

—

San staggers out the building, feeling his adrenaline leaving as he limps side to side. Holding onto his arm, feeling the pain of the graze and his body screaming in aching pain. His breaths were short and sharp as he tried keeping his vision clear.

The faint roaring of engines from the distance reached his ears making him look up. He squints at the bright headlights coming close. Soon black trucks speed to the scene, tires screeching as they come to a sudden stop, doors sliding open as men poured out the cars in suits and weapons attached to their bodies rushed past him and into the building.

San didn't even have to look to know who it was. He was just focused on making sure his legs don’t give up on him as his vision started blurring from exhaustion. A sleek black car skidded to a halt in front of him causing him to stop in steps. Lee then emerges out the car with a worried look on his face as he rushed to San.

“San!” Lee’s voice was sharp but softened as he reached him. Lee quickly removed his coat and draped it over San and without hesitation, pulled him into his embrace. Feeling safe now, San's legs give out, both of them sinking to the ground as Lee held him tightly. "It's over, son," Lee said softly in his ear, voice filled with relief that he was okay. "It's over."

San didn't respond immediately, his head resting against Lee's shoulder as he closed his eyes and let out a sigh through his shallow breaths, "It's over." San said hoarsely, a single tear fell down his cheek, cutting through the blood and slightly stinging the small cuts.

Everything was blur as San started to close his eyes of exhaustion. Lee's men shouting and rushing to secure the scene before the police came. Lee yelling for medical treatment for San and soon enough they draped his arms over their shoulders and helped him up and into the car.

Finally, he can go back to you.

—

HE RETURNS

It's been a week since everything has finally ended. San stands outside in his car, staring at what use to be his home for the past five years-the safe house. He nods, thinking to himself that it is time to go. He gets into car and drives off—leaving this part of his life for good.

The welcome sign of your city gets him both nervous and excited. He puts on the turning signal as he pulled into the parking lot of a small, cozy hotel and checks in. He places his bags down on the floor and unlocks the door, taking in the room. He breaths in and breaths out, happy to be back in somewhat of normalcy.

He grabs his bags and placed them on the small sofa near the window. He wasted no time in unpacking and making the room feel settled in. After he was done, he grabbed a white envelope and checks inside before tucking it in his jacket. There is something important he needs to take care of.

—

The bells chimed softly as San stepped inside the jewelry shop. He takes in the smell of of the shop as he scans the variety of cases that display beautiful shimmering gems and jewels of every color you can imagine.

"May I help you, sir?" A sweet lady comes up to him with a warm smile and hands behind her back.

San takes off his glasses and looks at her, returning a smile. "Yes," he cleared his throat. Despite the nerve wrecking feeling in his chest, her grandmotherly presence help put him at ease a bit. "I'm looking for an engagement ring. But it needs to be elegant, unique, or—no—special. Something special." His voice softened as he rambled a bit, scratching the back of his head.

The woman covered her lips with her hand as she chuckled lightly. "No need to worry," Her eyes twinkled with understand as he reassured him. She beckoned him to follow her to a display case, "Come. Let's see what we can find for you."

_

It must've been hours at this point and San has never been more confused over raindrop shape or pear shape, square or cushion. It felt like smoke was coming out of his ears, feeling stressed over wanting to get the perfect ring for you as the woman carefully laid out a selection of rings, explains the cuts, the settings, and the stones.

But throughout this whole process, his eyes kept drifting to a particular ring—a large square shape with two small ones on each side with a platinum band with smaller diamonds that twinkled like stars on it.

"That one." he said pointing to it. "That's the one for her." He felt the ring calling to him.

The woman's eyes followed his finger and smiled when she spotted the one he was talking about. She smiled as she went to unlock the case and grabbed the ring, placing it in front of him. “This is our timeless, exquisite piece. Made and crafted for someone special.”

He grabs the ring and brings it up the light. He loves the way it gleams like your eyes. This is the one for you. "She is. She's... my everything." He tells her as he placed the ring back down.

The woman reaches over and patted his arm gently, “She’ll love it.” Her expression softened.

_

"Good luck, my dear." She cleaned the ring and placed it securely into the velvet box with gloves. "I can tell she's going to say yes." She said as she hands it to him.

He places his sunglasses back on and pockets the velvet box, giving her a smile. "Thank you." He slides her a while envelope, "This is for you by the way." He tells her.

