Various Females x Male Reader One Shot

A Cup of Coffee 2/3 (Deadlock)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the city as (Y/n) made his way to a remote location, a warehouse on the outskirts of town. His thoughts were a whirlwind as he thought about his life with Iselin, the woman he loved but to whom he had never fully revealed himself. Today, he was meeting his boss to receive his next mission, something he did routinely without much thought or concern. But this time, something felt different.

As he approached the warehouse, he noticed the familiar black SUV parked out front. His boss, a man known only as "Boss," was already there, waiting for him. (Y/n) entered the dimly lit building, his footsteps echoing off the concrete floor. Boss stood in the center, a folder in his hand.

"Ghost," Boss greeted him with his codename. "We have a new assignment. It's a high priority and requires our best operative. That's you."

(Y/n)'s usual confidence wavered for a moment. "What's the job?"

Boss handed him the folder, his expression unreadable. "Assassination. High-value target. The client requested you specifically."

You see, (Y/n) was not an ordinary mercenary. He was an assassin code name Ghost, a cold-blooded killer who had built a career on eliminating targets without hesitation. His reputation in the underworld was one of efficiency and ruthlessness. When it came to his work, (Y/n) operated with a dispassionate detachment that unnerved even the most hardened criminals. He didn't ask questions, didn't care about motives, and certainly didn't dwell on the morality of his actions.

(Y/n)'s assignments came with names and faces, but they never elicited any emotional response from him. Whether the target was a corrupt politician, a rival gang leader, or an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of someone else's vendetta, it made no difference to (Y/n). To him, they were just names on a list, lives to be extinguished in exchange for payment. He approached each mission with the same clinical precision, erasing lives as effortlessly as one might swat a fly.

This lack of empathy, this complete disregard for human life, was what made (Y/n) so effective and so feared. It also made him deeply afraid to reveal his true self to Iselin. She knew him as a charming, somewhat mysterious man who switched jobs often, currently working as a web designer. The truth—that he was a remorseless killer—was a darkness he kept hidden, terrified that if she knew, she would recoil in horror and disgust.

Killing people wasn't the worst part for (Y/n). The worst part was that he didn't care about who he killed. He wasn't a vigilante who targeted the wicked. He wasn't an anti-hero righting wrongs. He was a scumbag who would eliminate anyone as long as their name arrived on his list. The why and the who were irrelevant. The act of killing was mechanical, detached from any sense of right or wrong.

This was the reality of (Y/n)'s life, the part of himself he had locked away, fearing that Iselin would never look at him the same way if she knew the truth. As he stood in the warehouse, holding the folder Boss had given him, he felt the weight of that reality crashing down on him. The target's face stared back at him, a face he knew all too well. The codename read: Deadlock. But the real name beneath it was Iselin.

"No," (Y/n) muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This can't be right."

"It's right," Boss said firmly. "The client provided all the details. She's a VALORANT Protocol agent, one of their best. This is a top-tier contract."

(Y/n)'s mind raced, disbelief and dread mixing into a nauseating cocktail. He glanced up at Boss, hoping for some sign that this was a mistake, a cruel joke.

Boss's eyes were cold, calculating. "I know what you're thinking, Ghost. I know how much she means to you. But we're professionals. This job must be done. There's no room for hesitation or personal feelings."