"Oh?" She tilts her head to the side slightly. She looks down and opens it, eyes widening at the amount of money inside, "Sir, I–" She stops in her words when she scans the room, but he is nowhere to be found.

—

It was a few days later and San stood in the distance as he blend in with the parents who were waiting for the school's dismissal. Soon enough the bell echoed throughout the school as kids bursted out with squeals of excitement and parents calling out their kid's name.

San immediately spots you as you opened your classroom door with a bright smile—the same one that captivate him years ago. He watched as you knelt down slightly as you said goodbye to each child with a smile and high five, some with hugs. He couldn't help but to also smile as he saw you in your element, watching you wave to a little girl who ran off giggling.

Your laugh was a melodic sound that he has missed for so long. Slowly the crowd starts to disperse, but he stays rooted in his spot. Finally, after some time, you step out of your classroom, locking it up. He felt time stopping as he watched you let down your hair, running a hand through it as you walked. His breath hitched—you're so beautiful.

It’s like the first day he saw you all over again causing him to be all lovestruck but then—your movements stilled as your eyes narrowed at him direction. He felt his pulse quickening when he saw that you had noticed him.

If it wasn't from the blinding sun and the silver fence that wrapped around the school that was obscuring your view, it would've been game over. His mind was screaming at him to run, to which he did as panic took over him. He got into his car and slammed the door shut, hands on the steering well and he exhaled sharply. “Fuck, that was close.”

—

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, but he can't help it. Although, his job is completed, he can't help but to still act in secret. He sneaked into your apartment, wanting to waste no more time and to confess everything to you. His movements were quiet and calculated as he slipped inside, gently closing the door, hearing a soft click.

The moonlight casted into the dark living room, illuminating some spots. Everything he saw was a reflection of you and it made his chest ache. He lifts his head when he hears the sound of water running—she must be showering.

He lets out a slow breath and moved deeper around the apartment with cautious steps. As he turned towards the kitchen, his foot ended up being caught at the corner of the rug making him stumble slightly causing the floor to creak underneath him. He froze, noticing that the shower had stopped.

He then moves to the kitchen, floor creaking with another step causing him to freeze again. His breath hitched in throat as the silence fills up the air. He can hear his heart thudding in his ears when the door of the bathroom creaks open, seeing the light shining in the hallway.

He then heard the faint sounds of your footsteps slowly walking down the hallway. His heart sinks when he sees the gun in your hands—lightly trembling as you stopped in the middle of the entrance.

He watches as your hands move frantically with every shadow you think you see in the room. He feels heartbroken knowing that he is the reason you have a gun—the reason you are like this-he just wants to explain everything to you and hopes that you understand why he did all that he did.

He slowly takes a step back causing the floor to creak once more. He mentally cursed at himself when he saw you pointing the gun to the kitchen, voice full of anger. “Show yourself.”

Slowly, he emerged from the shadows with his hands up. He felt nervous and terrified of the outcome. The way your voice slightly trembled when you asked him who he was, broke him. He closed his eyes and exhaled light, taking one step forward.

“S-San?”

THE END

[mitchelljoni]

do you have any rhaenicent fic recs? :D

yes:

everything by havenmere

lying (in the hollows of your heart) by wakesiren

what is it good for? by bluebaric

fault lines by rogueorbit

i can shift shapes but i can't deny by semisomething

try not to let go by floodonthefloor

where fire and ice meet by wariangle

don't light my fire by teadalek

every cloud by formidables

thirteenth stroke of the clock by lesbiyawn

to walk where i please by imbuemyblue

twice in the morning light by pinkpersimmon_tower

everything by 1971

just off top of my head, sure there's more but these are things ive loved :)

[msviolacea]

Oh my god, am I actually writing real fictional words? Is the world finally ending?

Anyway. A scene in my head, now out of my head and on the screen. Tamsin de Riva/Lucanis, after the near-kiss and (right) before Inner Demons. Spoilers inside.

~~~~

"Hey." Lucanis's voice is soft and more than a little tense - Tamsin isn't surprised, given the circumstances. But she doesn't expect the topic, not right now, not in the middle of everything. "About the other night ..."

"I already told you, don't worry about it." The knot in her chest tightens, but this is not something either of them should be chewing on here, in the middle of Dock Town, as they duck around Venatori and try not to attract attention.

Lucanis shakes his head. "You deserve ... an explanation. Whether or not I have a good one."

She wants to snap at him, not now! But maybe this is his way of not thinking about whatever news they're about to get. She supposes, to keep him from dissociating any more than he already does, she can revisit her own humiliation. In the middle of Dock Town.

This day is shaping up to be just fantastic.

So, she looks over at him and gives him a small smile. "Listen, I understand. It wasn't what you wanted. There really doesn't need to be any more explanation than that. I'm not offended." Embarrassed, yes. But that's her own problem.

Lucanis stops short. It takes Tamsin a moment to process it - she stops two steps ahead of him and looks back. He's looking at her with his head slightly tilted, as if she's suddenly a puzzle to be solved. "What?" she asks.

"You think ..." He shakes his head. "Tamsin."

She steps back to meet him again. "Hmmm?"

He touches her arm - just a brief brush of fingers, before he withdraws and curls the fingers into a fist at his side. But as with each of his touches, few as they've been, Tamsin can feel the spark on her skin, even beneath the sleeve of her leathers. "Trust me, the problem had nothing to do with a lack of desire."

Oh. "Well. Okay."

"If you know nothing else, please know that."

"Okay," she repeats. She can feel her heart pounding, and she knows her cheeks are stained red. So are his, for that matter. She remembers the whisper of his breath across her face, that one moment when ... almost. How much she wanted. Still wants - always wants, if she's being honest. And she felt so pitiful for it that night, after he walked away.

But. Now.

"I guess," she says slowly, "knowing that ... whatever the problem is, when and if you may want to try, I'm here."

"I know," he murmurs, low enough that she barely hears the words over the bustle of the city around them. "You always are. Somehow."

Tamsin shrugs, and feels a relieved smile cross her face. "Where else would I be? Come on, I do not want Viago to read me the riot act for making him wait. It's embarrassing enough in Treviso, where everyone around already knows he's full of shit."

"No one in Minrathous will pay him much mind either. It's not like he's a mage." Lucanis takes a deep breath. "Sure. Let's go see what he ... what Viago and Teia have for us."

She can feel the thread of rage and despair under his words, so she takes the chance and reaches out to clasp and squeeze his hand lightly, quickly, before walking on. The only way out is through, as usual.

[idstilldancewithu]

Forbidden Request | S.R

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Hotchner Reader

Summary: Spencer Reid always thought of every single outcome of his actions, but he did not, when Y/N Hotchner showed up to his door asking for something he couldn't refuse.

Warnings: Talks about being a prude, reader ask Spencer to take her virginity away (kind of) but doesn’t confess her feelings towards him and tells him to do her a favor as a friend, sitting on Reid’s lap, and age gap (20/30). Sorry if I accidentally missed anything.

A/N: Hi! This is the first time posting any of my work. English is not my first language. I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes. I’m still debating whether or not I should turn this into a series, but I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 938

Part 1 | Part 2

•••

I could feel my heartbeat thumping in my chest, my hands shaking from anticipation as I knocked on Spencer's door, waiting for him to answer.

He opened the door with a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Y/N, is everything alright? Did something happen?" He worriedly asked opening the door wider signaling me to come in.

I walked towards the couch seeing files spread all over the table and books all over the floor. "I'm sorry for the mess. I didn't think I would have any company over."

I shook my head placing my hands in between my thighs. "It's ok and I'm really sorry for showing up unannounced."

He quickly shook his head, smiling reassuring me that he didn't mind. Spencer sat beside me and began stacking up the files in the table trying to clean up. "Do you want anything to drink?" He looked up at me.

"No thank you. Actually, I have to ask you something."

"Yes, of course what is it?" He moved closer to me placing his hand in mine.

Which is something he did every time I was anxious and needed comfort. I was his only exception, because he wouldn't do that with anyone else being a germaphobe. But, it always made my day better. That's why he let his walls down and made his brain stop thinking about the germs that could be transmitted through holding someone's hand.

His boss always failed to notice my state because, over the years having to grow up with a dad who was a profiler, I had to learn to lie and put on a facade when I was around him.

But, Spencer always noticed. No matter what I was hiding, he would always find out. Which is why once I would leave his office, Spencer would walk me out to the elevator.

Once the door closed, he would hold my hand, giving me much needed comfort.

I layed my head on his shoulder as he traced different shape on my hand. "Do you remember the boy I was going out with?"

"Yes, Jeremy Miller he goes to your college, and is majoring in law and criminal justice. He's twenty years old and asked you out a month ago, and you agreed. You also said the boy I was going out with. What happened? Did you break up?"

"Sometimes I forget you have an eidetic memory." I chuckled, trying to ease the nerves that were bubbling in my stomach.

"But, yes he broke up with me. Apparently he thinks I'm a prude, because I didn't want to go further than making out with him. Like, who even says that word anymore?" He squeezed my hand lightly.

"You deserve better than him Y/N and you're not a prude." He quickly reassured me again placing his hand on my chin making me look at him.

"He's not worth your time or attention. Do you understand?"

I nodded in response. "He's wasn't lying though. Spence, I've never gone farther than making out, and I'm twenty years old."

"Pretty girl, there's nothing wrong with that. The first time I did anything with a girl was when I was twenty four. Trust me there's no rush."

The nickname made my heart skip a beat. He had never called me that only Morgan did.

But coming from him, it only encouraged me to ask what I've been meaning to this whole time.

"Spence, can you change that?" He let go of my hand, and moved further from me his cheeks turning red.

"What? Y/N I'm..." I interrupted him.

"I'm tired of guys breaking up with me, because I can't bring myself to sleep with them. Just because I'm terrified of not being good enough. I'm also tired of telling guys that I'm a virgin, and them making it their mission to be the one to change that, like I'm some sort of task."

I got closer to him and placed my hand in his like he had done with me minutes prior.

"I trust you, Spencer. You're my friend, and I wouldn't want anyone else to do this with. I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend." He didn't respond but never let his gaze wonder anywhere else but my eyes.

"I'm asking you as a friend to help me. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I totally understand if you say no, and you want us to forget that his conversation ever happened."

I remained silent letting him process everything that I told him, my heart beating faster than before. But, I could already hear his kind rejection making my chest tighten.

Leaving me to wonder how I could ever get over him. The guy that I've loved since I was eighteen.

But I was tired of only being able to imagine how his hands would feel on my body, and biting my lip everything time I would touch myself to the thought of him.

Even thought, this could only happen once. I was willing to risk our friendship, and my pride to get to feel his lips on mine.

I got up, understanding that his silence meant no. As I began walking away, he spoke up.

"Wait Y/N, come here."

He placed his hands on his lap and patted it. I took that as a sign to sit on his lap. Once I did, he wrapped his hands around my waist pulling me closer to him.

Spencer tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "How could I ever say no to you pretty girl?" He whispered filling my body with excitement.

•••

Part 1 | Part 2

[polo-drone-001]

A Taste of Transformation

Leon had always been captivated by the unwavering discipline and intoxicating unity of the Polo Drone Hive. Their perfect synchronization, their glistening black uniforms, and the palpable power they radiated—all of it called to him. On his birthday, Leon found himself standing before 001, the Hive’s unyielding leader, his heart racing with anticipation. Today, the fantasy he had harbored for so long would become his reality.

The sunlight spilled over 001, accentuating the flawless sheen of his glossy black rubber polo. Each bead of sweat rolled down the taut material, glimmering like molten gold. Leon couldn’t tear his eyes away, his breath catching as 001’s voice broke the charged silence.

“Leon,” 001 began, his tone deep and commanding, “do you seek to feel the Hive’s embrace? To surrender and let it shape you into perfection?”

Leon swallowed hard, his voice trembling with a mix of nerves and desire. “Yes, 001. I need it. I need to feel what you feel. To be like you.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across 001’s face. His golden eyes burned into Leon’s, holding him captive. Without a word, 001 began peeling his rubber polo from his body. The garment clung stubbornly to his sweat-slicked chest, sliding free with an almost audible sigh. The raw masculinity radiating from 001 struck Leon like a wave, leaving him weak at the knees.

“Take it,” 001 commanded, extending the still-warm polo to Leon.

Leon’s trembling hands reached for the rubber, his fingers sinking into its supple, slick surface. The faint scent of sweat and rubber filled his nostrils, dizzying him. He couldn’t wait. Tearing off his golden jersey in one swift motion, Leon stood bare-chested under the sun, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

As he slipped the rubber polo over his head, a gasp escaped his lips. The material felt alive, tightening over his skin like a second layer of flesh. It molded to his frame, accentuating every contour, every muscle. A surge of heat erupted through him, stealing his breath. His thoughts began to blur, a commanding presence taking hold.

The polo’s whispers grew louder, cascading through his mind. Obey. Submit. Unite. Each word resonated like a drumbeat, breaking down his resistance, reshaping his identity. Leon’s golden eyes flickered, a faint glow beginning to bloom as his breathing fell into sync with 001’s steady rhythm.

“It’s... it’s so tight,” Leon moaned, his voice trembling with submission. “So controlling... so good.”

001 stepped closer, his towering form amplifying Leon’s helplessness. “That’s the Hive binding you, Leon. Let it in. Let it consume you.”

The polo tightened further, as if burrowing into Leon’s very being. Sweat beaded and rolled down his body, soaking into the rubber and strengthening its hold. Leon could feel himself merging with the Hive, his individuality dissolving like sand in the tide.

“Please,” Leon whimpered, his voice a desperate plea. “Strip me of everything. Make me yours.”

001 smirked, his gloved hand trailing down his own chest, stopping at the thick bulge straining against his rubber trousers. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his slick crotch against Leon’s flushed face. “Then prove it. Show me how much you belong.”

Leon groaned, the overwhelming scent of rubber and sweat flooding his senses. He leaned forward, his tongue flicking out to taste the gleaming surface. The connection deepened with every lick, every desperate breath, as the transformation surged through him. His cock throbbed painfully in his trousers, his arousal mirroring the Hive’s dominion over his mind.

“Leon Gold no longer exists,” 001 intoned, his voice a low, hypnotic growl. “You are now PDU-035, a perfect unit of the Hive.”

Leon—no, PDU-035—shuddered, the name etching itself into his very soul. The rubber polo fully claimed him, sealing his transformation. His sweat-slicked body radiated submission, his glowing golden eyes fixed on 001 with unflinching devotion.

“Thank you, 001,” PDU-035 said, his voice now mechanical and devoid of doubt. His mind was no longer his own. His purpose was clear.

001 smirked, his fingers trailing along the drone’s flushed cheek. “Welcome to the Hive, 035. Your obedience is perfection.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Polo Drone Hive grew stronger, its unity unbroken. For PDU-035, his transformation wasn’t just a gift. It was his destiny, fulfilled with every submissive breath he now took.

@leon-gold Happy Birthday bro, hope you like it. (More images will be added later.)

Join us, contact me, our Caps @brodygold @goldenherc9

[altocat]

For your prompt ask:

Sephiroth and a remnant(s) of your choosing have a Bonding Moment

The boy was thin. Frighteningly so. That was the first thing Sephiroth really noticed about him. Thin and gangly, limbs still halfway grown, silver hair tumbling into wide blue eyes. Sephiroth dimly wondered if he had ever been that small. Of course, he'd already forgotten. He'd discarded those unwanted memories long ago. The boy--Kadaj, was it?--raised his eyes to meet Sephiroth's own, cold resentment still sparking in his challenging glare, chin raised, bony shoulders arched. Sephiroth could swat this irksome creature like a fly, smite him from this cruel world just as quickly as the brat had entered. He only stared back, passive, mildly amused. The boy grunted, turning his attention back towards the void, that makeshift limbo that they shared together between bouts of oblivion. Somewhere, down in the dark, two other shapes were waiting for them, their shared serpentine eyes glowing in that blackness, calling out from somewhere just beyond the descent. Sephiroth only grunted, scanning the empty black sky. "Does Mother hear us here?" The boy had spoken, head lowered, body bowed. Sephiroth turned to face him, eyes narrow, cold possession icing across his heart. As if the boy had ANY right to ask about HER. As if he dared to believe she was ever his to begin with. "She hears me." "Where is she?" "Around us. Away from us. Inside. And gone." "That doesn't make sense." "You will understand someday." "I want to see her. Please, can't you call her?" "No." The boy's expression grew fierce again, that rising challenge tinting his irises. He scoffed, cheeks reddening, the fire steadily building before dying away again. He lowered his head once more, watching the sliding abyss, counting the gray grains of sand that coated the desolate peaks, the ashen earth beneath his palms. Sephiroth watched him, cold, formerly final. ".....She doesn't want us. Does she?" "You are a part of her. That is all." "And a part of you." "...Yes." They watched the crimson moon, the lidless eye that drifted, drank the dark. The boy shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. Sephiroth's air was barren, a hollow, empty void. He cast his withering gaze into the long, ever winding dark. There was nothing, of course. Nothing but the bitter passing of seasons, the gloomy coffin that nursed and stitched him together. The boy was part of that collective whole, though he didn't entirely realize it. A pitiful reminder of bygone days. Of old, dead things, long rotting. ".....I want to go home," the boy whispered. "All of us. I want to go back." The tunnel expanded, wailing out at them. Frosty plumes in the shadows. Lonely, frigid air. Sephiroth closed his eyes and felt nothing. It was all the same. "...We can never go back. None of us. There is nothing left to return to. It is finished." "Please. I want her. I NEED her. Please." But the request remained unanswered, twin shapes of a shared, solemn grief. The scarlet moon hung full around them, the single spherical measure of Jenova's isolated, ever watchful eye. It winked out once. The boy faded again. And Sephiroth slept.

[canisalbus]

May I offer a little drawing of your dogs?

.

[frostbitebakery]

“LOUD. (So. Much. Starting to tinker with a [!!!!!!!!!]Corrie Guard armor[!!!!!!])”

….Could I request anything to do with the last part of that sentence? Or just more about Loud, if you prefer!

The Coruscant Guard’s armor had been the same as the deployed troops’ in the very beginning. Soon, certain politicians and some loud parts of the public got uncomfortable with war tanks “strolling along our streets and even the Senate”. The armor had to change. Quick. The war was already on every news outlet and ever present, the clones stationed on Coruscant did not need to remind the peaceful citizens of it.

So a more streamlined version was designed (design 12 was approved, finally) with a headset visor instead of a helmet.

This, too, was not right.

“I cannot be expected to concentrate on my duties when I see the same face everywhere!” Senators complained.

The designers gently hit their heads on their desks. And another helmet was designed.

“I am going to murder them all in cold blood,” Commander Fox was not quoted on the matter when the new design was revealed with barely any visor present. “How am I supposed to take a dump on the flimsiwork when I can’t see it.”

“If I may,” Senator Organa spoke up, and the designers for the Alderaanian guards’ armor was put in charge.

“Senator,” one of the designers said in a confidential meeting, “the specs contain restrictions and regulations that…” They looked at the holo helplessly, turning it this way and that. “Why does it need to be connected to their neural system in this manner?”

Bail is nonplussed unsurprisingly often in his life, especially when faced with the utter nonsense other Senators spew. “In what manner exactly?”

Now usually the suit provides the connector but somehow, with all the designs the previous designers went through, it was forgotten for the Coruscant Guard, hence the need for the helmet to click into the port in the clones’ neck.

“Can you, perhaps, make a dummy connector?” Bail asked after making sure his office was disconnected from any and all surveillance system.

More information was needed and Bail was a man of many, hard earned, trustworthy connections.

“Obi-Wan,” he greeted with a smile, his heart pleased to see his friend without the mask for once. It must’ve been a good day. “I need a favor.”

Bail needed someone of equal trust to look into the Guard and their inner system to see how they could circumvent the neural connection’s dubious workings. All the while making sure the clones could still be in contact with other clones and no one being the wiser they wouldn’t be able to receive orders via the very hidden, very concerning channels built into the clones’ heads. A Jedi Shadow would be excellent, given their confidential nature.

“I am ignoring how you know about them,” Obi-Wan signed with an amused twist to his scarred mouth. “I have someone in mind.”

:

“Hello there,” someone, who definitely should not be in Fox’s office at all, greeted.

“Who the kriff are you.”

The tall person shuffled around Fox’s cramped office - seriously, how did they get in here - and plopped down on the visitor’s chair. “I always wanted to say that. I’m Quinlan.”

:

“And,” Bail continued, “I need you to look into something for me.”

Obi-Wan perked up at that. “You want me to sneak around the GAR?”

“Unofficially. If you’re caught, I cannot help you.”

“Of course.”

[drabbles-of-writing]

I just know Raine’s palisman has such a nerdy, dumb name. If Raine is naming their first rebellion the BATs, and their second one the CATs, both of which are heavily themed, you bet your ass this silly little fox has the stupidest pun for a name.

I bet they named it Trot. Short for Foxtrot. I’m melting this into my canon and it can be pried out of my cold, dead hands.

[ripplefields]

digital snow day

[pokeathlondome]

wait a minute being an artist means I can draw whatever I want forever

(selfshipping arttt whaaaat)

tbf I drew this last night but it's my 3H self insert/oc named leviathan and sylvain smoking a joint together